Thalia's fertility journey

A two day life sentence

So, the details.

• On the right: two at 16, one at 12, one 11mm
• On the left :15, 13, two below 10
• E2 has climbed to 1623 (442 American), LH 0.4

So althought the follicles are still pretty measly, they are growing, and the E2 has climbed substantially - I assume this is a good thing, even though the follicles are small?

The doctor I spoke to (it was the South African from Friday) was incredibly brusque, tried to get me off the phone with "Come in on Wednesday, thanks, bye." and got quite stroppy when I asked for more information. I became terribly charming, which was a big leap given it was 16:45, they were supposed to call me by 14:30, I'd been trying to get through to them since 15:30, and they turn the phones off at 17:00. He relented a little and gave me the data above.

Instructions are to come in again on Wednesday for blood and scan, when there should be three larger than 17, which is their cut off point for trigger. Don't you think it's interesting that in August the cut off point for fertility was only 14mm, leading to our cancelled IUI? I'll have to ask why there is a different scale for IUI than IVF. I think it's probably the British clinics' absolute paranoia about multiples. Because if the cutoff point had been 17, we could have done the bloody IUI in the summer. Bastards. Not that it would have worked, of course, but at least we'd have had some treatment that might actually result in a pregnancy, rather than messing around which results in them treating us for no good reason.

I tried to ask him about what would happen on Wednesday and he wasn't playing. He said he could not say if they'd go ahead or not based on only having three at 17mm. Please send lots of blossoming thoughts to the 12, 13 and even those little ones to see if they can catch up. Having five would be a lot better than three.

I really hate this. I hate the uncertainty. I hate having work hanging over my head. I hate the fact that my body is screwing me over.

I've written another note to Dr Candour who is due back from holiday today. I hope he replies, I need succour right now.

The cycle that refused to die - yet

Good news is that the follicles grew this weekend. I'm not sure how much, but the smallest ones (all the ones on one ovary, I think the left) are at about 13-14mm, and the largest is a big monster around 20mm on the right ovary. There are five on the right ovary, but only three that the doctor thought would be big enough and in the right place to retrieve. There's a lot of complexity as two are (i) on top of each other, (ii) one of the two is small anyway, and (iii) both are exactly behind the endometrioma, so they may not be able to get them out.

When they've got the E2 results they'll see how much longer they want to go on in the hope that the smaller ones catch up a bit, without going over the top and losing the good looking ones on the right. So it looks like minimum three, maximum eight follicles will be aspirated. Apparently they may just decide to pierce the endometrioma and dose me up with IV antibiotics to cope with that trauma. Sounds a bit scary.

And, she said as we left the room, the consultant may decide to cancel and try for a better cycle since, and I quote, "this response is not what we expected from you and if we try again it might be better, and the follicles less awkwardly placed." She did also say, however, that if it was up to her, she'd go ahead, if only for the additional data they'll get about our eggs/embryos from going through the process.

Please keep making the sacrifices to the relevant fertility symbols for me. I'm feeling a bit more hopeful, which of course means that I'll come crashing down when they call this afternoon and tell me it's all over.

Petrified

Thank you for all the support in my many freakouts and stresses in the last week. And for the lovely comments on my engagement ring story. I'm glad you all got it. It seems many of us have had similar experiences. That's happened to me a lot on here. I think something is taboo, I write about it, and many of you chip in saying you feel the same way - the best example is probably my Obsession post. Boy did that feel better.

Sadly the stressing is not over. I feel stupid for worrying and being stressed when at the same time LEB's 12 week pregnancy is ending again, and zhl's cycle was cancelled for a response level not that different from mine (please go and pay them a visit if you haven't already). But I recognise that this is my stressful situation and I need to deal with it in the way I can best cope with. For me that means posting, reading, and commenting on your blogs, and watching crappy tv and reading a lot of newspapers. And Heat. But still I've spent a lot of this weekend freaked out about what might happen tomorrow morning. Dr Google has nothing encouraging to say about my E2 levels. I went and read through Julie's IVF#4 story as I remember her not producing many follicles on this cycle - the one that conceived Charlie - but she was ahead of me at this stage, so no respite there. And I can't get over how low the E2 is.

And again, of course there is nothing I can do about it. I just have to go to bed, go to sleep, wake up and go to the clinic. And stay as calm as I can. Please, although I know it's pointless, hope for me that this isn't cancelled. I can cope with fewer eggs, nothing to freeze, but I don't want to have to wait until I'm 39 to do my first IVF.

The right man

For as long as I can remember, I've known what the man I would marry would be like. He'd be tall, dark and with a strong, chiseled look. He'd be incredibly intelligent, witty and very well educated. He'd be funny. He'd be elegant. Think Cary Grant.

None of my boyfriends fitted this bill. My teenage crush was a little short, and round, and not the witty type. He also didn't like me that much. My high school boyfriend had light brown hair, was incredibly smart but highly strung to the point of being neurotic. Not one for the quipping, he was too busy having a nervous breakdown and then getting off with my good friend at a party. In front of me. The first guy I slept with was tall and dark and very handsome, although he had a horrible line in slip-ons and white socks (it was the eighties, after all), and although he was smart it was in a wise-cracky kind of way, rather than the high minded intellectual quips I wanted. He was also a wanker, so that didn't last long.

The man I nearly married was tall, blond, incredibly smart, a wonderful cook, a painter and musician, very very funny...and gay. It took him the best part of the three years we were together to find that out. I moved continents, and he went down the local gay bar and asked a cute boy for a light. He's never looked back. He now lives with his two boyfriends in San Francisco and has an interesting selection of...well, that's another story.

After TMINM there was an eight year period of bad relationships. Not necessarily horrible, but ones that weren't going anywhere for some reason. And if you'd managed to make me be really honest at the time I was in each of them, I knew they weren't right for me. At the same time they kept me out of a relationship that I might have to commit to.

Eventually, at the age of 34, I had had enough. I knew I wanted children, and that with my job there was no way I was going to meet someone. I joined an introductions agency. The kind you pay £1000 for. I wanted somewhere which would have on its books men like my dream man. I joined, then didn't go to set up a profile for nearly nine months. I just wasn't yet ready to have that serious relationship with my dream man.

In the spring that I was 35 I finally got my act together. Got a photo taken, filled in what I thought was a pretty good profile, and went in to chose the 12 people to whom they would sent my profile. I was left alone in a room with books containing nearly 500 profiles. It was hard to chose. None of the men I'd been in love with had represented what I thought was my desired profile, so why should I now be able to pick him out of a lineup? I picked 12 possibles, being hassled regularly by some rude staff members who thought I was taking too long, but didn't want to help.

The 12 men received my profiles in the post. I waited for the calls. Only three calls came in. I went on two dates, neither of which were fabulous. One was possible, one was pretty bad really. In the meantime I wasn't getting sent any profiles, which meant that no one was picking me out of the profile list. I wasn't good enough for these men. What was wrong with me?

I went back to the agency to complain that they hadn't treated me well the first time I came in, and to ask why I was apparently so unattractive. I saw a very nice woman who apologised, gave me some advice about my profile, and said she would set me up with a phone introduction to make it up to me. Sure enough, a week later a piece of paper came through the post with a name, and a phone number. And no other information. A few days later this nice-sounding man left a message on my machine. I called him back, but he was in the middle of cooking for friends. He called me back and we had a good conversation, but I was about to go on holiday. A few days later I was on my way to the airport when he called again and we talked for over an hour. He laughed at how many books I was taking on holiday. When I got back, he was about to go on holiday so I called him to wish him a good trip, and we said we'd go out the Friday after he got back.

