I’m writing this on the airplane, comfortably cruising along at 30-something thousand feet.

I have to say that I remain shocked, thrilled, and extremely grateful. I’m also a little nervous about what the future will hold.

In any case, let me expand on these feelings for a bit.

Shocked

L called me just as I was getting ready to head down for my car ride to the airport. I don’t recall exactly what she said… something to the effect of “it worked… blah, blah, blah… “you’re going to be a daddy…” blah, blah, blah. I was shocked… or more accurately just stunned. Stunned. L was also exceedingly calm. I think she was shocked too.

Theoretically, we knew this was possible. Yet, emotionally, we didn’t allow ourselves to go to an overly hopeful place. On balance, that was probably the right decision.

Wow. It worked.

Thrilled

Needless to say, we are both thrilled. My pleasure exists on multiple levels:

First (and most importantly), we’re closer to actually being parents.

Second, we were able to get here on the first IVF cycle (making the “shared risk program” perhaps a costly waste of resources… but a decision I don’t regret and a price I’d pay 3 times over).

Third, the IVF cycle was relatively “easy” for L – both physically and emotionally.

Fourth, we can (hopefully) move on to the next phase of our life together.

Grateful

I’m grateful for all of the items on the above “thrilled” list.

I’m even more grateful when I consider our joy in the context of fellow infertile couples. I’ve read so many stories of struggles far worse than ours. And, now, it looks like we’re getting to the proverbial “light at the end of the tunnel” in advance of others too. I cannot help but feel extraordinarily grateful, both for our good fortune and the fellowship of others.

I don’t know why we’re “the lucky ones” today.

We all stand on the roulette wheel of life. Sometimes, for good or bad, our number hits. There probably is no way to know “why” or at least that knowledge is beyond us.

I am, therefore, humbled and grateful.

Nervous

Not to be a downer, but… I also know joy can be fleeting.

Miscarriages. Stillbirths. Premature birth. Birth defects. And so on and so forth… all of these are now (relatively speaking) far less than likely outcomes. Nonetheless, I’m also far more keenly aware of such issues (and the associated devastation) than I would have been under “normal” circumstances. I’m just hoping for a healthy, happy bundle of joy.

I’m also worried because I now have to start transitioning from thinking about “how to become a father” to thinking about “how to be a good father.” I see this as an awesome responsibility and (in all likelihood) the most important work I’ll ever do in my life. This is daunting.

As of today, I have to start focusing on a new purpose. Holy shit!

L called just as I was leaving the office. She had a high beta: 286!

B. F. P. !!!

We are shocked, thrilled, and very grateful. I am at the airport now. I will write more on the plane and post it tonight.

The countdown continues.

Over the last couple of days while I’ve been on the road, L has been dutifully reporting to me on her status / symptoms. She continues to have swollen and sore boobs, fatigue, some nausea (especially in the morning), bloating, and constipation. The cramps that she experienced over the weekend and early this week have subsided.

Pregnant or progesterone? That is the question.

Either way, we’ll know tomorrow. And, I’ll post the results here by tomorrow night.

Meanwhile, the men have arrived…

Welcome to my fellow brothers of infertility!

In the last day or so, I’ve had my first comments on the blog from men. Of course, I love the ladies who visit here too. But, it’s nice to see the fellas.

I’m optimistic that the male voice on infertility will expand and grow in the IVF blogosphere.

In the last day or so, L’s been complaining of increasing symptoms, seemingly associated with her progesterone shots. Or, they might be indicative (according to the Mayo Clinic) of her being pregnant. These include: sore/swollen breasts, fatigue, nausea, constipation, and (in the past day or two) slight cramping.

The reality is that there’s really no way to tell at this point.

And, she’s going to follow official advice by not peeing on a stick.

So, we wait: four more days to initial results.

And, I’m leaving town…

I’ve mentioned in the past that we live in Florida. However, I haven’t mentioned that I work for a company in Minnesota. That was the deal—I’d work for the company, if they’d let me commute.

This means—in addition to “usual” business travel to meetings and events—I travel a fair amount extra to see my staff and participate in meetings at headquarters. Fortunately, I have some flexibility in how I arrange my schedule. As such, I was able to be home during the retrieval and transfer process. However, I can’t just not travel for months at a time.

So, this week I’ll be heading back up to Minnesota.

The PIO shots won’t be a problem as we have a pinch hitter to assist with that.

I leave tomorrow and return Friday afternoon. Fuck.

At the time that I set my schedule, this made sense (to me at least). In part, we expected (being naïve, optimistic, dumb asses) that we’d have a five day transfer. This would have meant that the blood test would have been on Sunday, not Friday. Opps.

If we get a positive result, I’ll most likely learn about it at the airport. This is not exactly L’s idea of the best way to share the news. Although, it probably is apropos given the amount of time I spend on planes and in airports.

If we get a negative result, I won’t really be available to comfort L. To me this is the worst case scenario. Double fuck.

Or, I might just be sitting on an airplane for a few hours not knowing whether or not we’ve won the parenthood lottery.

Lesson learned. Next time (fingers crossed there won’t be a next time), I’m not traveling during “results week.” Period.

Oh well. At least I got my first class upgrade. So, I’ve got that going for me.