Sorry for not blogging in so long. Two things happened in short succession that knocked me for six for a while. Firstly, near the end of August, my GP refused to refer me for fertility treatment, as she (wrongly, it turns out) said that the age limit in our area had been dropped and I'm too cronely (plus other insulting reasons) and secondly, on the 10th September, I discovered that I AM PREGNANT!
Yes, I am full with child. Well, I am actually full of unrelenting mega-nausea and a fear of soft cheeses, but I am actually up the duff. Knocked up. Magically, fantastically, wonderfully pregnant! Fuck YOU, patronising Doctors and the Daily Heil, because 37 ain't too old after all!
I like to think it happened because I am the stubbornest bastard alive and no fucker tells ME I can't do or have something. I know it's not really, but thinking that makes the memories of TTC slightly more bearable.
Anyway, give us more info, absolutely no-one is asking. So, here goes:
The Bad News: 24th August, I rock up to the GP's surgery. Amazingly, only have to wait 15 mins despite there being no other patients in the waiting room or with the doctors. I take this as a good sign. I was wrong. First thing the LadyDoc - chosen because she is in her late 30s and childless, so I foolishly believed she could sympathise - tells me off for M not being with me. I show her the letter sent to me which asks me if I want to 'discuss a private matter' with a GP and that my 'partner can also attend, if he so wishes'. She somehow makes this obliqueness my fault and continues to berate me. Then she goes through a checklist of questions to see if I deserve fertility treatment, which I suspect were compiled by Richard Littlejohn. I can't remember them all, but they started at the fair-enough range, such as 'do you drink/smoke and if so, how much per day/week?' and quickly evolved into the absurd: 'Do you have existing children and if so, have any of them written a memoir about you that is currently in a BOGOF offer in the WH Smith misery lit section?'. 'Do you, or your partner, run an international child porn ring?' and finally, 'Hast thou bade the Devil to suckle from thy witch's teat and commanded thine maid Tituba to make poppets of the townsfolk whence upon you did pricke them with needles and causeth them to fall sick with the ague?'.
Disclaimer: the above might not correctly represent the actual questions posed.
Then we had the usual WTF Scales Shuffle. EVERY fucking time I am weighed by someone in the medical profession, they make me keep getting on and off several times, muttering 'no, that can't be right'. I always weigh miles more than I would appear to. When I was 17, I was still wearing age 10-12 children's clothes and I weighed over 9 stone. It's preposterous. My Dad and brother have the same issue (not wearing children's clothes, I hasten to add, just the weight Vs size disparity) - we just have incredible bone density. Now, I know I'm overweight, but it was a bit weird to be wearing a size 12 dress and leggings and a size 10 cardi whilst being told by a GP that I am 'technically' obese. Because this wasn't upsetting enough, she sought to console me by saying 'don't worry - you're too old now to be eligible for fertility treatment under our PCT, so your weight doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things'. As I tried to cry in the most dignified way I could muster, she explained to me that they'd changed the guidelines and women in my area have to be 37 at the time of their first appointment at a fertility clinic. As I would have to wait for my first appointment for a few months, I would just have turned 38 (end of Oct.), which fucked everything. She then, weirdly, said she was also refusing to mark down that neither me or M drink or smoke, as we couldn't 'prove' it. Erm, whaaa? As I was near my parents' home, I walked there and had a massive cry. As I said, I've now found out that the upper age limit in this area for FT is still 39 and that Docs have to take people's word for it about their lifestyles, so I dunno what the bitch's problem was, but hey ho.
I was, of course, devastated. I kept panicking that this meant I'd never have kids. We looked into the cost of private treatment but we couldn't afford it. Annoyingly, the GP's appointment was a Thursday and a few days before I was due to ovulate. M took the next day off work because he wanted to look after me, the treasure. It was perfect timing for shagtastic weekend but neither me or M felt our sexiest best, and we managed a single (tender, cuddly, sweet) sexy time on the Friday. And that was it. I got v angry at M for us not having sex more over that Ovulation Weekend, but, truth be told, I couldn't bear it. I was in a real state for the next week. That following Monday, I was actually scared I was having a breakdown: I kept crying and talking to myself - which I do anyway, but I also started laughing hysterically at nothing, as the grief was so immense and when I popped to the shops, I felt really bizarre and like I was invisible. M came home to find me rocking and talking absolute nonsense on the sofa and I think it was the genuine fear in his eyes that snapped me out of it (not suggesting that mental illness is easy to 'snap out of'). It was a horrific day, which I never want to repeat. That would probably have been the day when the 'magic' happened, so maybe that craziness was some biological reaction to the moment of conception, who knows!