The day I called him I was at a company retreat. And at that retreat a guy called Kegan came to train us in a technique to help people change their behaviour. Kegan's hypothesis is that if you aren't changing towards something you want to be/do, there has to be an equal and opposite force preventing you from doing so. He teaches a technique to help you uncover what that force is. In the ensuing coaching session one of my colleagues helped me figure out that I was not open to a relationship, because I was terrified of having to look after someone else, when I felt I needed to look after myself. My job took/takes a lot out of me, and I had learnt to use the weekends to recuperate. The thought of having to look after someone else instead was unbearable. Through the conversation I realised that I might be able to have a relationship with someone if I didn't have to look after them. Perhaps they might even be able to look after me? That would be a big change from earlier relationships.

Two weeks later I went out for dinner with H. He had booked a restaurant, and, when he couldn't get hold of me to speak to, as I was so busy at work, he figured out that text messaging was a good way of getting my attention. He picked me up from the tube station and I thought, "Well, he's a bit overweight, and he's not dark, but he is tall and he is cute, and he's got a lovely smile." We arrived at the restaurant, and were shown into the sitting room they use pre- and post- dinner. We were handed menus. Mine didn't have any prices on. "Wow," I thought, "he's really pushing the boat out." H blanched, and said, "I had no idea this would be so expensive, please let me treat you to dinner." (For the 75% of you who are American, it is not common practice for men to pick up the tab for all dates here). I laughed and pointed out that I was happy for him to treat me, as I had no idea how much anything was going to cost!

We had a lovely evening. H had a cheese souffle that seemed to be about 12 inches tall. We just had to share it...we talked about our families, what we wanted out of life. We closed the restaurant. Two days later he called me, we went out again the following week and had a very romantic afternoon that turned into an evening of visiting various locations along the South Bank. He drove me towards home, and dropped me outside Harvey Nichols so I could get a cab. As I went to get out of the car he kissed me. Not, as I had expected, on my cheek, but on the lips. And oh, the chemistry. I was surprised by how strong that kiss felt. I think we both were.

Things progressed quite fast from there. Because I was so busy at work he would often drive into London late, pick me up from work, bring me back to my house where he'd cook dinner while I worked. When I said I needed time alone at the weekend, he took himself off to see friends. He arranged a trip to Paris to see an art exhibition I'd mentioned (once!) that I wanted to see. He took me to Stockholm for New Year. We went to Venice for my birthday, and to Chile for a friend of mine's wedding in February. Everyone asked me whether they should buy a hat yet.

But, I wasn't sure about H. Because although he speaks Chinese, which he learnt at university just out of interest, he's not intelligent in the way that I am. He isn't quick-witted. He's funny, but not in the way that my dream man was supposed to be. It takes him time to think about what he wants to say. And I wasn't sure that I could spend the rest of my life with someone who wasn't smart in that bookish, intellectual kind of way. Someone who couldn't recognise a Shakespeare quote, who had never read T.S. Eliot. I tried to hold on to something my shrink had said about 7 years earlier. "If you're waiting for someone to come along who is smarter than you, you're going to wait a long time." But I was waiting for that person. Why?

Everyone told me how much happier I was since I'd met H. My family fell for him. I felt I loved him, but I still wasn't sure he was perfect. H knew I wasn't sure. He tried to reassure me. In one critical call he said: "You have to know that what I feel for you is not dependent on what you feel for me. You can take your time to figure that out." That had a big effect of lifting the guilt I was feeling at potentially stringing him along.

Over the summer we decided to buy a house together. I was pretty sure H was the best thing that was going to happen to me. He loved me intensely, and he was lovely, and I loved him. My dream man wasn't coming. Because I wasn't beautiful enough, or thin enough. Because I was too old. H was it. I decided to be happy with that.

On the first anniversary of the day we met, H took me back to the restaurant where we'd had our first date. In the meantime he'd confessed that he had found it via a list of "London's most romantic restaurants", not on the advice of a friend, as he'd said the previous year. After dinner we retired to the sitting room for our coffee. When the tray came the waiter fussed around pouring my tea, then unfolded a napkin that was in the centre of the tray. The waiter beat a hasty retreat as H reached over and picked up the small box that the napkin had uncovered. He got down on one knee, and told me that he'd never felt like this before. That he would be honoured if I would be his wife. I hugged him. He got back up on the sofa, and realised he hadn't actually asked me to marry him. He got back down again but somehow couldn't get the words out. We hugged and cried and cuddled, and drank our tea and talked about the future.

Nine months later we were married, and I got to give him a ring. I was very happy to be marrying him. I loved him. I felt he was the best man that I was going to find, and I knew he would look after me, that he was passionate about me. But a small part of me wondered if I would have met the dream man if I'd been thinner or more beautiful. I kept it squashed down, but I knew it was there.

And then infertility happened. Over the last year I have truly fallen for H. I hasten to add that I'm not saying this is the mythical good thing that was supposed to be my learning from infertility. I think, I hope, I would have figured this out eventually anyway. I'm glad I figured it out sooner rather than later, because I feel a lot more married, a lot more at peace than I did on my wedding day. I know that is sacrilegious, but it's true. I know now that he is my dream man, I just got the specifications wrong earlier on. This is the person I was meant to be with. No other man could have supported me through this in the way that he has. No one else would have understood so well what I needed, every step of the way. This is who I was meant to be with. This is who I will have children with. This is who I will spend the rest of my life with.

Part of the engagement ring fashion parade. Visit the others.

Really really SLOOOOW

Read the other post from today first.

My E2 is 482, which is 131 American. Answer is to keep on going, same dose, and go in again on Monday for another scan and bloodwork. I asked why we weren't raising the dose, and got the answer that it wouldn't do any good - any follicles that are going to be recruited, have been, and it's now just a question of ensuring they grow. And apparently giving them more drugs doesn't make a difference. From what I've seen, other doctors wouldn't agree, but there you go.

I feel very frustrated with my body, and very worn out by the worry and the upsetness. H is also now upset - it's the first time he hasn't been optimistic during this process. I'm so sorry that this has beaten him out of his ability to believe that we would be able to get pregnant.

I have a question for you guys. I have booked the whole week off work next week, on the assumption that we'd be doing retrieval Monday or Tuesday, transfer Wednesday or Thursday, giving me plenty of time for lounging around, acupuncture, and recovery before going back to work on Monday. Now there is no way we'll be doing retrieval before Friday as far as I can see (if we do it at all), which would mean coming back to work at best the day after transfer, if not the day of. (There I go again, making plans so that the powers that be can laugh at me. I must have a masochistic streak in there. Or maybe I'm just plain stupid).

Yes, the question. The question is, would you go ahead and take the week off anyway? I have unlimited holiday allowance, so that's ok. And I've cleared my diary, so no one is expecting me. But partly I feel guilty as there's at least one big project I should be helping with that I'm leaving to others next week, and partly I feel as if I'm using up goodwill credits - yes, taking holiday is a goodwill thing around here. Also, I'm worried that if I take the holiday I'll have nothing to do but obsess about this, which would be bad. Yes, I know I'm obsessing already, but I think there is further obsessing potential. Perhaps even an unlimited amount of obsessing that can be done. On the other hand, I really feel stressed out and like I could do with a break, so part of me feels like taking a week off would be no bad thing.

As others have said before me, it's a bugger trying to make decisions when you're all hormoned-up.

Not slow, just crap

So much for being optimistic and letting go all week. My ovaries have done nothing. On the left I have one follicle at 12mm, one at 14, and two under 10. On the right I have four under 10 - between 5 and 8mm.

I had a nice doctor this morning, South African by the sound of him. He did his best to be optimistic but clearly the chances of getting more than 3 or 4 eggs is minimal - in fact, that sounds like a good outcome right now. In which case, what's the point of going through all of this? I cannot understand how my body can produce 5 good looking follicles on 50mIU puregon in August, and absolutely sweet FA in October on 150-200mIU. And let's face it I was really feeling good about this cycle. I kept imagining when the baby would be born - I know it's a horrible case of chickens not being hatched, but at least I felt I was DOING something, and doing something different, and the most likely thing to get us pregnant, so what was wrong with imagining it working?

