What a year.
If we'd known at the beginning of the year how this one would pan out, what would we have said?
January: Our first attempt at Clomid failed. My husband flew off to the Gulf to begin his new job, unsure of what life would be like out there. An initial planned 6 weeks apart became more than two months as we struggled to sort out my visa. In the meantime, I packed up all our belongings and resigned from my job.
February: I have an emotional leaving do from work, and the UK gets its worst snowfall in years, just as my husband is studying for his new type-rating in the unrelenting sunshine of the Gulf. Having succeeded in packing/throwing away/shipping all our things, I move out of our house and in with mum and dad until I can fly out to be with him.
March: I bid goodbye to the UK for I know not how long. I'm moving to a country I've never even visited. I'm very sad but also overjoyed to see my husband again. When I get there I'm pleasantly surprised by our new apartment, but also dreadfully homesick for the first couple of weeks.
April: I begin to settle in and see the benefits of our new lifestyle. TTC wise, however, we're still in the dark, albeit with a bit more hope as my periods seem to have restarted, despite being 45 days apart each time! I decide to wait a while before attempting Clomid again. I continue to struggle to deal with the infertility, finding each happy announcement from people I know very difficult to cope with.
May: In May I take the big step of registering with the state healthcare system out here and am advised to try Clomid again. I take it at the end of the month and begin the two week wait to see if it's worked.
June: The Clomid doesn't work, but I get a positive progesterone test result, suggesting I definitely ovulated that cycle - a real step forward. At short notice we head back to the UK for a well-deserved holiday, and catch the best two weeks of the British summer while we're there!
July: We celebrate our third wedding anniversary in style. At the end of the month, I begin my third round of Clomid.
August: I struggle with the Clomid side-effects. At the end of the month, I fly with my husband on one of his trips to the US and have an amazing time. And a few days after we get back I do a pregnancy test and.... I'm pregnant! A complete miracle. I'm thrilled and petrified in equal measure. We fly back to the UK the next day for a planned holiday and tell our parents, who are delighted.
Then, a truly horrible bolt out of the blue. My wonderful mother-in-law died from a major stroke with absolutely no warning just days after she found out she was going to be a grandma. We are all devastated.
September: We spend another fortnight in the UK supporting my father-in-law and organising the funeral. It's a horrible time. Then, when we fly back to the Gulf, we resolve to get a scan done to establish whether the pregnancy is viable (I feel sure the emotional upset of the previous few weeks can't have been very good for the baby). We go for the scan with little hope but are overjoyed when the doctor plays us the heartbeat, a moment neither of us will ever forget. I'm 8 weeks pregnant and it looks good so far.
October: I begin to realise I really am pregnant, and it's amazing! We go for the 12 week scan and are told everything looks ok, so we start to tell people, which is very exciting.
November: We head back to the UK for a trip to see our families and go on a brilliant impromptu holiday in Scotland, organised by my husband. We are immensely lucky with the weather (the north-east floods badly just after we leave!) and have a wonderful time, just the two of us.
December: I'm now five months pregnant. We travel to the UK for 10 days before Christmas and have a fabulous if hectic time visiting all our family. We're again lucky with the weather, as it snows! My husband's Christmas roster isn't brilliant, so I fly with him to the US and we spend a really romantic Christmas Eve together stateside, flying back home on Christmas Day. It was an unusual but very special thing to do, and we're both so glad we made the effort to do it.
And that brings us up to now. My husband is on a trip over New Year (our first one apart), so that will be difficult for us both.
Still, I know that we're both looking towards 2010 with hope that it's a much better year, one where we can build on our new life out here, and welcome the new life we've made together into the world healthily and happily.
I wish every one of you a healthy, fun and most importantly, happy New Year.
Showing posts with label Infertility. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Infertility. Show all posts
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Monday, 21 December 2009
The Christmas message of hope, revisited
Last year, just before Christmas, I wrote this post.
In it, I wrote:
For me this year, the baby, the symbol of God's love, has a new significance. Regular readers of this blog will know that my husband and I would love a child of our own, and that it's not going to be very easy for us. Hearing those familiar readings inevitably brought my own concerns to the fore. We would dearly love a child of our own by next Christmas. So, as I sat on that cold and rather uncomfortable pew last night, I said a silent prayer of hope that it might happen for us.
As I write this I can barely believe how much has changed in the past year. In the comments on that post, Someday wrote that she hoped the move would bring "many wonderful changes" to our lives, and that has really proved to be the case. I couldn't possibly have imagined it then (I could barely imagine the following week, let alone the following year), but in fact the move away from the UK has brought us many, many good things.
At the pinnacle of those things, of course, is the miracle of my pregnancy. I now pray that all goes well (because I take nothing for granted), and that next year we will be experiencing our first ever family Christmas.
I'm also saying a prayer for all those couples who are still waiting for the child they so dearly want. I will never forget how it felt, and I feel for every single one of you as you prepare to bid farewell to this year and usher in the next with as much hope as you can muster. Hope is such an easy word, but such a difficult thing to cling onto in the face of such adversity. Good luck, and God bless you.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
Tuesday, 20 October 2009
Pregnant pause
I apologise for my somewhat lax blogging over the last few months. There has actually been a reason for this...
Yes, you read that correctly! After our long, painful struggle with infertility, my husband and I have been blessed with a little bit of magic. I'm now 12 weeks pregnant, and everything looks ok so far, although I've been incredibly nervous throughout and will probably continue to be so.
Obviously we are over the moon, but as you will know if you read my blog regularly, my husband is recently bereaved, so things have been very difficult for us both over the last couple of months. We found out we were expecting the week before my mother-in-law died, and told her about it, thank God. She was absolutely delighted.
I'd also like to add that, despite my pregnancy, I hope my friends who are still dealing with infertility will feel they can still come to me to talk about how they feel. I may be pregnant, but I will always remember how truly horrible it all is. I, more than most, will also completely understand if you want to stop following my blog. But, if you do decide to continue, I promise to be as sensitive to your feelings as I can.
Infertility can take over your life, and once you've experienced it, you never forget its effects. I'm praying you all have a happy outcome, whatever that may be.
And for me? Well, I'm not counting my chickens until I have our baby safe in my arms...
Yes, you read that correctly! After our long, painful struggle with infertility, my husband and I have been blessed with a little bit of magic. I'm now 12 weeks pregnant, and everything looks ok so far, although I've been incredibly nervous throughout and will probably continue to be so.
Obviously we are over the moon, but as you will know if you read my blog regularly, my husband is recently bereaved, so things have been very difficult for us both over the last couple of months. We found out we were expecting the week before my mother-in-law died, and told her about it, thank God. She was absolutely delighted.
I'd also like to add that, despite my pregnancy, I hope my friends who are still dealing with infertility will feel they can still come to me to talk about how they feel. I may be pregnant, but I will always remember how truly horrible it all is. I, more than most, will also completely understand if you want to stop following my blog. But, if you do decide to continue, I promise to be as sensitive to your feelings as I can.
