I can’t think of a title, so let’s just say Sunday.

I haven’t posted here for a while. I keep half-writing ranty-type posts about various matters (God, doctors, friends…) and then giving up or running out of self-righteous steam halfway through.

My man-flu (bird-flu?) and everlasting coughing has finally gone away, after what seemed like ages of not being able to breathe without coughing. I also went to a wedding last weekend, where I realised just how old I’m getting, as I barely made it through dinner without falling asleep, and had to leave straight after the first dance in order to get into bed. And not for an amorous reason, either. Sadly.

A friend of mine (the cheesecake-eating one) texted me the other night, to tell me she’d had her baby a few days before, and they were both well. To be fair, she has been fairly considerate, especially on the whole F*cebook side of things – no vomit-inducing updates from her. no updates at all in fact, as I don’t think she uses it much, but still. Considerate. The whole lack of any contact was another matter, but after a few letters have been exchanged, I believe it was well-intentioned, if not actually the right thing to do.

Anyhow. I read the message, and my first thought was (and I kid you not about this…): “But I have to go and have sex with my husband tonight, I’m ovulating! How could she tell me this when I need to not be upset!”

I know. You don’t have to say anything.

Once I mentally slapped myself, and realised that there’s no way that the poor woman could possibly know my menstrual cycle, my second thought was “It’s not fair!”

I realise, that I sound somewhat like a petulant teenager, and you’ll all be pleased, no doubt, to hear that my third thought was “I’m glad they’re both OK etc, that’s good news.”

I know it’s not fair, and the unfairness of it stems not from the fact that she can have a baby easily, but from the fact that I can’t. From the fact that ours have died. From the fact that this whole reproduction thing is so easy for some, yet so hard for others, and if it were fair, it would be easy for everyone. But actually thinking about how unfair it is doesn’t help. It only makes me feel worse, and I’m so bored of it. It would be so nice to be one of those lovely, serene, calm women, who’s only thoughts are good ones. I’m not entirely sure they exist, however. I do feel so guilty about my mixed feelings.

I also noticed, when a mutual friend asked me if I’d heard the news, that I can’t control my face. I do it every time someone tells me they’re pregnant, or they’ve given birth for example, and they’re in front of me. if I read the news, I’m fine, I retain full control over my facial features. Yet if somebody’s actually in front of me it all goes horribly wrong for a brief moment. I can’t explain it, and heaven knows I can’t recreate the expression, so I have no idea what I actually look like when I’m doing it, but my facial features rearrange themselves without my say so into what I can only imagine is some sort of unpleasant grimace. Bizarre, and probably unattractive. I have no idea how to control that either.

Mostly, I suppose, I am so sick of the way that my life seems to revolve around my menstrual cycle and lack of fertility. If I’m not actually on my period, I’m thinking about how often and when we should have sex, and then I’m thinking about whether I have any pregnancy symptoms, and then I’m thinking about how depressed I am when I’m not pregnant again. Combined with a constant pregnancy radar alert system, and trying not to be unhappy when people are pregnant, and trying to deflect advice such as “why don’t you just adopt?” and “parenting is really hard anyway”. I hate the fact that my life has been reduced to this, and I want to claim my life back. I want to reclaim me.

My appointment at the “infertility clinic” has come through, for the 21st July. For those of you who have been to such things before, what should I be prepared for? What will they actually do there? And what should I be certain to ask? (Obviously apart from the whole “please help me get pregnant”…)



3 responses to “I can’t think of a title, so let’s just say Sunday.

  1. I expect there’ll be a lot of intelligent discussion – you both know your medical onions, after all – and I suppose the logical end result might be an assisted cycle – IUI, perhaps?

    And it’s BLOODY unfair, damnit. Totally, totally unfair.

  2. Next person to point out to ANY of us that ‘parenting is really hard, anyway’ will be summarily executed.

    It’s so unfair. I hate the cognitive dissonance of being ever so happy that so-and-so is having a lovely baby, how lovely, and that this lovely lovely loveliness is basically grabbing the scruff of my neck and grinding my face into the (elderly, unsavory) sand-pit of AND YOU’RE NOT! HA!

    It’s exhausting. Hugs.

    When you go to see the clinic, take, if you can, someone with you. Husbands are good. And before you go, make a list of every single thing that’s bugging you, a written list, and share it with said husband, and make sure you ask about and get an answer for every single thing on the list. Mostly, at the first visit, they take a history and decide what to do with you, book you in for scans etc., and maybe send you off for bloodwork.

    I’d make a big fuss about having your lining monitored if they do suggest IUIs or other monitored or ‘enhanced’ cycles. Insist they check it, several times during the cycle. Get husband, if you’ve taken him, to insist they check it

    (It drives me fucking nuts, but H can get a GP or clinician or consultant’s secretary to do practically anything just by asking nicely. Whereas I get flustered and forget to ask, or worse, ask and get the brush off. ARGH).

    Will be thinking of you.

  3. Lists. Start writing your questions now. (I forgot a major question at my last appointment, despite having lists – but I missed it off because in the two days before the appointment when writing the aforementioned it slipped my mind).

    Also ask them things like who to follow up with for test results, booking additional appointments etc. Nothing worse than phone tag to find out you are chasing the wrong person.

    Best of luck.

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