Strange how even with all experience to the contrary, I can still allow myself to hope that I might be pregnant for as long as the incontrovertible evidence has not yet arrived. As my cycles are fairly irregular it is difficult to predict when 'Auntie Flow is about to roll into town', but my last one was only 26 days, and this one is now on 35 - causing me to hope - against all hope - that this is a missed period, not just a late one. After 27 consecutive months of disappointment, you'd think I would know better; yet perhaps it is just human nature to never let ourselves stop hoping. Novels and films nearly all end with a restoration of normality, couples get together, serial killers are caught, and there is nearly always a sense that life will turn out just fine in the end. Anyway, the stupid thing is that I won't do a pregnancy test because somehow that will be more disappointing than just waiting for the proof to arrive. So, in the meantime I over-analyse ever creak and twinge of my body - even thinking of aches and pains that aren't there this cycle, wondering if they might hold any clue to whether this time there is a little fertilised egg burying itself into my womb.
A good quote I heard recently:
"Two words - uh duuuuh!" (Bratz the movie, oh yes I really did watch it!)
Anyway - off to change my coldsore plaster! (Is a coldsore a sign of pregnancy?!)
Monday, 17 November 2008
Friday, 7 November 2008
Christmas fears
Hormones are an terrible thing - in the sense of being formidably great; exciting awe. The pills have been such a great help to me since I began them. I've really been feeling so much more like myself. There were even times this months when I almost believed that I didn't care if I ever have children or not. I thought about all the bad things about having them, and counted the blessings in my life without them. I joked about getting a convertible instead. (That may have been fodder for previous entries. I can't recall). Yet, as I approach the end of this cycle, my hormones seem to have kicked in and are trying to override the more euphoric properties of the pills. It makes me wonder how I coped without them for so long. I suppose you just don't realise how depressed you are at the time.
The catalyst for this current state of anxiety is the thought of Christmas, and specifically spending it with the pregnant sister in law. While I had ostensibly reconciled myself to the idea of Christmas with the bump, the plans have now expanded to include the SIL's sister in law and her family. I've met them several times now, and they are lovely people, but with two small children (one who's only 6 months) they're just obsessed by family. That's just what they talk about all the time. I'm sure they're not alone in this - I expect every family with young uns is the same. I just can't bear it over a long, extended period.
I bottle it all up, try not to acknowledge the pain even to myself, hold the baby, and smile as the proud father repeats over and over 'il n'est pas beau mon fils?' (Isn't he beautiful, my son?) at the top of his voice, and with extra emphasis on the 'son' bit to show how PROUD he is. (Michael is not the shy retiring type. When I say he shouts it over and over, I'm not exaggerating. He seriously does!)
This summer the Bear and I spend two weeks in France. From the day we arrived we spent it with relatives and friends with small children. Literally, there were very few days over the two weeks that were child/baby free. And when there were no children there were the bear's parents, talking about how cute the bear was as a child, how great it is to be a parent, etc etc. By the end of the two weeks I was totally depressed, kept bursting into tears at inappropriate moments. I'd tried hard to keep it together, but it's just impossible when it's being rubbed in your face all the time. So you can see why I can't bear the idea of a repeat performance over Christmas!
The other thing that plagues me is the sense that without children we will be somehow always regarded as abnormal. My sister in law's wedding this summer was conducted in Western Armenian, so I didn't understand a word. It was a lovely ceremony though, and as the priest rambled on, I found myself looking at a painting of the Virgin Mary and child and praying to her to let me have a baby. I even lit a candle on the way out and said a prayer to my own mother (who died 21 years ago) to ask God - when she sees him - to let me have a baby. You can see I was pretty emotional.
Later, at the end of the reception, my new brother in law decided to translate what the priest had said in his sermon: "There are two things necessary for a proper marriage - the first is absolute trust and honesty with one another. The second is children." I nearly choked. So our marriage is not proper unless we have children? Again, I was watching a TV show yesterday when one of the characters said "Having children is a part of most normal relationships." Those who are lucky enough to get pregnant easily, or who take it for granted that they simply will when the time is right, just don't understand how incredibly hurtful that kind of statement is.
Ironically, my sister in law seems to have got pregnant on her wedding night, so perhaps what I really need is the benediction of an orthodox Armenian priest.
The catalyst for this current state of anxiety is the thought of Christmas, and specifically spending it with the pregnant sister in law. While I had ostensibly reconciled myself to the idea of Christmas with the bump, the plans have now expanded to include the SIL's sister in law and her family. I've met them several times now, and they are lovely people, but with two small children (one who's only 6 months) they're just obsessed by family. That's just what they talk about all the time. I'm sure they're not alone in this - I expect every family with young uns is the same. I just can't bear it over a long, extended period.
I bottle it all up, try not to acknowledge the pain even to myself, hold the baby, and smile as the proud father repeats over and over 'il n'est pas beau mon fils?' (Isn't he beautiful, my son?) at the top of his voice, and with extra emphasis on the 'son' bit to show how PROUD he is. (Michael is not the shy retiring type. When I say he shouts it over and over, I'm not exaggerating. He seriously does!)
This summer the Bear and I spend two weeks in France. From the day we arrived we spent it with relatives and friends with small children. Literally, there were very few days over the two weeks that were child/baby free. And when there were no children there were the bear's parents, talking about how cute the bear was as a child, how great it is to be a parent, etc etc. By the end of the two weeks I was totally depressed, kept bursting into tears at inappropriate moments. I'd tried hard to keep it together, but it's just impossible when it's being rubbed in your face all the time. So you can see why I can't bear the idea of a repeat performance over Christmas!
The other thing that plagues me is the sense that without children we will be somehow always regarded as abnormal. My sister in law's wedding this summer was conducted in Western Armenian, so I didn't understand a word. It was a lovely ceremony though, and as the priest rambled on, I found myself looking at a painting of the Virgin Mary and child and praying to her to let me have a baby. I even lit a candle on the way out and said a prayer to my own mother (who died 21 years ago) to ask God - when she sees him - to let me have a baby. You can see I was pretty emotional.
Later, at the end of the reception, my new brother in law decided to translate what the priest had said in his sermon: "There are two things necessary for a proper marriage - the first is absolute trust and honesty with one another. The second is children." I nearly choked. So our marriage is not proper unless we have children? Again, I was watching a TV show yesterday when one of the characters said "Having children is a part of most normal relationships." Those who are lucky enough to get pregnant easily, or who take it for granted that they simply will when the time is right, just don't understand how incredibly hurtful that kind of statement is.
Ironically, my sister in law seems to have got pregnant on her wedding night, so perhaps what I really need is the benediction of an orthodox Armenian priest.