Infertility can take over your life, and once you've experienced it, you never forget its effects. I'm praying you all have a happy outcome, whatever that may be.
And for me? Well, I'm not counting my chickens until I have our baby safe in my arms...
Tuesday, 4 August 2009
Clomid side-effects
Honestly, I hate Clomid. I mean, I love what it is capable of doing, but blimey, it makes me NUTS. Here's what it does:
1) Day 2 of the tablets I wake up feeling like I have a cold, all congested and nasty. I wouldn't normally think this was a side-effect, except it's happened all 3 times!
2) Day 3 The hot flashes start - wonderful! Oh, and my stomach blows up like a balloon. I also have problems sleeping.
3)Day 3 into 4 and 5 - I start to get a nasty headache that just won't go away - oh, and I become massively insecure, emotional and short-tempered. In fact, I don't recognise myself...
Sigh. I've now finished the course, but will probably have these side effects for at least another week. Am praying it's worth it.
1) Day 2 of the tablets I wake up feeling like I have a cold, all congested and nasty. I wouldn't normally think this was a side-effect, except it's happened all 3 times!
2) Day 3 The hot flashes start - wonderful! Oh, and my stomach blows up like a balloon. I also have problems sleeping.
3)Day 3 into 4 and 5 - I start to get a nasty headache that just won't go away - oh, and I become massively insecure, emotional and short-tempered. In fact, I don't recognise myself...
Sigh. I've now finished the course, but will probably have these side effects for at least another week. Am praying it's worth it.
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Hallelujah
Today has been a good day so far, despite a crappy night's sleep (thanks, Clomid!) I've just got back from an appointment with my consultant, and she said that my tests confirm I DEFINITELY ovulated last cycle! It feels amazing to know that my body seems to be working at least a little bit.
She also laid out the plans from now on - if we don't get pregnant this cycle I will have to have a test to check whether my fallopian tubes are blocked, and then if that's ok, we'll move on to IUI (inter-uterine insemination). A lot to think about, and I'm not looking forward to the test, as I hear this can be painful.
The other slightly good news today is that apparently my police clearance to work should be ready in 4 days! Then I think I just have another piece of paper to get (they love bureaucracy here) and I can be a working woman again! Hallelujah!
She also laid out the plans from now on - if we don't get pregnant this cycle I will have to have a test to check whether my fallopian tubes are blocked, and then if that's ok, we'll move on to IUI (inter-uterine insemination). A lot to think about, and I'm not looking forward to the test, as I hear this can be painful.
The other slightly good news today is that apparently my police clearance to work should be ready in 4 days! Then I think I just have another piece of paper to get (they love bureaucracy here) and I can be a working woman again! Hallelujah!
Tuesday, 28 July 2009
For the record
It occurs to me that I've never properly documented my struggles with infertility. I was prompted to do it though by a post on Meet me at Peachtree about the author's own battle with the disorder which threatened to stop her having children.
The story starts, I suppose, in my teens. I developed really bad spots that, of course, being a teen were very upsetting, so I was put on Dianette - a form of the contraceptive pill that treats acne specifically - at a very young age. And, because the pill worked like magic and gave me perfect skin, and had the added benefit of a contraceptive, I continued to use it throughout the rest of school and University.
At the age of 21 I started to have a little irregular bleeding, so my GP recommended I come off the pill for a break. And what happened next surprised us all - I had no period at all for 6 months. After numerous negative pregnancy tests I went to see a consultant, who, after a series of blood tests and an ultrasound, diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Basically, he'd found what looked like a "string of pearls" in each ovary, tiny "cysts" which were in fact failed ovulations, plus a set of tell-tale imbalanced hormones, including high testosterone, and imbalanced LH (Lutenising hormone) and FSH (Follicle Stimulating hormone).
PCOS is a very varied disorder that affects many women very differently. Often it's linked to obesity, but as I was a healthy BMI (about a UK size 14 at the time) that was discounted. After a glucose tolerance test it was determined that I was at risk of Diabetes and put on Metformin, a drug they give Type 2 Diabetics to manage their blood sugar. The affect of the drug was dramatic - I lost a lot of weight and felt an awful lot better. And, on the advice of the consultant, I went back on Dianette to manage the other symptoms, and although devastated, tried to forget about it.
Fast-forward five years, and I met my husband. I was aware, of course, that we'd probably have problems conceiving, but we were keen to spend a number of years enjoying our time together before children came along.
Then, last year, I began to have irregular bleeding again. I went back to the doctor, who thought I might have a polyp in my uterus and carried out a hysteroscopy under general anaesthetic.
What she found was a complete shock. She found - NOTHING. There was absolutely no womb lining, nothing even to take away for analysis. The bleeding I'd been having was in fact the blood vessels in the fragile wall of the uterus breaking.
My consultant felt it was probably an extreme reaction to the pill I've been on all these years.
It was then that we decided enough was enough, and I came off the pill and we decided to see what would happen. We waited, and we waited, and nothing - no periods at all, for months.
So, I went back to see the doctor. This time, she decided to give me Clomid to try to "jump start" my system. Eventually, it worked. 45 days later I had my first natural period for over 10 years.
So, that's where this blog picks up. Everything else is documented in here. As you will know if you've followed my tale, I've now had several cycles, although I still haven't had absolute confirmation of ovulation, or, in fact, if my womb is back to anything like the way it should be.
The path ahead isn't exactly clear, but one thing my husband and I do know, is that we're not giving up.
The story starts, I suppose, in my teens. I developed really bad spots that, of course, being a teen were very upsetting, so I was put on Dianette - a form of the contraceptive pill that treats acne specifically - at a very young age. And, because the pill worked like magic and gave me perfect skin, and had the added benefit of a contraceptive, I continued to use it throughout the rest of school and University.
At the age of 21 I started to have a little irregular bleeding, so my GP recommended I come off the pill for a break. And what happened next surprised us all - I had no period at all for 6 months. After numerous negative pregnancy tests I went to see a consultant, who, after a series of blood tests and an ultrasound, diagnosed me with Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). Basically, he'd found what looked like a "string of pearls" in each ovary, tiny "cysts" which were in fact failed ovulations, plus a set of tell-tale imbalanced hormones, including high testosterone, and imbalanced LH (Lutenising hormone) and FSH (Follicle Stimulating hormone).
PCOS is a very varied disorder that affects many women very differently. Often it's linked to obesity, but as I was a healthy BMI (about a UK size 14 at the time) that was discounted. After a glucose tolerance test it was determined that I was at risk of Diabetes and put on Metformin, a drug they give Type 2 Diabetics to manage their blood sugar. The affect of the drug was dramatic - I lost a lot of weight and felt an awful lot better. And, on the advice of the consultant, I went back on Dianette to manage the other symptoms, and although devastated, tried to forget about it.
Fast-forward five years, and I met my husband. I was aware, of course, that we'd probably have problems conceiving, but we were keen to spend a number of years enjoying our time together before children came along.