I was very emotional and slightly hysterical after this, although thankfully just about sane. I reacted OTT to something a friend said online, which I deeply regret (so this is a public apology, of sorts). The next weekend, I had a mild asthma attack just doing some tidying up - this was very unusual for me. Although I have mild asthma, I don't even own an inhaler and there was no reason why I should've had such a crazy reaction to a touch of dust. I thought to myself, could this be a weird pregnancy thing, then told myself I was being mental, but breathlessness can be one of the earliest signs of pregnancy, I've since found out. That second week after ovulation, I felt really tired and drained, but I put it down to the fact that as soon as I found out how how my BMI was, I'd embarked on a hardcore diet and exercise programme.
Anyway, now onto the fun stuff! I've never gone longer than 11 days after ovulation without spotting starting, not even when I was young. When I got to the end of that eleventh day with zero gusset-ruin, I was so happy. I told M and we were both so chuffed that the acupuncture must be improving my cycle - that was the most we were hoping for! I was having some cramping and typical pre-menstrual breast pain, so wasn't too hopeful. Day 12 came... and went with no spotting. I allowed myself to get excited, for 2 reasons: 1) I wasn't getting any of the usual very minor signs that my period was imminent and 2) my menstrual cycle is usually only 26 days long and this was day 26 itself! My last cycle had only been 24 days long, so it was encouraging. This was a Thursday - 2 weeks after getting the knockback from Dr BitchWhore - and I started daydreaming of doing the test on Saturday and going to find M, saying, I have a surprise for you, then showing him the positive pregnancy test and him swirling me round in his arms, covering me with tearful kisses, etc., etc. (a long-held fantasy!). Then I woke up the next day, Friday, and there was still no spotting so I just bloody tested! I laid the piss-stick on the bathroom floor on some loo roll and went off for a few mins, turning my latop on, etc. I then walked back to the bathroom, all the time berating myself out loud for being daft. It went something like this: Oh, it's going to be negative, you're being stupid, you mustn't get your hopes up, look, it's clearly going to say... JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ON A CUNTING BIKE!'. Ah, what dulcet tones and sublime words of profundity greeted the first moments of realising I was pregnant. I grabbed the stick - there were 2 pink lines; the second, the one that tells you it's a yes wasn't even faint - there was no denying it! Even so, I ran shaking and crying with joy to the kitchen window to check - yep, 2 strong pink lines! I then washed my hands and took some pictures of it! Then, I rang M. He should've just got into work (I hadn't woken up until about 8.45 am), but he was late and on his bike. I said, 'You know how I've been really unhappy because I haven't got a baby?' M: 'yeeeees?'. Me: 'Well, I'm the happiest person in the world right now - can you tell why?' And in the happiest, most terrified yet hopeful voice ever, he squeaked 'wh-wh-why?'. And so I told him. He was - and is - over the moon (rest of chat personal). I also rang him a few hours later to tell him I was still pregnant! Then I went to town and spent an entire afternoon just gazing at baby stuff - prams, tiny shoes, books, eeeeeverything. All the things that have made my heart spasm in agony previously, now bringing me so much joyful anticipation!
M rushed home later and wanted to see the piss-stick and its instructions to make sure it was true; after all this time, he couldn't bear either of us getting our hopes up for nothing. But it was true. It is true! Even now, it's only just sinking in. We spent an evening knowing this wonderful truth, just us, and then the next day, we told my parents. Apart from the fact I wanted to and am v close to them, they live nearby and my mother is one of those women who can tell everything about you with one glance (and she knew my period was due, as had been moaning about it to her). It was wonderful - I told them that I wanted to talk to them about contributing to the cost of IVF, which they had talked about with us... and then I told them I wanted nothing from them as I am pregnant. My Dad sat stunned, looking like his smile was going to rip his face off and my Mum burst into tears, went red and clapped her hands over her face, bending double with pure happiness. She had to go off and make unwanted drinks just to compose herself. To say they were overjoyed would be an overstatement. We spent a happy afternoon with them then we went home. Have told my closest online pals, who understand what's what and my brother, who lives in Amsterdam, but no-one else yet. M's parents live a long way away and aren't so mad keen on contact and, as you're not meant to tell people until after 12 weeks, M thought it'd be better to wait till then, 'just in case' and I agree. Doesn't mean my parents are more important, of course.
And here we are. This post is far too long already, so will be updating more on stuff more frequently, very soon. Just because I've got the thing I want most in the world hasn't stopped me being a big old whinger!
Oh, and my due date is @19th May. Put that one in yer diaries!
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