Category Archives: eggs

Bakers Dozen.

 “This might be a little uncomfortable” announced a smiling Dr. Sickboy.

Yeah right… and Adolf Hitler was ‘a little’ anti-Semitic.

Armed as he was with a speculum and a foot long needle (Dr. Sickboy I mean – not Hitler) several words crossed my mind. The two that stood out the most were ‘bull’ and ‘shit’. But, being the obedient little Science-Projectette that I was, I feigned belief – though not without impatiently requesting some of his top shelf happy drugs.

It turns out that Dr. Sickboy was right, it was a little uncomfortable. If by ‘a little’ he actually meant shitloads. Fuck. Ow. Ow. Ow. Thank gods for the ameliorating affects of the drugs I say, for without them I surely would have kicked him in the nuts as an act of revenge. Acutely aware of the pain but happily distracted by the now spinning room and all the pretty, pretty lights I relaxed a little – well, as much as one can when one is on ones back, knee high leather booted legs akimbo (I forgot that you had to keep your shoes on in the lab and was utterly embarrassed) in stirrups while a strange Scotsman stands between them vaccuming your follicles.

Besides the God awful pain, discomfort and embarrassment, retrieval went well and our funky chickens delivered. Twelve eggs! M and I whooped with delight at the number. We had a full carton! And that just somehow seemed right.

M took his sperm to their day spa appt. where they all lolled about in their tiny little towels, getting washed and coiffed while I sat in recovery hoping they’d been working on some seriously good pick up lines to use on the eggs… who were waiting in the lab touching up their lippy and mascara.

When our scientist, Not-Stephen-Hawking, popped her head around to let us know they’d miscounted and there were actually 13 eggs, I think she expected joy… and seemed a little shocked that she didn’t get it from me. I mean, I should have been ecstatic because it meant we had more chance but it had the opposite effect on silly control freakish me. I was gutted… devastated that she’d ruined my perfectly ordered carton of eggs with, of all things, an unlucky number.  Stupid scientist.

M tried to convince it wasn’t unlucky and that we should be thrilled with such a result, given last time we only got seven. “Lucky seven,” I pointed out! Rolling his eyes at my utter stupidity he suggested lunch at nice water front restaurant, knowing that nothing can distract me from daftness faster than food. So, still drugged to the eyeballs, we very sensibly went for a celebratory lunch where I very un-sensibly added a little champagne to my already toxic bloodstream. I don’t really remember the rest of the day. Oops.

Today, Not-Stephen-Hawking called to let us know that the fluffy coiffed sperm had indeed been practising their pick up lines and had rocked up to the Petri dish looking buff and driving little sperm Porsches.  My eggs, superficial as they are, must have been impressed because eight fertilised. Yeehah… 13 hadn’t been unlucky after all.

Fluent as I am in icon speak, I ran the number by to my motley crew of icons and they were most pleased. Eight was just fine by them.

The Buddha’s squealed with delight and high fived each other. Buddhists follow the Noble Eightfold path and are encouraged to the observe eight Buddhist Precepts to cultivate compassion, generosity, contentment and mindfulness.  There are eight lucky symbols’ – the parasol, the goldfish, the treasure vase, the lotus blossom, the banner of victory, the conch shell, the eternal knot and the eight-spoked wheel. It also didn’t hurt that the 8th was Buddha’s birthday.

My Chinese Buddha’s were particularly excited given that in Chinese culture eight is considered the luckiest  number of them all and in secular Chinese folklore there are eight demigods known as the immortals that can give life or destroy evil.

Skinny Ganesha and Shiva, dancing lord and protector of our toilet – pointed out that in Hinduism eight is the number of wealth and abundance. 

Even the Black Mary of Rocamadour, though piously dismissive of the other Icons claims, acknowledged that eight is a positive in Christianity, it being the number of sacred Beatitudes that form the core of Christian life. 

As the Icons debated the pros and cons of their own personal agendas amongst themselves it also dawned on me that Hannukah is an eight day Jewish celebration and in Islam, it’s the number of Angels carrying the Holy Throne of Allah.

That had us covered wih all the majors.

As for the more obscure Icons… Freya shared some random thoughts on eight-legged horses in Norse Mythology, though she may have just been tripping on some kind of Nordic acid. While the Venus of Lespuge, not known for her skills of erudition, just jiggled her enormous tits.  
                                
