One of my friends tells the story of taking her niece on a rollercoaster ride at the Newcastle Show fairly soon after eating a steak sandwich.
The niece held up well but my friend didn’t.
Half way up (or down) she felt the imminent return of the steak sandwich which she captured neatly in her new leather handbag.
I was impressed at her sense of civic responsibility. She was willing to sacrifice the handbag rather than spray her niece and various passers by with her stomach contents.
As CD1 rolls round it’s time for C and I to step back onto The Great Big Fertility Ride.
This time we’re not riding up front in the shiny IVF carriage. We’re strapping ourselves into the Frozen Embryo Transfer carriage. It’s slightly dented, the paintwork’s scratched and there’s the unmistakeable whiff of previous failure in the air but hey, at least we got a seat.
This time round, it’s a “natural” cycle (which makes me laugh hysterically because when was the last time any of this felt “natural”?) so I am spared the evils of the Lucrin syringe or the Puregon pen.
I will however be inserting progesterone pessaries.
Obviously I’m looking forward to these.
As a child I was always told not to stick things up my nose (baked bean anyone?) or in my ears and certainly not up my botty. No longer! Infertility is like revenge for the Sticking Things In Your Body Is Bad brigade.
We are the Girl Guides to the AssChest Scouts – those unfortunate folk (mainly fellows I have to say) who have a variety of items removed daily from their rectums. I have been told that this delightful collection is apparently kept at the nurses’ station in the “Ass Chest” for those times when someone might be caught short and need a pen.
Or a vacuum cleaner attachment.
Or as a nurse once told me…a tomato sauce bottle. We almost believed his story of an unfortunate fall whilst making dinner naked, she said.
Until we removed the bottle and saw the condom rolled over the shaft.
Today, one of the Fertility Sisters from the House Of Groovy IVF Love scheduled me in for our FET and handed me our ticket to ride. Ultrasound and bloodtest in ten days time to check that I have a Dominant Follicle. More bloodtests until we determine that I have ovulated and the transfer can take place.
It seems weird to be hopping aboard once more. The crushing disappointment from our IVF cycle is still with me, shimmering below the surface. I'm trying to ignore the fearful voices that whisper to me, telling me our embryos are crap and my womb is a toxic cesspit.
Just before our ride takes off, the door opens again and a familiar figure squeezes in. It’s Hope. She’s got a big cheesy smile as she tells us This Could Be The One!
We nod and smile, warily. The mechanism starts up and our carriage starts to move. Hope gives an excited belch. Steak sandwich.
As we start our first dip, I grip my leather handbag.
If Hope hurls I know who’s going to have to catch every drop.
5 Fiction Books for Christmas 2017
2 days ago