It is ironic, or just sucky, that my period started while I was changing Pob's nappy this morning? Probably just a bit sucky - or rather, not as sucky since here I was, being reminded of the extraordinary blessing that is Pob, at the same time as being reminded that giving Pob a sibling isn't going to be as easy as I had hoped. Thoughts on secondary infertility will be forthcoming when I've got the time to think them through.
I really really really don't want to do this IVF cycle. I'm not convinced that at 41 there's much chance of it being successful - which is silly as I am as hopeful as all get-out every month that we try on our own. My brain is obviously unconvinced by the stats. Because the stats for previous IVF tries aren't bad - I got pregnant on one out of our three fresh cycles, albeit only for 8 weeks, and on the one and only frozen cycle, albeit for about 5 minutes. This will be the first IVF cycle where I haven't been over-suppressed first, so I'm hoping I might get to stim for less than 15 days - my previous average. I think at my age we should be delighted if we get four or so eggs. But no doubt I'll feel like an under-achiever if it's anything less than 6 - our previous lowest number. And I'm trying not to obsess now about the possibility that we won't get any at all - which has to be a real possibility again given the presumed decrepitness of my ovaries at this point.
The clinic has been called, the drugs are ready to go tomorrow morning, we're back on that particular train. I need to find time to go in and update my hepatitis and HIV status, and should probably book a smear, too, since I haven't had one for three years (three years is the usual timing in the UK). Oh joy!