Yes, I know it's not over yet. But even if it's not over, it's not the cycle I, and the doctors, expected it to be. Why does my body keep letting me down?

I'll update later when I get hormone results and instructions.

And lo, the insanity passed by like a cloud, and then it came back again

Just spoke to the clinic again. Still no spaces tomorrow, although they offered to have me just come and wait and see if they could fit me in. I was dithering, so spoke to a doctor, and actually had a good conversation. Wonders will never cease - although she wasn't exactly sympathetic she was at least nice to me. She said that day 9 would give them much more information, and that given they wouldn't change my dose til after the bloodwork results on Thursday, and I'm drugging in the mornings, it wouldn't change much to wait til Friday morning. Given H can't come with me tomorrow morning, and on Friday I'll need more Puregon anyway which I can get at the hospital pharmacy, I've decided to wait.

It was great to hear from you all the variety of clinic procedures on when they want to see you. Mine is clearly at the low-touch end of the scale, but it's not way out there, which is encouraging. It is a difficult line to draw between knowing what's going on, even when you have no ability to affect it, and not knowing and therefore going insane with the "what-if"s.

It's close to killing me, the not knowing. This is part of me, I think. I'm a finder-outer, a curiosity-killed-the-cat kind of person. I like to know stuff, and yes, it is just another manifestation of me wanting to be in control. It's so hard, this process, because I am so NOT in control. There's pretty much nothing I can do to affect my endometriosis (despite being on day 8 of the no wheat, no sugar, no dairy diet), there's nothing I can do to determine how many follicles and eggs my ovaries develop, there's no ability to control whether embryos implant or not. I just have to follow instructions, and hope for the best. I wasn't meant to be a Buddhist, but perhaps a bit of letting go and just letting stuff happen would be a good thing to learn. Any ideas on where to start?

Someone up there is trying to tell me something

I'm a bit less negative today, thank you for all those comments yesterday. I'm trying not to focus on lots of possible bad outcomes, and assuming that things are just fine. A little slow, but fine.

Finally got through to the clinic to book my next scan appointments, only to find that Thursday is completely booked up. This has never happened to me before. They put me on a waiting list, but I'm wondering if I should just take this as a sign that I'm not meant to have a scan on Thursday?

How often do you guys go in for checks during your IVF? Because having read lots and lots of your stories, and having been through the failed IUI, and having read a couple of infertility books, they collectively give me the impression that you get scanned and blood taken about once every two days. My clinic does blood (usually no scan) on day 5, blood and scan on day 9, and blood and scan if necessary on day 12. Isn't this a bit light? Or does all the blood and scanning lead to lots of anxiety (me clearly a case in point) and not much actual change to or help with the protocol?

Still feeling ok, still not convinced this is going to work, but finding it hard not to lapse into moments of annoying IVF-newbie type enthusiasm about what might happen.

On track for average - or not, as the case may be

Nine or ten follicles this morning, all under 7mm. Which I think is fine. What we don't want is either too many, or them growing too fast.

Updated to add:

However, we have a little problem with the E2 number, which is only 82. And remember, this is only about 22 in American terms. That is, it's very low. Lower than on day 2 of the previous cycle, before buserelin. They want me to increase the dosage of Puregon to 200 (from 150), and come back on Friday for a scan. I say that seems like a big gap until the second scan, and after much pushing the doctor said I could come in on Thursday if I really wanted to, but I'd have to come in on Friday as well. Frankly, I'd rather do that, hoping that things get started properly and if not, we have an extra day to amend them. They still think I will trigger on either Saturday or Sunday for retrieval Monday or Tuesday, but how can they be so sure?

Should I be worried that things just won't get started and I'll end up cancelled? I assume that would be an overreaction, but here I was, expecting to just stim nicely, no worries, but it doesn't seem to be happening. It is worrying.

Isn't a real bugger how our bodies respond so differently at different times? How could I be an overresponder in August, and an underresponder now with triple the dose of Puregon, and the same starting FSH? Do I have to assume that the buserelin really knocks me out and we have to be careful of it next time?

Blast. Just when I thought things were going well.

Obsession

A few brief updates

1. Nausea/Headache: Much better. Haven't really had another bout since Thursday, although I did wake up with a bit of a headache today. The water is, I think, the trick. So I'm peeing ALL THE TIME, but you know, I can cope with that
2. I am, however, very tired. Slept for 10 hours on Friday night, and had a two hour nap today. Not sure if that's the drugs, or just life, but it's hard to cope with during the working week
3. Diet: No wheat, day 5. I've only had trace amounts of dairy (I ate some asparagus at lunch in a hotel, then realised it had butter on it), and just naturally ocurring sugar in the fruit I eat since then, too. I'm feeling ok on it. I haven't lost any weight but surely at some point I must do, given that this pretty much eliminates most of my snacking opportunities? Maybe that's linked to the drugs? I'm ok to keep doing this for a while, it seems worth it if I'm feeling ok and not too deprived.
   One reason I'm not feeling too deprived is that I found some good non-wheat bread. It's from the Terence Stamp collection. He's a british actor who had real food issues, and got frustrated with not being able to eat bread, and so experimented until he found a recipe that works. I don't like it straight off the loaf, as it's got a slightly spongy texture, but it firms up nicely when toasted.
4. Workshop: Went very well, thank you. Didn't go how we expected it to, but that's ok, they never do. The client was happy and I was happy with the contributions everyone made, so that's ok
5. Next scan is tomorrow morning, keep your fingers crossed for a few good looking follicles. It's only day 5, so I'm not sure what I should be expecting, but let's hope it's good news. I've told everyone at work I'm taking the whole of Halloween week off, just to be on the safe side, and I'll look pretty bloody stupid if the cycle gets cancelled after that.

I think it's time for a confession. I'm obsessing about the infertility/getting pregnant. Of course you are, I hear you say. We all are. It's overwhelming. But I am really obsessing. To the extent that I'm shortchanging my job somewhat. My job demands a lot of thinking time, and is pretty self directed. There are meetings I need to go to, etc., and deliverables to deliver, and I certainly haven't missed any of those, but I'm not going the extra mile in the way I used to. And of course, this makes the job less rewarding. My teams sense that I'm not throwing myself into it in the way I used to, and this makes them less invested in me as a leader. Some of my colleagues clearly think I'm not devoting myself to this as I should. And I am feeling guilty about not volunteering for some of the extra duties that come with my job, I'm letting others do them. This means that I'm mostly getting home for dinner at about eight or so, or sometimes earlier, rather than nine or ten as often happened previously. I'm also not getting in at eight every morning. If I don't have early meetings I'm taking it easy at home and having breakfast, and getting in around nine or so. Before when I got in that late it was because I'd been to the gym first, but not at the moment. I get up and feel as if I deserve to have the morning I want to have, not the morning that my job guilts me into having.

It's not a good feeling. I feel guilty for not giving my job my all, at the same time as I feel resentful that my job demands so much from me. And I feel doubly guilty because I can get away with not giving my job my all. No one is really checking up on me every day. If I coast for a long time, my evaluator will spot it and it will be reflected in my rating next summer, but I don't think I'm coasting to such a large extent right now. As I said, I'm doing what I need to do to deliver good service, I'm just not doing it with my heart and soul. And that feels like I'm not doing a good enough job.

One of my problems is that I was planning on getting out of one of my client situations by disappearing on maternity leave for a while, then not getting back into it when I came back. It's a situation that I find stressful to work in, largely because of one of the colleagues I have to work with. But of course that maternity leave hasn't materialised so I need to move to plan B, but until last week there was no plan B. On Thursday, however, the problematic colleague raised the issue of my long term commitment with me, and I got the courage to bring up why I wasn't feeling 100% committed. We at least started the conversation, and agreed to continue it. Luckily in the first six months of this year I did a really bang-up job with this client so I've got some brownie points to spend.

