Short pause

One of the worst things about dealing with IF is the inability to make any plans. I can't tell you how many holiday plans we've made and then shelved in the last two and a half years. But one trip that has been postponed way too many times and for way too long is a trip to see my brother and SIL in South Africa.

Well, once we knew the clinic wanted us to wait three cycles before jumping back on the IVF train again after our latest failure, that was the first trip we booked, and I can't wait to see them. You can picture me getting to know my sweet nephews again, having endless chats over cups of (decaf) coffee with my wonderful SIL Jeannie, and exploring the local area - they've moved house since we last visited them, to the opposite end of the country.

See you in ten days...

Amazing day

We had an amazing day yesterday, and I'm so glad I have my new camera.

First, because I've always remained anonymous on this blog, I thought I'd show you a picture of me. So here I am, along with a few other people (you may not be able to pick me out, as I'm amongst the 80,000 people being shown on the big screen there).

And here's the man we were all there to see (along with the heads of some people in between - I may have my new camera set up, but I don't have any photo editing software on this computer yet).

The whole day was amazing, but to experience 80,000 people falling silent in prayer was just incredible, and I'm so glad to have been part of it.

The BBC, of course, has found it practically impossible to report anything at all about any aspect of the visit without mentioning the words 'protest' and 'child abuse'. It's intensely frustrating, but for me and 79,999 others, yesterday afternoon and evening was all about celebrating the many good things about our Church and sharing in the experience of the first ever State visit by a Pope to the UK.

He gets it

We were talking about money again last night. We have a joint current account, joint savings account and each have separate accounts as well. So far, the IVF has come out of the joint savings account, but there's not enough in there for the last attempt, so we need to find the money out of our separate accounts. I'm owed a bit of money which is about equal to the amount I need to find, and I was discussing with DH last night the fact that the person who owes it to me hasn't mentioned it for a while and I hope they haven't forgotten about it. I'd rather lose the money than fall out with this person, and it's an awkward time to ask for it, but I lent it before the redundancy was on the cards, so my own circumstances have changed significantly.

DH's instant response was that I mustn't worry about paying for the final IVF - he would cover the lot out of his own savings. I said things weren't that bad, and I should still be able to pay my share, but the response meant a lot to me and gave me a warm glow. It's not about the money - it's about the fact that he gets it. He knows how important this is to me, and it's as important to him as well.

There was another sign this week that he gets it. There was a lot of talk on our family e-mail group on Wednesday about SIL's pregnancy, the scan, the painting of the nursery, etc. As it happens, I was fine with it - now that the scan has happened and I've really appreciated how worried they were about the baby's heart, I think I've got over my jealousy a bit. But as soon as he got home from work that day, he gave me a huge hug and said how worried he'd been about me all day with all that talk going on.

He's come a long way from the man who said a year ago that he'd heard about some woman who couldn't have children and didn't want to be around pregnant women and babies and was glad I didn't feel that bad about our situation.

A hug in an envelope

Yesterday morning, as I was changing the sheets on our bed, I paused, as I always do, to read the note that I keep under my pillow. It's from my SIL in South Africa, and she sent it with a little fertility charm. With the other little cards and notes she has sent over the last few months, I treasure it, and often go back to read them when I'm feeling a bit low.

Then yesterday afternoon a card arrived from my SIL in the US. Being on the other side of the world and busy with her seven children, she hasn't always been quite up to speed on what's been going on with us, and there have been times when I've wondered if she and my brother even cared. I feel bad about typing that now, because in a few words in the card that she sent yesterday, she conveyed all the love and concern that you could hope for.

I always knew really that she was thinking of us and praying for us, and she has sent the occasional e-mail, but somehow this card made me cry, because what she said was so perfect, and it made me realise how much I had been underestimating - or perhaps underappreciating - her.

But right now I feel very blessed, because yesterday I had a great reminder of how lucky I am to have two SILs who, although far away, are among my best friends. And how even luckier I am that when we're not able to see each other face to face and give each other real hugs, they're both so good at sending me a hug in an envelope when I most need it.

Phew!

My SIL had her 20-week scan yesterday. There was a certain amount of apprehension about it, as at her 12-week scan a possible problem was picked up with the baby's heart. They had five people in the room with them for this scan, including a cardiologist, and had a tense few minutes as these five professionals said nothing while examining the scan.

Fortunately, they finished up by saying that all was well, the baby looked fine and they could see no problems with the heart. They also told my brother and SIL the baby's sex, so I now know whether I'm going to be an aunt or an uncle (and no, I'm not going to tell you until the baby's here!).

I'm relieved because I love my brother and want him and his wife to be happy, and because you wouldn't wish those sort of problems on anybody anyway. But I'm also relieved because I would have felt quite irrationally guilty had there been any problem with the baby, because I was so jealous of this pregnancy. I never wished them any harm or wanted anything bad to happen, but I'm very conscious that I haven't been as pleased or excited for them as I should have been, and that at times I've really struggled with the whole situation.

Now that we've had this little worry, and I've had a chance to examine my feelings and acknowledge how uncharitable I've been, hopefully I can look forward to welcoming my latest little nephew or niece in January without these nasty little feelings of "it should be me, not them".

Riding along in my automobile

Yesterday was an absolutely perfect late summer's day. There was real warmth in the sunshine, the sky was blue, and with the knowledge that there will be very few more days like this before the autumn sets in, we didn't want to stay indoors.

After Mass, we put the roof down on my zippy little two-seater and went for a spin on the country roads around here. We meandered down little single-track roads, stopping for cyclists and horses along the way, and eventually stopped at a lovely little country pub, where we sat in the garden to have a late lunch.

I've always found the car a very good place to talk. You have a captive audience - nobody can just wander off - and it's sometimes easier to say things that are a bit difficult when you're not facing each other. Having something else to concentrate on (the road ahead) and not being able to react too much physically (sometimes even a hug can disturb the flow of the conversation) also help.

The reason I needed to talk is because I've been having a bit of a crisis of confidence recently. I've now been unemployed for a little over a month, and the rejection of redundancy followed by the huge knock-back on the day of our follow-up appointment at the clinic have just made me doubt myself a bit. I don't want to go into detail about the knock-back - you never know who might be reading this - but there was a very major and very sudden change of attitude which I found both surprising and puzzling, given all the other circumstances.

I've had my moments since then, but yesterday, for some reason, I just felt really low about it. I know I'm good at my job, but I also know that I'm very bad at dealing with artificial situations like interviews and role plays (essentially, the thing I did badly on at the second interview for that job was a glorified role play, and I just wasn't able to replicate the real-life situation I was supposed to be representing). I feel as though I'm always going to stumble up against this reality when applying for jobs - being expected to jump through hoops that I find impossible to get through in order to reach the position where I'm actually able to demonstrate my ability to do the job.

I'm planning to go freelance, at least for a while, but I stumble up against the same problem - I can do the work, but I have no experience of marketing myself and selling it. And if I have piles and piles of beautiful work gathering dust at home, but nobody who wants to give me money for it, then I might as well not bother doing the work at all. It'll cost me between £2,000 and £3,000 to get myself set up for this - will that expenditure reap rewards by bringing in several times that amount, or will it just bring me to the end of my savings a bit more quickly?

So I've been worrying, and trying to work out how much longer my savings will last, and wondering how I can economise and make them stretch further. And then I've wondered if it's daft, when we're in this situation, to spend another £10,000+ on a fourth IVF treatment when we have such a low chance of success.

And that's what I talked about with DH as we bowled along the little country roads with the sun on our shoulders and the wind in our hair yesterday. He listened and understood my concerns, but he was totally supportive of what I'm planning to do, and he believes I'm capable of doing it.

He said three things that really helped to reassure me. The first is that he's seen that I'm doing groundwork for this new freelance work at the moment, and he thinks I'm right not to rush in and to ensure that I'm fully prepared before I start trying to sell my work.

The second is that it takes time to build up this sort of work, and even if I don't make any money before Christmas, that doesn't mean the effort I'm putting in now won't pay off in the longer term.

And the third is that as far as he's concerned, our priority for the rest of this year is not earning money, but giving ourselves the best possible chance of success at our final IVF. And he brought that up all by himself, without my having mentioned it at all, so I feel reassured that he's still fully on board with the baby thing (maybe more so than I am at the moment, as I can't help worrying about the cost and the high probability of failure).

So we had a lovely day, I got a lot of worries off my chest, and DH was great in offering both practical and emotional support. I knew there was a reason why I married this man...

When did I become so blase?

Yesterday I visited another of my friends, mother of another of my godsons. For no reason other than the general busy-ness of life, I hadn't seen her for over a year, so we had a lot of catching up to do. Although we had spoken on the phone, there are some things that just don't get communicated in a phone call.

I was sitting in the kitchen chatting with her while she finished preparing lunch, and she was asking me about my redundancy and what I planned to do next. I told her about the job that had fallen through, and that my current plan is to see if I can make freelancing work.

I then effortlessly moved into, "And that fits in better with our other priority. I can't remember if I told you, but we found out last year that we can't have children. We've had three unsuccessful attempts at IVF, and now we're gearing up for what will be our final attempt, so I'm trying to keep the stress in my life as low as possible and concentrate on relaxing and being as healthy as possible."

