is 8. So we're stopping meds and waiting for nature to take its course. In the meantime, we are having steak and margaritas for dinner. Might as well go down in flames, right? I cried (a lot) this morning after the call. Feeling much more numb about it all this evening.
On a side note, had a positive pregnancy test on First Response Early Results. So for anyone wondering, they must detect 8 or less. That's a pretty sensitive test.
I'm supposed to call the office when I start to bleed, and then we'll repeat the beta to make sure it gets down to zero. I guess after that we'll talk about where to go from here. So many decisions to make. Adoptions a pretty guaranteed thing (at least eventually), but for the price of a domestic adoption, we could try donor embryos at least three more times. Of course, that could be three more disappointments and no baby. Or we could take our luck with foster to adopt of an older child. Or, the least popular option, give up.
skip to main |
skip to sidebar
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
No comments:
Post a Comment