Math does not equal hope

Since going through Mama's death, H has been even more adamant that we have another child. For Spunx. So when I die, when H dies, Spunk is not alone. Spunx has someone to lean on, to share with, to fight with. Someone to share witness. And so there is someone else who knows all Spunx secrets, whatever they may grow to be.

In a perfect world, we'd probably be taking more time. But in this world, health insurance will only cover me after I'm 44. And I'm 42. So I didn't have the luxury of contemplation and whatnot. If we wanted to do this, I need to do it now.

Periodically, H and I will look at each other, and one of us will say "We're not being greedy." Which is a lie. We are. We are being greedy. We want more. Maybe just one more, but more. Greedy for the a good reason, but greedy nonetheless. H and I were only children (there's a decade in age difference between myself and my brother). We didn't have that constant companion and playmate. We didn't have that support.

I blogged yesterday from the RE's office, but it didn't seem to take. Whoops. Yesterday was the retrieval.

The retrieval... was a retrieval. Yesterday. Six eggs they got. Compared to the 14 that they got from my last cycle. The doctor came shortly after the procedure to tell me. She put her hand on my knee and then said, "and not all of them are mature." And then said something that I don't quite recall, but it was to the tune of "we'll see."

This did not happen last cycle.

So last cycle they got 14 eggs, 11 were mature, 5 fertilized, 3 got to six-celled stages and resulted in 2 pregnancies and one child. So, applying the same math, out of 6 eggs, 4.7 will be mature, 2.5 will fertilize and 1.2 will get to the 6-cell stage. The numbers from there are below 1.

Math sucks.

I'm not quite sure what to feel right now. What to hope for. How to pray.