I am participating in the 8-Minute Memoir challenge from Ann Dee Ellis.
My embryos were the littlest things. Casey and I were so torn up over whether to choose the safe, but less likely route to pregnancy or the more likely, but more risky route. We could implant one embryo or two. It took us 45 minutes of intense discussion to make the final decision. There were a lot of worried looks and hand-squeezes, but we came down on the side of risk.
The embryologist brought in a tiny syringe-type object attached to a very long tube. The reproductive endocrinologist placed the end of the long tube inside my uterus, guided by an ultrasound like the one I've seen in the movies. You know, where they put gel on your abdomen and look for the baby. Only in this case, all they wanted to see was the end of the foreign object they were putting there.
Before shooting those little things through the long tube, they put my little things under a microscope so I could see them. They were completely invisible to the naked eye, and they carried my hopes and dreams. I wish I had asked them to leave that screen up longer or if I could take a picture. My embryos had a long journey ahead of them and I had no idea if I would ever see them again. Even if one did take, I would never be certain which one it was, so I wanted to look at them longer.
Before I knew it, they were off the screen and the embryologist was sending my little things through the long tube. The reproductive endocrinologist showed me on the ultrasound screen where they landed--there was a barely visible dot that appeared to be nestling comfortably in the folds of my endometrial lining. They printed a picture of it for me. I still have it.
I don't have my little things. My embryos didn't make it. I still love them.