There was no angst, no telling her how difficult the year had been and how unhappy we'd been about it - just a bald statement of the facts. But of course, it was the first time she'd heard these facts, and she hadn't had a clue we were going through all this.

Things went a bit quiet, and she didn't really respond to the next thing I said. Then suddenly she flung down her spatula and rushed over to give me a huge hug, and I noticed that she was crying. She just choked out, "That's so unfair. You would be such a good mother", and it took her a while to get herself under control again.

Perversely, I felt good that she felt so bad for me. But it did make me wonder how I managed to be so matter-of-fact about it. I suppose once you've been living with something for over a year, you have to harden yourself to it a bit. I'm not sure that anything quite matches the devastation of the first appointment when you're told you're infertile, or the first failed IVF - though I may learn differently if our last attempt fails and I have to face that finality.

For now, I seem to have grown a hard shell over my heart to protect myself from all that emotion. I know our final attempt will break through that shell, and at the moment I'm not ready for that to happen. I'm quite happy to live in limbo and pretend to myself that it's just one of those things, that you mention in passing while catching up over lunch and a cup of tea.

Oh boy

The universe is throwing big clunking messages at me again this week. The first is that whatever happens, there will always be children and young people in my life. The second is that, even though I love babies and toddlers, you can still have a great relationship with a child even if you've missed the first couple of years of his or her life.

On Tuesday, I was babysitting for my sister when I got a call from a friend - the father of one of my godsons. He and his wife were having problems with their eldest son, and asked me if I could help. I agreed to go over and see them yesterday.

So yesterday I spent the late afternoon and evening with them, just interacting with the three boys as normal and chatting with the mother. The father didn't get home from work until 10 pm, at which time the younger boys went to bed, the eldest boy went to watch the telly and I spent about an hour closeted with the parents as we talked through their concerns. I then went through to the other room and spent the next hour or so talking to the boy, then called the parents in and mediated while they talked together.

I've known this boy since he was two or three, and I always enjoy seeing him. He's now just short of his 17th birthday, and is the same sweet boy he always was, but with a veneer of stroppy teenager on top. The problem is largely cultural, I think - he seems a very normal teenager to me, but his parents are immigrants and expect him to behave in the same way as teenagers in their own culture. He himself was born in the UK and has lived all his life in South London, where teenagers behave very differently from the way his parents are used to.

I think everyone went to bed a bit happier, and I hope that even if I haven't helped, at least I haven't done any further harm, and I've certainly given all three of them a different perspective on the issues. The parents have often said that in the absence of the support network they would have back home from their extended family, I am their surrogate extended family, and I take that role very seriously, knowing how much it means to them.

I got home at about 3 this morning, and would probably still be slumbering peacefully if I hadn't had to get up to move my car - the only available parking space when I arrived home was a space down on the main road which is restricted after 8 am, so I struggled down there to move it at 7:30.

On the way home, I was thinking about parenting and adoption, and I realised that although I missed the first couple of years of this boy's life and have known his brothers from birth, I'm as fond of him and have as close a relationship with him as with his brothers. I know you can't compare a relationship with a friend's children to a parenting relationship, but it made me realise that the fear I have that I wouldn't be able to bond with an older child is probably ungrounded.

And now I must respond to a text that has just come in from my sister, asking me to babysit again next week. You see - always children in my life...

New camera

Since before we got married, I've been wanting a digital SLR camera. When we got engaged, a friend gave us a terramundi money pot, and as I was pretty much the only one who ever put money in it, it was understood that when it was full, the money we got out would be mine. As time went on, it came to be known as my camera fund, and we talked about buying my D-SLR camera when it was full.

A few weeks ago, DH said that if I emptied the terramundi now, he would make up the difference between what was in there and the cost of the camera I wanted for my birthday. So last week I smashed the terramundi and went out shopping. The contents of the terramundi probably paid for about a third of the camera, and DH has now reimbursed me for the rest.

So I am now the proud owner of a Nikon D5000, and I LOVE this camera. It takes such sharp images, even in ridiculously low lighting, and I took some great pictures of my nieces at the weekend.

The first picture I took with it was, of course, of the terramundi.



At the moment, I only have the standard 18-55 mm lens, but there are a couple of big events coming up for which I'm going to need a good telephoto lens, so I'm debating between the 70-300 mm lens and the new 55-300 mm lens, which only came out last week. The new one is apparently lighter, but may not be as good quality as the 70-300. And it's so new that there haven't been any reviews of it yet, whereas there are dozens of reviews out there of the 70-300, all of which say what a great lens it is. Whatever I get, I'd like to have it and know how to use it by 18 September, which gives me only 10 days. If any of you have any thoughts on the matter, I'd be very interested to hear them.

I have a lot to learn about digital SLR photography, but I'm going to have a lot of fun learning it!

The extra guest at the party

So, on Sunday morning I was steeling myself for an afternoon of baby talk with my pregnant SIL. I felt a little as though I was missing a layer of skin - sort of weepy and oversensitive. I also had a bit of a backache, and was desperately hoping that my back problems weren't going to re-emerge.

And then everything suddenly became clear, when I discovered that AF had decided to show up for my birthday party as well. It was only CD 21, so I wasn't expecting her at all - but how nice of her to join me and make me even more hyper-aware of the fact that I wasn't pregnant.

As it turned out, we had a lovely afternoon. There was a fair amount of baby talk, and it was the first time I've seen SIL since her bump started to show, but I coped pretty well with it all.

After they left, DH asked me how I was feeling and if I'd been OK with all the baby talk. That man has learnt a lot over the last year - even six months ago, it would never have occurred to him that I might not be OK. But I got lots of extra cuddles from him, and his sensitivity to my feelings really helped.

I'm a little bit freaked this morning, as I just read an article which said that only 47% of women who attempt IVF are ultimately successful. It was only a survey of 2,000 women, though, so who knows how skewed those results might have been.

But I think I'd better get used to smiling and being nice about other people's pregnancies, regardless of whether AF is here or not, because I'm not liking those odds...

Utterly spoilt

Thank you for all the birthday wishes. As it turned out, the day couldn't have been better yesterday.

My 40th birthday celebrations last year were completely coloured for me by the fact that on my birthday, I didn't hear at all from one branch of the family (one of my brothers, his wife and seven children, the eldest of whom is my godson). To be fair to them, I did get something in the post a few days later, but on the day, there was no phone call, no e-mail, no text message, nothing even on Facebook. The more ways there are of getting in touch, the more disappointing it is when someone fails to do so.

Yesterday, I had two phone calls, an e-mail and a Facebook message from them, and it makes all the difference knowing they're thinking of me. I also heard from every other branch of the family, saw both my sisters and received dozens of cards, presents and messages. BOTH my sisters brought cakes that they had made. And of course, my parents are here for the weekend, so we had a lovely time with them as well.

Here's a picture of the table covered with my cards and presents, taken with the fantastic new camera that DH got me (in poor light, without the flash - not bad, eh?!).

Today my youngest brother and his pregnant wife are coming for lunch. It's very unfair of me not to be looking forward to it very much, especially when they're making a huge effort to be with me on my birthday weekend, but this is the pregnancy I've struggled with most - it's their first child, and she is VERY excited about it and talks about pretty much nothing else, and I so desperately want to be nothing but happy for them, but the jealousy just creeps in despite my better intentions.

Anyway, now I'd better go off and clear all that stuff off the table so we can have some breakfast...

Forty-one

Today is my birthday, and I'll be spending it with my parents, sister, BIL and nieces. The weather forecast promises sunshine, and we're going to have a barbecue and enjoy one of those beautiful late summer days which always feel like a bit of a bonus.

DH has got me a fantastic present - I know, because he sent me out to buy it myself on Thursday, but I'm still not going to tell you about it until tomorrow (or maybe Monday, since my parents are here for the whole weekend).

It's going to be a great day, but not perfect - because there's someone missing from the party. If IVF #1 had worked, we would have a three-month-old baby - or possibly twins - here. If IVF #2 had worked, I would have a newborn. And if IVF #3 had worked, I would be exchanging notes with my pregnant SIL, who we are also hoping to see this weekend.

I'm not even going to think about the fact that I'm now 41. That is no cause for celebration at all. But being able to spend a bright, sunny weekend with people I love - that is.

What a relief!

Yesterday I was driving home from a shopping trip when I had a sudden and startling realisation, which lifted a huge weight off my shoulders.

You may think that I've been boring you with every little detail of my concerns over the last few months, but there's one I've kept hidden and just worried away at from time to time on my own.

For the last four or five months, my periods have been lighter than I was used to. This worried me, and I had managed to convince myself that this was a sign that I was going into the menopause proper, that they were soon going to tail away into nothing, and that by November I might not even have any eggs left to try with.

As time went on, I got more and more concerned. It wasn't just a one-off, but it continued for several cycles. I began to long for the unpleasantness and flooding that I was used to. I had been given dire warnings to expect the AF after my latest failed cycle to be heavier than usual, and when it was reasonably heavy, but not unduly so, I really worried.

So there I was, driving along the A41 yesterday, when suddenly, out of nowhere, it was as though a lightbulb went on over my head and melted my fears away.