Maybe what I need to do is to give up the guilt, and just say that I'm going to have a less than stellar year, performance-wise, at my job. They won't fire me, and I'm not even performing that badly. I can perform better when I'm in a better place. And those fantasies I have of having some very non-stressy job? Maybe when I'm in a better place in the rest of my life, it's time to get those fantasies out, think about the consequences for our lifestyle, and start exploring them a bit harder. Until I'm in a better place with the infertility I don't want to do that, however, since it's hard to separate how much of the ennui I'm feeling about my job is related to how down I feel about life in general since not being able to conceive. I need to remember, from time to time, that I used to love my job, and I'm bloody good at it when I want to be. It may be that my job isn't the right job for me any more, but I'm not in any fit place to make that decision yet. And they have very generous maternity leave!

In the time that working less devotedly creates I am blogging more, reading your sites, and spending a bit more time with H, just talking. I've found that this community of blogs is very sustaining, and very absorbing. It's a priority most days for me to check in on you all to see how you are doing. It keeps me up perhaps a bit later at night than it should. It's helped so much to have this online succour, but perhaps it's become too absorbing? When I first moved to the US I got very involved in irc. I was so lonely that I really needed a community, and I found one on irc. I had relationships on there. I don't think it was damaging, but it did become much less important when I found real life friends through bookgroup. I'm spending a similar amount of time each day reading and writing on your blogs to that I spent 10 years ago on irc. I'm worried it's become too much, that it's not really my real life, it's an online community and I should recognise it as such. But I feel that you are my community, my community of people who understand what I am going through, and no one in real life really gets that right now. Should I give up that link? That support?

I'm not ready to give it up, don't get me wrong. But I am thinking about whether I should give it a bit less. Perhaps now isn't the time to make that decision. I need to get through this cycle, then see how I cope with the world that the cycle leads me to. Until then, thanks for being my succour.

Thank you. No seriously. Thank you

Thanks so much for all the advice yesterday and today. I think the water comments may be on the mark. Like Julianna I always drink A LOT of water - at least 2 litres a day - so that may be why I didn't have symptoms until now. But yesterday I was trying not to drink water out of plastic bottles (because of the freakout about the endo) and the glass bottle I found was only 0.5l, and I didn't get the chance to refill it much, so I must have drunk closer to 1.5l, which clearly wasn't enough. I drank a lot when I woke up at 5am this morning, kept drinking through my horrible nausea in the morning, and by lunchtime I was actually sort of ok.

I've been chugging down the water ever since, and note that every time I slow down my head starts to feel like my brain is just scratching against the inner surface of my skull, so I start drinking more again. How this is going to work when I'm leading a workshop tomorrow, I don't know, but I'm sure it's better than throwing up on everyone, so I think I'll give it a go.

I'm also trying to follow this diet regimen, but realised at dinner tonight (at a hotel) that I'm ending up inadvertently doing Atkins, only worse (no butter and cheese etc), because no carbs I get access to outside the house are legal. I'm very anti faddishness in general, which is one of the reasons I haven't started lots of other remedies and dietary changes earlier, and now here I am sort of following the ultimately faddy diet. Damn. Got to find an alternative. I'm feeling constantly antsy about trying to do this because it seems so faddy. I wish there was some proof it worked because maybe then I wouldn't be so self conscious. It did, however, stop me from eating the lovely looking cookies that were at the business centre desk this evening. I thought nothing would replace the motivation I got from 'fear of the big white dress', but maybe I've found it.

In other parts of the blogosphere, if you haven't already you need to go and show mm and Kath some love, and share Cecily's joy that NBHHY.

Moaning Minnie

If this is how I'm going to feel for the next 12 days, then I'm going to have to find some better coping strategies. I woke up in the middle of the night with a headache, which was still there when I got up and hasn't yet gone away, despite the tylenol I took an hour or so ago. I'm also now feeling sick to the extent that I'm on the verge of tears which is not easy to handle at  work. Injecting myself is not hard, but feeling like this is! I've somehow got to pull myself together to lead an important workshop tomorrow. I'm sure I can do it but it doesn't feel like it right now. Any advice on quelling this nausea or dealing with the headaches?

It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle choice

After the drama of yesterday, today seems like a bit of an anticlimax. Got up, injected self, decided to eat breakfast and...what do I eat? All those foods what I am not supposed to be eating suddenly sound very very attractive. I compromised. I had an oat-based cereal with no added sugar, some raspberries, and some milk. I will go and buy some almond milk this evening thanks to Reprogirl's recommendation, but this morning there was none, so I did what I could.

Lunch was better: grilled plaice, steamed bok choy, lots of watercress, some cucumber, carrot and a tangerine. Afternoon snack of pumpkin seeds, dried fruit and sunflower seeds. I'm going to make a big pot of dhal for dinner, so that will be ok too. I wonder how long this virtuousness will last. I think it is close to impossible for me to really give up wheat and sugar. I love to bake. Am I supposed to never do that again? Or just do it so that others can eat it? Dairy is possible. I do love cheese but I bet I could find substitutes. My current problem is that I usually eat yogurt at least once a day as a replacement for more substantial deserts, often with fruit and sometimes with maple syrup (yum). I'll have to switch to just plain fruit, but I already eat a lot of that. *sigh*.

I'd like to think that if I was sure it would make a difference, I'd do it. But I'm not sure. I do appreciate wessel's point that she just feels better when she does this. But I don't know if I do. I feel better when I'm a bit thinner, certainly, and if I stuck to this I would be as a lot of my bad foods would go (ice cream in particular, although I don't eat it that often I lurrrve it). I have very little ability to see if it's affecting the endo since I don't get endo-related pain as far as I can tell (and let me be clear, I am down on my knees thanking G-d as I write that) so I don't know if it's getting worse or getting better...

And it's just so impractical. I eat a lot of lunches in meetings where my only option is some dodgy looking sandwiches. I'm not good when I'm hungry so I've got to eat something in that situation. Also, it seems that I'd have to have a lot more time at home to cook if I'm going to forgo some of the basic meals that H and I eat in the evenings. We do already eat a lot of vegetables, most of which are organic, not much pasta (maybe once every two weeks). But we eat quite a bit of bread, and eggs. Clearly, I have to think more about this. It's a complete lifestyle change if I do do it, and I need to be committed. In the meantime, I'll continue to make the odd substitution, and eat according to the plan when it's not too stressful to do so.

Now I'm off to make a curry. First stims tomorrow, then I have to take the whole paraphernalia on a business trip with me. I had a minor panic about keeping the Puregon refrigerated but apparently it's OK if it doesn't go above 24 degrees, which in this weather should not be a big issue.

Endrometriomas? Ha, I scoff at endometriomas

If you haven't read the earlier post from today go read that first, or this won't make sense.

Just spoke to yet another doctor. He was nice and helpful, though, which is a good sign. The good news is I can start stimulation on Thursday. I asked why Thursday, he hmmed and hawed a bit then said, that's just how they do it. I asked him "Is it to avoid doing egg retrieval at the weekend?" He laughed and said yes. So at least he's honest. He said that Dr Haughty (the one who cancelled my IUI cycle) was the senior doctor in the consultation today, and she was happy that there was enough good ovarian tissue to go ahead. So, for a change, thanks Dr Haughty.

In the meantime, I would still appreciate any thoughts people have about keeping the endometriosis at bay - or whether that is even possible. Thank you!

