One year ago today.
The appointment was scheduled for Saturday, May 18 at 10:00 am.
Cyropreserved and stored for just over two months.
We told our reproductive endocrinologist to let the embryologist randomly choose.
We didn’t care.
We just wanted a baby.
I wore one pink sock and one blue sock for luck. Or to be cute. Or to appear lighthearted when I was anything but.
We were given photos of each embryo. A clump of cells five days old.
Just breathe was my mantra that morning along with What if it works? What if it doesn’t? running through my mind on repeat.
After identification had been verified, the entire procedure took less than five minutes.
On the small dark monitor, it looked like a tiny but bright shooting star, a burst of magic—our baby being released into my uterus.
One year ago today was my embryo transfer.
It was both terrifying and exhilarating.
The two weeks that followed were nerve wracking. Taking it easy, staying off my feet and hanging out in our apartment.
On the morning of May 30, there would be a blood test to determine the presence of the pregnancy hormone in my blood.
It was there.