Five months ago, I had my hysteroscopy - and had a polyp removed. And polyps are one of the major causes of heavy periods.

So what I've been experiencing as much lighter periods over the last few months are actually what they should be. And as evidence for that, I have the scans that I had on my latest cycle, which showed that the lining came away as it should at the beginning of the cycle, and then plumped up to a good thickness later on in the cycle.

I mentioned this to DH last night and told him how I'd been quietly worrying about this for months. First he castigated me for not having told him earlier, then he said, "Anyway, remember what the doctor said in our follow-up meeting."

I did remember, and wasn't reassured at all. But DH went on: "He said that egg you produced was perfect."

We really were in two different meetings that day!

You don't know unless you've been there

This morning, I feel huge sympathy for the Foreign Secretary, William Hague, who was forced to make a statement yesterday in which he revealed the fertility struggles that he and his wife have had.

Apparently, rumours have been circulating in Westminster for years about his sexuality. Well, he married quite late and doesn't have children, so it's obvious, isn't it? And obviously many people believe that it's impossible for two people to share a hotel room - even one with twin beds - without having mad, rampant sex together. Obviously, he should have realised the extent to which many journalists' minds are in the gutter and had a bit more sense, but when he was paying for these rooms out of his own pocket, I can quite understand a pragmatic Yorkshireman deciding to save money by booking a twin room rather than fork out for two separate rooms.

What distresses me the most about this story, though, is that he and his wife obviously thought that revealing their private pain would draw a line under the story. And yet the newspapers this morning are still full of innuendo and speculation, and the political blogger who started the rumours about Hague and his aide is apparently set to make further "revelations". In fact, when searching for an article to link to just now, I found that only a couple of tabloids published remotely sympathetic accounts. The broadsheets were all too ready to display their continued scepticism.

Leaving aside the question of whether it's right to out someone as gay in order to sell newspapers, as if it were some terrible crime that brings into question that person's suitability as a politician, I find it incredible that in the face of such a difficult personal revelation, the people who started these scurrilous rumours obviously feel no shame. Far from it - they scent blood, and circle ever closer, waiting for the chance to go in for the kill.

But then, I know and understand a lot of what William and Ffion must have gone through. I think of my own distress after not much more than two years of trying to conceive, and never having gone through the pain of miscarrying a much-wanted pregnancy, and I can't even imagine going through thirteen years of repeatedly getting my hopes up and then having them dashed yet again.

I don't think anybody who has suffered any form of infertility can have anything but sympathy for the Hagues this morning - for the private suffering they've gone through, for the vicious rumours he has had to put up with while this was going on, for the agonising decision to expose their pain to the world, and for the heartless reaction of journalists and bloggers who see nothing but a scoop, something to sell their papers and maybe make themselves famous for a few days, or get themselves a promotion or a pay rise.

Clearly none of these attack dogs have experienced this sort of suffering first hand, and clearly they have no understanding of it. But I hope that some of them at least will come to regret the pain they have caused, and continue to cause, to a couple who have already suffered enough.

Getting fit

The latest step in trying to create the perfect environment for a baby to snuggle into is that I'm trying to get fit again - I haven't done a lot since I had all those problems with my back earlier this year, and my gym closed down a couple of months ago.

The manager of the gym has now set up on her own, offering personal training, and I've signed up for that. I've just finished my second session, and boy, can I feel it! She's very good about not pushing me too hard - I felt a twinge in my back at one point and she instantly stopped me doing what I had been doing and changed to an exercise which didn't use my back so much. But there's no hiding at the back of the class or coasting when you get tired - with someone watching you the whole time, you have to work hard all the way through.

My favourite exercise is the boxing - I'd never done it before, but I have plenty of aggression to work out at the moment. I wonder if I can get a pair of gloves for myself and get DH to wear the pads...

The rest of today will also be reasonably active - we finally have a couple of dry days, and the shed desperately needs to be painted. I might even manage to treat the decking and mow the grass as well.

Job hunting can wait until tomorrow - I need to get my house in order first...

Back to reality

We had a wonderful few days with my parents. Since I'm now unemployed, I was able to go up a couple of days earlier, and DH joined us when he finished work on Friday. Then yesterday was a bank holiday, so we had a really good break.

My parents have several friends who are on various weird and wonderful diets. They are all quite happy to visit my parents for a few days at a time, but all expect their latest foibles to be accommodated - one won't eat wheat (no, she's not allergic), another won't have anything that's made with milk (also not allergic), another is on the Atkins diet, still another won't eat anything at all before noon.

DH and I wouldn't dream of putting our hosts to that much trouble, even when they're family, so we've had a few days of no wheatgrass, no brazil nuts and just eating whatever was on offer. It was so relaxing - we even went to the pub a couple of times and had a drink.

Now that we're home, we're back to our fertility foods, but with a more relaxed attitude. I'm taking my full dose of DHEA (and continued with that while we were away), but I really can't believe that one shot of wheatgrass more or less, or one pint of beer with my father, can turn my eggs from superova to it's-all-ova.

And in other news, today is my lovely SIL's birthday - happy birthday, Jeannie!

Gon out

Streaming cold. Grumbling ovaries. Two weeks of heavy rain. No baby. No job.

I'm going home to be cossetted by my parents for a few days.

See you soon...

Good old Dr Google

Last night's google searches were "severe cramps after failed IVF" and "early ovulation after IVF".

Funny - most people seem to find that their cycles are longer after a failed IVF. It seems that my cycle is sticking firmly to its original timetable, ignoring everything that has been done to my body in the last month and the fact that my AF was delayed by the gestone. Well, I always was a bit of a creature of habit.

So according to the date of my last AF, I'm only on CD10 today. But last night I had the worst ovulation cramps I've had for months - the sort where it's impossible to stand up straight, and every step you take feels like a knife in your lower abdomen. I'm pretty sure that's what they were, and that my insides aren't about to fall out or anything. We'll see - in about 12 days' time, I expect...

Unrealistic expectations

I nearly threw a brick through my sister's telly last week. It was on in the background, and a programme came on which I would never normally watch, but which I knew about from reading reviews. And one of the things I had read about it was that there was a character in this drama who was struggling with infertility.

It started to grab my attention when they started to talk about IVF. Another character had lent this woman's husband the money to pay for their IVF, and it appeared that the husband had gambled the money away. There was lots of angst about whether the infertile wife should be told, then there were some huge arguments, and it seemed that there was now no money for IVF and this woman was going to remain childless.

And then you'll never guess what happened next. She had a huge row with her husband - I think she may have thrown him out, though I was still only half watching this as I chatted with my sister, so I'm not certain. We saw her crying and alone, then we saw her throwing up, and then guess what - she peed on a stick, and sure enough, it turned out that she wasn't going to need the IVF any more, because she was miraculously up the duff.

I can't think of a single radio or television programme I've seen which portrayed a failed IVF attempt. And of course, the print media tend to take the line that with women wanting to have it all and deliberately delaying starting a family while they build their glittering careers, IVF will soon become the normal way to conceive - and they never mention the physical and emotional trauma that IVF entails, or the fact that it's not always successful (or the fact that most of us didn't simply 'choose career over babies' and then expect a quick fix at a time when it became convenient to start thinking about babies).

The other thing you occasionally see in the newspapers is a smiling couple showing off their baby after 'years of heartache and 10 IVF attempts'. Sometimes the article will mention the amount the couple have spent: "Our baby cost us £100,000, but she's worth every penny".

But they keep very quiet about the other side: the couples who endure years of heartache, multiple IVF attempts, and are left with nothing to show for it but debts. The impression given is that most people are successful after one or two attempts - some don't even need that, as they get miraculously pregnant while they're waiting for IVF to start - but everyone is pretty much guaranteed to get there in the end.

And I think that's why so many people I speak to think it's exciting that we're going through this, and can't understand it each time we tell them that it's failed again. Because surely if we were doing it right, we'd have our baby by now.

I think there's a gap in the market here - someone needs to write a realistic drama about a couple who endure unsuccessful fertility treatments. The trouble is, it wouldn't sell - nobody likes an unhappy ending. So we struggle on, with the weight of the world's unrealistic expectations on our shoulders, and hope that one day we'll be the smiling couple telling everyone that it was all worth it in the end - but knowing that we might just become another of those invisible statistics that nobody wants to talk about.

Working things out

My subconscious has been busy.

Last night I had a dream that I was driving through a tunnel. Suddenly all the traffic ground to a halt, and people were getting out of their cars to see what the hold-up was all about. I walked out of the tunnel in time to see that the traffic was beginning to move again, and started to run back to my car so that I wouldn't hold everyone else up behind me. As I came towards the tunnel again, I saw several people pushing the car towards me, so that I wouldn't have to run so far.

I woke up feeling that my subconscious was telling me that my current situation is temporary, that things will start to get moving again soon, and in the meantime I have my friends and family to help me.

Of course, I think it's my career situation that my subconscious is concentrating on at the moment - it seems to have nothing much to say on the baby front. But it's nice to know that somewhere deep inside, I'm confident that Friday's rejection is just a temporary blip and my career will soon be back on track.

