In November 2013, at the open day of the clinic I eventually decided to freeze my eggs with, I was waiting for my consultation with the medical director, and idly texting a friend who I’d told about my plans…
Me: How’s your Saturday going? I’m at the open morning of a fertility clinic. Beat that.
S: I could make a really Irish in-poor-taste joke.
Me: I’m all up for jokes.
S: Eggs in the morning…?
Me: Frozen or fertilised?
S: It’s a whole new generation of egg joke!
S: Easter is going to be hilarious
So now, five months later, it’s Easter and I’m on the fifth day of my second cycle and I’ve just got back from my first scan. Is it hilarious? I’ll be honest, it’s not rolling-on-the-floor-laughing hilarious (it’s not actually even laugh-out-loud hilarious) but it is kind of wry-smile-come-on-even-you-can-see-the-irony-in-worrying-about-eggs-at-Easter funny.
Your first scan is the one where they get you an idea of how many follicles are forming. The first scan of my last cycle was when they told me they could see about eight but only five decent sized ones (I don’t really know what I was hoping for but given that in my initial scan they’d found eleven, five didn’t seem a lot) oh, and they thought I had a cyst. Last time I had a cyst that I didn’t know about, I’d nearly died. So when they told me that I cried. (I told you, I did a lot of crying.)
This time, I didn’t cry. Which is progress of a sort. The doctor seemed unimpressed by the number of follicles he could see. Eight again, I think, but not the size he wanted them to be. He talked about doubling my dose of Gonal-f – last cycle I took 125IU, this time they’ve upped it to 150IU, he’s now talking about giving me 300IU for the next couple of days. But he won’t know for sure until they’ve analysed the blood sample that they took this morning and checked my oestrogen levels.
How do I feel about this? Disappointed, I suppose, but mostly a bit resigned. It is what it is, they’re going to try to make it better than it is, and on Tuesday when I have my next scan, I’ll find out if they’ve succeeded. I can’t really think that much beyond that.
Where’s the value in resenting your body for not doing what you want it to? In dwelling on the irony of all those years you spent worrying about what would happen if you got pregnant (incredibly unlikely, I was a contraceptive Nazi)? In thinking about how ridiculous it is that you can keep your body looking fit and youthful with regular exercise, keep your skin looking clear, unlined and youthful with decent skincare and, all the time, you have absolutely no idea what’s going on on the inside and whether your body is capable of doing what it seems like every other woman’s can? Yeah, not much point in worrying about those aspects of it, that way madness (or at least floods of tears) lies…