I stayed laying down most of the day yesterday, but now, I am BORED! It's not even 10 and I have made myself a oatmeal (the old fashioned kind) ate, cleaned up the kitchen, done two loads of laundry (didn't lift anything heavy), read 4 chapters of my book, and taken a shower. I've got homework to work on, so that's my plan for this afternoon. I only have four days left of my estrace, so I called in my refill for that. My butt hurts (PIO) and boobs are really tender, but that started before the transfer (also the PIO's). My abdomen feels bloated this morning, and if I concentrate really hard, I'm maybe a little crampy. Of course, it could all be in my head. I had one time last night and once this morning that there was the slightest tinge of pink on the tissue when I wiped. But, the doc said that he transfered some growing medium in before the embryos and that it was pink, so I might notice some pink. Why wouldn't they make that sort of thing a different color, so that there is no mistaking it for bleeding. Would it really be so hard to make it green instead?
So, I'm now back off to the couch and my book for more laying down time. Please stick babies, please grow.
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Donor embryos can work!!
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
1 comment:
Right here with you! You and I are so similar it's scary! I felt the same way you did on the second day and did almost the same things. Too cute.
Praying for sticky embies!
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