Thinking outside of secular and mythological connotations, eight is the winning ball in a game of pool. And M, when he was younger, more foolish and a frequenter of pool halls, used to order hash by the ‘eighth’ so this would definitely be an auspicious sign to him, desperate as he is for me to have a successful pregnancy so he can once again imbibe in other cannabis bi-products.

Hmm, what else? Octopi have eight tentacles, which are delicious when marinated and BBQ’d and Octomum, who is clearly the most fertile being of all, delivered eight babies.

At this point I am clearly grasping at straws – so should stop my obsessing before I am declared mentally unfit and given a ‘section 8’.
 

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It’s over the fence…

We hit a six!

The Stabber just called to let me know the great news that out of the seven eggs retrieved, six fancied M’s post day spa coiffed and fluffy sperm and have fertilised. She was so please for us… I love, Love, LOVE her!

I knew seven was a good omen and now we have six embryos swimming about out in a Petri dish comparing cells and generally trying to out do each other to see who will be the lucky emby moving into their new room in mum!

The average fertilisation rate is just under 70% so we got a gold star from the Scientist (who incidentally was a young lady and disappointingly didn’t remind me even slightly of Stephen Hawking) for our 86%.

I want every single one of them to make it but we have been told the odds are that only one or two will get to blastocyst stage as there is usually around a 65% drop off rate over the next few days as the embies do their thing.

Hang in there my little embies… we really, really want you all to stay.

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Lucky Number Seven

We got seven mature and sexy looking eggs. Seven is good. Seven is not great but seven is good. Eight is average… but who wants an average egg? Not I.

Dr Sickboy says that quality is preferred over quantity and at first appraisal they appear to be very good. Mind you I never trust anything a man tells me while he is rooting around between my legs.

The egg retrieval was quick and almost painless, though I must say a trifle surreal as M discussed dodgy Glasgow nightclubs with Dr Sickboy whilst I was tripping on sedatives and he had his head up my hoo ha.

The bright side of seven is that it is a lucky number and the icons jiggled happily when I told them.

My multiple Buddha’s were particularly excited as they claimed that Buddha walked 7 steps at his birth (obviously an advanced child, I would have had him out applying for a job by the time he was an hour old if he were my kid) and declared it a supremely lucky number.

My Japanese Buddha tells me that there are seven lucky Gods in Japan, otherwise know as ‘the seven wise men of the bamboo thicket’, which I think sounds a bit of an odd place to find seven allegedly smart guys. They represent seven virtues, fortune, candor, magnanimity, popularity, longevity, dignity and amiability.

Shiva, taking a break form protecting our toilet, reminded me that seven is the number of Hindi sages and their wives are referred to as the ‘Seven Mothers’. A nice omen.

Accepting as they are of other belief systems, my household Gods and Goddesses pointed out that there are seven heavens in Islam and that in Judeo-Christian lore it was on the seventh day that God rested.

Plus there are seven official Judeo-Christian virtues…chastity, moderation, liberality, charity, meekness, zeal, and humility as well as the far more appealing seven deadly sins… lust, greed, sloth, wrath, envy, pride and gluttony (my personal fave)

In Greek Mythology there were seven sages, there are seven wonders of the world, seven dwarfs and James Bond is 007.

By now grasping at straws for positive omens we observed that while we both love the film Se7en, M is also a big fan of the movie The Magnificent Seven…

So it would seem that Seven IS great. Now lets hope seven little eggs can get fertilised by seven little coiffed and fluffy sperms and make seven strong little embryos while their slightly sore mummy takes some post operative panadeine and has a nice lay down.

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Counting my chickens before they’re hatched

I got the call form the Stabber and my battery farm got a big thumbs up. She said that seventeen follicular nests is a very good number and with 12 of them already at a decent size she expects we should get enough eggs from my little hens.

Apparently this number is ideal as over 20 means there would be a strong possibility that the hens would lay poor quality eggs as it would be a bit too overcrowded and they could become distressed and start pecking each other to death.

The hens in my battery farm still have enough room to preen and scratch about so they should produce nice fat strong eggs and an RSPCA officer wont be sent around to shut my ovaries down.

My bloodwork results were also good and I have another date scheduled with DC for tomorrow morning (he better bring flowers this time, bastard) and pending the results of that and another round of bloodwork they may bring retrieval time forward to as early as next week.

This means we’re only a few days from introducing the girls to the sexy post spa sperms and Operation Sea Monkey starts getting really serious.

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