The problem with an infertility/RPL blog, in which no one is in active treatment, and all we’re doing is desultory timed sex followed by rage and ick as The Period turns up, also anxst and wailing, is that it’s not the most fascinating read in the universe. Where’s the narrative arc? Where are the engaging new characters at the doctor’s office, the dramatic tension, the crossed fingers, the do-or-die all-or-nothing flinging oneself at medications and surgical procedures, the did-it-work, the will-it-stick?
I feel I ought to apologise for just circling this stake at the end of my tether for, oh, months now. Since the surgery in November which was so amazingly pointless.
Me, I am losing weight very slowly – partly because I caught this dreary cold and I kept the (really quite startlingly painful) sore throat at bay by a steady diet of tea and ice-cream for several days, and partly because it’s the luteal phase and I ALWAYS gain up to five pounds during my luteal phase and I ALWAYS lose it again during the first three days of The Period (not least because I can’t eat a damn thing). However, I am losing weight. And hope to be able to call Miss Consultant and get myself on the NHS IVF waiting list again by the end of May. Fingers crossed. Positive endearing grin and thumbs-up gesture.
It helps if I remind myself I’m losing weight to meet silly arbitrary NHS rules, rather than because I need to be thin or I’m Not Worthy. I remind myself of this three or four times a day, at length, and then chant my favourite little mantra: ‘All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well’ several times.
This kinda gets blown out of the water when I read/hear/see anything about women noticeably larger than I am getting pregnant, especially if they have several children easily, or, equally, if they had no trouble getting reproductive medical assistance. Not because I grudge these women their children or their good doctors at all – like I said, weight is not and should not be a Human Worth Issue. But because, if they can, why can’t I? Why?
At least I have the moral satisfaction of knowing that endometriosis and adenomyosis are nothing whatsoever to do with one’s weight, and are just as likely in thin women. As are blood-clotting disorders and auto-immune issues. So there, to those who insist that all I need to do is lose this arbitrary smidgeon of weight. So. There.
All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of things will bloody buggering be well, Goddamnit.
I’ve spent the past two days (four if you count the somewhat miserable weekend) at home, because this stupid cold came with a stupid low-grade fever and a stupid persistant cough and my boss is immuno-compromised and has a tendency to shriek and send people home again if they come anywhere NEAR her with a cold. It’s given me time to sit about doing absolutely nothing, and of course that gave me a chance to have a good panic about missing so much work again (The Period is due on Sunday, therefore I’ll probably miss the first two days of work next week as well, not least because I think my boss’s reaction to collapsing and vomit will be even less equanimous). And suddenly, mid-anxst, it occurred to me that I’d be actually not that bloody bothered if I lost my job. I mean, it’d be a pain, and difficult to find a new one, but really? I could finally sort out the books and the paperwork and work on my novel and finish my poetry project and keep the house a bit cleaner and cook more often and finish H’s winter pullover (the one on teeny needles, as H doesn’t like bulky sweaters) sometime before Christmas 2014. Gosh. Mellowness. On that subject at least.