I've lost count...

I thought Friday was a tough one but Saturday went one - no, make that TWO - better.

Two more of our close friends were both on the phone within an hour of each other telling me they are pregnant. I was, and still am, delighted for them but just felt so so awful afterwards. It was more than I could bear. Our plans for the day went out the window as I really couldn't face going out and I ended up weeping at home for most of the afternoon.
I wish this would all just stop now.
I've done my penance and I'd really appreciate a break.
Please can we have a baby? Is it too much to ask?

Three's a crowd

I am having a fairly crappy baby-day. One of those ones that starts out fine, things plod along as normal, and then WHAM! you get hit with one baby-news after another. I know I should stop feeling sorry for myself and just get on with it, but it sucks, so excuse me if I get it all out of my system and vent a little.

This morning we visited my lovely new gynie at Queen Charlotte's. I had a scan and the news was all good; two follicles - one teeny tiny one and one nice big 17mm one - and "perfect" lining in my uterus. My blood results are back and everything is normal and as it should be.

Whooopppeeeee.... time to start baby-making. Again.

That's the thing of it; all the news is good, as it is, I presume, every other month, and we're still here trying month after month for a baby. Will it ever happen? Is it more frustrating to know everything is normal and still you don't conceive, or to know something is wrong and you can't conceive? I'm not sure I'll ever be faced with the answer to this. But for me, to know that all is "as it should be" means I will get my hopes up, build up my aspirations and end up dreaming about being pregnant before this cycle is out... and most likely all for nothing.

The fall down is so much further and more painful when you've allowed yourself to climb to such dumb heights in the first place.

But I was on a high this morning; good scan, nice doc, the traffic was being kind all the way to work. Hey, it's even a Friday so here comes the weekend! I had two meetings set up in the office today. In the first meeting, with my mentor who is a lovely man, we were engrossed in a very interesting chat about research, funding and my possible future at the university; all good stuff. His phone rang and he apologised and answered it. His voice and his face said it all. His daughter, who had been married a few months ago, was on the line telling him she was pregnant. He was delighted. She was delighted. Wonderful news. He hung up and apologised, and said I could probably guess what it was about. I mumbled some congratulations and tried to make light of it;
ME: "Is this their first?"
HIM: "Yeah, but she's been very broody so we knew it wouldn't be long"...
ME: Long silence while I bite my tongue...
while inside my head a voice is screaming "BUT I'M BROODY TOO ... WHY NOT ME? WHEN WILL IT BE ME?!?!"
His phone rang again and it was his wife, hugely excited at the news.... I could almost picture my parents having the same conversation one day... maybe.

Then my phone rang and I excused myself and took the call outside; it was good news - my doc ringing to tell me my tests were all fine. Great. See you in a month, then. Back in infertility land again.

I went straight from that meeting over to another in a separate building, where baby number 2 was. This time it was a lovely little eight-week old girl - my colleague brought her in as she hadn't a babysitter to cover our meeting. She was lovely; I got a little cuddle; brought some presents and we basically oohed and ahhhed over the baby while discussing continuous professional development issues and our project's completion date.
My colleague joked to me: "You're not getting broody, are you?"
I didn't even have the strength to joke back, I just replied something along the lines of "We'd love a baby but it hasn't happened... been trying for a coupla years..." and let the conversation drop. When she asked what we were going to do about it and I mumbled something incomprehensible, she very sensitively left it at that and got back to discussing the merits of pram versus sling...

So eventually I slinked back to the security of my office and opened up my emails. Lots of work to do before I head home. Thinking: I'll just check my private ones before I get down to the nitty-gritty. And there it was; baby incident number 3. I had sent an old work colleague an email yesterday wishing her well for her new life, and asking how her wedding had been last month. She sent me a lovely long reply, along with pictures of their wedding and telling me how happy she was. And then she hit me - BAM! - "you might've noticed I've put on a bit of weight lately; I am 18 weeks pregnant"

I haven't yet got round to composing the right kind of reply.

Is nowhere safe? Not the office, not email, definitely not the street with all those prams and buggies about the place... Is there nowhere safe for an infertile like me to go and hide for a few hours? While I think about having sex tonight because the doc said so? Did all these people just have babies because they wanted to? Did it just happen naturally, normally, accidentally?

