It's My Embryo Transfer and I'll Cry if I Want To

On Sunday afternoon, we gathered back in the M8 waiting room for part II of the deranged slumber party only this time we didn't get pants. As I was coming out of the Robert and Gloria Randell Patient Changing Room (no, I don't remember the exact name of it, but yes, even the changing room is named after a benefactor), I heard very faint, familiar music. Then the lyrics became clear: "You would cry too if it happened to you." Not the soundtrack I would choose for an IVF waiting room. It reminded me of time at my other clinic's office when I walked in to George Michael singing: "Now you tell me that you're having my baby." Can I recommend that we stick with classical music? Even musak might be a better option. I am fragile and narcissistic (well at least narcissistic) and adept at making every song seem as though it was written about/or to taunt me, so how about piping down with the pop torment?

The transfer was more or less a glorified or big-budget IUI. It was the movie version with fancy lighting, costumes, and a larger cast and crew. Unfortunately the star was my lady bits. I lacked the benefit of sedation and that studio lot lighting was not flattering. I tried looking around the room to get my mind off of the enormity of what was about to happen, but I kept getting a glimpse of all of me reflected off of the glass of the opposite facing cabinets. Finally my eyes settled on a screen at one end of the room. My name was up there along with my retrieval and fertilization stats. On the other half of the screen was a little round bundle of cells - my embryo. The science behind that moment was awe-inspiring.

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