Everything's great - oh, apart from that hulking great endometrioma

The suppression scan this morning showed that I now have an endometrioma on both ovaries. I didn't have them in August - or if I did, no one mentioned them. So they've appeared since my last medicated cycle. According to the doc there is good ovarian tissue surrounding them, with plenty of antral follicles, but she needs to see the consultant (Dr Candour) to see if that tissue will be accessible for egg retrieval. It could be that the endometrioma gets in the way and then they are afraid of puncturing it during egg retrieval.

So I'm feeling rather upset. First, that in less than six months of my laparoscopy, I have developed endometriomas on both ovaries. After 20 years or so with no treatment, in May I only had one endometrioma. How did I get two in five months? What does that bode for future disease progression? Second, of course the fear that they'll cancel this cycle and tell me I need another lap. Which would really make me sad and frustrated.

Third, it re-awakens the fear I had when I first realised what having endometriosis meant (bizarrely, I don't seem to have blogged about this). The fear that I will never have biological children. After our visit to Dr Candour after the lap (linked above) I did a lot of research on endo and saw data that suggests that the average lifetime fertility of a woman with endometriosis is 42%. That's less than half a chance to have a baby in my lifetime. Since then I've managed to push this fear away by thinking about all the good news on my fertility - my hormone results, H's sperm count, etc. But today I'm freaking out again. Even if we do get pregnant, there's the risk of miscarriage.

I'm wondering what else I can do to help me get and stay pregnant despite this disease. Have any of you tried diet to treat your endo? To any effect? I've found websites saying no dairy, meat, wheat, sugar etc. but isn't this just what modern alternative medicine ppl say as soon as you have any kind of disease? What's the evidence? Of course it's worth it if I can have a baby, but will it really help? And these suggestions raise other issues. Some websites say drink soy instead of milk, but since soy is a phytoestrogen, isn't that the worst thing you can do? And where do you get calcium from if you give up dairy?

Any advice much appreciated. I'll update with the doctor's call later.

Back to the infertility blog

That was quite a run of posts that didn't talk about my cycle - did you notice? I think that's because there's not much to say when all you're doing is injecting yourself in the stomach every morning, sometime between 0630 and 0715. I actually stretched it to 0725 this morning, because I'm a rebel. I am, by turns, massively optimistic that we'll be pregnant by mid-November, and desperately upset and worried that it won't work and that it will never work. I'm guessing that's normal. H. is doing his usual thing of being constantly, but not overbearingly, optimistic. By day 3 he even managed to look at me while I was injecting myself. I got a kiss afterwards. I think he'd like to do more but he hasn't volunteered to do the spiking, and frankly, I'd rather do it myself, control freak that I am.

H is being quite wonderful. Everytime I read about someone else's partner who isn't being helpful, or think about those who are going through this alone, I thank my lucky stars that H is keen, supportive, and understands me well enough to know what I need. Two recent conversations have earnt him serious gold stars. On the first, we were walking home from the gym a few weeks ago, when the conversation turned to adoption. He explained that he was open to it in the future, although he wanted us to try this route first. When I asked him why his response to adoption was so enthusiastic, he said:

"Well, for someone to give up their child for adoption, it must mean that they really think that someone else can raise their child better than they can. It must be an extreme situation that gets them to that point. And I think, well, it would be a privilege to raise the child of someone who thinks that way. To try to live up to that challenge."

I thought that was a good way to think about it. I'm not in a place when I can feel excited about adoption, but I'm glad that he is. Having said that, I saw a couple in synagogue with a daughter they probably adopted from China. She was beautiful. I thought of all those I know on line who've gone that route, and thought about how maybe it would be as wonderful an experience for us as it is/has been for them. But not yet.

The second conversation with H was where we were deciding on plans for the next few weekends. He loves the country so I asked him if he wanted to plan to be away the weekend after we find out our IVF results. He thought a little, then responded No. I asked him why, and he said:

"Well, if it's positive it won't matter where we are. And if it's negative you're going to want to curl up on the sofa and watch crappy tv, so we should be here." I thought that was pretty smart of him.

I hope this doesn't feel like I'm boasting. I just want to remind myself of how, in many ways, I should count myself lucky. So far so good on this cycle as I don't seem to have gone insane yet. Not sure how he will cope when I do, but I have been warning him so hopefully he is ready. Suppression scan is on Tuesday, then hopefully I can start with the good drugs.

On that point, I've been thinking about how unfair the world is to us - you know, with the vast amounts of money we have to pay to the doctors, and the ignorant comments and the legal barriers and regulation and, and...and I have come up with partial recompense. You know how, during a sirocco, mistral, oppressive hot wind in the south of france they say that after 14 days you can murder your wife and get away with it (I've tried to google a link to this but can't find one. I know I read it in a novel but there's not much chance of me remembering which one - any offers?)? I reckon we need to petition for some new laws that say that after 10 days on stims you can:

• Throw plates at your husband
• Stab anyone who tells you to just relax
• Run your car into any driver who even thinks about cutting you off
• Travel without paying on public transport (you think we haven't paid enough already?)
• Get out of any difficult situation (what parking ticket, officer?) by bursting into tears
• Feel free to add your own

I'm only speculating, mind you, given I haven't yet experienced this joyous state. But I'm taking a signal from my trainer, who, this morning, told me that she didn't want to see me for two weeks while I'm on the good drugs. "You can come back as soon as they've done the transfer," she said, "but I'm not going to have you running around here while you're insane." I thought that was very encouraging of her.

What have you guys done about time off work at the egg retrieval stage? My diary is filling up but I don't really know which days I should be worried about. Did you block off a week and just fill it up later if you didn't need the time off? Or go sick at the last minute? I haven't got anything in there yet that I can't cancel, but obviously I don't want to let people down. I did tell one of my clients last week that I might not be able to do the workshop he wanted me to do on 2 November. He asked if I was ok in a very concerned tone, and I said yes, nothing life threatening, and he looked relieved. He made it clear that he either wants me or no one from my company, which is quite flattering but not so easy to explain to my colleagues.

Have to go so we can finally choose our cutlery - wedding present from my father. Wedding present company sent the wrong stuff, now we get to choose again. Not a bad deal.

Letter to my grandmother

Granny,

This time of year always makes me think about you. We spent the High Holy Days together every year from when I was 8 until I was 26 and moved to America. By the time I got back you weren't up to going to Synagogue any more, and it felt incredibly strange, that first year, to go to 'our' synagogue without you, although I took with me the copy of the Machzor that you gave me when our Synagogue finally finished reworking them. Every year until I was 20 we could chose from a wonderful collection of editions of the old Machzor when we arrived at Synagogue - with every royal family structure from King Edward VII onwards in them. I always used to go straight to that page to see which edition I had. And all the loose pages, and the special matyrology section that was handed out separately mid-afternoon on Yom Kippur because the old Machzor didn't have the new readings and meditations in them. Anyway, finally that year when I was 20 I arrived at your flat to find a gift waiting for me in 'my' room. A copy of the new Machzor,just published, inscribed: "To Thalia, in memory of all our High Holy Days together, your loving grandmother, RLL, October 1986, Rosh Hoshanah 5747.

I still have it. I didn't take it with me to Synagogue last night because it's in a box somewhere. We still don't have any bookshelves in our new house. Next year I will get it out and read from it, although there's no point taking it to Synagogue because I don't go to 'our' place any more. You see, I got married a year and a half ago, and my husband isn't jewish. Our old synagogue wouldn't do anything to help us have a recognition of our relationship, so we went to talk to the Rabbi at the Liberal Synagogue. He was great, and agreed to perform a blessing of our marriage. My husband, H, and I had agreed early on that our children would be Jewish, and I thought that that commitment on his part might make a difference. It didn't. Legally, in the UK, a rabbi can only marry two people if they are both jewish (while a priest can marry a couple as long as just one of them is Christian). But in any case, Liberal practice still says that while our children can be Jewish, they wouldn't marry us even without the legal restriction. And we couldn't have a Chuppah (although I got the florist to decorate four columns and we stood in between them and that was the closest I could get). But we had a lovely blessing, and it felt as if my Jewishness was confirmed. But the Liberals have a slightly different liturgy, so the Machzor you gave me will be the one I use at home for thinking and reading, instead of proudly bearing it to Synagogue.