Then, last year, I began to have irregular bleeding again. I went back to the doctor, who thought I might have a polyp in my uterus and carried out a hysteroscopy under general anaesthetic.
What she found was a complete shock. She found - NOTHING. There was absolutely no womb lining, nothing even to take away for analysis. The bleeding I'd been having was in fact the blood vessels in the fragile wall of the uterus breaking.
My consultant felt it was probably an extreme reaction to the pill I've been on all these years.
It was then that we decided enough was enough, and I came off the pill and we decided to see what would happen. We waited, and we waited, and nothing - no periods at all, for months.
So, I went back to see the doctor. This time, she decided to give me Clomid to try to "jump start" my system. Eventually, it worked. 45 days later I had my first natural period for over 10 years.
So, that's where this blog picks up. Everything else is documented in here. As you will know if you've followed my tale, I've now had several cycles, although I still haven't had absolute confirmation of ovulation, or, in fact, if my womb is back to anything like the way it should be.
The path ahead isn't exactly clear, but one thing my husband and I do know, is that we're not giving up.
Saturday, 18 July 2009
Smug mummies and daddies: a rant
Irrational hatred of the month: "Baby on Board" stickers.
I'm not sure quite what these are supposed to achieve. Am I supposed to drive vastly more carefully around a car that might have a baby in it? Are adults not as precious cargo? And surely by the time I'm close enough to read the bloody sign, I'm already too close to their precious child anyhow?
My theory is it's just a form of boasting. Ooooh, look at me, I managed to get pregnant and it's now the centre of my universe, so I want to tell the whole world!!! Aren't you impressed with my brand new baby-car seat, multiple-mode push chair, oh-so-huggy mummy outfit and re-decorated nursery, with Mamas and Papas flatpack furniture?
My husband said the other day that he was now beginning to feel like I do - that it seems to him that everyone we know, and everyone we see, is pregnant. And, in his words, "they're all so bloody smug about it".
Couldn't have put it better myself.
I'm not sure quite what these are supposed to achieve. Am I supposed to drive vastly more carefully around a car that might have a baby in it? Are adults not as precious cargo? And surely by the time I'm close enough to read the bloody sign, I'm already too close to their precious child anyhow?
My theory is it's just a form of boasting. Ooooh, look at me, I managed to get pregnant and it's now the centre of my universe, so I want to tell the whole world!!! Aren't you impressed with my brand new baby-car seat, multiple-mode push chair, oh-so-huggy mummy outfit and re-decorated nursery, with Mamas and Papas flatpack furniture?
My husband said the other day that he was now beginning to feel like I do - that it seems to him that everyone we know, and everyone we see, is pregnant. And, in his words, "they're all so bloody smug about it".
Couldn't have put it better myself.
Sunday, 5 July 2009
Back to Blighty
Apologies for not blogging for the past couple of weeks. The reason for it is that my husband and I decided to take advantage of a break in his roster and headed back to the UK for a break - my husband stayed for only 5 days, but I stayed for two weeks and used the time to catch up with much missed friends and family.
It was the first time that both of us had been back since we moved out here, so it was something we were looking forward to greatly, and it didn't disappoint. Our visit coincided with some wonderful British summer weather, so it was a perfect time to get out and about and enjoy the very GREEN English countryside! We were also both able to travel in Business Class both there and back, and it was wonderful being pampered. I'm slightly worried that I'm never going to be able to cope with flying Economy ever again!
On the infertility front, my cycle of 100mg Clomid last month was unsuccessful - but there was a bit of good news, because I definitely ovulated! Whoop whoop! That's the first definite ovulation I've had for years. Now I feel like we've got something we can work with. On the other hand I stupidly didn't bring my Clomid with me, so this month will have to be unmedicated. Ho hum.
While in the UK, I caught up with a few friends who've also been struggling with infertility, one of whom has just suffered a miscarriage after getting pregnant on her 3rd attempt at IUI. Sometimes life just isn't fair. I went out to lunch one day and watched these two young mums at a table next to me yell and swear at their toddlers, and one of them was pregnant and smoking, too; sometimes I feel like there's just no justice in the world.
Oh, and I totally embarrassed myself again on the "crying when confronted by too many children" front. It was cumulative, really - I stayed overnight with my friend with two kids, had lunch with a friend who's just had a baby, and was on my way to another friend's house when she texted me saying "just letting you know that my son's two little friends are here with their mum playing in the garden, hope you don't mind". Oh sweet Jesus. I knew it was going to be trouble even before I arrived. Knowing I was walking into the Lion's den, I went in and tried to have a nice chat, but in the end just dissolved into tears. Again. Hey ho, nothing I can do about that one.
On a more positive note, some of you will remember my excitement at getting tickets to see Take That at Wembley Stadium. Here's a little pic to remind you (any excuse).
Well, I saw them on Friday, and they were fantastic! I've been a fan ever since I was a teenager, and seeing them always brings back a real mixture of emotions, both good and bad. I feel transported back to my teenage hormonal state! I can't believe I went to my first concert over 15 years ago. I don't feel any older at all, but inescapably of course, I am! What is of course rather reassuring is that they're getting old along with me - perhaps I'll be going to a Take That tour when we're all in our 50s, like the Rolling Stones? I do hope so.
It was the first time that both of us had been back since we moved out here, so it was something we were looking forward to greatly, and it didn't disappoint. Our visit coincided with some wonderful British summer weather, so it was a perfect time to get out and about and enjoy the very GREEN English countryside! We were also both able to travel in Business Class both there and back, and it was wonderful being pampered. I'm slightly worried that I'm never going to be able to cope with flying Economy ever again!
On the infertility front, my cycle of 100mg Clomid last month was unsuccessful - but there was a bit of good news, because I definitely ovulated! Whoop whoop! That's the first definite ovulation I've had for years. Now I feel like we've got something we can work with. On the other hand I stupidly didn't bring my Clomid with me, so this month will have to be unmedicated. Ho hum.
While in the UK, I caught up with a few friends who've also been struggling with infertility, one of whom has just suffered a miscarriage after getting pregnant on her 3rd attempt at IUI. Sometimes life just isn't fair. I went out to lunch one day and watched these two young mums at a table next to me yell and swear at their toddlers, and one of them was pregnant and smoking, too; sometimes I feel like there's just no justice in the world.
Oh, and I totally embarrassed myself again on the "crying when confronted by too many children" front. It was cumulative, really - I stayed overnight with my friend with two kids, had lunch with a friend who's just had a baby, and was on my way to another friend's house when she texted me saying "just letting you know that my son's two little friends are here with their mum playing in the garden, hope you don't mind". Oh sweet Jesus. I knew it was going to be trouble even before I arrived. Knowing I was walking into the Lion's den, I went in and tried to have a nice chat, but in the end just dissolved into tears. Again. Hey ho, nothing I can do about that one.
On a more positive note, some of you will remember my excitement at getting tickets to see Take That at Wembley Stadium. Here's a little pic to remind you (any excuse).
