Balk!

Last night I wanted one last manhattan. I wanted to see the super swirl of Canadian Club with sweet vermouth and plop that little cherry, sometimes two, in to the icy goodness. Add a dash of bitters. But Partner wouldn't let me. She thought the booze might still be in my system this morning when we went for the transfer. She allowed me, instead, a glass of Three Buck Chuck. Not exactly a manhattan, but it worked.

Right now, Partner is downstairs-- I can hear the clink of a spoon as it hits the kitchen island. She's turned on the XM, and the heat is on. The house feels warm even though outside it's blustery and cold and winter is no longer just a hint in the air. Now I hear that same spoon hitting against the side of a glass. I know what she's doing. She's making me a manhattan. Because today, we both deserve a drink.

Do you remember reading Peanuts? I loved Peanuts as a kid. Today I keep seeing those frames of Charlie Brown on the pitchers mound-- and then BALK!

We got to the office where transfers happen a good hour ahead of schedule. I was half-way through the required water. Anxious? Probably. So we stopped for some eggs and toast. I could barely talk, but I managed not once but twice to drip yolk onto my sweater. Partner saw this a good omen. I drank more water. We got back into the car, and there beeped my phone: Missed call-- Dr. BusyBusyBusy. Voicemail-- the transfer office has been trying to reach us, said the nurse, and they couldn't get us. By now we were in the parking lot. The nurse's voice on speakerphone filled up the car: "They're moving your transfer to tomorrow."

The windshield wipers swished. A couple with a child walked past our car. We drove home again.

It's not cancelled-- just moved until tomorrow. Apparently when the incubator was opened this morning, we only had five morulas, three 8-celled embryos. By the time we got there, one morula was an early blast. Everyone counseled us to wait until tomorrow, so that's what we're doing, we hope, at 11:30 tomorrow. For now, I'm drinking the manhattan.

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Sidebar: Cute-shoe-girl was there, again next to us. She had her sister with her and we quickly figured out that her sister was going to be a gestational surrogate. All the nurses knew cute-shoe-girl, and everyone was really hoping this was going to work for her. I heard her sister say, "They've just tried so many times, and I wanted to do this for her." I started crying. So even though I have no idea who this girl is, if you could all send her and her sister some really positive thoughts or pray or do whatever you do when you want someone to be happy, I think that would be just great.