I think you'd like H. He is a lovely man. Mum adores him because he's so nice to her. He is lovely to me although sometimes I don't appreciate it. You would have liked the way he opened doors for you and waited for you to sit down before he did. You would have recognised the way he takes his tea. And I'm sure you would have loved the smile on my face as you two got to know each other - the smile I remember from when you first met my sister-in-law. You couldn't say much by then, but you smiled and patted her hand and wondered, vaguely, "who is the pretty blonde girl?" and "why are my nails not pretty today?"

I think you'd be ok that I "married out". You would have been disappointed, as my mother was, but then my mother married out, and although you were intially angry, you came round. You married the right man for you, but your family considered you to have married beneath you. The son of an immigrant wasn't supposed to be the right match for you. But you adored each other. The 15 year age gap didn't matter during your married life, although I know that being left a widow at 50 was a devastating blow to you. You were always madly in love, said my mother. "It was hard being the child of a marriage where the two parents were so obviously besotted with each other."

I miss you a great deal. I know you loved all your grandchildren, but you did make me feel special. Perhaps because I was the eldest, and only, daughter of your elder daughter? Or because of our special relationship around religion? After all, we just saw my cousins at Synagogue with my uncle and aunt, it's not as if they stayed with you over the the holidays, as I did. Maybe you were almost as close to my cousin C. I remember those trips to the theatre and the ballet together when we were younger. I was very close to her too, until the family row. We were only separated by a year in age but it never felt that much - well, a year, a month, and a day, as I used to point out to her. But after my father got fired from the family firm, and had his breakdown, and you all stopped speaking to each other, well, I didn't see C any more - except at Synagogue. And it did feel wierd, at the age of 10, to be dropped outside your block of flats and have to go up on my own because my mother wouldn't come in. But it was worth it to me to see you, and my mother never made me feel bad about it. So perhaps even before we had our special high holy days time together every year, perhaps I was already special to you.

I remember all those hours in your flat, in the evening when we got back from Synagogue on Rosh Hoshanah, or after we had taken your dog for a walk at Pesach, looking at the old photograph albums. The pictures of bearded men with big black hats, and solemn looking dark women with big dark skirts, looking back at us from the 1830s and 40s. Your mother with her mother and brothers and sisters - the photo of the portrait that now hangs in my cousin's house. The many pictures of you with your myriad of older brothers and sisters. A picture of you at a recital, aged about 8, your leg pointed out in front of you and your hair carefully dressed. The last photo of you with your father, a month before he died. You are wearing a white dress, a silver locket, stockings and big black boots. Your dark curls are held up on one side by a ribbon. You were five. You looked very much as I did as a child. You are wearing a similar outfit in your favourite picture of yourself with your beloved brother P, the closest to you in age. He is a in a sailor suit and has his arm round you. The sepia is fading a bit at the edges, but you both still look out at us, slightly apprehensive perhaps of the photographer, but clealry happy to be pictured together.

The album moves on into the 1930s and 40s, then the 50s. Pictures of fancy dress parties with everyone in amazingly elaborate costumes. My mother dressed as Prince Charming aged about 19, and my aunt as a Princess. My mother with plaits and my aunt with her curls. My uncle looking so serious in every picture. The pictures of you with my grandfather - him always with his round glasses and eyes sharply focused over the top.

I have all the photos. They seemed to mean more to me than anyone else, so I've been appointed the photograph keeper. The large portrait of you on your wedding day, opposite a portrait of Grandpa on the same day, are on display downstairs along with the portrait of my mother on her wedding day and that of me on mine. You, me and my mother, all wearing the tiara that you inherited from your grandmother. Everyone remarks on its beauty. I carried it to every wedding dress fitting and everyone who worked there used to come out to ask to look at it. It's very special to me but it's back in the bank now and I don't know if I'll ever wear it again. But it was a wonderful link to you.

I will do something with the rest of the photos soon, I promise. But I do look at them regularly, as I do the copy of the Persian Fairy Stories book you used to read to me. I've got it rebound because it was falling apart. I also have the mug I used to drink my milk from at your house. You promised it was my mug, even though it had to stay at your house. It's at my house now, although I don't use it much because although it's just an ordinary mug, I'm terrified of breaking it - or of H breaking it. I'm not sure I'd be able to forgive him.

This strength of relationship between us is why it hurt that one year when I came over to see you and you didn't want to see me. Sure, there had been plenty of times by then when it had been clear that you didn't really know who I was, but equally you'd seem to be sure that you loved me. But this one time during the Christmas holidays my mother asked me to go over because she was out of the country and couldn't make her regular every-other-day visit to see you and check in with your carer. So I went over, and took you a present of a manicure set with some new nail polish. You didn't want me there. You kept going to your carer and saying: "Take me away, take me away." I was devastated. I know you didn't really mean it - or that the you that you were five years before would never have felt that way. But maybe that person had gone by then. In any case, in my selfishness I did a lot of the mourning for our lost relationship that day. I cried all the way to my father's house, and then he, the one you'd refused to speak to for 20 years, he was the one who said, "Darling, your granny loves you. She's always loved you, it's not her that said that." And that made it a little better.

Eight months later you died. You spent nearly two months in the hospital, and I saw you a few times there. The last time I saw you you said, even though you hadn't spoken for days. "New Hair". I had just had a hair cut. It was so lovely that you recognised something in me that one last time. It made up for our terrible interaction a few months earlier, and it meant so much to me that you said it.

You died just three weeks before the High Holy Days that year, and six weeks after my first nephew was born. My mother had shown you the picture of the baby while you were in hospital. You'd stroked the picture and said: "Baby. Pretty". And that meant something to all of us. I cried at your funeral, as did my cousin C. Almost every one else held it together but the two of us were basket cases. My mother spoke the most wonderful Eulogy and the Rabbi, who was new to the Synagogue and so didn't really know you, he spent the time with my mother and uncle to make sure that what he said rang true. Just as the service was ending my brother, sister-in-law and my tiny nephew arrived at the back of the hall. Just as my mother was mentioning you stroking the baby's photograph. That meant a lot to us all too - that they'd driven all that way, and had a horrible journey, but they got there to hear my mother talk about how you'd managed to create a link between generations in the last few days of your life.

I've been commemorating your Yarzeit since then, and the new Synagogue now has you on their list and on the relevant Shabbas they ask me to open the Ark doors. It's a good way to remember you. But the time I really commune with my memories of you is on the High Holy Days, and on Yom Kippur in particular. There's something about Aveinu Malkeinu that brings out the memories like nothing else does. And Granny, I wish you were here. I remember you. Thank you for everything you gave me. Thank you for making me special.

May you be sealed in the book of life for a good year...

Preparing for Yom Kippur which starts in a few minutes. My best wishes are with you all. You've done so much for me in the last year, thank you. I'll be thinking of you as I reflect on the year past and the year to come. For those who are fasting, Be well over the fast. And for those who are not, if you haven't already, go and show Ovagirl some love.