Well, I saw them on Friday, and they were fantastic! I've been a fan ever since I was a teenager, and seeing them always brings back a real mixture of emotions, both good and bad. I feel transported back to my teenage hormonal state! I can't believe I went to my first concert over 15 years ago. I don't feel any older at all, but inescapably of course, I am! What is of course rather reassuring is that they're getting old along with me - perhaps I'll be going to a Take That tour when we're all in our 50s, like the Rolling Stones? I do hope so.
Thursday, 18 June 2009
Infertility nightmare
The other day, I agreed to meet a new British woman I'd just met on the compound for coffee. She texted me to say that she was meeting a few friends in the afternoon, and would I like to come? Naturally I agreed, always eager to make new contacts here.
So, I turned up at the coffee shop and found her sitting with her baby, one other mother and baby, and two other women. I sat down and was offered a cookie. It was then I noticed that the woman sitting next to me was pregnant. As I was taking this in, my new friend told the others that "another baby was coming too". And then the horrible truth dawned on me - this was her mother and baby group!
As the conversation, which was entirely baby related, began around me, I just suddenly felt this massive panic. I just wanted to get out of there, and considered making an excuse and walking out, but I knew that would look odd. Then the woman opposite, who was really quite sweet, asked me whether my husband and I had children, and I couldn't stop the tears. All of a sudden I burst into very embarrassing sobs. The women around me, none of course who I knew at all, just looked at me in horror. They asked what was up, and I mumbled "I'm really sorry, I'm having fertility treatment".
Only half the women understood what I'd said, but thankfully one of them - the only woman there who as far as I could see, wasn't pregnant - came over to give me a hug, and said "I know how it feels. It took me 11 years, and IUI, to manage it. Now I'm six months pregnant". Bless her, she was so overweight, I'd managed not to notice she was pregnant too! But it was such a lovely thing to say, and made me feel much better, so I stayed with the group when they all went for a swim, and chatted to this lady about her fertility treatment.
We have a fridge magnet which says "this would be really funny if it wasn't happening to me". Couldn't agree more - this was definitely one of those times. Inviting an infertile friend to your mother and baby group, eh - a classic!
So, I turned up at the coffee shop and found her sitting with her baby, one other mother and baby, and two other women. I sat down and was offered a cookie. It was then I noticed that the woman sitting next to me was pregnant. As I was taking this in, my new friend told the others that "another baby was coming too". And then the horrible truth dawned on me - this was her mother and baby group!
As the conversation, which was entirely baby related, began around me, I just suddenly felt this massive panic. I just wanted to get out of there, and considered making an excuse and walking out, but I knew that would look odd. Then the woman opposite, who was really quite sweet, asked me whether my husband and I had children, and I couldn't stop the tears. All of a sudden I burst into very embarrassing sobs. The women around me, none of course who I knew at all, just looked at me in horror. They asked what was up, and I mumbled "I'm really sorry, I'm having fertility treatment".
Only half the women understood what I'd said, but thankfully one of them - the only woman there who as far as I could see, wasn't pregnant - came over to give me a hug, and said "I know how it feels. It took me 11 years, and IUI, to manage it. Now I'm six months pregnant". Bless her, she was so overweight, I'd managed not to notice she was pregnant too! But it was such a lovely thing to say, and made me feel much better, so I stayed with the group when they all went for a swim, and chatted to this lady about her fertility treatment.
We have a fridge magnet which says "this would be really funny if it wasn't happening to me". Couldn't agree more - this was definitely one of those times. Inviting an infertile friend to your mother and baby group, eh - a classic!
Friday, 12 June 2009
A waiting game
It occurred to me last night that I've been off the pill now since last August. So, it's been almost a year since we threw caution to the wind and decided we'd like to have a family. I remember how secretly optimistic I was that we'd get pregnant in the first month! How ridiculous that seems now. Having said that, I don't really consider that we've really been "trying" for all that time. After all, I didn't have any sort of cycle until January, and then my husband was away in another country for two months! So it's not as bad as it seems (or at least, that's what I keep telling myself).
Amazingly, all my blood tests were completely normal. My consultant went so far as to say that, given the results, she'd be inclined NOT to diagnose PCOS, despite my cystic ovaries during my scan last October. This is all very reassuring. My FSH, for people who know and/or care, was 5, which I'm told is good. My oestrogen, which had been a cause of concern in the past (because it was FAR too low) was normal. Having said all this, despite the fact my blood tests don't confirm PCOS at this stage, that doesn't mean I don't have it. All it means, really, is that the drugs I'm taking and my lifestyle are managing it. Which is good, too, of course. The doctor said it was possible that I was just the sort of person who had late ovulation. We shall see, I suppose.
As for other PCOS symptoms - the only one I really have is mild acne. It was a big concern for me when I came off the pill, as I had a big problem when I was a teenager, but all I have now is a few spots and slightly greasier skin. So nothing LIKE as bad as I'd feared. Nothing a bit of make-up can't cure, anyway! It's a tremendous relief to me that I don't have the excess hair that many PCOS women have. It must make them feel very un-feminine and unattractive, which is not what you need when you're dealing with everything else!
The consultant confirmed that the 100mg round of Clomid is the next thing to try (which is just as well, as I'm mid-way through the cycle!) No sign of ovulation yet, but I live in hope. Then, if that doesn't work, we move on to injectable fertility drugs. Mmmmmm, can't wait!
All this baby making of course relies on me actually being on the same premises as my husband, which has proved tricky this month. His roster has taken him to the other side of the world rather a lot! He's just set off this morning for another trip to the US. Thankfully, though, once this trip is out of the way, the second half of the month is a lot lighter. I can't wait to spend a bit more quality time with him! Yesterday we headed to a lovely hotel for lunch. We sat outside afterwards with our coffee looking out at the sea, listening to the birds chirping merrily away and soaking up the heat (it's 47c here at the moment!) It was lovely. We certainly made the most of his two days off, but I do wish it had been longer!
Talking of which... Last night I caught him checking out staff travel for Business Class standby to the US for me, so I can come with him on one of his trips! Awwwwww...... And there was me thinking I'd have to go in the back with the cattle. Trust me, there's nothing like his airline's Biz class - it's fantastic.
I love my husband, I really do!
Amazingly, all my blood tests were completely normal. My consultant went so far as to say that, given the results, she'd be inclined NOT to diagnose PCOS, despite my cystic ovaries during my scan last October. This is all very reassuring. My FSH, for people who know and/or care, was 5, which I'm told is good. My oestrogen, which had been a cause of concern in the past (because it was FAR too low) was normal. Having said all this, despite the fact my blood tests don't confirm PCOS at this stage, that doesn't mean I don't have it. All it means, really, is that the drugs I'm taking and my lifestyle are managing it. Which is good, too, of course. The doctor said it was possible that I was just the sort of person who had late ovulation. We shall see, I suppose.