Friday, 24 October 2008
do as i say and not as i do!
Let's have a nice fun one today. It can't always be doom and gloom, can it!?
I've recently discovered the Playstation, much to the bear's disgust! For years I have berated him when he wants to play during what I like to think of as television time (most hours of the day when I'm not at work). Over the years, he has grown to accept his restricted allowance of Playstation time, particulary as in the last year I have started spending a number of hours per week on Guiding matters, thus allowing him to use the television for whatever purpose he desires. Far from the early days when the PS2 was young, and we would bicker constantly over it's usage, I even bought the bear a PS3 a few months ago, as a reward for his substantial bravery during his recovery from a fairly nasty bit of surgery. (The bear's colleagues were immensely impressed; I am now the scourge of their wives'/girlfriends' lives, held up as a shining example of perfect wifelihood. Oh, if only they could see the state of our house!)
Back in the beginning, as an antedote to the regular sniping, I decided to buy a PS2 game that I might enjoy, on the basis that if you can't beat them, you should join them. This game - Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets - had a couple of brief outings, and was then left to gather dust while I resumed my facist control of the television screen. (Wouldn't it be so much easier if we'd only bought a second telly? I hear you ask. Yes, probably! But we've nowhere to put it!)
Then suddenly, one evening last week, with nothing I wanted to watch on the telly, and my hubby retreating upstairs for a nap, I decided to give Harry P. another go. And this time was golden; I was hooked! Since then I've spent a fair bit of time dominating the telly (mostly when the bear is out) and have pretty much mastered the expelliarmus, flipendo and lumos spells, Quiddich, Gnome throwing, and Jelly-bean collecting. Last night I began at 7.30 and only threw in the towel at a little before midnight. Suddenly I have images of myself as one of those Chinese fellas who play online for 84 hours at a stretch without sleep or food and then suffer heart failure. I now have slightly more empathy for them than I might ever have had before!
The downside is that in the interest of fairness I'm going to have to let the bear play his driving games and shoot-em-up games a bit more. I've been known to have a fair old rant about Grand Theft Auto - but that's not for today's entry. I suppose I must be grateful for the fact that my husband's worst vice is in a virtual world. I'd rather have Colin McCray as the competition for my husband's attentions than sexy blonde!
Thursday, 23 October 2008
The Family
It's been a while now since I last posted to this blog, and an entry is long overdue. Sharing the location of the blog with my two best friends when drunk has made me reticent to post any more for fear of ridicule, even though I know they never would. Suddenly the thought of anyone who actually know me reading this often self-indulgent outpour of mush, made me feel a bit embarrassed. Probably more for my trite writing style than for the content! Anyhow, I must continue - if only to take out of my head the thoughts and monologues that pop into it from time to time!
Since the last entry I've been feeling mostly OK. The last appointment with the specialist seems to have been a bit of a release for me (if not the bear) and I have genuinely felt a lot less under pressure. I've got drunk a couple of times (wonderful following the self-imposed ban since Jan this year), and have even - HORROR - smoked the odd cigarette, which although EXTREMELY naughty (I really don't want to get addicted again) has reminded me of the person I was before all this began. Carefree, and a bit of a hard-core partier!!
While the thought of never having a baby of my own saddens me still, I am beginning to see some advantages. The bear and I aren't the tidiest of people, and I can't imagine having a child in our currently messy house. I suppose when you've got a baby you don't go out so much, thereby freeing up time to do housework, but funnily enough, that doesn't really appeal! We also both seem to be very tired of an evening, and the mind boggles at how much worse that might be if you have a child to a) get you out of bed much earlier and b) look after when you get home. Again, I suppose as a parent you adapt, go to bed earlier, sacrifice your evenings to the nurture of your little darlings. But again, I'm not sure that appeals!
Last night I caught a bit of a new reality TV series called 'The Family'. Incomprehensibly, some ordinary family has volunteered to live with cameras in their home so that the nation can get off on their dysfunctionality. The bit I caught showcased the mother and daughter (19) in the midst of a pretty blazing row. In fairness to the daughter, I remember myself at that age as being pretty troublesome too - full of hormones and half way into adulthood, with the absolute conviction that I was the most rational person in any conversation even though the opposite was probably true. The thing was, it made me wonder why people do it to themselves. By the end of the row, the mother looked exhausted and miserable. She ended up arguing with her husband, who she felt had allied himself with the daughter in the row. The husband grovelled, while looking like he wanted to escape to the pub, the wife sobbed into her hands, the daughter stormed out, and the son lay on the sofa looking anxious and frightened. So remind me.... why is it that I so want a family of my own???!
Since the last entry I've been feeling mostly OK. The last appointment with the specialist seems to have been a bit of a release for me (if not the bear) and I have genuinely felt a lot less under pressure. I've got drunk a couple of times (wonderful following the self-imposed ban since Jan this year), and have even - HORROR - smoked the odd cigarette, which although EXTREMELY naughty (I really don't want to get addicted again) has reminded me of the person I was before all this began. Carefree, and a bit of a hard-core partier!!
While the thought of never having a baby of my own saddens me still, I am beginning to see some advantages. The bear and I aren't the tidiest of people, and I can't imagine having a child in our currently messy house. I suppose when you've got a baby you don't go out so much, thereby freeing up time to do housework, but funnily enough, that doesn't really appeal! We also both seem to be very tired of an evening, and the mind boggles at how much worse that might be if you have a child to a) get you out of bed much earlier and b) look after when you get home. Again, I suppose as a parent you adapt, go to bed earlier, sacrifice your evenings to the nurture of your little darlings. But again, I'm not sure that appeals!
Last night I caught a bit of a new reality TV series called 'The Family'. Incomprehensibly, some ordinary family has volunteered to live with cameras in their home so that the nation can get off on their dysfunctionality. The bit I caught showcased the mother and daughter (19) in the midst of a pretty blazing row. In fairness to the daughter, I remember myself at that age as being pretty troublesome too - full of hormones and half way into adulthood, with the absolute conviction that I was the most rational person in any conversation even though the opposite was probably true. The thing was, it made me wonder why people do it to themselves. By the end of the row, the mother looked exhausted and miserable. She ended up arguing with her husband, who she felt had allied himself with the daughter in the row. The husband grovelled, while looking like he wanted to escape to the pub, the wife sobbed into her hands, the daughter stormed out, and the son lay on the sofa looking anxious and frightened. So remind me.... why is it that I so want a family of my own???!
