Take My Eggs, Please - NYTimes.com I'm so nervous. My heart is pounding, my breathing shallow, my hands clammy. Today, the doctor - I hope Dr. C. is on call - will retrieve the eggs from my four mature follicles. As I sign the legal documents permitting them to mix my ova with Solomon's sperm, my left hand is shaking. Visibly. I quickly down the Valium the nurse gave me and go in to change in the dressing room. In my pink hospital gown, blue hairnet and slippers, I shuffle into yet another waiting room and plop onto the L-shaped leather couch across from a blonde who is leafing through the gossip rags as if she were waiting for a haircut. How I wish I had her sang-froid ... unless it means she has been here before. What if I have to come back for another round? Breathe, breathe, breathe. I tell myself to think of only today. By the time they call me, I feel the Valium taking the edge off. The nurses help me onto the leather chair, putting my feet in the stirrups. To my surprise, there's a laser light show over my head. Am I that out of it? No, neon green electric stars are gently moving across the ceiling. What a place. "Good morning, Ms. Klein," Dr. C. says, walking over to shake my hand. I'm so happy it's him. My stomach unclenches. How are you today? I giggle, still in awe of him. He's so, so nice. I'm commando in my hospital gown, and still he makes me feel like a person. Dr. C. introduces me to the embryologist, and shows me the two screens: one over my stomach facing him, the other on the wall in front of me, so I'll be able to see what's going on. "You're going to feel the local anesthesia shot, O.K.?" he says. His voice sounds distant as he explains how, using the ultrasound as a guide, he will suction out the fluid from the follicle, pass it to the embryologist, who will check if there's an egg inside. It pinches, like a mosquito zap. I watch on the screen in front of me as if it's a Discovery Channel special. It's unbelievable that the egg is as tiny as a water droplet. "Confirm," the embryologist calls out. "There's an egg in there," Dr. C. explains. The same thing happens twice more. Then Dr. C. says, "I'm not going to take the fourth follicle." Why not? I say. "It's not ready," he explains, removing his gloves. But three eggs - that's great. It doesn't sound all that great to me, but I'm so out of it from the Valium and the anesthesia, I'm not sure what to think. I rest in the chair for 20 minutes. The procedure didn't hurt, and I'm happy about that, but I had no idea there was a possibility the fourth egg would be left behind. Still, three potential lives - or, as I find out 48 hours later, two. Only two eggs fertilized properly. Is this how all I.V.F. goes? From my six follicles, they retrieved three eggs, and so far I have two embryos - will all that make one baby? On Day 3, they will place one embryo inside my uterus. It will basically be the same procedure (but without drugs this time). I put it in my calendar (as if I'd forget). My embryo transfer would be on Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, the holiest day of the year. Now I really have to pray.