Transferversary: "I wanted you more than you will ever know"

 
 "I wanted you more than you will ever know. So I sent love to follow you wherever you go."

We have a book in our library repertoire called Wherever You Are, My Love Will Find You by Nancy Tillman. Every time I read it to Olivia I burst into tears. So needless to say, I don't read it too often.
One year ago today. March 25th 2015. We transferred two beautiful embryos. We named them Seaweed and Kelp because we vacationed on the the Gulf in a Galveston beach house with my dearest friend and cheerleader, Celina. 


I don't even have pictures of that day in the clinic. All our other transfers we took pictures on the stretcher right before I had the procedure. I think we were just too terrified to jinx anything. I don't even have pictures of me on bed rest.

I do remember crying in the holding area, in my hospital gown and surgical hat, when Dr. G. told us we had two beautiful embryos. I remember watching on the monitor the moment Olivia and her brother were placed into my body. I remember trying to remain cautiously optimistic that maybe this time, the last time, will be different. I remember trying to get the hang of the Lovenox shots and letting Chris give me my PIO shots in the beach house bathroom. 

And now, she's here. She's 4 months and loves to holler and yell when I'm not entertaining her. No matter where I am in the room, she's seeking me out so she can stare at me. (Or scream at me, depending on the day)


In 4 days, Olivia and I are heading back to Texas to stay with Celina. It all comes back full circle, doesn't it?

In some ways, I'm shocked that transfer worked and I have her. In others, I feel nothing but relief. That I have her. Because my life wouldn't have been ok if it failed. I don't know where I would be now. They are thoughts I don't like to think about.

I hold her a bit longer than I need to in the dead of night, burying my face into her neck and breathing her in. I feel her little body in my arms and run my chin along the top of her head, feeling the brush of her soft hair. Sometimes I just can't believe she's here. That all those years of tears and anger and diminishing hope brought me to her. 

Had I done one thing differently, had we decided not to go to Texas, had we stopped treatments after the first failed donor cycle, had I not had a doctor who was willing to go the extra mile... I wouldn't have her now. Maybe I would have ended up with a baby. But it wouldn't have been her. It wouldn't have been my Olivia. 

This journey was exhausting. I pushed my body, my mind, my heart further than I thought I could endure. We have next to nothing in our savings. But now she's here. I saw her as a microscopic embryo and she grew into a baby with long fingers, a button nose and a smile that stops my heart. 

Olivia, what a ride this year has been. Happy Transferversary little girl.

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