As for other PCOS symptoms - the only one I really have is mild acne. It was a big concern for me when I came off the pill, as I had a big problem when I was a teenager, but all I have now is a few spots and slightly greasier skin. So nothing LIKE as bad as I'd feared. Nothing a bit of make-up can't cure, anyway! It's a tremendous relief to me that I don't have the excess hair that many PCOS women have. It must make them feel very un-feminine and unattractive, which is not what you need when you're dealing with everything else!
The consultant confirmed that the 100mg round of Clomid is the next thing to try (which is just as well, as I'm mid-way through the cycle!) No sign of ovulation yet, but I live in hope. Then, if that doesn't work, we move on to injectable fertility drugs. Mmmmmm, can't wait!
All this baby making of course relies on me actually being on the same premises as my husband, which has proved tricky this month. His roster has taken him to the other side of the world rather a lot! He's just set off this morning for another trip to the US. Thankfully, though, once this trip is out of the way, the second half of the month is a lot lighter. I can't wait to spend a bit more quality time with him! Yesterday we headed to a lovely hotel for lunch. We sat outside afterwards with our coffee looking out at the sea, listening to the birds chirping merrily away and soaking up the heat (it's 47c here at the moment!) It was lovely. We certainly made the most of his two days off, but I do wish it had been longer!
Talking of which... Last night I caught him checking out staff travel for Business Class standby to the US for me, so I can come with him on one of his trips! Awwwwww...... And there was me thinking I'd have to go in the back with the cattle. Trust me, there's nothing like his airline's Biz class - it's fantastic.
I love my husband, I really do!
Monday, 8 June 2009
I can see clearly now
I'm having a really good day. I suspect this might have something to do with the apparent dominance of oestrogen in my body at the moment - I've read that many women feel very creative and motivated during this phase in their cycle, and so it is for me. I feel very full of energy and able to tackle tasks that at other times I've been unable to face.
I've just finished taking my second round of Clomid, this time 100mg a day, twice my previous dose. It wasn't a pleasant experience. I felt a cloud of depression descend on me whilst I took it, and I felt tired, headachey, nauseous and emotional. Oh, and not forgetting the hot flashes! I also developed an extremely weird side effect - a stuffy and/or runny nose, which only lasted as long as I took the tablets.
Although I knew that how I was feeling was medically induced, it was still a wretched period of time. My poor husband didn't know what to do about it, but tried manfully to cheer me up, anyway. It was hideous.
Anyhow, as I said, I'm feeling much better now. I have yet to see if I ovulate on this dose. I'm taking my temperature every day and charting to see if I can identify ovulation. Fingers crossed. My husband is away for a lot of this month, so odds on I'll ovulate when he's not around, but hey ho, such is life! At this point I'd settle for just ovulating and having a normal cycle length. That, we can work with! I'm heading back to the consultant later this week. She'll have the results of my blood tests. It will be very interesting to find out what on earth my hormones are doing!
We had a fantastic outing at the weekend with a couple we've become good friends with. They've both lived here for a long time and are experienced desert drivers. We had a wonderful (and sometimes rather scary!) time driving up steep sand dunes in our 4x4s, and watching the locals "doing tricks" - things like driving almost completely on their side along the side of a dune. Quite breathtaking stuff. Then, we went to the beach and swam in the gorgeous warm, clear water. A perfect afternoon, Gulf style.
I'm also in a good mood because I had a trial day at a potential employer yesterday, and it went very well. They said some very nice things about my abilities. It's been a while since I've had that sort of feedback, so it was fantastic. I'm feeling very buoyed by it. There's now a contract "in the system" but given the way things work in the Arab world, it may still be a long time before I'm gainfully employed again! Nevermind, it will happen, eventually. You have to learn that attitude when you live in the Gulf, otherwise you'd go crazy.
Insha'Allah, as they say here...
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Infertility bore
I'm beginning to worry that I might be boring my friends will all my thoughts about my infertility. I had lunch with a lovely new friend today who said she felt I carried an "overwhelming sadness" around with me about it. I don't think she meant it in an awful way, but it did make me think a bit.
It's certainly true that it's become something of a pre-occupation at the moment. This is partly because I'm not working, so it's taken more of a central position in my list of things to think about on a daily basis. It's also because I'm actively undergoing tests and taking my BBT every day, so it's very much something that takes up a lot of my time. And of course, it IS a very emotional thing to deal with, and I do tend to talk to my friends about it because that makes me feel better.
The thing is, I'm not sure that I can do anything about it. I tend to think that in much the same way as I'm very tolerant of my friends (quite naturally) talking all the time about their new baby, they should be just as tolerant of me talking about my attempts to have one! What do you think?
I had my first appointment with a specialist here the other day, and it went really well. My husband and I are being sent for a raft of tests, many of which the NHS simply wouldn't have bothered with if we were still in the UK. So, I'm feeling very positive about that.
And on other topics... It's currently 47c outside! ! The first time we saw that on the car thermometer we thought we were hallucinating! We're slowly adjusting to it, though - basically you don't go outside for more than a minute or two between 11am-3pm unless you're in a car. The evenings here are lovely, though - very warm and relaxing. We went to the beach the other day at 5pm, and it was perfect! The sea really was the temperature of a warm bath.
You certainly don't get that in Peckham....
It's certainly true that it's become something of a pre-occupation at the moment. This is partly because I'm not working, so it's taken more of a central position in my list of things to think about on a daily basis. It's also because I'm actively undergoing tests and taking my BBT every day, so it's very much something that takes up a lot of my time. And of course, it IS a very emotional thing to deal with, and I do tend to talk to my friends about it because that makes me feel better.
The thing is, I'm not sure that I can do anything about it. I tend to think that in much the same way as I'm very tolerant of my friends (quite naturally) talking all the time about their new baby, they should be just as tolerant of me talking about my attempts to have one! What do you think?
I had my first appointment with a specialist here the other day, and it went really well. My husband and I are being sent for a raft of tests, many of which the NHS simply wouldn't have bothered with if we were still in the UK. So, I'm feeling very positive about that.
And on other topics... It's currently 47c outside! ! The first time we saw that on the car thermometer we thought we were hallucinating! We're slowly adjusting to it, though - basically you don't go outside for more than a minute or two between 11am-3pm unless you're in a car. The evenings here are lovely, though - very warm and relaxing. We went to the beach the other day at 5pm, and it was perfect! The sea really was the temperature of a warm bath.
You certainly don't get that in Peckham....
Thursday, 7 May 2009
Adventures in infertility
The journey that infertility takes you on has lots of unexpected turns. Certainly moving out to the Gulf has put a whole new perspective on it. One of my concerns about leaving the UK was leaving the NHS behind, because I was being treated there by an excellent gynaecologist and I was firmly "in the system", something that my fellow Brits will understand is quite a feat!
Although we have great health insurance out here, it doesn't cover anything more than "investigations into infertility". Although this might be slightly helpful, providing cover for blood tests etc, it's not going to help at all should be need any further treatment than Clomid. Luckily, there's a national health service out here too, and despite its chaotic exterior, it has a great reputation for fertility treatment. What's interesting is that very few expats take advantage of it, so I felt like a real adventurer heading to my nearest primary care centre yesterday for my health card.
