“Another deep breath,” Dr. Beaumont instructed. “I’m going to insert the catheter now.”
I breathed.
Felt the thin tube slide through my cervix—a strange, invasive sensation that made my whole body tense.
“Try to relax,” Dr. Beaumont said. “The more you tense, the harder this is.”
I tried.
Failed.
“There,” she said after what felt like an eternity. “Catheter’s in place. Now we’re going to use the ultrasound to guide the embryo transfer.”
The nurse moved the ultrasound wand over my lower abdomen. The screen flickered to life—black and white and grainy, shapes I couldn’t make sense of.
“See that?” Dr. Beaumont pointed to a small white dot on the screen. “That’s your uterus. We’re going to place the embryo right… there.”
I stared at the screen.
Watched as a tiny bright spot appeared—so small I almost missed it.
“That’s it,” Dr. Beaumont said softly. “That’s your embryo.”
My breath caught.
It was sosmall.
Just a cluster of cells. Barely visible. Barely anything at all.
But it was there.
Inside me.
“Now we wait,” Dr. Beaumont said, withdrawing the catheter slowly. “The embryo will either implant in the uterine lining over the next few days, or it won’t. There’s nothing you can do to influence the outcome. Just rest, stay hydrated, and try not to stress.”
She removed the speculum.
I felt the absence of pressure immediately—relief and emptiness all at once.
“You did beautifully,” Dr. Beaumont said, stripping off her gloves. “The nurse will help you sit up in a few minutes. Rest here for fifteen minutes, then you’re free to go.”
She left.
The nurse lingered, adjusting the blanket over my legs and checking the monitor one last time.
“You okay?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Good. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
She left too.
And I was alone.
I lay there on the exam table, staring at the ceiling, my hands pressed flat against my lower abdomen.
There was something inside me now.