Cool down
Written 8th October -
OK, so yesterday's tirade was a bit over the top! I'm feeling much better now! The bear and I got through a large quantity of red wine and had a cry and a chat, and I suppose we are beginning to absorb it. It's not as though we've been told that we definitely won't have kids of our own, it was just a bit of a shock to realise that the only lifeline left is IVF, and that contrary to what all the well wishers have been telling me, two years is not that common, and it's not a great sign.
I've sent off for information on adoption from Barnardos. I hope the bear won't go mad about it. I really like the idea of adoption, but he's not so keen. That's probably because he wouldn't be the one squeezing the little blighter out if we were ever successful! I'm hoping that the pack might make him think differently but I suspect he might just feel like I'm pushing him. Oh well, it's just a pack.
It's important to keep a sense of humour about everything, and even something as sad as infertility has plenty to laugh at. The image of the prim and proper consultant simulating labia with two fingers and demonstrating how we might wish to apply a 'bit of warm vaseline' is one that will stay with me for a very long time.
Tuesday, 7 October 2008
Ya boo and f**king sucks to everything.
I had my follow up appointment with the specialist today, and though I was never expecting miracles, I have to say that I have come out feeling very disheartened indeed. My specialist is a very practical lady, who I feel was probably born in the wrong century. I think she would've made a brilliant Victorian governess, or orphanage manager. It's not that she's deliberately cruel, but I think just a bit too dispassionate for the job she does. Still perhaps 30+ years of dealing with infertile females will do that. It would probably be very destructive if you allowed yourself to empathise with every couple who walked through the door.
I suppose as well it is part of the job of a fertility specialist to prepare the couple for the possibility of never having children, and there's no point in offering false hope or pussy-footing around the subject. Today I learned that if I do not concieve naturally in the next year (taking us up to 3) the likelihood of me having children naturally will fall to practically 0.
The other thing I learned is that the region I live in is not very good for IVF - which it appears, is my ONE remaining option. What follows is absolutely scandalous I believe, in a society that will pay for gastric bypass surgery (no sympathy from me - I've lost 10kg in the last 10 months through blood, sweat and effing tears). Anyway, I digress. Currently the rules for receiving assisted conception treatment in my county are:
1) You must be between the ages of 35 and 38 (I therefore have 4 years to wait until I am eligible)
2) If you pay for a cycle of treatment privately, you are no longer eligible to receive a free cycle on the NHS
3) If you have a miscarriage during this time, you must wait another three years before you will be considered for IVF.
4) You only get one shot at it on the NHS.
I'm sorry, but what a fucking load of shite. Now I realise that my problems are really only of concern to myself, and an over-stretched NHS may feel it has better things to deal with that someone in perfect health who simply can't get herself up the duff. But when you think how many billions they have spent on an IT system that doesn't work; how much they must spend each year on prolonging the lives of elderly people who are just ready to go (this might sound really heartless, and I guess it is. But from an economic point of view, isn't it better to invest in new life, which will ultimately go out into the workplace and pay National Insurance, Income Tax, Council Tax. pension contributions, and interest on their outrageously expensive hobbit-dwelling, thereby feeding the economy?? I'm angry, I guess you can tell.)
And, though not the fault of the health system - where's the justice in a world where irresponsible bankers (with a silent w) weed their way into positions of power by being stupider and more immoral than all the other candidates, and then lay waste to whole banking organisations and national economies with their ridiculously inflated bonuses. I don't really know what that has to do with my situation, except that if the economy were better managed perhaps there'd be a bit more health funding available to help people like me.
I really want to go out and get WASTED and smoke a hundred cigarettes, but of course I can't. I couldn't then come to work tomorrow and then where would I be?? Oh yes, maybe I'd be getting wise like all the other fuckers out there who scrounge off the system. Seriously I work hard, and the bear works hard, and all we've got is an ex-council house that people used to live in for free, with a mortgage that saps up most of one salary, and a job which definitely does not pay as well as banking does! I'd probably get IVF tomorrow if I quit my job! Or maybe I'd get pregnant straight away if all I had to do was lie in bed shagging all day and relaxing. There's something to be said for that I'm sure.
Anyway. Ya boo and fucking sucks to everything.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
Bear necessities
Oh dear, my poor bear. Now that I am feeling much better about everything - albeit with chemical assistance - the poor bear is on a downward slope following his sister's news. Over lunch today he just confessed 'Now I know you were feeling'. While in a perverse way I am glad that can finally understand why I have been so upset for months and months on end, I am truly sorry that now it is he who is going through the mill.
Now I am starting to worry that he will end up leaving me if I cannot give him the children he so desires. He's also really not hot on the adoption front, so I wonder if I would ever leave him, if he stuck his heels in over this if - years down the line - we still haven't made a baby together. I'd like to think that neither of us ever would; that our love for each other is enough to see us through life minus a child. But it niggles at the back of my mind, and just stops me from feeling completely happy, even with the pills. It's a pea under largely soft mattresses of contentment in my relationship. The only consolation is that I have realised that there is one thing worse than a life without kids, and that would be a life without the bear. So in my mind, at least, that is clear. I only hope it is as clear in his.
Meanwhile, as baby niece or nephew grows another week older, I am still very happy at the thought of a family baby that we can lavish our love and attention on! In spite of this, I had a moment of sadness this morning when my eyes fell on the talking teddy. This was my sister in law's teddy when she was small, and talks when you press different bits of its body. S-I-L gave it to us years ago to pass on to a cousin in London as a family in-joke, but somehow we never got around to it, and so S-I-L had said we may as well keep it for our own children. Now, of course, we'll be taking it back to her for her own.
Now I am starting to worry that he will end up leaving me if I cannot give him the children he so desires. He's also really not hot on the adoption front, so I wonder if I would ever leave him, if he stuck his heels in over this if - years down the line - we still haven't made a baby together. I'd like to think that neither of us ever would; that our love for each other is enough to see us through life minus a child. But it niggles at the back of my mind, and just stops me from feeling completely happy, even with the pills. It's a pea under largely soft mattresses of contentment in my relationship. The only consolation is that I have realised that there is one thing worse than a life without kids, and that would be a life without the bear. So in my mind, at least, that is clear. I only hope it is as clear in his.
Meanwhile, as baby niece or nephew grows another week older, I am still very happy at the thought of a family baby that we can lavish our love and attention on! In spite of this, I had a moment of sadness this morning when my eyes fell on the talking teddy. This was my sister in law's teddy when she was small, and talks when you press different bits of its body. S-I-L gave it to us years ago to pass on to a cousin in London as a family in-joke, but somehow we never got around to it, and so S-I-L had said we may as well keep it for our own children. Now, of course, we'll be taking it back to her for her own.