Finding it was like classic farce; the rather tired building was actually hidden behind a vast new one they've built but not yet opened, and the whole complex was hidden behind the most monstrous road works known to man. All the parking was on scrub land, any which way the locals could fit, and when I went in I went through the men's entrance (of course!!!) and had to be ushered through to the women's section by a rather embarrassed male indian orderly.
Once there, it was far from clear what I was supposed to do next. Arab women here are generally covered from head to toe in the black abaya, with their faces covered too, so it's particularly difficult to make eye contact and work out whether you're being spoken to or not. They also do not believe in queueing. It's quite incredible watching a crowd of women jostling for the attention of the women behind the desk, thrusting their paperwork over the head/under the arm/through the legs of the woman in front.
Luckily, my embarrassed orderly pointed me in the direction of the cashier, where there wasn't a queue. When I told her I needed to enrol she found an English speaking nurse who told me what ID was needed, and then once this was done pointed in the direction of a corridor to the left and told me to "wait there". Once I got there I saw a hole in the wall marked "medical cards - women" and the tell-tale mass of abayas. I stood in the "queue" for about half an hour, being overtaken endlessly, before the advice of an English gulf-based nurse friend came back to me - "don't queue, because the locals don't. Push in. You're white and western. Use it." Sadly, I couldn't see any other option, so I adopted the approach of standing directly behind the woman being served, and, being considerably taller, managed to attract her attention and receive my card.
Anyhow, health card achieved, I decided I would go the whole hog and wait to see a GP. This proved more difficult than I'd expected, as when I was handed the number card which told me where I was in the waiting list, it was in Arabic script. I also realised I had no idea what the number sounded like either, so being called in Arabic would be no help at all! So I asked a few of the women if they spoke English, and they were very friendly and wrote the number down in English for me, and one in particular, who didn't have her face covered, came and sat down next to me. She told me she was Sudanese, and finding that I was British, launched into a tale about how her son was severely disabled and that she'd recently been to the UK for an operation for him, which had been performed by a famous British surgeon who I met quite recently! The world is indeed a small place.
Anyhow, after waiting for about 30 minutes she told me I might as well knock on the doctor's door between consultations and ask how long I'd have to wait, which I did, again remembering my nurse friend's advice. On doing this the doctor told me that I was number 28, and she was now on 36. I had been leap-frogged! But nevermind, she said, come in and sit down. She explained to the Arab woman who barged in just after me what had happened, and she seemed to accept it with resignation - all's fair in love and queue barging here, it seems.
My conversation with the doctor was fascinating. Instead of asking how long we'd been trying for a baby, she asked how many years we had been married. Out here, contraception clearly isn't an issue! Once you're married, that's it. I also found out the other day that in order to get a smear test on the national health system you need to produce a marriage certificate. Anyhow, she asked me whether I wanted to have an ultrasound and blood tests done there at the centre or whether I'd just prefer an immediate referral. I said I'd prefer the referral, and she said "Yes, that's a good idea. You don't need this (meaning the chaotic doctor's surgery) do you? It's like a zoo out there!" Which seemed to be a rather good analogy. Particularly as it was next door to the ACTUAL zoo. Poetic, really.
Oh, and my nurse friend's other piece of advice about handling the system was "Cry. They don't know what to do, but want to help".
Luckily I didn't need this piece of advice on this occasion, but I'm keeping it in reserve...
Although we have great health insurance out here, it doesn't cover anything more than "investigations into infertility". Although this might be slightly helpful, providing cover for blood tests etc, it's not going to help at all should be need any further treatment than Clomid. Luckily, there's a national health service out here too, and despite its chaotic exterior, it has a great reputation for fertility treatment. What's interesting is that very few expats take advantage of it, so I felt like a real adventurer heading to my nearest primary care centre yesterday for my health card.
Finding it was like classic farce; the rather tired building was actually hidden behind a vast new one they've built but not yet opened, and the whole complex was hidden behind the most monstrous road works known to man. All the parking was on scrub land, any which way the locals could fit, and when I went in I went through the men's entrance (of course!!!) and had to be ushered through to the women's section by a rather embarrassed male indian orderly.
Once there, it was far from clear what I was supposed to do next. Arab women here are generally covered from head to toe in the black abaya, with their faces covered too, so it's particularly difficult to make eye contact and work out whether you're being spoken to or not. They also do not believe in queueing. It's quite incredible watching a crowd of women jostling for the attention of the women behind the desk, thrusting their paperwork over the head/under the arm/through the legs of the woman in front.
Luckily, my embarrassed orderly pointed me in the direction of the cashier, where there wasn't a queue. When I told her I needed to enrol she found an English speaking nurse who told me what ID was needed, and then once this was done pointed in the direction of a corridor to the left and told me to "wait there". Once I got there I saw a hole in the wall marked "medical cards - women" and the tell-tale mass of abayas. I stood in the "queue" for about half an hour, being overtaken endlessly, before the advice of an English gulf-based nurse friend came back to me - "don't queue, because the locals don't. Push in. You're white and western. Use it." Sadly, I couldn't see any other option, so I adopted the approach of standing directly behind the woman being served, and, being considerably taller, managed to attract her attention and receive my card.
Anyhow, health card achieved, I decided I would go the whole hog and wait to see a GP. This proved more difficult than I'd expected, as when I was handed the number card which told me where I was in the waiting list, it was in Arabic script. I also realised I had no idea what the number sounded like either, so being called in Arabic would be no help at all! So I asked a few of the women if they spoke English, and they were very friendly and wrote the number down in English for me, and one in particular, who didn't have her face covered, came and sat down next to me. She told me she was Sudanese, and finding that I was British, launched into a tale about how her son was severely disabled and that she'd recently been to the UK for an operation for him, which had been performed by a famous British surgeon who I met quite recently! The world is indeed a small place.
Anyhow, after waiting for about 30 minutes she told me I might as well knock on the doctor's door between consultations and ask how long I'd have to wait, which I did, again remembering my nurse friend's advice. On doing this the doctor told me that I was number 28, and she was now on 36. I had been leap-frogged! But nevermind, she said, come in and sit down. She explained to the Arab woman who barged in just after me what had happened, and she seemed to accept it with resignation - all's fair in love and queue barging here, it seems.
My conversation with the doctor was fascinating. Instead of asking how long we'd been trying for a baby, she asked how many years we had been married. Out here, contraception clearly isn't an issue! Once you're married, that's it. I also found out the other day that in order to get a smear test on the national health system you need to produce a marriage certificate. Anyhow, she asked me whether I wanted to have an ultrasound and blood tests done there at the centre or whether I'd just prefer an immediate referral. I said I'd prefer the referral, and she said "Yes, that's a good idea. You don't need this (meaning the chaotic doctor's surgery) do you? It's like a zoo out there!" Which seemed to be a rather good analogy. Particularly as it was next door to the ACTUAL zoo. Poetic, really.
