A bit of cosseting

So, I was going to be all tough and macho about this round of IVF. I knew what to expect, so I didn't have to be afraid of any of the procedures. And I thought of all those people who get pregnant naturally, and the sort of active life they lead while not knowing that they're pregnant - and I told myself that I should carry on as normal after transfer and not make any allowances for what may or may not be going on inside.

There were two things I'd forgotten.

The first is that the thing that really screwed with my head last time, the thing I'm really afraid of, is the roller-coaster of the two week wait and the almost certain negative result at the end of it. The odds for us are not high - my eggs are too old, and DH's sperm are too thin on the ground, too lazy and too misshapen.

Yes, we have an embryo, but it's more likely than not to fail to implant. And having only got one embryo this time, the odds for success if we try again are likely to be even lower. I feel like this really is our last chance, and I can cope with the physical pain of going through any number of procedures much better than I can cope with the mental anguish of finally admitting that we have nowhere else to go, and that our dream of having our own children will never be realised.

The second thing I'd forgotten is that those people who carry on as normal and have no idea that they're pregnant have usually conceived after a hugely enjoyable encounter with someone they love. They've enjoyed intimacy, exchanged loving words, maybe fallen asleep in each other's arms afterwards.

What they haven't had to go through is a series of injections which give them wild mood swings, a bruised stomach and a feeling of crushing exhaustion.

They haven't had half the population of southern England shoving pieces of electronic wizardry up their bits to see how they're looking today.

They haven't had huge needles stuck through their vaginal wall and into their ovaries to retrieve whatever poor harvest of eggs they were able to come up with, and felt the cramping and bruising that results from that procedure.

They haven't stayed awake through the night of total insomnia which seems to be some people's reward for having gone through a procedure involving anaesthetic ("you may feel drowsy afterwards"? Are you kidding me???).

They haven't gone back two days later to be cranked open with a car jack and have their already bruised bits fiddled around with again, this time with no pain relief or sedation because someone has decreed that this bit isn't painful for most women.

And they haven't suffered the indignity of lying half-naked on a trolley, legs akimbo and feet in stirrups, weeping inconsolably at the thought of the next two weeks of mental anguish and the idea that if this doesn't work, it's probably the end of the road.

So I'm going to be gentle with myself this weekend. Mental and emotional healing will take longer, but at least I'm going to take it easy until my body has physically healed from all that it's gone through over the last week. And then I might do the macho thing and see if I can put this out of my mind for a few days.

Or then again, since very few people in real life know that we're going through this at the moment, I might whinge endlessly and pointlessly to the cyberworld about how hopeless I'm feeling every day for the next two weeks.

Sorry, it's not going to be an interesting fortnight here on this blog...