Monday, 15 September 2008
The onslaught continues...
The bear's sister announced to us last night that she is pregnant. The pills must be working because I only had a small cry, rather than the exhaustingly bitter torrents of tears that have been more usual of late. I wonder if I'm suppressing it and it's all going to explode when we spend Christmas together with the in-laws. I hope not!
The awful thing was that we did it over webcam, so I had to plaster a smile across my face, and maintain it for a good ten minutes. The bear's sister announced it in a nice way - that we're going to be an aunt and uncle - which actually is a very nice feeling. That baby will be very special to us. As everyone says I look like Nick's sister, the baby might even look a bit like me in spite of not being a blood relative!
I had a very small cry to my parents over the phone while the bear was still on Skype to the Rouennais, so that by the time he got off the phone I could be happy and positive about it. I didn't want my poor husband to feel he couldn't be happy for his own sister because his wife was falling apart. The sad thing was that actually, regardless of my bravado, he is feeling a bit depressed about it in his own right. He wanted to be a father before he was an uncle, and now his little sister has overtaken him! I worry for the bear at the moment. I think he is going through one of the darkest phases of the infertility journey - he can't stand seeing families with young children, tells the telly to f*** off every time there's a pregnant woman, or baby, etc. I was there about 6 months ago - couldn't see a baby in Sainsburys without welling up.
The poor bear. I at least have chemical assistance now to get me through it all, and I also have this blog, which no-one reads, but which is a wonderful overflow for my darkest moods! Perhaps I should encourage the bear to do the same!
The awful thing was that we did it over webcam, so I had to plaster a smile across my face, and maintain it for a good ten minutes. The bear's sister announced it in a nice way - that we're going to be an aunt and uncle - which actually is a very nice feeling. That baby will be very special to us. As everyone says I look like Nick's sister, the baby might even look a bit like me in spite of not being a blood relative!
I had a very small cry to my parents over the phone while the bear was still on Skype to the Rouennais, so that by the time he got off the phone I could be happy and positive about it. I didn't want my poor husband to feel he couldn't be happy for his own sister because his wife was falling apart. The sad thing was that actually, regardless of my bravado, he is feeling a bit depressed about it in his own right. He wanted to be a father before he was an uncle, and now his little sister has overtaken him! I worry for the bear at the moment. I think he is going through one of the darkest phases of the infertility journey - he can't stand seeing families with young children, tells the telly to f*** off every time there's a pregnant woman, or baby, etc. I was there about 6 months ago - couldn't see a baby in Sainsburys without welling up.
The poor bear. I at least have chemical assistance now to get me through it all, and I also have this blog, which no-one reads, but which is a wonderful overflow for my darkest moods! Perhaps I should encourage the bear to do the same!
Sunday, 14 September 2008
Oh for a desert island
It’s hard enough to alter my thinking on the pregnancy thing. I accept now that the pressure I’m putting on myself to get pregnant might be the very thing that’s preventing it, but the million dollar question is how to change it? I can tell myself to relax about it till I’m blue in the face, but the reality is that I feel I can’t escape from constant reminders of other people’s luck/talent/ability to achieve what I have as yet been unable to.
Take today, for example. After my GP appointment this morning I was feeling quite positive – yet after lunch I yet again found myself in the midst of one of those baby conversations from which there is no escape. This time it’s a proud father to be, so at least I didn’t have to sit there looking at a great big bump mocking me. I just had to listen to him talking excitedly about how the baby’s due literally any day now, and his mother’s on call to help out etc, etc. The stupid thing is that I ASKED! I must be a glutton for punishment! Still, we learn by these things. I’m not going to ask anymore, even if it does make me look heartless!
Then I turned the radio on – only to hear another proud father on BBC1, celebrating his new arrival – the DJ empathises, ‘I’ve got one of my own that’s 10 months’. I throw the headphones down in disgust. Is it just me or is it more prevalent at the moment? Is it the wave of celeb births that’s making it into such a popular topic – like a Birkin bag, or the latest dress seen on Cameron Diaz? Or is it just that the birth rate in this country is in boom? Am I just being a miserable old cow thinking that this media obsession with babies is tasteless and insensitive? After all 1 in 6 of us suffers from some kind of infertility so I’m sure I can’t be the only person who gets upset… maybe I should petition the Baby Broadcasting Corporation, but I’m afraid they’re going to think I’m that crazy lady I’m so keen not to be.
Take today, for example. After my GP appointment this morning I was feeling quite positive – yet after lunch I yet again found myself in the midst of one of those baby conversations from which there is no escape. This time it’s a proud father to be, so at least I didn’t have to sit there looking at a great big bump mocking me. I just had to listen to him talking excitedly about how the baby’s due literally any day now, and his mother’s on call to help out etc, etc. The stupid thing is that I ASKED! I must be a glutton for punishment! Still, we learn by these things. I’m not going to ask anymore, even if it does make me look heartless!
Then I turned the radio on – only to hear another proud father on BBC1, celebrating his new arrival – the DJ empathises, ‘I’ve got one of my own that’s 10 months’. I throw the headphones down in disgust. Is it just me or is it more prevalent at the moment? Is it the wave of celeb births that’s making it into such a popular topic – like a Birkin bag, or the latest dress seen on Cameron Diaz? Or is it just that the birth rate in this country is in boom? Am I just being a miserable old cow thinking that this media obsession with babies is tasteless and insensitive? After all 1 in 6 of us suffers from some kind of infertility so I’m sure I can’t be the only person who gets upset… maybe I should petition the Baby Broadcasting Corporation, but I’m afraid they’re going to think I’m that crazy lady I’m so keen not to be.
Three pieces of advice
It’s much harder to write this blog now I’m back at work – plus the anti-depressants seem to make me a bit sleepy after 6.00p.m, so I’m never in the mood to switch on the computer once back at home. So, I’m writing this on my lunchbreak ready to upload this evening (blogs are sensibly blocked by our Websense filter at work).
This morning I had another appointment with the kindly GP. He’s got an obvious interest in psychology and is keen to ensure that I don’t feel guilty or inadequate for needing help. He’s very understanding and we’ve agreed that I’ll finish off the month’s pills and see how I feel – whether I want to carry on or not. He also gave me three pieces of advice, like a fairy godmother for the depressed:
People aren’t telepathic; tell them how you feel, even if they won’t like it. It’s not my responsibility to regulate other people’s feelings.Let friends and family know that you just need to talk, you’re not expecting them to fix or cure!Put a time limit on how long you talk about your feelings, so you and the listener don’t get exhausted.