My dear mentor was so excited about being a grandad he started telling me about "this time 30 years ago" when he and his wife hadn't been too careful, and she thought she was pregnant - he'd had to take her sample to the chemist for the result, and how happy he was coming back to the office and telling everyone... Do people really still do that?

And if they do, could they just, please, not tell me about it.... Not until Monday at least, when we will have done our bit and I can move on to the hope and naivity of the two-week-wait until my period's due.

GG

For Baby Sharp

We miss you loads, though we never met you...

These are my footprints,
So perfect and so small.
These tiny footprints,
Never touched the ground at all.

Not one tiny footprint,
For now I have my wings.
These tiny footprints were meant,
For other things.

You will hear my tiny footprints,
In the patter of the rain.
Gentle drops like angel's tears,
Of joy and not from pain.

These tiny footprints,
Are found on mammy's heart.
'Cause even though I'm gone now,
We'll never truly part.

Fell of the wagon.. or was it the horse?

Durrr.... as Homer Simpson would say - it's two weeks later and much has happened. I keep promising myself I will try to write every day but as a born procrastinator, what did I really expect?

Anyhoo, lots have happened. Both good and bad. After a wonderful week of detox we got some shocking and sad news on the Friday night and L and I were so distraught we comforted each other, and then found comfort in a few bevvies too. Quite a few vodkas were partaken of... oh well, such is life. "The detox at least helped me prepare for the onslaught", I thought. And it was much needed. The wagon was fallen on, packed up and put away and we were en route to Hicksville ...

The following day we dragged our butts out of bed and ran a few errands. Even L felt rubbish, and he rarely gets hangovers (damn that man!). That night we went to a friends party - along with our rotten hangovers - and I had one or two drinks but that was it. I couldn't face any more. Felt too rough. "Damn detox", I thought, "Where has my stamina gone!?"

Thank God for Sunday. A day of rest was much needed, and restored some normality to our home!

On Weds last, I helped organise a friends hen night (did two nights of detox in preparation!) and we had a ball. What a laugh. It was great fun and the other hens were lovely; there were eight of us, just the right size really, and it was really really good fun. We had dinner out, played a few silly games (no 20-something willies and condoms stuff, mind you) and consumed a few drinkies. We eventually left the hen sleeping on her sofa around 1am on Thursday morning, wrapped in tinsel and a painfully tight tiara, surrounded by broken champagne glasses; I haven't a clue who broke them, but I know I was still drinking mine when there was glass on the floor [the trick is to never put your glass down]. I got a text from her 7 hours later saying thanks for a brilliant night and that she'd woken up on the bathroom floor ... hmmm!

Still and all, she doesn't seem to remember who broke the glasses either, but she says she had a great time. Can't wait for the wedding now - next week!

Last week I also managed to do three pregnancy tests. Quite a record for me. My period came and went in about a 24 hour "period" but consisted of nothing but spotting. So I thought it was still due, if you know what I mean. So I waited some more. But nope, no sign of it. Went to my GP and discussed it with her and she suggested I might be preggers. Hmmm.... I got excited for about 1/8 of a second ... and then resigned myself to believing the pregnancy tests and thus no, I can't be preggers (and then went on the hen night bender, with renewed vigour).

Despite that, I did promise her I would test again in a week, but with zero symptoms I think I am about to waste yet another pg test tomorrow morning. In fact, I think I'm ovulating again - jeez, doesn't time fly? - so I am kind of geared up for this months efforts instead. I've got a back up plan though and am back to see my ole consultant next week to have more blood work done. Yipeeedee... The joys of infertility.

What else... oooooh yes. L had a wonderful surprise for me arranged for last week. My day of learning to ride a horse. Oh yaay!!

GG (isn't that a horse term anyway? As in: "put some GGs on that nag there Michael"??) had never been on a horse before in her life. [I mean, me. I'd never been on a horse before in my life. I must stop talking about myself in the third person!]

