Make of this what you will

Back in December, the NHS and I had a brief contretemps about letters, the sending of not equating the receiving of, and they could have checked before flicking us unceremoniously off the IVF waiting list. I went to see my GP and said, through lips stiff with tremble-prevention, this will not DO, and he agreed, and said he’d get me put back on the list.

Tah-dah! All the paperwork has started turning up in the post. And we fill it in and send it back, and they send us more. Sign your name. Find husband, get him to sign his. Fill in horribly photocopied and therefore somewhat illegible form that wishes to know about mental health issues, police records, and have we ever taken a small child of our acquaintance, loaded it into a cannon and fired it across the Channel? Fill in somewhat more irritating form that demands to know my weight (lots. Many many many. Lots) in the same breath as reminding me I can’t HAVE IUI/IVF if my BMI is over 30. (Umm. That means another 20 pounds to go. At least. And I thought I was doing so well. Did I tell you I am now a (British) size 16? I was an 18 in October). Wonder why none of these forms and letters mention a date, or even a range of dates. Sigh. Chew nails. Wonder if recent freakout had anything to do with any of this or whether it was all about the Epic Clomid Fail.

As for H, well, H had an anxiety dream last night. He has graciously allowed me to share it with you, for verily, it made me nearly pee myself laughing (Folks! This woman laughs at her husband’s anxiety dreams! Shun her!).

H dreamt it was time for the Treatment. We went to Unspecified Hospital, and then H had to have sex with me right there in the ACU. This accomplished, the doctors somehow measured the volume of his contribution despite the fact it was inside me, and decided (oh, poor H) that there wasn’t enough of it. So H was lead off in shame to the Wankatorium (which is much more fun a term than ‘private facilities for sample production’). The route, naturally, went straight through a large group of beautifully dressed concert-goers. The Wankatorium itself appeared to be a very large and ornate early steam engine. H had to get down on his hands and knees to crawl inside, and the inner chamber’s ceiling was also so low that when he lay on his back on the mattress provided, he realised he’d crack his knuckles on the ceiling if he tried anything….

I’m rather glad he woke up at this point. I daren’t think how this could have progressed.

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15 responses to “Make of this what you will

  • a

    Frustration after frustration…Oh, to be independently wealthy, and just do what you want to do without waiting for schedules and paperwork. Just go talk to a doctor, give him/her some cash, and be on your way.

    I’m sorry, but I too laughed at H’s dream. I can see how it would be horrifying, but, from the outside looking in, hilarious.

  • geohde

    Do they weight you, or can you fib a bit?

    The cheeky sods.

    J

  • Betty M

    That paperwork sucks and the BMI rule – can they really justify that? And sorry H but that dream was very funny!

  • Nina

    Ok, the weight thing is stupid. Take it from the former labor nurse, many many many many (Did I mention many? Cause there’s really a lot of them.) overweight women are perfectly able to get pregnant, and give birth. Albeit through C-section most of the time, but if you wind up carrying multiples from fertility treatments, you’ll be doing that anyway. Only the oldest, most traditional OB’s will let you deliver twins vag. anymore, and only if all parties are literally facing the right way. (Head down, occiput anterior presentation. Look it up. Promise, it’s true.) And that rarely, rarely, rarely (did I mention…?) happens. H’s dream was hysterical. Bless him. He’s stressed out about donating while you have sharp things stuck you know where. I can see why you thought it was funny!

  • Xbox4NappyRash

    that fella needs a serious night on the piss…

  • Helen

    I can’t believe they’ll actually check you on the weight thing. At my IVF clinic there were women that look like you, H, and throw in a random stranger or two combined in terms of size.

    I got asked my weight on the paperwork. I would bet you have to do the same. If I were you, I’d be allllll about the fibbing.

  • Korechronicles

    Yes, fib, fib and if that is not enough, lie blatently. Discriminatory whatever way ou look at it. Well done dear May, anyway, for downsizing in anticipation.

    And H’s dream, I laughed too. Let’s hope that it doesn’t scar him in real life.

  • thalia

    Just lie about the weight. No clinic has ever weighed me, including my OB. and you are justified in lying in that there is NO EVIDENCE that BMI has anythign to do with IVF success, although there is some link to preeclampsia and gestational diabetes, but not sure when that kicks in. Its just another tactic your PCT Is using to restrict access to IVF.

  • deanna

    So glad that your GP got the red-tape ball rolling again, though it really sucks you have to mess with all this irritating paperwork at all. The weight nastiness, especially, just seems nervy……like you don’t have enough crap to deal with?

  • deanna

    ps—love-love “wankatorium!”

  • katie

    Unlike my doctors here, who weigh you every time you move (No taking off your shoes!) I don’t think they’ll check, but 20lb might be a bit much to put down to bulky clothes. Maybe put an optimistic amount? I think it is mainly for the anaesthesia actually as it’s effectively elective.

  • Jane G

    Well done on getting down a dress size 🙂 I’ve no advice as regards paperwork for IVF having never been through the process myself, but I hope everything goes well with it. Laughed out loud at H’s dream, bless him!

  • womb for improvement

    H has got to learn to just knuckle down, or something.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    They never weighed me! And I was a BMI 31 at least. Although, Consultant did say that Warwickshire weren’t too strict on the guidelines.

    I certainly noticed your significant weight loss, and have only just now realised that my fulsome compliments – both to you and Pru – never actually made it out of my mouth when I met, there was so much going on. But verily, thou art very much slimmer! Well done you!

    Poor H! I always used to get a tad tense on Hubby’s behalf when he had to disappear off to the wankatorium. He used to come back complaining bitterly about the quality of the porn, and vowed fervently the last time that he would take his own materials on any future occasions: he was most impressed by the chap he saw who was foresighted enough to bring his laptop with him! I think, what with the sterile surroundings and the (apparently) huge, elderly hairy german women on offer, it was very nearly touch and go. Or something.

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