The first of these I found interesting. It’s true that I have sat through many, many incredibly painful baby conversations and smiled simply because I don’t want to make the other person feel they can’t be happy around me. But why do I insist on sublimating my own happiness to theirs?
A colleague of mine who recently gave birth was absolutely aware of my struggle to get pregnant and how upset it made me, and yet she carried on blithely giving me daily updates of her pregnancy, from ‘Oh, I’m definitely in a bone-making phase, I can’t stop eating dairy’ to ‘You won’t believe how much closer this has brought me and Simon – you can’t know until you get pregnant’. I’ve sat through details of birth plans, pram shopping, and name choices. I’ve made appropriate noises about scans, and listened to the whys and wherefores of not wanting to know the sex of the baby before the birth. I’ve listened while other colleagues come over and chat for 20 minutes about how wonderful their lives have become since having children and all the cute things that the little buggers do. No more!
I’m also feeling really bad about the thought of handing in my notice. I’ve got a new job - a great job - lots more money and responsibility, and instead of being excited I’m feeling guilty about leaving my colleagues in the lurch at a time when so many are out on maternity leave, and another is about to leave to look after her children full time! I realised this morning that rule no 1 above has applications beyond coping with subfertility. I care too much about what other people think and how they feel. I am so desperate to avoid making others unhappy or stressed out, that I reflect it back onto myself instead. I don’t need to resign for another few days, but I’ve decided that when I do, I must try to feel strong about doing something great for myself.
This morning I had another appointment with the kindly GP. He’s got an obvious interest in psychology and is keen to ensure that I don’t feel guilty or inadequate for needing help. He’s very understanding and we’ve agreed that I’ll finish off the month’s pills and see how I feel – whether I want to carry on or not. He also gave me three pieces of advice, like a fairy godmother for the depressed:
People aren’t telepathic; tell them how you feel, even if they won’t like it. It’s not my responsibility to regulate other people’s feelings.Let friends and family know that you just need to talk, you’re not expecting them to fix or cure!Put a time limit on how long you talk about your feelings, so you and the listener don’t get exhausted.
The first of these I found interesting. It’s true that I have sat through many, many incredibly painful baby conversations and smiled simply because I don’t want to make the other person feel they can’t be happy around me. But why do I insist on sublimating my own happiness to theirs?
A colleague of mine who recently gave birth was absolutely aware of my struggle to get pregnant and how upset it made me, and yet she carried on blithely giving me daily updates of her pregnancy, from ‘Oh, I’m definitely in a bone-making phase, I can’t stop eating dairy’ to ‘You won’t believe how much closer this has brought me and Simon – you can’t know until you get pregnant’. I’ve sat through details of birth plans, pram shopping, and name choices. I’ve made appropriate noises about scans, and listened to the whys and wherefores of not wanting to know the sex of the baby before the birth. I’ve listened while other colleagues come over and chat for 20 minutes about how wonderful their lives have become since having children and all the cute things that the little buggers do. No more!
I’m also feeling really bad about the thought of handing in my notice. I’ve got a new job - a great job - lots more money and responsibility, and instead of being excited I’m feeling guilty about leaving my colleagues in the lurch at a time when so many are out on maternity leave, and another is about to leave to look after her children full time! I realised this morning that rule no 1 above has applications beyond coping with subfertility. I care too much about what other people think and how they feel. I am so desperate to avoid making others unhappy or stressed out, that I reflect it back onto myself instead. I don’t need to resign for another few days, but I’ve decided that when I do, I must try to feel strong about doing something great for myself.
Saturday, 6 September 2008
Aren't you glad you asked?
So today I had lunch with an old friend I haven't seen in a couple of years. (He's been living the other side of the world, so there's a good excuse). As I'm not much of an emailer, we haven't had much communication at all in three years, so I was worried it might be a little awkward. Actually, it was much less awkward than I feared, until he asked "so, you've been married a couple of years. Don't you want any kids?"
We'd been talking about mutual friends, who are expecting their second child at the moment. Three years ago, they'd been visiting the bear and I in Oxford, and I'd asked them a version of the same question my old friend had just asked me. In response, the girl had burst into tears, and it turned out she'd just had a miscarriage. "It was then that I learned never to ask anyone about their baby intentions," I had just said to my old friend. Not taking the hint he followed up with his insensitive question.
My tactic for dealing with this kind of questioning is three strikes and out. I'll let it slide a couple of times, and the third time I'll let them have it. People get really squirmily uncomforable when I tell the truth, but I figure it'll teach them a lesson and maybe they'll think twice about asking those questions again! Unfortunately for my friend he'd already had his first two strikes on the phone when we were arranging to meet, so I just told him straight - unexplained infertility. "Aren't you glad you asked?" I said when I finished. "I told you it's a bad idea to ask about people's baby intentions!"
He's not really the type to get embarrassed, so we moved on, and the rest of the meal went OK. I was really quite pleased that I managed to talk about it without getting emotional, and then move on. So either the anti-depressants are working, or else I'm just learning to relax about it some more. Probably it's neither and I'm just lucky my hormones are in balance today! Anyway, after my friend went on to meet his girlfriend in London I drove into town and did some retail therapy. The bear won't be happy when he sees how much I've spent, but I'm very happy indeed. What's the point of having more disposable income if you're not going to dispose of it!
We'd been talking about mutual friends, who are expecting their second child at the moment. Three years ago, they'd been visiting the bear and I in Oxford, and I'd asked them a version of the same question my old friend had just asked me. In response, the girl had burst into tears, and it turned out she'd just had a miscarriage. "It was then that I learned never to ask anyone about their baby intentions," I had just said to my old friend. Not taking the hint he followed up with his insensitive question.
My tactic for dealing with this kind of questioning is three strikes and out. I'll let it slide a couple of times, and the third time I'll let them have it. People get really squirmily uncomforable when I tell the truth, but I figure it'll teach them a lesson and maybe they'll think twice about asking those questions again! Unfortunately for my friend he'd already had his first two strikes on the phone when we were arranging to meet, so I just told him straight - unexplained infertility. "Aren't you glad you asked?" I said when I finished. "I told you it's a bad idea to ask about people's baby intentions!"
He's not really the type to get embarrassed, so we moved on, and the rest of the meal went OK. I was really quite pleased that I managed to talk about it without getting emotional, and then move on. So either the anti-depressants are working, or else I'm just learning to relax about it some more. Probably it's neither and I'm just lucky my hormones are in balance today! Anyway, after my friend went on to meet his girlfriend in London I drove into town and did some retail therapy. The bear won't be happy when he sees how much I've spent, but I'm very happy indeed. What's the point of having more disposable income if you're not going to dispose of it!