Back to the horses :

It was amazing! Oh lordy though, my ASS was killing me afterwards. My poor bottom!! And my blinking shoulders, legs, arms, bum, bum, bum... but it was brilliant. I loved it. The horses were HUGE. And I didn't exactly learn to ride in a day, I more or less learned how to throw yourself up on a horse with all the grace of a dung beetle, slide off a horse in the manner of a person falling from a window... and sit there looking cool while we "walked on"...

Ah it was great; all I needed was a cowboy hat and a blade of straw. Well, to be fair there was plenty of straw as we walked round Wimbledon Common but I couldn't quite reach down that far from the height I was at to pull any up.

People out picnicking actually took photos of us! (Eejits!) Still, it was great. I learnt a few bits and pieces; positioning, names ("reigns", "canter", "horse", etc!) and we did a bit of "trotting". Hilarious; bouncing around on the horse, with your arse slamming up and down... well, sort-of hilarious. What was the other term I was thinking of? Oh yes - "painful as hell". I need to keep practising that one. But apparently my posture is excellent... fnar!!!!

Anyway, it was a brilliant day and the sun was shining and I got a few freckles. We got home around 4.30 and I took to my bath.
And then I took to my bed for a doze, too.
And then I spent the next three days tottering around as gently as possible, trying not to move a single muscle.
Seriously.

My ass is still killing me...

So thence to the weekend, and we had dinner with friends, which was lovely, and I had another few glasses of wine (as you can tell, I'm not taking this "might be preggers" lark very seriously, otherwise I would of course be off the booze) but I am back on the detox again now for another week and I must say, my patches don't look half as bad as the first week. I MUST be improving. Less toxins....yaay! Roll on the weekend and I'm looking forward to replacing those toxins with fresh ones as we party on Saturday night....

And so to another month. Hurray for August; the sun is finally shining! And bye-bye July; I may have fallen off the wagon but at least I managed to hang on to the horse!

GGx

Day 5 of my alcohol free life

Well, day 5 of my alcohol-free week anyway...

I had a pampering weekend last week, when we finally got away from the thunderstorms in London. I was buffed, scrubbed, massaged, moulded, pummelled, rubbed and steamed into a new me. I felt great. Relaxed, serene, worries away.

After 48 hours of this, my skin began to glow, my eyes were brighter and my mind clearer and more relaxed. It had been a hellish few days leading up to our weekend away, culminating in my receiving a £60 fine for driving in a buslane I thought was peak hours only, but was actually 24 hours... Grrr. Yes, my fault entirely, but my GOD £60 for 10 seconds of driving. That's got to be the most expensive thing I've ever done, per second...

But anyway, what with work pulling me this way and that, the council fining me, the weather delaying our retreat away, too many late nights and too much to do in the meantime, off I popped for a couple of days of R&R. Now, I have to be honest, we did - of course! - bring some tipple with us and enjoyed a glass or three of wine after our healthy evening meals, tucked up in the comfort of our beds, while watching fun dvds... And yes, there were some crisps there too...

Oh ok, I confess all - and a yummy 'flat' Aero (love them; the choccy, not the car)....

But by Sunday morning I was feeling quite "serene". Not like myself at all, and quite enjoying it! My last treatment recommended I have 24 hours alcohol, caffeine and processed-sugar free so I duly obliged. And the wonderful Connie also recommended some detox 'patches' to help the process along.

I rarely ever fall for this kind of marketing ploy, but for just this once I did give it a go. And my goodness, five days later and L thinks someone has stolen his real wife and replaced her with someone who drinks no alcohol, goes to bed early, and gets up before the alarm... the shock in itself nearly killed him! The patches, for those who are novices to it all, go on the soles of your feet at night, one on each. Eight hours later, you pull them off; they look and smell disgusting, it has to be said. For the first two days, my kidneys ached (bad, bad GG, too much booze recently!), I had headaches, and I felt lousy and tired.

Day 3 and BING! I awoke at 7am (v. v. rare in this house, unless I'm catching a plane or something). To L's amazement, I had a normal, friendly conversation with him in bed (instead of grumbling and turning over). I even offered to shower first so he could lie in. And off I popped to work with a spring in my step and a sparkle in my eyes!

Day 4 we both had a lie in and made the most of being awake and sparkly in the morning! Yaay!

