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!

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???!

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.

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.

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.