A couple of weeks ago I noticed that, at my usual posting rate, my 100th post would be just in time to announce that I was pregnant. Or not, I kept reminding myself. Still, I kept thinking about how cool that would be. Every time, I'm so damned optimistic! Since I realised on Thursday that this was not the case, I've still been thinking hard about what to post to mark such an anniversary. But I got nothing, so I'm just posting.
Posting to say thank you for all your comments on the last post. Mellie was right, we do have plan A, and Plan A is still good. I went in yesterday for the day 2 bloods, and will get the results tomorrow. Right now I'm not obsessing about them, because so far they've always been fine so there's no reason to believe my FSH will have risen dramatically in just 2 months since the last test. Of course, typing that last sentence has now made me start panicking, but there you go, that's just me obsessing again. I went straight from the blood test to my kickboxing session, which probably wasn't the best idea. The bandage flew off a few minutes in, but luckily I didn't start bleeding again. I just managed to gross out my trainer.
She's used to the IVF shenanigans, though. Yesterday she shared with me what another couple she is working with are going through with their IVF. Their first ended in miscarriage. The reason they are doing IVF is that the husband has no vas deferens, so the sperm aren't going anywhere. Unfortunately the drugs are making the wife really really angry, so she left home on Friday after haranguing her husband about how she was going through all of this for him, and how he had made her do this and now she was ill and miserable and it was all his fault. That he wasn't a real man and that he was broken. She then got very drunk in a local bar and called my trainer to try to get help to calm down. It made me feel so very lucky to have H. Now I know I've never taken the suppressors before, so I don't know how loopy I will get, but I do know that H will never say anything like that to me. Not because he thinks it but doesn't say it, but because he doesn't even think it. And I have no sense that this is his fault. Through a combination of my endometriosis and age, we just can't get pregnant together, or at least not without help (please! please let this work!).
Amusing best friend incident number 476: On the phone on Friday. I called to tell her that I wasn't going to go to our 20th anniversary high school reunion today, Sunday. I just couldn't cope with all the: "And how many children do you have?" conversations. She asked why I was so down. I tried to explain. The next few sentences are verbatim (although as with everything else, subject to the vagueries of memory):
Thalia: Well, I just have no faith that IVF will work. Nothing else has worked, why should this?
BF: You must have some faith it will work, or you wouldn't be doing it
Thalia: Yeah, I guess you're right
BF: Because, if you really don't think it's going to work, for goodness sake, just go have a holiday or something
Thalia: Stunned silence
Unusually for me, I did call her back later in the day and call her on it, and she apologised. She means well, but she doesn't get it. Her other friends who've done IVF seem to have done it with every faith that it will work, and it has worked first time for all of them. She herself has had three girls, the last one an 'accident', conceived when she was 38, earlier this year. She does care about me, but she doesn't know how to help me right now.
The truth is, of course she is right, I must believe it might work or why put myself through this. And no doubt, with the usual cyclicality of my emotions, no doubt at some point I will start to believe that this might work. Right now, I am doing ok. I wasn't doing ok on Thursday and Friday but having H home (he was gone all week), and doing very little over the last two days other than working out, getting myself maintained (manicure, pedicure, leg and underarm wax, facial), and reading the paper, has led to a bit of an easier mood.
Later I'm going to cook the embaras de pommes that have arrived in our house, the fruit of an English autumn that is just getting going, go to the gym again, and tell my husband I love him a lot. Oh, and do that piece of work that's hanging over my head. But just for now, I'm going to keep forgetting about work and try and stay with my equanimity and sense that in H, I have something that makes me lucky, no matter what.