Two nice-looking embryos transferred, at 8 cells and 6. I don't really know what to make of the picture I have; one looks attractive indeed, while the other looks, well, sullen.
I'm sure it has a very nice personality.
We didn't bother with the third. On the report I was given, it was classified as "unsuitable for transfer, freezing, or observation." Translation: It'll make you vomit just to look at it. I assume the poor angry loner was so hurt by such callousness that it offed itself. As I lay on the table, thighs athwart, I swear I heard a tiny cry: "Goodbye, cruel dish."
And then a weeny little splat.
And then all was still.
The transfer was easy and painless, thanks to a self-prescribed hit of Valium from a sympathetic friend, who kindly kept me company as I waited. The husband of another friend gave me a cookie as I lay flat for the prescribed half-hour. And now I am lounging indolently in my hotel bed, propped up like an invalid, surrounded by everything I might conceivably need in the next several hours. (Water bottle: check. Remote control: check. Sense of preternatural calm: check.)