Boethian wheels

On a day when Ovagirl gets not good, not bad, not sure news, Persephone has wonderful news. Both events follow by two days the news that Susan's fourth IVF was a bust. LEB just heard that her pregnancy may, after all, be viable, and Kate #2's sneak peak looks good, so I'm hoping that the luck will hold through for Heleen and MM in about 12 and 10 days' time. Thinking about this, about the fact that in the midst of someone's best day of their life, someone else is having their worst day, I started to think again about your responses to my post a while back about wanting to see another upturn in the fortunes of the infertility blog space. I went and did a bit of research on Boethius to see what the wheel idea really meant. I found this:

"It's my belief that history is a wheel. 'Inconstancy is my very essence,' says the wheel. Rise up on my spokes if you like, but don't complain when you're cast back down into the depths. Good time pass away, but then so do the bad. Mutability is our tragedy, but it's also our hope. The worst of time, like the best, are always passing away."  -- The Consolations of Philosophy, by Boethius*

Anyway, I'm taking issue here with my friend Mr Boethius. Without having read him properly, for which I apologise but you know, it's late, and I have to go to work tomorrow and earn the big bucks, and I got up really early this morning, and I have to stab myself in the stomach every morning right now, and, and...

Sorry lost the plot a bit. Back to Mr Boethius. Pinched from here:

It proclaims that there is order in the universe and that a wise and benevolent God is in charge. We earthbound men and women are limited in wisdom and vision. If we could but see the full truth, we would know that there is order in what looks like chaos, that things have a way of working out for the best, and that all stories have encouraging endings.

I can see why the early Christians liked him so much. After all, doesn't this sound awfully like: All things work together for good for those who love G-d? Which, if  you read that link, is really about explaining how everything will be ok in the end - in heaven. This sentiment, and the Boethian one expressed above, only make sense if you are viewing life from an eternal perspective. Because we all know, and we've all written, about how the perspective that all our experiences mean something, is pretty hard to bear when you've just had your 9th miscarriage, or the child you thought you were adopting has been snatched from your grasp, or you've finally realised that you will never have biological children, or the father you never really knew has just died. Telling any of us at that point, hell, telling any of us on the day we start to bleed, again, or the day we pee on the 2,000,000th peestick only to see acres of white open space, is not going to cut it. It does not help in that instance to be reminded that in the end we will see that all this happened for a reason, or that in the end, our fortune's wheel will turn up again. It may not turn up for some of us - at least on this issue that we are all struggling with - within our current life span. So if you don't believe in eternity, what then?

The wheel concept does grab some people - or at least, that part of it that says in the end, you'll get what you need, just maybe not how you thought you needed it. My client who went through infertility, who now has a son (conceived between IVF cycles) and a daughter, adopted after THREE adoptions fell through, he's clear that this was the family he was meant to have. If those other IVF cycles had worked, if those other adoptions had come through, his life would be different. And he cannot imagine his family being any better than it is.

But really, doesn't that say more about our incredible resilience as humans? Our ability to learn and adapt. I know (in my arrogance) that my client would have been different, but probably equally delighted, if one of the IVF cycles had worked. He would not have known his son, so there would be no need to regret not knowing him.

We will constantly, most of us, look to make the best of a situation. We will learn to adapt to the shit that life throws at us. So while it's clear that my client's Fortune's wheel turned up, it could have turned up earlier or later and he would have learnt to love in that environment. By hook or by crook, he and his wife were going to be parents. Their life would have been easier if it had happened with less pain. But it didn't, and he's happy, no delighted, with the family that they have.

I'm left a bit lost. I wanted to end this on an up note, and I'm ending it instead in mid air. I cannot bring myself to buy wholeheartedly into this G-d who knows what will happen to us, and lets it happen anyway. Because somehow in the end that's better for us, we just can't see it yet. That paternalistic world view just doesn't wash with me. Instead I think that we just have to keep trying. G-d isn't playing dice with the universe. The universe isn't playing dice with us. Some of us are just shit out of luck. For some of us that luck will turn, and for others it will take a long long time of loss for us to come out the other side, in a different shape than when we started, and see how we want to shape what we have left.

I want this to be ok for me, and for all of you. I know for some of us what we want right now won't happen. And that hurts. I think we'll replace it with another want, another way of loving. And in the end that will be ok. It will hurt, but it will be ok. I'm with Mr T.S. Eliot. It's not that the wheel will turn, it's that life will be different. It will look different, but it will be home.

We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
Through the unknown, unremembered gate
When the last of earth left to discover
Is that which was the beginning;
At the source of the longest river
The voice of the hidden waterfall
And the children in the apple-tree
Not known, because not looked for
But heard, half-heard, in the stillness
Between two waves of the sea.
Quick now, here, now, always—
A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)
And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one

                          -- TS Eliot, The Four Quartets, Little Gidding

* Feel free to research further (although wikipedia wasn't that helpful in this instance, and their entry was precisely the same as answers.com, which was clearly pinched from Brown.edu (see link above) which does actually correctly reference the original author - does that happen often?)

My heart is full

My favourite author is Diana Wynne Jones. She writes the most amazing fantasy fiction books - mostly for older children and young adults. She has an extraordinary imagination and is unafraid of the straight, right ending - no need for the comforting blanket of an artificially happy resolution in many of her works. Indeed, the ending to Fire and Hemlock is one that fans constantly puzzle over - it's not at all clear what it means.

I was introduced to Diana's work when I was 9. My godmother took me to the now defunct High Hill bookshop in Hampstead, and told me I could chose 9 books, because I was 9. Two of the books I randomly picked off the shelf were by Diana. One was Cart and Cwidder, which for a long time was my favourite of her works; the other was Power of Three.

I was quickly addicted, and acquired quite a library of her books. But they weren't always easy to find, so I went on throughout my teenage years, looking for any book by her. Through this period I found books such as Fire and Hemlock, Charmed Life, and Archer's Goon, not to mention Eight Days of Luke.

Then a strange thing started to happen. Three times in a row, someone I'd become close to turned out to also be a Diana fan. At Cambridge, I became very good friends with a girl who lived next door to me our first year, H. Towards the end of the second year I went to visit her in the Library, and immediately pounced on the copy of 'Castle in the Air' that was lying on her desk: "You read Diana Wynne Jones!" I exclaimed. "I didn't think anyone else had ever heard of her!" she replied. We explored further and H told me that Diana's books didn't sell that well, so that she was constantly changing publishers, which made the books hard to find. However, H's mother kept a small bookshop, and once she discovered how much H loved the books, she looked out for them and so H had a better stock than I did of the more obscure Diana books. It was through H., therefore, that I first got to read 'Homeward Bounders' which I still think is probably her best, and most troubling, book. H. and I are still very close, part of my circle of five women friends from my university days.

About two years later I was in an odd relationship with a guy from work. We seemed to spend all our time together, yet he never made a move on me. One night he came over for dinner and started browsing my bookshelves (doesn't everyone do that when they go to someone else's house? And how wierd is it when they don't have any books?!). Suddenly, he let out an exclamation and dived down to a low shelf, jumping up almost instantly, holding my somewhat battered copy of Charmed Life. "Oh my g-d I can't believe you read Diana Wynne Jones!" he exclaimed. We spent most of that night discussing her books. Two weeks later we had a row, discussed why we were arguing, and ended up hooking up. We lived together for three years, and even now we are very close (he turned out to be gay, long story for another time).

Four years after that I was living in Philadelphia. I'd moved there after my PhD. I was lonely. The people I worked with were nice, but they were all married and a bit dull socially. I went to the local Borders after one particularly early dinner ended with them all heading home at 2030. After browsing the Guardian, I wandered upstairs to the Young Adult literature section. They didn't have anything interesting but I noticed a cool-looking young woman standing at the information desk. We'd spoken once on an earlier visit, and I thought I might as well strike up a conversation. So I went over to ask her why they didn't stock Jane Gardam books. That conversation didn't last long, but suddenly she volunteered, "I saw you in the young adult books. I stock that section, were you looking for anything in particular?". "Yes," I replied, "I'm looking to see if Diana Wynne Jones has published anything new." "Let me look her up on the computer," she replied. As she scrolled through the screen she suddenly exclaimed: "Dogsbody! I loved that book!". It turned out she'd read just this one Diana book as a child, but read it over and over and over again. We chatted some more, and I got the courage up to give her my phone number, on the excuse that it was so that she could call me when the book came in. The following day I got home to find a slightly awkward message on my answerphone: "Hi, um, Thalia, this is A, from the bookstore. You might think this is a bit wierd, but I'm having a potluck at my house on Sunday, and there'll be some cool people there and I thought you might like to meet them. Please don't think this is wierd. Um. Here's my number if you want to come."

