Twenty-two. Has a nice ring to it, I think.
There are twenty-two new cells in my uterus. Two eights and a six. The eights received a grade of two, the six a grade of three, on a scale of one to four with one being best; they look pretty rough to me, all speckly and asymmetrical, but what the hell do I know? So not the best, but decent. Better than I feared.
Now I am to lie here for four days and ponder. I can stand up to go to the bathroom or to shower (like I'm going to shower?). Jeff is a benevolent hen, fussing around with my pillows, the couch, my lunch; he rearranged the TV room so the laptop can rest comfortably in the docking station on the side table, the ergonomic keyboard on my lap. He's buying me pie. And gorgonzola. During the transfer and after, he held my hand for an hour, till his shoulder fell asleep. He talked to the embryos. I feel very lucky.