Oh, and my nurse friend's other piece of advice about handling the system was "Cry. They don't know what to do, but want to help".
Luckily I didn't need this piece of advice on this occasion, but I'm keeping it in reserve...
Tuesday, 28 April 2009
The green eyed monster
Yesterday, an old colleague emailed to tell me that she'd been successful in her first round of Clomid, and was now 14 weeks pregnant. To be fair to her, she did acknowledge that this would be be difficult news for me to hear. And it was, very difficult. Particularly as my first round of Clomid did absolutely nothing except give me hot flashes and make me feel wacky.
Yet again, I find myself in the ridiculous position of being jealous of anyone who gets pregnant. The other day, another friend (male) announced his wife was pregnant on Facebook. I removed him as a friend immediately. Several other distant friends are pregnant too and I'm seriously considering removing them too so I'm not subjected to endless pregnancy pics/baby shower pics/new baby pics/pics of baby's first smile, baby's first bath, etc etc, ad infinitum. Do I sound bitter? Well, I suppose I am. Here we are, a very happy couple who are desperate to become parents, and everything seems to be against us.
The only good news on the fertility horizon is that I seem to be having regular cycles now, albeit 45 day ones! Research suggests these may or may not be ovulatory, so I have no idea if we could get pregnant or not. I haven't taken Clomid again since my first attempt. My doctor in the UK prescribed me double the dose for the next attempt but what with the move etc I just didn't feel I could cope with the extra hormones. This month was a possibility, but my husband will be away on a trip on the key days, so there's no point! That's another slight issue - my husband's new long-haul lifestyle means him being home at the right time is far from guaranteed.
Still, we'll persist, and hope for a miracle. On the job front I have an offer of some freelance work, which is great. I'm also facing a dilemma as a full-time job has come up that I'd be really suited to. I just don't think I want it! I want to be able to travel with my husband, be around for guests when they visit, etc, and generally not be so stressed out every day. Still, if I don't apply I'll feel like I've let myself and my husband down, as it's a great job. What should I do? Answers on a postcard, please...
Yet again, I find myself in the ridiculous position of being jealous of anyone who gets pregnant. The other day, another friend (male) announced his wife was pregnant on Facebook. I removed him as a friend immediately. Several other distant friends are pregnant too and I'm seriously considering removing them too so I'm not subjected to endless pregnancy pics/baby shower pics/new baby pics/pics of baby's first smile, baby's first bath, etc etc, ad infinitum. Do I sound bitter? Well, I suppose I am. Here we are, a very happy couple who are desperate to become parents, and everything seems to be against us.
The only good news on the fertility horizon is that I seem to be having regular cycles now, albeit 45 day ones! Research suggests these may or may not be ovulatory, so I have no idea if we could get pregnant or not. I haven't taken Clomid again since my first attempt. My doctor in the UK prescribed me double the dose for the next attempt but what with the move etc I just didn't feel I could cope with the extra hormones. This month was a possibility, but my husband will be away on a trip on the key days, so there's no point! That's another slight issue - my husband's new long-haul lifestyle means him being home at the right time is far from guaranteed.
Still, we'll persist, and hope for a miracle. On the job front I have an offer of some freelance work, which is great. I'm also facing a dilemma as a full-time job has come up that I'd be really suited to. I just don't think I want it! I want to be able to travel with my husband, be around for guests when they visit, etc, and generally not be so stressed out every day. Still, if I don't apply I'll feel like I've let myself and my husband down, as it's a great job. What should I do? Answers on a postcard, please...
Sunday, 25 January 2009
My body sort of works
I'm celebrating a little feat of wonder today. My broken hormones have managed a small miracle. For the first time in about 11 years of being on the pill, and five months after coming off it, I'm having what seems to be a period all on my own.
This won't seem like a reason to celebrate for most people (in fact, the very opposite for some!) but for me it's a sign that things are starting to work "normally" again, so it's great news. Now I'll have to see what happens next month...
This won't seem like a reason to celebrate for most people (in fact, the very opposite for some!) but for me it's a sign that things are starting to work "normally" again, so it's great news. Now I'll have to see what happens next month...
Monday, 19 January 2009
Round one of fertility treatment - over and out
I'm beginning to feel depressed about the whole infertility journey. I know we're pretty much at the beginning (many people try for years) but I just feel like it's never going to work.
A blood test I had done last week showed that I didn't ovulate on Clomid. This will probably mean that I will have to go on twice the dose next cycle (nice). As it stands, I just don't cycle at all. Somehow my body's got so confused that all the normal signals that should be being sent around about hormone levels just aren't getting through. Damn and blast being on the pill for years. I think that must have had something to do with it, although my PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) is obviously playing a part too.
I just can't imagine a future where my husband and I can't have a family. It just seems so unfair. He would be such a wonderful father, and I desperately want to give him the opportunity to be a daddy.
Sometimes I just can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.
A blood test I had done last week showed that I didn't ovulate on Clomid. This will probably mean that I will have to go on twice the dose next cycle (nice). As it stands, I just don't cycle at all. Somehow my body's got so confused that all the normal signals that should be being sent around about hormone levels just aren't getting through. Damn and blast being on the pill for years. I think that must have had something to do with it, although my PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) is obviously playing a part too.
I just can't imagine a future where my husband and I can't have a family. It just seems so unfair. He would be such a wonderful father, and I desperately want to give him the opportunity to be a daddy.
Sometimes I just can't see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
"All pilots cheat" and other, more important matters
I got a long and pretty bitter comment the other day on this post. It was from a woman whose pilot husband had cheated on her, despite her conviction that he just wasn't that "type" of man. This lady seemed to think that I needed to learn from her experience.
Errr... Sorry, but no. As a pilot's wife, I am, by default, often challenged by doomsayers about the "girl in every port" stereotype. I rejected it a long time ago, because, quite simply, you just cannot tar one hugely diverse group of people with the same brush. As I mentioned in that post, if you are the sort who wants to cheat, then aviation is the business for you. It's very easy to get away with it if you want to - I know several women whose partners have strayed - but that doesn't mean that you will. I'm sick and tired of people lumping all pilots together and insisting they have the same characteristics and behavioural traits. They're individuals, people!! I really am sorry that your husband cheated on you, my dear, but he was YOUR husband, an individual in his own right, as we all are.
Enough of that, I think. Please feel free to contribute to those comments if you have something to say!
On other issues - my husband has only a week left in the UK before he heads out to the Gulf. I'm already anxious about him going. I'm rubbish without him, and I know I'm going to cry for Britain when he goes. Still, only one month more and I'll be out there too - and there's so much to do before I go. I'm going to try to keep busy so that the month goes quickly. I have lots of friends and family to catch up with, including my very elderly Grandma.
We're also going to find out shortly whether this round of Clomid worked. I'm not sure really - I just hope that, eventually, all the side effects are worth it!
