One day at a time…

“When exactly ARE you going to tell Mum and Dad?” my sister asked me the other day when we were discussing my latest scan. “Dunno,” I replied, “I’ll worry about it at the time. I might get you to do it.” (I wasn’t entirely joking.) “You could just send them your blog,” she said. “I’m not sure THAT’s a good idea…”

It’s not that I’m cavalier about it, it’s just that it’s really not a significant concern of mine right now. Partly because I’m not really worried about what they’ll say, but also because it’s SOOOOOOOOOOO far away.

Before I get to the point where Continue reading

I’m back (again)….

It’s almost Easter, which can mean only one thing… actually, no, I can’t. I think I eggshausted all my egg-based puns two years ago. So that’s not why I’m back. I’m back because I’m taking the next step. Or at least preparing to. More putting on my shoes and thinking about lacing them up, rather than Continue reading

A little more conversation…

Today I cried at the clinic. Nothing had gone drastically wrong, I wasn’t hurt, nobody had been horrible to me, nobody had been unbearably kind to me. Maybe it was the hormones finally kicking in which resulted in a disproportionately emotional response, but basically I cried because I was treated like an idiot, and treated like a number, and treated like a cash cow, rather than a person.

And I’m pretty sure that the person who made me feel like that didn’t mean to make me feel like that, but it did make me think Continue reading

Happy Easter

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? Continue reading

The protocol

Protocol: this is what they call the regime of drugs that they plan for you. They base this – apparently – on a number of things – your height and weight, the amount of bloodflow they can see going to your ovaries, your AMH results, all that sort of shiz. At least that’s what they told me, it could be that they just pluck an idea out of nowhere and go with it.

And, despite my sub-par AMH results, my scans were all good. In fact they told me that if I hadn’t told them I’d had endometriosis they’d never have known, everything looked normal. Hurrah, well done ovaries, uterus etc etc. I am, by the way, skipping over various bits of the story, like the fact that I cried Continue reading