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
Blind sided
Well i think now that there's no point pretending to myself that this isn't a fertility blog. I think I need to just accept that and go with the flow, hoping that it might be in some way therapeutic.
I went back to work today after my op, and this afternoon suffered what I think is about as close as I've ever got to a nervous breakdown. It was all going so well... I was almost bouncing off the walls this morning, feeling great. Feeling like I'd had a good week of rest and managed to get some perspective back in my life. Boy, was I deluding myself.
Over lunch I sent an email to the lady who leads the Guide unit I assist with. She'd already mentioned that her old assistant wanted to come back this term, which would now make 4 of us. I was emailing her to see how she'd feel if I looked for another unit, who might need my help more. (There's such a dirth of volunteers for Girlguiding - if you're interested, let me know!). She wrote back to say that after Christmas there would only be 3 of us again, as she's expecting.
WHAM! I don't think I've ever been quite so affected by a pregnancy announcement before. I've suffered, sure, but I've always been able to hold it together. It's not like I don't like this lady - I really do - and yet news of her happiness just plunged me into a pit of depression. 'Why not me, why not me, why not me', going round my head like a mantra. I started to cry at my desk, right out in the open in the middle of the office. Luckily no-one was immediately around, so I managed to dry my eyes a bit and make a dash for the toilet, where I then sat for 20 minutes in hysterics. Eventually I realised I was just going to have to go home. I went to tell my manager and then cried on her shoulder for 10 minutes too. She is so compassionate, and it helps a lot although in some ways makes it easier to fall apart, I suppose. My department is so incredibly female, (and also incredibly fertile at the moment - 5 pregnancies in the last 12 months - HELL), which has its advantages, and disadvantages.
The bear works at the same place as me, so I saw him before leaving (to give him bus fare as I was taking the car). He just looked so worn out by it all, as though he was thinking 'here we go again, I thought she was making some progress' (I expect that was a bit of transference, he didn't actually say so). i felt as though if I were a celeb I'd be booking myself right into the Priory, so on my way home I drove past my turning, and straight on to the doctor.
I thought he'd probably tell me to relax, and send me on my way, but actually he was great. He told me it was good that I had asked for help, and was incredibly understanding and nice - and kept the Kleenex flowing. He's given me a prescription for some anti-depressants that are baby-safe (just in case) and some sleeping tablets to take the edge of the night anxiety attacks I've been having. I haven't even taken one yet, but I feel better knowing I have them - like I've been thrown a lifeline. I didn't want to go down the medication route unless I had to, but I've just been finding it increasingly hard to cope with my feelings by myself, and I just look forward to at least a month where the edges are just rubbed a little smoother.
In my blog of a couple of days ago, I mentioned not wanting to become the crazy lady who just thinks about babies all the time, and now I realise that it's no always about what you want. I guess nobody ever really wants to go crazy! I know I'm a long way off the psych ward just yet, but I realise how fragile the mind can be, and how if the pressure just keeps building up, it's going to blow eventually, no matter how hard you try to tell it you're fine.
I went back to work today after my op, and this afternoon suffered what I think is about as close as I've ever got to a nervous breakdown. It was all going so well... I was almost bouncing off the walls this morning, feeling great. Feeling like I'd had a good week of rest and managed to get some perspective back in my life. Boy, was I deluding myself.
Over lunch I sent an email to the lady who leads the Guide unit I assist with. She'd already mentioned that her old assistant wanted to come back this term, which would now make 4 of us. I was emailing her to see how she'd feel if I looked for another unit, who might need my help more. (There's such a dirth of volunteers for Girlguiding - if you're interested, let me know!). She wrote back to say that after Christmas there would only be 3 of us again, as she's expecting.
WHAM! I don't think I've ever been quite so affected by a pregnancy announcement before. I've suffered, sure, but I've always been able to hold it together. It's not like I don't like this lady - I really do - and yet news of her happiness just plunged me into a pit of depression. 'Why not me, why not me, why not me', going round my head like a mantra. I started to cry at my desk, right out in the open in the middle of the office. Luckily no-one was immediately around, so I managed to dry my eyes a bit and make a dash for the toilet, where I then sat for 20 minutes in hysterics. Eventually I realised I was just going to have to go home. I went to tell my manager and then cried on her shoulder for 10 minutes too. She is so compassionate, and it helps a lot although in some ways makes it easier to fall apart, I suppose. My department is so incredibly female, (and also incredibly fertile at the moment - 5 pregnancies in the last 12 months - HELL), which has its advantages, and disadvantages.
The bear works at the same place as me, so I saw him before leaving (to give him bus fare as I was taking the car). He just looked so worn out by it all, as though he was thinking 'here we go again, I thought she was making some progress' (I expect that was a bit of transference, he didn't actually say so). i felt as though if I were a celeb I'd be booking myself right into the Priory, so on my way home I drove past my turning, and straight on to the doctor.
I thought he'd probably tell me to relax, and send me on my way, but actually he was great. He told me it was good that I had asked for help, and was incredibly understanding and nice - and kept the Kleenex flowing. He's given me a prescription for some anti-depressants that are baby-safe (just in case) and some sleeping tablets to take the edge of the night anxiety attacks I've been having. I haven't even taken one yet, but I feel better knowing I have them - like I've been thrown a lifeline. I didn't want to go down the medication route unless I had to, but I've just been finding it increasingly hard to cope with my feelings by myself, and I just look forward to at least a month where the edges are just rubbed a little smoother.
In my blog of a couple of days ago, I mentioned not wanting to become the crazy lady who just thinks about babies all the time, and now I realise that it's no always about what you want. I guess nobody ever really wants to go crazy! I know I'm a long way off the psych ward just yet, but I realise how fragile the mind can be, and how if the pressure just keeps building up, it's going to blow eventually, no matter how hard you try to tell it you're fine.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Five go on an adventure part 1
For the August bank holiday weekend me, the bear, mad sister and the quiet man (her boyfriend) and lovely guy (quiet man's best friend) went on a camping and walking trip to North Wales.
Charleze (our faithful C5) was bulging at the seams with tents, sleeping bags, mats, mattresses, etc, with pillows and extra detrius spilling over onto the back seat, making for a cosy 6 hours in the car - at least for those in the back! Departing on the Friday afternoon, we hoped to beat the traffic, but it became swiftly obvious that our cunning genius was neither cunning nor genius, and that astonishingly, many more thousand weekenders had also taken an extra afternoon off work to get the edge. Who'd've guessed?