Errr... Sorry, but no. As a pilot's wife, I am, by default, often challenged by doomsayers about the "girl in every port" stereotype. I rejected it a long time ago, because, quite simply, you just cannot tar one hugely diverse group of people with the same brush. As I mentioned in that post, if you are the sort who wants to cheat, then aviation is the business for you. It's very easy to get away with it if you want to - I know several women whose partners have strayed - but that doesn't mean that you will. I'm sick and tired of people lumping all pilots together and insisting they have the same characteristics and behavioural traits. They're individuals, people!! I really am sorry that your husband cheated on you, my dear, but he was YOUR husband, an individual in his own right, as we all are.
Enough of that, I think. Please feel free to contribute to those comments if you have something to say!
On other issues - my husband has only a week left in the UK before he heads out to the Gulf. I'm already anxious about him going. I'm rubbish without him, and I know I'm going to cry for Britain when he goes. Still, only one month more and I'll be out there too - and there's so much to do before I go. I'm going to try to keep busy so that the month goes quickly. I have lots of friends and family to catch up with, including my very elderly Grandma.
We're also going to find out shortly whether this round of Clomid worked. I'm not sure really - I just hope that, eventually, all the side effects are worth it!
Tuesday, 6 January 2009
Infertility: No-one told me...
I found this on an infertility forum, and it really struck a chord with me, so I thought I'd reproduce it here, with some editing. Feel free to add comments if there are things you've experienced:
No-one told me.....
* That a fertility doctor and a baby doctor are the same thing, so every doctor's visit you're surrounded by pregnant women gushing and glowing.
* How hard it would be to log onto Facebook and every single day and look at other people's baby photos.
* That fertility drugs would make me feel simultaneously like a menopausal woman and a hormonal teenager.
* That I would be jealous of everyone who falls pregnant - particularly by mistake.
*That I'd find it extremely hard to visit pregnant friends, or friends with new babies - and that they similarly would feel awkward around me.
*That I'd cry whenever I watched films with babies in them. Seriously, all of them...
* That it can sometimes take YEARS to get pregnant. (And I expected it to happen the very first try!)
*That we could eventually become that 'infertile couple' in the corner that everyone whispers about, and tip-toes around because they are afraid that if they even mention the word 'baby' you'd have a melt-down and cry!
*That I could end up feeling like a failure.
*That I'd have more than two pregnancy tests in the house at one time... in fact, many more than two!
*I would spend years on the pill desperately trying NOT to get pregnant, and when I wanted to get pregnant it would be so hard!
* And that I would cry tears of joy over mucus (if you don't know what I'm talking about my dear male readers, I'd suggest a fantastic book by Zita West called "How to get Pregnant"!)
No-one told me.....
* That a fertility doctor and a baby doctor are the same thing, so every doctor's visit you're surrounded by pregnant women gushing and glowing.
* How hard it would be to log onto Facebook and every single day and look at other people's baby photos.
* That fertility drugs would make me feel simultaneously like a menopausal woman and a hormonal teenager.
* That I would be jealous of everyone who falls pregnant - particularly by mistake.
*That I'd find it extremely hard to visit pregnant friends, or friends with new babies - and that they similarly would feel awkward around me.
*That I'd cry whenever I watched films with babies in them. Seriously, all of them...
* That it can sometimes take YEARS to get pregnant. (And I expected it to happen the very first try!)
*That we could eventually become that 'infertile couple' in the corner that everyone whispers about, and tip-toes around because they are afraid that if they even mention the word 'baby' you'd have a melt-down and cry!
*That I could end up feeling like a failure.
*That I'd have more than two pregnancy tests in the house at one time... in fact, many more than two!
*I would spend years on the pill desperately trying NOT to get pregnant, and when I wanted to get pregnant it would be so hard!
* And that I would cry tears of joy over mucus (if you don't know what I'm talking about my dear male readers, I'd suggest a fantastic book by Zita West called "How to get Pregnant"!)
Sunday, 28 December 2008
The long goodbye
So, we have a start date. My husband will fly out to the Gulf in two weeks' time, and I will follow as soon as I can after that, notice period and house rental permitting. There's so much to do, but actually we've both hit the pause button for a bit.
Suddenly it is all very real, and we suddenly realise there's so much that we meant to do around where we live that we haven't done; so much we want to say "farewell" to. Yesterday we headed down to the south coast, to where my husband grew up. We visited his old haunts, went for a walk on the beach and had lunch in a pub. It was a perfect day.
I'm now on my first round of a fertility drug called Clomid. It gives me not only very disconcerting hot flashes, but also the most tremendous mood swings and crying fits. And truly, this is NOT the time for being even more emotional than usual! I am permanently a leaking tap at the moment. I think I've cried every day for the last week.
Maybe I'd just have cried a lot anyway. I just can't bear the idea of saying goodbye to all our friends and family, our pet, and our home. Every time I think about it, I well up. I know it won't be forever - hopefully only about three years - but I'm simply rubbish at change. If I had my way, nothing would change at all. Still, hobson's choice on that one. And I know we're embarking on a real adventure, which has the potential to be a wonderful thing for both of us. Wish us luck...
Suddenly it is all very real, and we suddenly realise there's so much that we meant to do around where we live that we haven't done; so much we want to say "farewell" to. Yesterday we headed down to the south coast, to where my husband grew up. We visited his old haunts, went for a walk on the beach and had lunch in a pub. It was a perfect day.
I'm now on my first round of a fertility drug called Clomid. It gives me not only very disconcerting hot flashes, but also the most tremendous mood swings and crying fits. And truly, this is NOT the time for being even more emotional than usual! I am permanently a leaking tap at the moment. I think I've cried every day for the last week.
Maybe I'd just have cried a lot anyway. I just can't bear the idea of saying goodbye to all our friends and family, our pet, and our home. Every time I think about it, I well up. I know it won't be forever - hopefully only about three years - but I'm simply rubbish at change. If I had my way, nothing would change at all. Still, hobson's choice on that one. And I know we're embarking on a real adventure, which has the potential to be a wonderful thing for both of us. Wish us luck...
Monday, 22 December 2008
The Christmas message of hope
We went to our church's carol service last night. The nine lessons and carols service is one of those annual events that's so reassuring, particularly in troubled times like these. Year on year, the familiar and beautiful readings and evocative carols drape a cloak of memory over us, binding us to our past.
I can remember reading several of those lessons at services in our school chapel, and in our Norman country church by candlelight at the age of 10. When I was a teenager my mum and I were part of a scratch-choir which met for a hurried practice the day before the service, and made it through the event with a wing and a prayer and a helpful amount of mulled wine!
For me this year, the baby, the symbol of God's love, has a new significance. Regular readers of this blog will know that my husband and I would love a child of our own, and that it's not going to be very easy for us. Hearing those familiar readings inevitably brought my own concerns to the fore. We would dearly love a child of our own by next Christmas. So, as I sat on that cold and rather uncomfortable pew last night, I said a silent prayer of hope that it might happen for us.
Perhaps it will, perhaps it won't, but we've got hope, and that's worth a lot.
Merry Christmas, everyone.
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