I cooked my (then) signature dish, a mushroom strudel from the Moosewood cookbook, and I went. On A's fridge was a note about a women's bookgroup. The slightly loud redheaded woman standing next to me at the fridge was also eyeing it up. "Hey, A.," she asked, "Can I come to this bookgroup?" "Me too!" I added before my natural reticence could stop me. I read the book on the list in three days flat - it was "House of the Spirits" - went to bookgroup and never looked back. A and the redheaded chick became my closest friends in Philadelphia.

Four years after that I was lucky enough to meet Diana. I was studying in Oxford. I found out she was reading at one of the colleges, along with Philip Pullman (who I also discovered early). I was at a meeting in London until 6, and then ran for the train, picking up my bike at the station and peddling madly through the dark Oxford streets. I pulled up at LMH, threw my bike into a rack and ran up to their library, arriving when just one seat, an armchair, was left, precisely in front of where Diana and Philip Pullman were sitting. They both read, briefly, then discussed their work. I asked what turned out to be a rather insightful question, and when the formal part of the evening was over, managed to pluck up my courage to approach Diana. "You'll never forgive yourself if you don't do this," I thought. I asked if I could get her a drink, then came back with her glass of red wine, and sat down on the floor next to her to start talking. She was just as wonderful as I needed her to be. She confirmed how traumatic it had been to write the ending to Homeward Bounders. At the end of the evening I asked her to sign a couple of books for me. One very battered Puffin copy of "Cart and Cwidder", dated 1976, and my hardback first edition of "The Lives of Christopher Chant." In the first, she wrote: "To Thalia, thank you for chosing this book to read all that time ago." I cried.

I bet you're wondering what the point is. Well, yesterday, Julia Hippogriffs commented on my blog. I've been reading her blog since shortly after I found the infertility blogosphere, via Grrl's blog. I think she writes beautifully, and in an amazingly funny, lighthearted way about some very difficult experiences, as well as the entertainment of everyday life. That's not that unusual around here, I hear you say. Well, maybe on top of enjoying her wrting and empathising with her story, her status as part of the blog royalty, otherwise known as the Vagina Posse, that includes Grrl, Tertia, and Julie, gives her an air of mystery, of being at a level somehow above the rest of us. I'd put Cecily in the same category. They've all been through so much, and were, as far as I can tell, the founders of a kind of this network of women going through their experiences together online. I've never been one of the cool kids, at any time of my life. I don't comment on Julie or Tertia's blog as I don't know what I'd say or why they'd be interested in it. But I do comment on Julia's. I guess she just seems that bit more accessible. (I hope I don't offend anyone by writing this. I am touched by each and every comment I get, and I feel a stronger personal relationship with some of you than I do with Julia, since we've been mutually supporting each other for longer. And there are other writers out there who write in a way that blows me away every time, more so than Julia (you know who you are!)). But...a comment from someone I thought I'd only ever look up to, well, it made me feel like I've arrived.

You still haven't told us the so what, I hear you say. Wait, it's coming. No, it's here. What connects these two sets of experiences? This silly feeling I had yesterday when I saw Julia's comment reminded me of a poem I read once that Neil Gaiman (another great author. And he blogs, too) wrote. It expresses what he felt when Diana dedicated one of her books to him. It's how I felt when I met Diana and she was so incredibly gracious. And it's akin to what I felt yesterday. Here's the poem. Thank you, Julia.

There's a kitten curled up in Kilkenny was given a perfect pot of cream,
And a princess asleep in a thornwrapped castle who's dreaming a perfect dream,
There's a dog in Alaska who danced with delight on a pile of mastodon bones,
But I got a copy of Hexwood (dedicated to me) by Diana Wynne Jones.

There's an actress who clutches her oscar (and sobs, with proper impromptu joy),
There's a machievellian villain who's hit on a wonderf'lly evil ploy,
There's wizards in crystal castles and kings on their golden thrones,
But I got a copy of Hexwood -- dedicated -- to me! -- by Diana Wynne Jones

There are fishermen out on the sea today who just caught the perfect fish,
There's a child in Luton who opened a genie-filled bottle, and got a wish,
There are people who live in glass houses have managed to outlaw stones --
But I've got a copy of Hexwood, dedicated to me by Diana Wynne Jones

It's entirely your fault if you don't know what I want for dinner

So do you think I can ascribe this evening's crabbiness to the fourth day of suppression, or is it due to what seems to be the last day of my cycle (if you can even call it that now it's all disrupted by vitamin deficiency and drugs), or should I just own up to my profound character flaws? Let me give you the unvarnished facts. On the way home from work, my husband tried vainly to get me to agree to various dinner offerings. This sorry interaction ended with me going to the supermarket and buying my own dinner. And there was whining involved.

Having made and eaten my (very tasty) dinner, I iced the chocolate gingerbread cake I made when I got fed up of making lekachs a few days ago. Then I cut us both a piece for tonight, and made two packages - one for each of us to take to work tomorrow. Then I picked a fight about whether he'd appropriately thanked me for the cake and told me how delicious it was (he had, but only after I asked him).

It's a fair cop. I'm just a crabby person. I can accept my character flaws, they've got me this far.

And while I'm owning up to that, Katie and Tom. Having a baby. I'm so outraged bemused jealous repelled fascinated pleased for them.

The first injection did go well. After I managed to break two needles and gouge a line into my little finger, by trying to penetrate the vial through the protective plastic lid. Yes, the one that's labelled "Flip Off". I clearly thought the manufacturer was just being a little punchy. Day 2 went not so well as I went back to my preferred leg injection method. Bad choice - you were all correct. The fluid seemed to hang around under the skin, and it got pretty itchy. I've gone back to the stomach and am now amusing myself each morning by what kind of pattern I can make with the dots of old injection sites. Only 36 or so more to go. That figure is a little higher than anticipated since (i) I'm an idiot and (ii) my clinic is idiotic. Re (i) - If you start on a Monday, day 14 is a Sunday, stupid. Re (ii) - My clinic, says the receptionist, only does suppression scans on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Oh well. I guess it can't matter that much or they wouldn't do it (look at me being all philosophical about the clinic. I must have some patience in me after all).

We're really underway now.

L'Shana Tovah

First injection went ok. Thanks for all the good wishes.

Happy New Year to all those celebrating (and best wishes to those who aren't). May this year be a fertile and sweet one for all of us!

Picture from here

'twas the night before...

The buserelin vial is ready. I've pulled out a 1ml syringe from the pack I got*, and a nice delicate looking needle. I'm a little nervous, but very pleased to be getting going. I'm particularly nervous about side effects. But then, there's nothing I can do about that now. Just got to bite the bullet and get on with it.

Yes, I decided to start on day 18, that's tomorrow, Monday. Because it more closely fitted Dr Candour's suggestion in the last email, without being potentially too early if Dr Sarky was right and I didn't really ovulate that early, and because I need a scan on day 14 of suppression, and I'd rather not have to have a scan on either a Sunday, or on Tuesday 18th because I already have an 8am meeting booked that day. That clear enough?

There were a lot of other topics I was meaning to blog about, but they've all dropped out of my head. So there's just this. I hope it works.

*By the way, my drug company is so adorable that they've sent me enough syringes and needles that I could set up my own needle exchange program. Anyone in the UK running short (I'm so not volunteering to send these to the US(!), let me know.