H just called to get the fertilisation report. Nine out of 14. We are both thrilled. I am still feeling a little ropey, but am home and ensconced on the sofa with the latest Diana Wynne Jones (just published on Saturday, how's that for timing?). I don't feel up to typing the whole story, but suffice it to say, a night on a ward with 2 women suffering with hyperemesis gravidum did add a little ironic piquancy to my life story.
Tomorrow, the transfer. Not going to blasts (or even day 3) unless they can't tell the good ones apart tomorrow. Hear that? Good ones! Plural!