Still, the mood was good; our new gadget to transmit from our MP3s onto a radio channel ensured a steady stream of music paletable to our (or at least my) ears; and some rare sunshine bouyed our spirits. Lots of Famous Five jokes flew around the car - Five go on an adventure, lashings of ginger beer, etc, etc - although no-one wanted to take the role of Timmy the dog.
We had picked out our campsite over the internet during the week, selected for the fact they allowed campfires, and rolled up to its gates just before 8.00p.m; luckily still with an hour of light to go in which to pitch out tents. The campsite was the most populated place we'd seen in at least an hour, and had a festival feel about it. We were greeted at the gate by a bevvy of Australian workers (What does Pom stand for? Answer: Miserable Pommy Bastards. What do we call Australians? Answer: bar staff) who were jovial and welcoming, and with something akin to Blitz spirit informed us that vehicles were not allowed onto the fields as they were already in such a state. Minutes later, we discovered what they meant. At the bottom of a valley, with nowhere for the water to go but into the earth, the fields were totally waterlogged, and bordered by mudpits where the vehicles were allowed to park. My toeless sandals, and the mad sister's flipflops quickly proved to have been the wrong footware for the weekend!
An hour later though, we had the tents up, mattresses blown, sleeping bags unrolled, and a fire burning in a hastily dug pit (courtesy of a weed-smoking business lecturer from Manchester who's true passion was the slate slopes of Snowdonia), and while there was already plenty of water beneath us, the skies were for now being merciful. After a box of wine, and a meal of pasta and sauce that was far tastier than I would've expected, we were all very merry and contented, and the promise of a fantastic weekend ahead of us.
Monday, 1 September 2008
Let's talk about procreation, baby!
I didn't want this blog to be all about subfertility but as that's what's going on in my life I can't resist the temptation to write about it. (I wanted this blog to be pithy little exerpts of our reassuringly average life but I realise already that this was a major over-estimation of my writing abilities and capacity for humour!) So, embracing the fact that all I really want to do is scream at the world about infertility and maybe, just maybe, in the process make myself and maybe someone else feel a bit better.
The bear thinks that our inconceivable inconceiving can be explained by my own mental attitude to it; that from the beginning I've been petrified by the idea of infertility and have therefore turned it into a self-fulfilling prophesy. This has been the root of many arguments over the last 24 months, as you can imagine. When my period rolls into town, all I'm looking for is sympathy and understanding, and instead I get told that it's all my own fault and if I could just stop stressing and worrying about it, it would all be fine. (The bear denies that he has ever said this in this way - and I wonder if it's a Venus/Mars thing because that is definitely what I hear! "Everyone I've spoken to says you just need to relax", he says, and I hear "I've told everyone how neurotic you're being, and they all think you're causing your own infertility.")
That's not to say that the bear and I are falling apart over this. On the contrary, he has been extremely sweet and supportive and I think it has brought us closer together if anything. I have to feel sorry for him actually - he mentioned to me the other day that he gets no sympathy from anyone over our situation, whereas I at least, have legions of female friends who have been very patient and understanding. It's true that because I live through the hormonal ups and downs, the hyper-sensitivity to any small change in the way my body feels, and the fantasies of getting pregnant each month, I tend to feel that I am more affected by this mentally than he is, and of course that's not entirely the case.
I guess because of our age, we have been surrounded, ever since we began trying, by couples who've had better luck than us. There's a whole host of new little Frenchies over in Normandy, while back on this side of the channel, 5 women in my department at work have fallen in the last 12 months, and - worst of all (for me) - one of my closest friends is now expecting. If anyone is reading this, you will either think I am a selfish, heartless witch for not being totally happy for my friend, or, if you are going through the same thing as me, you will understand that it's just really hard to see someone else get exactly what you want! I love my friend, and I'm trying hard not to push her away because she deserves this baby and she deserves good friends around her during this time, but I sometimes do have difficulty handling it. Partly, because I know she feels bad for me, and she is uncomfortable around me as a result! What a mess.
On a plus side, I have found a really good friend at work who has been through the whole infertility thing and come out the other side. She and her husband decided that if it was not meant to be they wouldn't push it. This lady is so strong and beautiful and poised and wise... it gives me so much hope for if I never do get pregnant. I'm sure the bear would be tearing his (copious) hair out right now because he would see this as an example of me being defeatist, but actually, it is quite the opposite in my mind. I realised recently that the thing that has been hardest for me all along is that nobody would recognise the fact that it might not happen for us. Everyone keeps saying "give it time, relax, it'll happen eventually, there's loads of things you can try if you can't get pregnant naturally" and so I was unable to get any help dealing with my greatest fear - what happens if we can't?
Now, I have started to feel calmer about the possibility of it never happening (although I am secretly hoping that this will help me get pregnant, so maybe I'm not there yet!). I can see now that it wouldn't be a total disaster, and I so do not want to fall into the trap of being an obsessive, neurotic, crazy lady who drives all her friends away because they can't be pregnant around her. That said, I do wish there wasn't quite so much 'baby-ness' all over the TV and internet. I can't seem to get away from baby images, wherever I go, and have stopped listening to BBC Radio 1 because in my view it's turned into the Baby Broadcasting Corporation (there I go... on that track to crazy lady ville).
I think that in summary to this mammoth blog, all I can say is that it's complicated. But I'm really going to try not to let my emotions rule me... but I am going to make sure the bear is pretty busy next month!
The bear thinks that our inconceivable inconceiving can be explained by my own mental attitude to it; that from the beginning I've been petrified by the idea of infertility and have therefore turned it into a self-fulfilling prophesy. This has been the root of many arguments over the last 24 months, as you can imagine. When my period rolls into town, all I'm looking for is sympathy and understanding, and instead I get told that it's all my own fault and if I could just stop stressing and worrying about it, it would all be fine. (The bear denies that he has ever said this in this way - and I wonder if it's a Venus/Mars thing because that is definitely what I hear! "Everyone I've spoken to says you just need to relax", he says, and I hear "I've told everyone how neurotic you're being, and they all think you're causing your own infertility.")
That's not to say that the bear and I are falling apart over this. On the contrary, he has been extremely sweet and supportive and I think it has brought us closer together if anything. I have to feel sorry for him actually - he mentioned to me the other day that he gets no sympathy from anyone over our situation, whereas I at least, have legions of female friends who have been very patient and understanding. It's true that because I live through the hormonal ups and downs, the hyper-sensitivity to any small change in the way my body feels, and the fantasies of getting pregnant each month, I tend to feel that I am more affected by this mentally than he is, and of course that's not entirely the case.
