Although our primary concern, of course, was that my IM not be harmed by the medicine goof, we were also naturally curious what this meant for our cycle. Disappointing as it might be, it’s better to scrap a doomed cycle early; as opposed to going through the work and expense of transferring when the doctors are certain the outcome will be dismal.
So I stayed on my meds, we waited that next week, and the doctors watched her very closely. And, you know what? Believe it or not, she responded BETTER than she had the previous cycle! In fact, when the time came for the egg retrieval, not only did her ovaries look good, but she had more eggs by far than she had the first time. Nineteen eggs, in fact, which is a great number for anyone, let alone a 39-yr old woman who had taken her meds wrong that month. So, while the doctors did a small bit of head-scratching in bewilderment, we all agreed to take the good news and just run with it.
Not only did she have MORE eggs, but more of them fertilized, and they appeared stronger than the previous ones. Strong enough, in fact, that we were able to push the transfer out to day five, and transfer them as blastocyst embryos, which is always hopeful news, as by the time the embryos reach that 100+ celled stage, they are older and stronger, and often have higher success rates.
The clinic also suggested a process called assisted hatching, which means, in a nutshell, they take the embryos right before the transfer and rough up the edges a bit. I’m not exactly sure of the mechanics of it, but it’s thought that with slightly rougher edges to them, they might be able to attach to the uterus better. Not, I have to guess, glide right out like little kids on a slip and slide. Hey, anything to increase our odds sounded good to us, so we agreed to try it.
The day of transfer, once again, my IF and I put out feelers for transferring three. And once again, the doctor was emphatic that no, he wouldn’t chance a triplet pregnancy. “No need --- we’ve got perfect lining, perfect embryos, perfect transfer” was his response. I felt like looking up from the table and saying cynically, “Yeah, you said that last time.”
And once again, we entered the dreaded two week wait.