Item: IVF clinic says no. But in a nice, caring way. I still have to lose weight, so I have been discharged from the waiting list, but, the day, the very DAY, I hit fighting weight, I can leap back on the list and get seen a month or so later. So it’s not the gigantic snake that wiggles from Square 98 to Square 1.
Item: The IVF clinic consultant gynaecologist (do we even have RE’s in Britain? Do we simply call them something different?) was a sweetheart, and was happy to spend ages answering every single question we could come up with.
Item: H was in Marvellous Involved Husband Mode, the angel, and asked quadrillions of sensible questions about the extra risks owing to my mono-ovary-of-crappitude state. Yes, I am at a higher risk of OHSS. Yes, Satsuma will produce as many eggs as two ovaries would – a single ovary somehow usually compensates for its sibling’s absence. (Fuckin’ OW).
Item: I was weighed and measured again, this time by a nurse who was DETERMINED to get it right and took a great deal of care about my height, and, guess what? At the last visit to Miss Consultant her nurse had got my height wrong by about three centimetres – yes, I thought she was measuring it off my hair-line, and did say, but she assured me it was OK. Ha ha. So I have less than a stone and a half to lose, but a stone and a half is recommended ‘to be on the safe side’, which I assume provides me with a medication-induced-bloat cushion.
Item: Meanwhile, on with the Clomid, and the Sweetheart doctor said kindly that she really hoped she wouldn’t have to see us again. Well, ditto, Sweetheart.
Item: And then I went to work, and work sprung about half-a-dozen career-opportunity-related surprises on me, good ones, which is actually slightly scary, and I ended up discussing IVF as being possible next Academic year, and infertility generally, with my line-manager, in a cheerful, matter-of-fact way, and there she was, planning how to get me out of all the physical aspects of my job (lifting boxes, shelving, cart pushing, etc) if and when I needed it, which, now that I think of it, sounds very like someone who has a clue what IVF involves.
Item: H and I are off to spend the night with friends, so I simply must stop talking to you, shower, and pack my toothbrush and clean unmentionables.
Item:By unmentionables I also mean 47 tampons in assorted sizes from pencil to carrot, panty-liners, great big super pads, and four varieties of painkiller, for I took the last provera Thursday, and though it’s unlikely The Period will turn up before Tuesday or Wednesday, I wouldn’t put it past the Cute Ute to pull a fast one and ruin my weekend. I have found the remains of the diclofenac sodium I was prescribed when I last had surgery, and as I won’t be driving or operating heavy machinery, am seriously considering using it to blot out the pain, and, hey, names, dates, faces, and which way round shoes go on as well. At least I won’t be white and green and dizzy and crumpling in the middle.