In other news, after a dose of IVIg and three weeks or so of steroids to depress my immune system, I can say that I'm finally responding to the drugs. Despite six days of drinking compost (aka wheatgrass shots) and three days of DHEA, both of which are supposed to make me burst with energy, vitality and health, I was awake for half of last night, shivering, sweating and struggling to swallow past the ball of barbed wire that seems to have taken up residence in the back of my throat. I still have a little bit of voice, but not really enough to start making calls to potential employers and trying to impress them, so today is going to be a day of resting, researching on the internet and visiting the library for a bit more research.

So, my mind and my body both seem to be processing the events of the last couple of weeks - and hopefully both will start to get stronger in the next few days.

He heard, she heard

It always amazes me how DH and I can participate in exactly the same conversation and come away with completely different views of it.

I came out of Friday's appointment with the doctor (he needs a name - let's call him Mr Wonderful) feeling utterly crushed, and had the greatest difficulty stemming the flow of tears which had begun to fall halfway through the appointment.

Mr Wonderful was kind and caring, and he tried not to be negative, but he said two or three times that our chances of success are very low. He said that if this had been our second or third attempt at XXXX clinic, he would be recommending that we give up and explore other options. It was only because this was our first attempt with my immune issues being addressed - so that he said we could pretty much discount our two attempts at the other clinic - that he thought it was worth trying one more time, but we mustn't get our hopes too high.

He said that there are two principal reasons why embryos fail to implant - immune issues and embryo quality. Since my immune issues were being addressed in this cycle, it must have been down to the embryo, even though when they put it back it looked perfect. I'm not getting any younger, and my ovaries respond so badly to high doses of stimulation that he holds out very little hope that I'll produce any more eggs next time round - and the fewer eggs you have, the lower your chance of success.

I asked very tentatively about DHEA, because I'd read that XXXX clinic doesn't believe in it. He cautiously said that some studies had indicated that it could help in some cases, and agreed that I might as well try it. He offered us the prescription as an afterthought, just as we were about to leave. The impression I got was that we had so little hope, we might as well throw everything we could at this final attempt.

I wondered if DH would consider it worth wasting another £10,000 on one last treatment cycle, knowing how low the odds were (and also knowing that I was unemployed, with no real job prospects on the horizon), and I waited with some trepidation for the discussion we would have when he got home.

He then surprised me by saying as soon as he got in on Friday night, "Well, that was quite positive, wasn't it?"

Errrrm, no, I wanted to reply, but just waited and let him carry on.

"I'm so glad he thinks we still have a chance. And he was impressed when you asked about the DHEA."

Errrrm, no again. I think these doctors don't like it all that much when we second-guess them with information we've got from Dr Google. But we're such a hopeless case that he thought we might as well throw something extra at it, probably just so I feel as though everything has been done that could be done.

"So we start again in November. It's good that he's giving your body time to rest before you have to go through all that again."

Yes, my love, we go through it again in November. And you're all perky and cheery because you think Mr Wonderful gave us good news on Friday. And I'm just hoping that you're right, and that your birthday present in November isn't going to be another BFN and a bucketful of tears.

Review appointment and a kick in the teeth

Well, we went down to the clinic today for our review appointment, and I was very pleased that we were seen by the guy who did my egg collection and embryo transfer, who is a lovely, warm and caring chap.

He said that our embryo was graded 3/4, with 4 being the best on their scale, but obviously it wasn't ideal that I only had one - interestingly, given that the HFEA is really pushing single embryo transfer now, he said that even in younger women with higher success rates, single embryo transfer reduces the chances of success by about 30%.

He basically said that my ovaries are knackered, and that they can't work miracles. While there are always going to be success stories with a single egg and a single embryo, and while he can't say for sure that we wouldn't be successful, he wants us to be realistic and appreciate that our odds of success are very low (he didn't put a figure on it, and I didn't ask).

However, he said that because I do have immune issues and have only had one cycle in which those issues were addressed, if it was him he would probably have one more go - but no more than one.

I asked him about DHEA, and he said it could help - and actually gave me a prescription for it, so I'll be taking that from tomorrow.

I also asked if Clomid could help my response, and he said they do use it sometimes, but the problem is that it can sometimes reduce the thickness of the uterine lining. They probably will add it in for me next time.

DH's sperm were about the same as when we had our first appointment there - 5m/ml (down from 6m), 10% morphology (same as last time) and 50% motility (up from 35%) - so a huge improvement on last year, but still not brilliant. The doctor recommended that he take 1 mg of Vitamin C and 800 units of Vitamin E a day to try to improve his sperm, so I bought those supplements when I picked up the DHEA.

They recommend that you wait at least two or three cycles before trying again, as the treatment cycle is so intensive and your body needs time to recuperate. That means we'll have about three months of the vitamins, DHEA and wheatgrass - hopefully long enough to see an effect, if there's going to be one. So we're back to waiting, and when my November AF shows up I'll go in for a CD1 blood test.

He was very kind, and as encouraging as he could be while still being realistic. The truth is that if we don't get lucky next time round, it's game over for us - and after DH sat there listening to the guy saying how low our chances were, I need to wait and find out whether he still thinks it's worth even going for this one more chance.

I managed to get halfway through the consultation before I started to cry, and then I just couldn't stop.

My emotional state wasn't helped by the phone call that I received while we were in the waiting room before going in to see him. I had a job interview last Wednesday that went really well, then a second interview this Wednesday which was a bit disastrous. For various reasons, I had been given the impression that this job was in the bag, and it's one of the things that made me worry less about my redundancy. They chose this lunchtime to call and tell me that they didn't want me after all. Some people's timing just sucks.

Clinic angst

My first thought on getting the BFN call last Friday was to wonder if we ought to change clinics again. There's another London clinic which also has very good results (though not as good as XXXX clinic) and specialises in treating women with high FSH. I wondered if I might be better off there.

But I've grown to love XXXX clinic, with its boot camp regime and all its little quirks. And what's the point of going to another clinic which might be willing to treat me with high FSH if ultimately it's not going to work anyway? Their results definitely aren't as good as XXXX clinic's.

So I did some more research, and I discovered that the other place doesn't do daily monitoring and doesn't give as much aftercare if you get that elusive BFP. And a lot of people who aren't successful first time at XXXX clinic are successful second (or third, fourth, fifth or sixth) time. Not that we intend to keep going forever, because we don't have that sort of money and I don't think I can take that sort of physical or mental stress, but we do want one more go.

And so I've come back round to the idea that XXXX clinic is the right place for me.

Even the BFN experience was so much better than at the old place. For a start, I feel more comfortable with them phoning to give me the result rather than me having to do an HPT and phone them. And honestly, the person who called me sounded as gutted as I was about it.

She said they'd call again a couple of days later to see how I was. They never did, but I like to think they would have done had I not called back to arrange our follow-up appointment and got an appointment so soon afterwards. I was also impressed that the person who answered the phone knew I had just got my result that day and expressed sympathy before getting down to the business of setting up the appointment.

I only want to go through this again if it's going to work, but I'll only ultimately know whether it's going to work by having another go - a bit of a Catch-22 situation. But having researched that other London clinic and a place that's been recommended to me outside London, I do know that XXXX clinic is the place I want to go through it. Now I have to hope they're still willing to work with my recalcitrant ovaries...

Wheatgrass

My frozen wheatgrass shots turned up yesterday. You're supposed to take it on an empty stomach, so I've just had my first one and am giving it a few minutes before I have breakfast.

This stuff is a very disturbingly deep green colour. My first mistake was in believing the bit in the instructions where it says, "Put your frozen shot in room temperature water for about five minutes and then drink it". All I can say is, it must be an awfully hot room if it can melt one of those shots in five minutes. It took me at least ten minutes of determined stirring, with the sneaky addition of a bit of warm water from the kettle, to melt my shot.

The best way I can think of to describe the smell is to think of grass that's been left to grow a bit too long and has been mown when it's a bit damp. Which makes sense, because that's pretty much exactly what this stuff is. It also tastes like that, and if you happen to do a little burp after drinking it, you get the same flavour repeating on you - regardless of whether you've had anything to eat in between.

So I have another form of torture to go through and to hold against my eventual child when it becomes a stroppy teenager. (Hmmm, perhaps that's why the universe doesn't consider me a suitable person to become a parent...)

On the plus side, the claims for the health benefits of wheatgrass began with a coincidental observation by a farmer. He used fresh cut grass in an attempt to nurse his sick hens back to health. Not only did they recover, but they produced more eggs than the previously healthy hens. In later experiments, he found that hens which had their diet supplemented with wheatgrass produced twice as many eggs as previously.

Now, I know I'm not a hen, but if I could double my egg production, and make them better quality too, it'd be worth having the flavour of damp grass in my mouth for a couple of months.

It's also claimed that wheatgrass helps blood flow, digestion and general detoxification - if it helps me to flush out all the drugs I've been taking over the last few weeks, that'll be no bad thing as a start.

There is one thing I'm not prepared to put up with, though. Some people have reported that this stuff stains their teeth green. If I end up with green teeth, the wheatgrass shots are going in the bin...

Boring

How many more ways are there to say "I can't have a baby and I'm sad about it"?

How many more ways are there to tell people that you've failed again?

How many more sites can I google in an attempt to find positive stories about people who've failed X times but been successful on the X+1th attempt?

How much longer is this thing going to be the focus of my life?