I guess because of our age, we have been surrounded, ever since we began trying, by couples who've had better luck than us. There's a whole host of new little Frenchies over in Normandy, while back on this side of the channel, 5 women in my department at work have fallen in the last 12 months, and - worst of all (for me) - one of my closest friends is now expecting. If anyone is reading this, you will either think I am a selfish, heartless witch for not being totally happy for my friend, or, if you are going through the same thing as me, you will understand that it's just really hard to see someone else get exactly what you want! I love my friend, and I'm trying hard not to push her away because she deserves this baby and she deserves good friends around her during this time, but I sometimes do have difficulty handling it. Partly, because I know she feels bad for me, and she is uncomfortable around me as a result! What a mess.
On a plus side, I have found a really good friend at work who has been through the whole infertility thing and come out the other side. She and her husband decided that if it was not meant to be they wouldn't push it. This lady is so strong and beautiful and poised and wise... it gives me so much hope for if I never do get pregnant. I'm sure the bear would be tearing his (copious) hair out right now because he would see this as an example of me being defeatist, but actually, it is quite the opposite in my mind. I realised recently that the thing that has been hardest for me all along is that nobody would recognise the fact that it might not happen for us. Everyone keeps saying "give it time, relax, it'll happen eventually, there's loads of things you can try if you can't get pregnant naturally" and so I was unable to get any help dealing with my greatest fear - what happens if we can't?
Now, I have started to feel calmer about the possibility of it never happening (although I am secretly hoping that this will help me get pregnant, so maybe I'm not there yet!). I can see now that it wouldn't be a total disaster, and I so do not want to fall into the trap of being an obsessive, neurotic, crazy lady who drives all her friends away because they can't be pregnant around her. That said, I do wish there wasn't quite so much 'baby-ness' all over the TV and internet. I can't seem to get away from baby images, wherever I go, and have stopped listening to BBC Radio 1 because in my view it's turned into the Baby Broadcasting Corporation (there I go... on that track to crazy lady ville).
I think that in summary to this mammoth blog, all I can say is that it's complicated. But I'm really going to try not to let my emotions rule me... but I am going to make sure the bear is pretty busy next month!
Saturday, 30 August 2008
No secrets left...
As alluded to in last night's entry, this has been quite a week of firsts for me. This is my first blog page, for example, and I just wrote my first bit of HTML code in practice for building a new Oxfordshire Girlguiding website. I am also - for the first time that I can remember - totally and utterly blocked up, thanks to the codeine tablets that are part of my operation after care. After three days, I can't work out whether the discomfort in my abdominal area is actually bruising from the op, or just pure hyper extension of the bowels!
While I wait for the bear to come home with some laxatives, I ponder that marriage is truly a wonderful thing! The body gives up its secrets over time, and you end up with an initmate knowledge of parts of your partner that they don't even want to know! In an episode of SATC yesterday, Carrie practically had a nervous breakdown over accidentally letting out a tiny little gaseous emission in front of Mr Big. Lady, you would just die in this house!
I might be totally wrong - and if the bear leaves me in a couple of years citing cruelty to the olfactory senses, I'll be the first to retract this statement, but it seems to me that this peculiar kind of base intimacy is part of what bonds you together to the exclusion of all others. It's so great to have someone I can talk to openly about everything and anything (believe me, when trying for a baby for so long, there are some really gross biological phenomena to discuss) and with whom I can be entirely comfortable about the realities of my own body, from unwanted to hair to unwanted air!
So, while Carrie et al might not approve of such utter abandon of one's bodily secrets, I think it's actually not such a bad thing. How can you expect a relationship to work if you're forever trying to project a perfect persona? At the very least it puts pressure on the other party to be perfect too, and then neither can ever be truly comfortable with the other.
While I wait for the bear to come home with some laxatives, I ponder that marriage is truly a wonderful thing! The body gives up its secrets over time, and you end up with an initmate knowledge of parts of your partner that they don't even want to know! In an episode of SATC yesterday, Carrie practically had a nervous breakdown over accidentally letting out a tiny little gaseous emission in front of Mr Big. Lady, you would just die in this house!
I might be totally wrong - and if the bear leaves me in a couple of years citing cruelty to the olfactory senses, I'll be the first to retract this statement, but it seems to me that this peculiar kind of base intimacy is part of what bonds you together to the exclusion of all others. It's so great to have someone I can talk to openly about everything and anything (believe me, when trying for a baby for so long, there are some really gross biological phenomena to discuss) and with whom I can be entirely comfortable about the realities of my own body, from unwanted to hair to unwanted air!
So, while Carrie et al might not approve of such utter abandon of one's bodily secrets, I think it's actually not such a bad thing. How can you expect a relationship to work if you're forever trying to project a perfect persona? At the very least it puts pressure on the other party to be perfect too, and then neither can ever be truly comfortable with the other.
Friday, 29 August 2008
The bear manages not to say I told you so
As I sit here hunched over the laptop with SATC's Charlotte having a fertility breakdown in the background, I just wanted to put down a word or two about this week's long awaited laparoscopy and hysteroscopy operation. First off - everything is clear!! No endometriosis, no polyps, no twisted tubes - hurrah!
While I'm obviously delighted, this does now make me wonder whether the bear has been right all along that our fertility woes are largely due to me mentally sabotaging every month's attempts with the conviction that it won't happen. He has, however, managed since the op to avoid inferring this, which I think means he has at last understood that telling me I need to relax is the exact thing that's going to make me very tense indeed!
The bear has been wonderful actually, cooking, cleaning, making cup after cup of mint tea, helping me with the Guide website... refusing to let me do any work at all! It's actually managed to be a fairly pleasant couple of days off - I've watched several hours worth of SATC (Box set on loan), bid on an item on ebay for the first time ever (only to be pipped at post at the very last second - the bitch), and set up this blog... which now has it's first entry. Now I just need to remember the login and password, and URL of this blog, and who knows, I might even write another entry one of these days!
Bye for now!
While I'm obviously delighted, this does now make me wonder whether the bear has been right all along that our fertility woes are largely due to me mentally sabotaging every month's attempts with the conviction that it won't happen. He has, however, managed since the op to avoid inferring this, which I think means he has at last understood that telling me I need to relax is the exact thing that's going to make me very tense indeed!
The bear has been wonderful actually, cooking, cleaning, making cup after cup of mint tea, helping me with the Guide website... refusing to let me do any work at all! It's actually managed to be a fairly pleasant couple of days off - I've watched several hours worth of SATC (Box set on loan), bid on an item on ebay for the first time ever (only to be pipped at post at the very last second - the bitch), and set up this blog... which now has it's first entry. Now I just need to remember the login and password, and URL of this blog, and who knows, I might even write another entry one of these days!
Bye for now!
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