August 26th has been a date seared into my brain since approximately mid-January of this year. It was chosen to be the date for the 20th Anniversary celebration at the place where I work. I have spent countless hours over the past seven months planning and preparing for this huge event alongside some of my co-workers. We had meetings to plan for our meetings. I won’t get into specifics of which department did what, but for a stretch of a few weeks it definitely felt like I was single-handedly (since my partner-in-event planning went on maternity leave) coordinating the festivities for the day. In the end, everyone pitched in and together, we pulled off one amazing party.
But, I never realized just how significant that date would end up being.
It was at the end of July, in the middle of my sister’s chemical pregnancy, where chatter began about when our next and final attempt at surrogacy would occur. Not to be too graphic, but because medication must be started on day 1 of a woman’s cycle, we had approximately 48 hours to make our decision-from the day of the confirmation of the dropping beta to day 1. Coincidentally, this decision came at the precise moment we were fighting with the home warranty company about our broken A/C unit and trying to take care of all four of our dogs who managed to get sick consecutively. Our stress levels were at an all time high. Because we have confidence that our marriage can survive the ridiculously hard stuff-we figured, what the hell, let’s add one more major decision into the mix. Or something like that.
In reality, it boiled down to three main true statements (how my logical brain processes).
1. Our surrogacy contract is good for four months (or was it 4 transfers? crap-I hate legal lingo and honestly, haven’t even looked at it since it was written in May.) And the last thing I want to do is go through the headache of writing another contract (or paying for another one to be written).
2. When you hijack a person’s life you want it to be for as short as possible. This meant we didn’t want to prolong the wait time between transfers. If it does work, wonderful, but if not then we wanted my sister and brother-in-law to be able to continue their family growing on their own timeline and not be stuck waiting for us to make our final move.
3. Our finances will never be in a winning state (at least not for several more years), so we couldn’t even use the money as an argument.
Thanks to the clinic being closed for about two weeks mid-August-this past Friday was our only option. So, on Friday, August 26th at approximately 4:10 pm, our last adopted embryo was transferred. And here we are. In our final two week wait…ever.
At some points over the course of the past 8 years we have given our news well after the fact so our families, friends and readers know immediately the outcome of our attempt. Sometimes we feel it’s unfair for everyone to have to go through the waiting game, sometimes we need to process it all on our own.
But this is it. This is the final embryo. The final time we are pursuing this route. We’d love for some extra thoughts and prayers as we embrace this one last try; for us, for the embryo and for my sister especially.
Honestly, we would have filled y’all in sooner, but we weren’t even sure the embryo would survive the thaw. In all our other transfers, we have lost at least one embryo during the thawing process. On Friday, I whole-heartedly expected to get the call saying the transfer was off because the embryo hadn’t made it. I was a little shocked to actually make it to the transfer. I suppose that’s one hurdle that went in our favor!
If you’re interested in reading a little more about my thoughts on this phase of our journey you can head on over to IF Life weren’t so IFfy
Cheers to the very last time I ever have to use the term PUPO and since we’re using a surrogate, I just may drink to that 😉