How long is it going to take this time round before I stop unexpectedly finding my eyes streaming with tears at random and unpredictable moments?

I'm even beginning to bore myself.

The stiff upper lip wobbles

I haven't had the big, ugly, gulping tears yet - and if I can avoid it, I won't.

DH and I met for lunch on Friday just after I got the call from the clinic. My eyes were leaking as soon as I saw him, and he wrapped me in a huge hug and said, "Go on, let it out, my love."

I pushed him away, angrily swiped at my eyes and said, "Not in public."

And then we had our lunch, in a place which is frequented by a lot of patients from XXXX clinic, and from time to time as we ate in almost complete silence, an extra bit of salted water would drop onto my salmon, but I managed to keep it mostly in check.

On the way home, I called my parents and just said, "The answer is no." They asked if I would call back when I got home, and I said, "No. Tomorrow." And swiped away a few more tears.

Once home, I got onto Google and started thinking about what to do next, and planning and researching helped to keep the tears at bay. By the time DH got home, I was able to stay on a reasonably even keel as long as we didn't probe into our feelings too deeply.

It was the little things that got to me.

My father, desperate to help and make things all right for his daughter, offering whatever help he could give, "including financial", but knowing that in reality there's absolutely nothing he can do to make this situation any better.

The text from my sister, who knows exactly the right thing to say even though this situation is so far removed from her own experience. "Very very sorry. We love you."

The person at the clinic, when I phoned for a follow-up appointment and gave my name, saying softly, "Oh, you just heard today, didn't you? I'm so sorry."

Getting in the bath on Saturday and looking down at the purple, yellow and brown landscape of my stomach, still bruised from all the pointless Clexane injections.

Seeing the woman who sits a couple of rows in front of us in church, caressing her growing bump as she sat serenely surrounded by her seven other children.

The hymn we sang at the end of Mass yesterday, with the third verse asking for comfort for those who mourn.

And each time, I've bitten my lip, swiped away the tears, and forced my mind onto some other track, and disaster has been averted - if by disaster we mean total loss of control and helpless collapse into a soggy, sobbing heap.

I did let myself wallow a bit over the weekend - for the first time since long before we got married, I never even got dressed on Saturday. I felt antisocial, I didn't want to talk to anyone, and when we went to the supermarket on the way home from church yesterday, I felt irritated and affronted by the very existence of other people's children. I barely spoke all weekend, and had to make an effort that was almost too much for me just to be civil to poor DH.

But now that little period of limbo is over. The gestone is finally working its way out of my system, and AF showed up this morning. DH is back at work, and I have a list of jobs to do.

Life goes on, and it's time to pick up the reins again.

The next plan

Thank you so much for your comments and support - I really do appreciate each and every one of them.

I'm trying not to think too deeply about this at the moment, because I need to keep some measure of control and not turn into a blubbering mess. Every so often, something makes my eyes well up, and I instantly push it to the back of my mind and concentrate on something else. And that something else tends to be 'what do we do next?'.

Of course, we can't really know what we're going to do next until after our follow-up appointment, which is booked for next Friday. We'll be guided by the clinic on whether they think it's worth trying again - but for the moment, I have to believe for the sake of my sanity that they'll say it is worth it.

I'm tired of popping pills, so we're probably not going to go back to our programme of supplements. Now that I'm not working, I can shop for food more regularly and cook healthy, nutritious meals, so we'll stick to trying to stay healthy naturally.

We discussed whether we should stick to the not-eating-in-the-evening thing. It's worked well for us in that we both feel healthier, DH snores less, and we don't feel heavy and bloated in the evening. On the other hand, we hardly ever eat together, and I've been limited in the meals I could cook, because they had to be able to go in a little Tupperware pot and be reheatable at work.

Eventually, we decided that we will start eating again in the evenings - but I'll have supper ready as soon as DH gets home from work, and our suppers will be high protein and low carb. Last night we had delicious organic steaks with salad - an excellent start.

The next miracle cure I'm going to try is wheatgrass, which can apparently help lower FSH and improve egg quality. I ordered a month's supply of frozen wheatgrass shots yesterday, which should arrive on Tuesday. Even if we aren't able to go ahead with another IVF, wheatgrass is good for detoxing after you've been on a lot of drugs, so it should do me good as my body processes all the stuff I've been taking the last few weeks.

I had some inkling that this cycle might not have worked on Friday morning, when I had some brown spotting, so the BFN call was less of a shock than it might otherwise have been. My AF still hasn't shown up, though, and in many ways that makes me feel that I'm still in limbo.

Looking at my dates, the best time for another cycle would be November, so I'm hoping my cycle will work itself out in such a way as to make that possible. And if we get that chance, I will cancel all plans for that month and concentrate solely on relaxing, eating protein and following the clinic's instructions.

In the meantime, I'll take the wheatgrass, get to work on getting fit and losing some more weight, book our long-delayed holiday to South Africa for late September/early October, pray that we get the answers we're hoping for from the clinic on Friday, and try not to think too deeply about the hopes and dreams that were dashed for us this week.

The answer is no. Again.

Thank you so much for all your prayers and good wishes. Unfortunately, the answer, once again, was a resounding 'NO'.

My HCG was less than 1. This embryo didn't even try to implant.

So what does this mean? I only had one usable egg this time. I'm a poor responder par excellence, and the eggs I do get don't seem to be good enough.

Was it just bad luck? Or are my eggs so old and crappy that I'm never going to produce a decent, viable embryo? And why should that be, when my mother didn't enter the menopause until she was over 50, and my grandmother gave birth when she was in her 40s? Isn't that supposed to be an indicator of something? I'm 40 - I know I'm no spring chicken, but my ovaries shouldn't be completely old and withered at this age.

I'm so angry at the unfairness of it all. DH and I are good people. We'd be good parents. We've done everything we could to make this work. We worked as though everything depended on us and prayed as though everything depended on God. We've smiled and made happy noises for the casually fertile, even when we were dying inside. We've looked after other people's babies when our arms were aching to hold our own. Why is it never our turn? What have we done to deserve this emptiness and unhappiness?

DH would like to try one more time. I don't know. We threw everything at it this time. We'd been eating healthily and taking ridiculous numbers of supplements for months. We had immune testing. We had daily blood tests. We gave up alcohol. I gave up caffeine. We had expensive and painful drug regimes for pretty much every eventuality. It was the best shot we could possibly have given it. And our embryo didn't even begin to implant.

We'll book our follow-up appointment, and ask our questions about what they really thought of the quality of our embryo, and why they think I responded so badly. And then we'll ask them whether they genuinely think there's any point in trying again - because I'm not prepared to go through this again without a realistic chance of success.

We could be at the end of the road here.

One more day to go

I've had plans for every day this week, and they have helped to make the week go faster. Today, though, I've deliberately kept my plans very fluid - when planning my week, I had to be prepared for the possibility that I would be a nervous wreck by today, and possibly already plunged into the pits of despair by the knowledge that this IVF hadn't worked.

So today I'm waiting for a call from the garage about whether they can fit my car in for a repair. One of my neighbours brought round a big bag of wild plums the other day, so I might make some plum jam. If the sun comes out and we get some good drying weather, I might do some laundry. Apart from those things, I have a big pile of supplements from the last few weeks' Sunday papers that I haven't had time to read, so I'm planning a lazy day working my way through those.

I still have fewer symptoms than I've had on either of my first two IVFs - or even on a lot of the 2WWs I had when we were TTC on our own. I know that the symptoms I do have are entirely caused by the drugs I'm on, and amazingly I've had no real urge to symptom spot over the last 12 days.

Last night I dreamt that I took my top off and saw that my boobs had suddenly increased to three times their normal size and turned bright purple. I thought to myself, "So THIS is what they mean by changes in your boobs - that's fairly unmistakeable. I must be pregnant." In real life, my boobs are resolutely staying their normal size, shape and colour, and the prominent veins I usually get before AF have never materialised.

I'm a little bit crampy on and off, and I had a little moment last night when I convinced myself it hadn't worked and AF was on her way, but today I'm back to having absolutely no idea. I'm not full of wild optimism, but nor am I full of despair - I just really don't know what tomorrow will bring. Strangely, I have no desire whatsoever to POAS, and am quite content just to wait and see what they tell me tomorrow.

I wonder how long this calm mood will last...

How to forget that you're only two days away from test day

One word - gestone.

My right thigh is so painful right now that there's no room to think about anything else at all. I barely slept last night, and I'm struggling to prepare for this afternoon's job interview. Hey, I'm even struggling to walk. Or to sit still.

The good news is that the day after tomorrow, even if I have to carry on taking the horrible stuff (and I actually hope I will), I'll at least be able to talk to the nurses and see whether there's anything I'm doing wrong or could do differently.

The other good news is that I've googled enough to know that it's quite normal to be in this much pain, especially if you're doing the jabs in your thigh. And it doesn't hurt this much every day, so hopefully by this afternoon it will have eased off a bit, and this evening's injection won't be so bad. Sunday's was pretty awful (though not as bad as this), but I was fine on Monday and Tuesday. If it means I get a baby at the end of it, I can cope with excruciating pain every third day...

But for the moment, the one thought in my head is:

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ooooowwwwwww!!!

The inner dialogue

So, still think we're in with a chance, do we?