Day 5 and I'm still going strong. The aches and pains are all but gone. I have the odd headache, which I think is purely through lack of sugar and caffeine (I don't drink tea or coffee, but I do miss my diet cokes and the odd bit of chocolate!), and I have eaten basic, wholesome foods all week. Snacking has been fruit and fizzy water has replaced the vino. Yes, it's boring as hell but my skin is great, my tummy is shrinking and I've regained that spring in my step.

I am realising now how much I'd let myself slide; how I'd gotten myself into a habit of late nights and headachey, grumpy mornings, how work was stressing me because I want my performance to be as perfect as possible, and how much I was juggling too many things at once. That isn't going to change overnight, and certainly not over a mere five days but if I can repeat the detox process every so often, give myself time to heal, time to feel better and time to look after me and L for a change, then I will reap the benefits. This feels like the me of old; it reminds me of the first summer I spent with L, weekends at his house in the country, bouncing out of bed in the morning with a spring in our step, embracing life together. And six years later, facing the continuous, saddening process that is infertility, we lost that somewhat. We lost the joy we had. We found solace in work, and music and wine bottles. We need to concentrate on finding solace within ourselves. Yes, we were happy - we ARE happy - as a couple. But as an individual, I wasn't as happy as I could be, or should.

And so this little time out, this recharging of batteries... and liver, and kidneys... not to mention brain, lungs, colons etc, etc, has left me feeling better in myself. I have managed not to count the days to my next impending period (I could do if I concentrate hard enough, but I choose not to) and I will give myself another day or two of detox before enjoying the weekend. And having a glass of wine. Or maybe even two.

And definitely a Diet Coke!

Sad - 2

SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder - is something more commonly experienced in the darker, winter months. But I can't help feel I might be suffering from it right now, in mid-July because the weather is just SOOOOO rubbish!

It's 12noon and I'm sitting in the living room with all the lights on; there's a torrential rainstorm outside, complete with thunder and lighting; and according to weather reports it's all set to continue for at least another 48 hours.

So where has the summer gone? Or is it coming late this year? Or not at all? Yes, I know we had a wonderful two or three weeks in April, but come on, this is definitely the wettest, most miserable summer in my memory. I can only find respite in counting the days until we fly to Australia this winter, at least then - hopefully! - we will have some sunshine to look forward to! [and yes, I'm fully aware that flying to Australia can contribute to global warming effects, but we do offset, and when big businesses start to acknowledge their part and take action to reduce their emissions, then maybe I'll reconsider my own]

It reminds me of Ireland - my childhood summers spent sitting at the window staring out at the rain. Sheets of rain, day after day. Then it'd stop, mam would run out with the washing and hang it on the line and before she'd finished putting the last piece up, it would start up again. Steaming, damp washing would pile up in the kitchen, amidst the cooking and the chatter.

Inevitably... annually... we would go to Wexford where we'd have the pleasure of sitting at a caravan window doing the same said thing - staring at the rain! At least it was so much noisier there, and the thunder and lightning felt so much closer and lower in the sky. I didn't mind the rain so much then; I wasn't really the sporting type as a child - in fact, not sporty at all! - so at least I wouldn't get hooshed out to play if it was raining, and I could enjoy my Enid Blyton's and my Agatha Christie's indoors, amidst the mayhem of seven people in a tiny tin can.

And then when I lived in Germany we would have the most wonderful storms, loud, practiced, powerful and impressive. I loved German weather; proper lush white snow in the winter, and freezing cold, followed by lovely long hot summer days in the summer, interspersed with the odd thunder storm. It felt like proper, "Hollywood" type weather, the seasons all in the right order, doing the right thing...

But back to the current and it continues, this steady downpour. It's relentless, but not quite so impressive as the older storms I knew. I really can't believe it's mid-July and it's been weeks since we've had a day without rain.... I need some sunshine, it's making me sad.

Sad

I know it's silly, and it's daft, but I just feel so, so sad today.

I feel we will never have a baby.

Another failed cycle, another missed opportunity, another month older.

Another pathetic, non-existant period, and nobody takes us seriously.

Feeling lousy, feeling rubbish, feeling desperately sad....