Well, it's 9dp3dt, and I haven't had any spotting yet - that has to be a good sign. After all, I spotted earlier than this on both my previous cycles. And today is day 26 of my normal 26-day cycle, so in the absence of the whole IVF process, today or tomorrow is when I'd be expecting AF to show up.

(Hollow laughter) And what about those gestone injections? Weren't you the one who read that they should prevent any spotting before test day, because of the higher dosage and the more efficient method of getting the progesterone into your system? You weren't on those for the last two IVF cycles, were you?

Errrm, OK - it's a fair cop. But what about all this weeing I'm doing? I'm up and down like a yoyo all day and all night, and that's not like me at all.

And what about all that drinking you're doing? I know your stomach's looking pretty ugly and bloated, but the water has to go somewhere.

True. But what about the heavy, dragging feeling in my stomach, and the occasional little stabbing pains?

Again, think back. You've got excited about those exact same pains so many times before, and every time you convinced yourself that you'd never felt anything like it before. Honestly, sometimes I think you have the memory of a goldfish! As for the heavy, dragging feeling - with extra progesterone AND Clexane, which are both supposed to plump up your lining and make it nice and thick and fluffy, did you really expect anything less? Doesn't mean there's anything actually living in your beautiful red cloudland.

OK, but I'm also feeling a bit queasy.

And you think that's unusual, with the amount of drugs you're on? Besides, don't you quite often feel queasy when AF is due?

Oh yes, so I do.

I suppose next you're going to tell me your boobs are sore and veiny.

Actually, they're not. They usually get sore and have prominent veins a few days before AF is due, then the veins fade and AF shows up. This month, I haven't seen the veins at all. They've been a bit sore at times, but nothing unusual. I don't think we can read anything into that.

[Scornful silence.]

Anyway, there's no reason to think that I'm going to be one of those intractable cases that has failure after failure. We tried a completely different approach this time, with a new clinic which has a success rate of 40% in my age group. Why shouldn't I be in that 40%?

Don't forget a success rate of 40% still means a failure rate of 60%. And as for thinking you're not an intractable case, let's look at the facts. You're a poor responder, you've got two failed IVF cycles behind you, and this time round you got one usable egg. Hardly a ringing endorsement of your fertility level, is it?

It only takes one - people get pregnant naturally every month having only produced one egg. And the embryologist said my embryo was beautiful.

Don't make me laugh - I'm sure she tells everyone their embryos are beautiful. I seem to remember the embryologist at the old clinic telling you your embryos were beautiful - it wasn't till after the BFN that they admitted what low grade they were.

I really really want this, and I've waited over two years for it. Surely it's my turn.

I think you know how stupid that argument is. We've seen plenty of evidence over the years that this doesn't go by 'turns'.

Well, I've done everything I should - I followed that healthy diet and supplement regime for months, I've religiously taken all my medications at the right times, I've followed all the instructions I was given, and I've put up with pain and discomfort without complaining.

And you think the people with 8, 9 and 10 IVF failures haven't worked just as hard to make it work?

And I've prayed like anything.

God's answers to prayer aren't always the answers you hope for.

OK, what about that angel reading? My egg collection, and therefore the fertilisation of this embryo, happened in July. Could there be some truth in what that woman said?

Oh, please! You really are moving from the sublime to the ridiculous. Put your faith in God and forget about some charlatan who gives you false hope. You should never have got that reading in the first place.

Well, quite apart from the reading, the timing is just so perfect at the moment, what with my job just having finished and all. And an April birthday would be lovely.

There are plenty of April birthdays in your family already - who needs another one? And as for perfect timing - babies come in their own good time, not when it's convenient. Have you learnt nothing in over two years of this game?

You're exhausting me - you're always so negative. Why shouldn't it have worked?

If you're so confident, why don't you pee on a stick to put yourself out of your misery? I'm sure it'd show up by now if it was positive.

Errrrm, no - I'm too scared. I want to live in my PUPO cocoon for a bit longer. Now please shut up and let me think about something else...

The gestone blues

Well, a constant supply of hot drinks and a large handful of dried apricots sorted out yesterday's problem, so I'm feeling more comfortable today.

My latest issue with the progesterone is just in giving myself the PIO jabs. Can I just say that, although I really hope I'll be continuing to take them for the next several weeks, I hate the buggers?

The clinic gave me the choice of doing the jabs in the middle quadrant of my outer thigh or the top outer quadrant of my buttock. Since I'm doing them myself, it's easiest to do them in my thigh. I've also read about people catching their sciatic nerve when doing the buttock, so without a precise target to aim for and with my history of back problems, I'm just not prepared to risk it - despite all the dire warnings I've read on the net about the thigh being a much more painful place to inject than the buttock.

I am getting a lot of muscular aches and pains around the injection site, so I decided I'd rather have one dead leg than two and have so far only done the jabs into one leg. That was fine until this weekend. Saturday's jab was fine as it pierced the skin, but I hit something on the way through the muscle and THAT was painful! Then yesterday I just couldn't get the needle to go in at all - I ended up taking the needle off, changing it and shifting the injection site about an inch further south, where it did at least glide in easily.

I only have four more of these jabs to do before test day, so I'm going to try to do those in the same leg, then if I get a BFP and they keep me on the gestone, I'll switch legs from Friday and give this one a bit of time to recover - I'd rather do it that way than alternate daily and have both legs sore at the same time, I think. I have heard of people at XXXX clinic being put on twice daily gestone injections - I'm already on twice daily Clexane, and I'm really hoping the gestone won't go more than once a day.

The trouble is that my recovery time seems to be a bit slow at the moment - I still have bruises from two weeks ago, though they are at least fading. It's getting harder and harder to find an unmarked patch of skin on my stomach to do my Clexane jabs. This is particularly true as the one hour gap between the Ritodrine and the Clexane isn't always enough to make the Ritodrine shakes stop before I have to do the jab, so I often have to do the Clexane with jazz hands.

But if I'm still injecting this time next week, I won't be complaining even if my entire stomach ends up looking like an army camouflage suit and I have two dead legs. You can remind me of that if I do start complaining...

The madness begins

Well, the calm, relaxed attitude of yesterday has been replaced by creeping doubts and frantic knicker-watching. On IVF #1, I started spotting at 8dp2dt. On IVF #2, I started spotting at 9dp2dt. So now that it's 7dp3dt this time round, I've started to look for the spotting. Of course, this time I'm on a higher dose of progesterone, and the injections are apparently more effective than the pessaries, so I've been told spotting is less likely. On the other hand, the information from the clinic also says that spotting is very common and doesn't necessarily mean the cycle has failed. But I'm still looking out for it, and still hoping against hope that I won't see it.

In other news, sorry for the TMI, but the progesterone is doing its evil job. I've been drinking water as if it was going out of fashion, eating plenty of fibre, walking around and getting plenty of gentle exercise - so why am I sooooo constipated? My stomach feels so uncomfortable, and every time I try to go, I worry about whether I'm going to dislodge my little embryo just as it's trying to dig itself a nice little nest.

So not a brilliant day for PMA, and I'm thinking a day spent at home with an endless supply of warm drinks and the Sunday papers sounds more attractive than either a visit to the in-laws or a trip to a shopping centre.

Lazy Sunday, here we come...

I love it when a plan comes together...

Well, it's been about 16 hours, and so far, I'm loving being unemployed!

Yesterday was a good day, with lots of people coming over or e-mailing to wish me well (and saying what a huge mistake it was on the firm's part to make me redundant, which was nice). I left without a backward glance - there are people I worked with there who I'm sure will always remain friends, and I've enjoyed the job and have achieved things that I'm proud of, but personally and professionally, the time is right to move on.

I've spent most of this morning on the phone, and now have the next week very satisfactorily planned out. I have an activity for every day, but nothing too strenuous, and certainly nothing that will take as much out of me as commuting to work does.

Today we're having a barbecue with some friends. The six of us go to a fortnightly pub quiz, which we win quite regularly. At Christmas, we went out for a slap-up meal with our winnings so far. We now have another pot of winnings racked up, so this afternoon we're going to coast round Costco picking up whatever we fancy, then have a massive blow-out barbecue. The sky is looking grey and threatening at the moment, but if it rains, we'll just move inside - no big deal.

Tomorrow after Mass DH is going to visit his parents, and I'm going to potter into town to pick up presents for a couple of birthdays that are coming up soon.

On Monday I'll take my parcels down to the post office, then go over the bit of work I've been asked to do in advance of my job interview.

On Tuesday I'm having lunch with two of my oldest and dearest friends. Although we all went to the same school, they didn't know each other at school, but gelled instantly when they met as adults at one of my birthday parties. Well, they would - they're two of the loveliest people I know. They each have a 10-year-old daughter - I'm godmother to both, and they were bridesmaids at my wedding and also got on brilliantly together - and a five-year-old son. I've been trying to get them together again for a while, and it's going to be such a lovely afternoon with some of my favourite people.

On Wednesday I have a job interview. If this job comes off, it'll be perfect - three days a week, working from home. I know several people at the company quite well, and the work will be interesting but a lot easier and less stressful than what I've been doing recently.

On Thursday I need to take my car for a service, and then if it's a nice day I might just go for a bit of top-down motoring to blow out the cobwebs, just for the sheer pleasure of driving through beautiful countryside.

And then Friday is test day. DH and I have discussed whether I should POAS beforehand and decided that I probably won't.

The advantage of doing so would be that I would be prepared for whatever result I get from the clinic. If it's a BFN, obviously I'll just want to be home as soon as possible and hiding under my duvet. But if it's positive, I'll be called back to have another blood test (progesterone levels etc) and pick up a prescription for more gestone and whatever else they think I need. So once I've had the blood taken on Friday morning, I really need to stay in London until I get the call with the results, just in case it's positive.

I think I know the very place to wait - it's a Starbucks not far from DH's office and the clinic, with a big comfy sofa right at the back which is sort of hidden - a good place to have a little cry if necessary. I've already waited in there for a couple of calls during stimming and done a couple of my jabs in their toilets, so the place will be forever associated with this treatment cycle in my mind anyway.

So my thinking at the moment is that I won't POAS, I'll have no way of knowing what the result is going to be, and I'll spend Friday morning sitting in Starbucks awaiting my fate.

So, a week of pleasant occupations and plenty of opportunity for rest in between. What could be more perfect?

Five

OK, I promise I'm not going to do this every day of the 2WW, but it's another significant number.

It's the number of days past transfer.

It's the number of embryos we've had in total over three IVF cycles - little Viennetta arrested before transfer on our first cycle.

It's the number of full years I've been working for my current employer - significant because today is my last day of work.

It's the number of days until my interview for a possible new job (confirmed only yesterday - and they've given me stuff to prepare for it, so that's Monday's lounging in front of the telly scuppered!).

It's the number of months until that job starts if I get it - and so the number of months I get to take it a bit easier and just do the occasional bit of freelance work to keep me going.

If any babies want to start implanting now, this would be a really good time to do it...

Four

The number of days since transfer.

The number of times I had to get up to go to the loo last night.

The total number of embryos we've had transferred in three IVF cycles.

The number of gestone injections I've done so far - and last night I discovered that although the ice does numb the skin and prevent the needle hurting as it pierces the skin, applying heat to the area instead of ice before doing the jab makes it less painful to actually squirt the stuff into the muscle. I'm pleased about that, since I'm hoping to be on these gestone injections until about 12 weeks (see that blind optimism again?).

The number of times I have to take Ritodrine a day. OK, the gestone hurts, but it's the Ritodrine I really hate. For over an hour after each dose, I feel anxious, shaky and sometimes a little bit dizzy. Fortunately, apparently this one doesn't go on after test day whatever the result. Also fortunately, two of the doses are taken while I'm in bed, and I can (try to) go back to sleep afterwards.

The approximate number of mood swings I have each hour. Lucky, lucky DH!

Overreacting? Moi?

I went into the kitchen this morning to put on a load of laundry. DH has done the last couple of loads, and he mentioned at the weekend that he thought we'd run out of Calgon. I reminded him that we have a mahoosive box that lives under the kitchen cupboard and thought no more of it.

This morning I discovered that he has thrown away the dinky little box that fits into the cupboard, that I used to refill from the big one, and the kitchen cupboard is now a total mess with a mahoosive (and half empty - didn't that give him any sort of clue?) box balanced diagonally across the top of everything else.

In the big scheme of things, this is really not a big deal at all, and in any case, it'll be very easy to find another little box to keep in the cupboard so that the big one can go back underneath. Perhaps if it's a completely different sort of box, it might encourage him to remember why and then not throw it away next time he empties it.

So after I'd tossed all the washing onto the floor, kicked it around a bit, stamped up and down on it, gone through the recycling to see if I could find the empty box and then thrown all our old cardboard and paper all over the kitchen as well, sworn loudly and burst into tears, I did start to wonder if all these drugs I'm on may be making me just a teensy little bit less stable than usual...

The WUB drug routine

Thank you so much for all the prayers and good wishes - and please keep them up!

As promised, here's a little list of the drugs that I'm on between now and next Friday (and hopefully some of them at least for a bit longer, if all goes well). I have alarms set on my iPod to tell me when to take them all, so let's work our way through the day...

0600 - First dose of Ritodrine - half a tablet to be taken at six-hourly intervals throughout the day (and night). This is a drug which is used to prevent uterine contractions, and when prescribed at XXXX clinic it's used only during the two week wait. That's good, because it gives me a slightly shaky feeling and I think is also what's causing the indigestion that I'm getting.

0655 - First dose of Clexane -20 ml subcutaneous injection which stings a bit and leaves peculiar perfectly round purple bruises, about the size of the head of a screw. This is a blood thinner which is used to increase the flow of blood to the uterus and try to ensure no clots are formed.

0845 - Steroids - two tablets, to be taken with or immediately after food. Yesterday they switched me from Dexamethasone to Prednisalone, but Mr Miracle Worker reviewed my file this morning and put me back on Dexamethasone from tomorrow. Both are used to damp down the immune system and try to prevent it rejecting the embryo as a foreign body, but apparently Dexamethasone is better at negating the effect of natural killer cells.

1200 and 1800 - Second and third doses of Ritodrine. More shakes and heartburn. I also take a 75mg aspirin at noon, as I've been told to take it some time between the Clexane jabs.

1855 - Second dose of Clexane, and the big gestone injection - the dreaded progesterone in oil. 100 mg a day, injected intramuscularly with a 1.5 inch needle - OUCH! I was told I could do it into my buttock or thigh - given the difficulty of contorting myself to reach the right part of my buttock and the danger of hitting the sciatic nerve, I've opted for the thigh. Having read various things about it, this is how I'm doing it at the moment: when I start getting everything ready, I pop the two phials of gestone into my bra to warm them up. While doing my Clexane jab, I balance an ice cube against my outer thigh to numb it. I then whip the phials out of my bra, make up the jab, stab the needle into the numb part of my thigh and inject slowly (having pulled up on the plunger to make sure I haven't hit a vein). As soon as I take the needle out, I massage the area gently for a couple of minutes and then apply a warm wheat bag to it. The injection itself isn't too bad, but I've had a bit of a dead leg afterwards both times I've done it so far. Anyone want to tell me that's going to improve...?

0000 - Final dose of Ritodrine.

And apart from that, it's just the litre of milk, 2-3 litres of water, prenatal vitamins and regular protein snacks - and even more regular prayer.

I'd like to think that all this extra support, and all the hoops I've jumped through to get to this stage, can't fail to lead to my long-awaited BFP - but of course there are plenty of people who've gone through even more treatments and jumped through even more hoops and still never got there. And so I veer between quiet optimism and a firm belief that this can't succeed, because I just can't imagine what success would be like after more than two years of failure.

What a wimp!

We had a bit of stress getting sorted for today, as relatively late last night we discovered that all today's trains into London from where we are had been cancelled, and we couldn't get a hotel room in central London at short notice for less than the price of a small kingdom. So we decided to hope for the best that I wouldn't be sedated and drive all the way in.

The staff at XXXX clinic were as lovely as they always were, and I had a good chat in the waiting-room with someone I'd been chatting to regularly while we were going in for daily bloods - she was in for egg collection today.

There were three egg collections and a hysteroscopy before me, then I had the cannula inserted just in case and the embryologist came to see me. She said Rucksack was at seven cells and was looking beautiful. The consultant said he would prefer me to be awake for the transfer, but offered me the option of being sedated straight away, so I said I'd have a go at being awake.

Another sign of how tailored the treatment is at XXXX clinic is that they map everything out when they do the hysteroscopies, and on the basis of what they know of your individual anatomy they decide how full they want your bladder for transfer. I was lucky - they wanted my bladder empty.

It was much more relaxed in the theatre than it ever was at the other clinic - Mr No Nonsense liked to do his transfers in absolute strict silence, whereas everyone was joking and trying to put me at my ease this time. Without the experience of my last two transfers, I'm sure I'd have been absolutely fine.

The consultant did a quick t/v scan before he started, and I took slow, deep breaths and concentrated on trying to relax. They don't use ultrasound during the actual transfer, as they don't want any distortion in the shape of the uterus caused by the scanner thing pressing down on your stomach.

Then he said he was ready to get started, and I heard the clink of the metal instruments on the tray and just thought, "I can't do this". I totally panicked and begged them to put me to sleep - which they instantly agreed to, and the lovely anaesthetist came in and sent me off. Oh, the blessed relief!

I was very apologetic afterwards about having been such a wimp - but on the plus side, I got a good half hour to an hour lying absolutely still after my transfer, and I feel quite positive about the effect that might have.

I have a whole raft of new medications to take - they tested my progesterone level and have taken me off the Cyclogest and treated me to the dreaded PIO injections instead. I'll tell you more about my new drug regime tomorrow... I suggested to the embryologist that they were just trying to take my mind off the two week wait by making me spend the whole time counting down to the next dose of medication, and she didn't disagree!

I have to go back for my beta test on Friday 13th - lucky for some, I hope. And in the meantime, I'll just relax and enjoy being PUPO.

Two cells

I don't like to boast, but this morning the embryologist said my embryo looked 'perfect'. S/he was checked on first thing this morning and was at two cells, but as the embryologist said, s/he may already have carried on dividing and reached four cells.

So I'm to go in for 8:00 tomorrow morning, and the embryologist confirmed that I would start off awake but be sedated if I found it very difficult. She said that a lot of people have had difficult transfers elsewhere and then had no problems at XXXX clinic - largely because Mr Miracle Worker almost always does a hysteroscopy beforehand and so knows the best way in. Also, he doesn't try to rush the procedure, which probably helps.

I know you don't want to mess around with sedation if it's not necessary, so I'm quite happy with that arrangement.

I went back to the breakfast table - we have a friend staying who has 9-year-old IVF twins, and I said, "We have two cells!"

An alternative birds and bees conversation ensued when one of the twins asked what that meant. Their mother explained in simple terms what we were going through, then said, "I haven't really told you this before, but that's how we got you as well."

And then she gave the most beautiful, simple explanation of how their father had been ill and they hadn't been able to have babies on their own because of it, and how the treatment had happened, and told them that the first time she saw them, they were each about six cells. And the children asked three or four questions and were then satisfied.

I hope I'll be having that conversation in 9 or 10 years' time, with my perfect little two-celled chap.

Rucksack III

Well, the embryologist called. One of the eggs wasn't suitable for injection, but the other has fertilised, so Rucksack III is currently waiting for us in the lab and hopefully working hard on dividing nicely. Perhaps we should change his/her name to Chesney (The One and Only).

Although I was a little disappointed, I still feel more hopeful than I did at this stage last time round. It only takes one, and although our odds of one implanting are slightly reduced by only having one in total, it's still the quality of the embryo that counts. And surely, after everything we've done over the last six months, the quality of both my eggs and DH's sperm MUST have been better this time round.

I asked about the sedation, and the embryologist said Mr Miracle Worker prefers people to be awake for transfers, but that she would talk to him.

She later called back and proposed what I think is the best possible compromise - because I'm sure it's best to avoid sedation if I can.

My transfer will be scheduled for some time on Sunday morning, after all the egg collections for that day have taken place. Until the end of today, they won't be able to say exactly when that will be, as they will be monitoring people for the rest of today to see if any of them are ready to trigger tonight. But that will mean the anaesthetist is still around when I go in. Mr Miracle Worker wants to start me off awake, and if it gets too uncomfortable for me, he's promised to put me to sleep.

Having got that little detail sorted, I feel quite calm about the whole thing. I don't feel too anxious about little Rucksack/Chesney sitting there in the lab, because I know the embryologists are on the ball and s/he will have five star treatment while s/he's there. And to be honest, if s/he isn't going to survive to day 3, it doesn't really matter whether s/he's inside me or not - but at least if I know before transfer, I'll be spared the agony of the 2-week wait.

In reality, though, I'm not letting myself think about the possibility of having nothing to transfer, and am concentrating all my energies on praying that our little embie will survive - not just until Sunday, but to grow into a baby and then an adult and ... well, you get the picture. One sometimes has to be specific in one's requests.

So the next hurdle is the phonecall from the embryologist tomorrow to see how Rucksack/Chesney (Ruckney? Chessack?) has done overnight, and then hopefully instructions about when I need to be in London and what I need to do on Sunday. And in the meantime, I've restarted the Dexamethasone and aspirin, am on Cyclogest twice a day, and the Clexane starts up again tonight. I'll while away the waiting time with drugs...

A modest harvest and a little freak-out

So, we got up yesterday at 4:15 and left the house at 5:00 (DH complaining that he was tired). We were at the clinic for 6:30, where we discovered that there were SEVEN egg collections happening that morning, and I was last on the list. Apparently today there are no egg collections taking place. That's the thing with individualised treatment and all this intensive monitoring - you get your eggs collected when they're ready, not when it's convenient for the clinic and they have a space on their list.

DH was taken off first to do his business. I do find it hard sometimes to think that he has no problem producing into a cup at the clinic, and he even had no problems when I ordered him upstairs on Tuesday night, but he has such a psychological block about coming up with the goods when he's with me. Can you be jealous of a plastic sample pot? Still, at least his little pot was filled yesterday without any difficulty.

The contrast from the old clinic is huge - much more informal surroundings, more chit-chat to put you at your ease, absolutely no frills, but absolutely superb care. I was in no pain at all when I woke up, and although I was a bit sore by the time I got home, I had killed a few hours wandering the streets of London (I did have to beg DH to take me to a coffee shop for a sit down in the end, in preference to going round yet another bookshop as he had intended) and then gone to my work leaving do in the interim period, which is probably not the most highly recommended way of recovering from egg collection.

At the old clinic, they wrote the number of eggs they'd collected on your hand, so that you could see it as soon as you woke up. Here, they didn't do that, which gave me a brief moment of concern that perhaps they hadn't got any.

As it turned out, they had collected two. Bearing in mind that on IVF #1 I had four follicles visible on the scan and ended up with six eggs, and on IVF #2 I had two in the running and two coming up behind and got four (although two turned out not to be mature), I was a little disappointed with this. At my last scan I had two huge ones, as well as one about 18 mm and another one or two possibles. So was it the huge ones that yielded up the goods? Or were they overripe, and had a couple of others caught up?

However, I was also hugely relieved that I had any. I know I would have been gutted to get only two eggs at the last clinic, but all I could think of yesterday was "well, hopefully they're both better quality than the crappy eggs I got before".

XXXX clinic does transfers on day 2, 3 or 5. Having only two eggs, it's unlikely that we'll go to day 5, so we're looking at a day 2 or 3 transfer - tomorrow or Sunday. Strangely, I think I'd prefer day 3. Before, I've been so worried about my little embies in the lab and just wanted to get them inside me. But this clinic has some of the best embryologists in the country, and if they think it's OK to let my embies go to day 3 I feel as though that means they have more confidence in their quality and viability.

I had a little freak-out when I was told that they're not expecting to sedate me for embryo transfer. At our very first appointment, I was told they would consider doing this, and the last two transfers have been so painful that this was a hope that I was really clinging onto. They insisted that Mr Miracle Worker is really good at this and that people who have had painful transfers elsewhere haven't felt a thing with him, but the image that keeps playing through my head is of Mr No Nonsense sticking that blasted car jack into me and vigorously cranking it until I felt I was going to split in two. I'd so much rather be asleep and not know anything about it, however skillful Mr Miracle Worker is.

Of course, all of this could be academic - I'm now waiting for the fertilisation report, and there's always the chance that there'll be nothing to transfer. If we're playing a numbers game, I don't have many options. I just keep repeating to myself that it's quality that matters, not quantity - and hoping against hope that all the supplements, the healthy diet, the pints and pints of milk I've consumed, the intensive monitoring in the course of this cycle, and all the other things we've done differently will add up to super-quality eggs and sperm that got happily jiggy-jiggy last night and now are busy dividing away in the lab and beginning to grow into my future children.

Vignette

The lab where they do the blood tests is round the corner from XXXX clinic. The lady on the desk is there every single day - I was staggered to see that she was working both Saturday and Sunday as well as every weekday.

On Tuesday, I said to her, "Do you ever get a day off?"

She put her hand on my knee, gave me a lovely smile, and said, "You tell me when you're pregnant - then I'll take a day off."

So no pressure, but I really hope for her sake that I get pregnant soon...!

I never thought we'd have a row about this...

Some people's husbands do their jabs for them. Others do the cooking from time to time. Mine does neither. He won't even be in the room while I'm mixing my jabs. And I'm the one that always has to think in advance about what he's going to eat, do the shopping, cook it and tell him which of the Tupperware containers in the fridge he's taking for tomorrow's lunch. And sometimes just the fact that I always have to think about it exhausts me a bit.

Anyway, when I started stimming this time, I asked him to do one thing. Research has shown that the optimal amount of time to abstain before giving a sperm sample is something like 2-5 days. More than that, and the sperm aren't fresh. Less, and you might not have time to make enough good new ones (especially if you have a very low count to start with).

So, given that his little problem means that this is something he has to do on his own, I asked him to make sure that for as long as I was stimming, he should make sure that he clears the chaps out every two or three days, so that when I got the go-ahead for egg collection he could then stop and know that we'd be in the 2-5 day window on the day his chaps were needed. Not an unpleasurable task, I would have thought, and not much to ask when I'm doing absolutely everything else.

So last night I asked him when he'd last done the deed, and he said, "Oh, I'm not sure. Some time last week, I think."

I got really cross, pointed out that it was the one thing I'd asked of him, and that we were now definitely not going to be in the 2-5 day window for optimal sperm production.

His response was, "I'm sorry - I've been too tired." (I went out with friends on Sunday - he was at home pottering about the house by himself all day. And was still too tired to do a five minute job which would presumably have given him a certain amount of pleasure? Oh please...)

After organising this whole thing, sticking up to four needles a day into my stomach, having to get up at 5 am to give myself jabs and leave home at 6 am to go and have yet more needles stuck into my arms, spending a day on a drip on Monday, and following all sorts of other instructions so that I'm a tired, achey, bloated pincushion with arms and stomach covered in bruises, is it unreasonable that I got a bit cross with him for being too tired to give himself a little bit of pleasure over the last week?

And I wonder how many other arguments have finished with the wife shouting at the husband to get up the stairs NOW and get on with that particular job...?