That's how the nursery rhyme goes, right?
I am such a good parent.
Yep, second blood test in five days and my membership to the Human Pincushion Society has now been verified. Woo hoo, YES! I am in! You know me, the more acronyms I can align myself with, the better.
Unfortunately, my cycle seems to be in some kind of hormonal valium haze. Plainly, it's off smoking grass with some hippy Gypsies in a communal tent village in the Byron Bay hinterland. Anytime you're ready, sunshine! We got work to do!!
Yes, it is moving very slowly indeed. My blood test last Thursday did not show enough movement in the ovulation stakes, so another was ordered for today.
I should get a call from the doc tomorrow to hopefully tell me that all is well, firstly, and to then give me a date and a time.
A date and a time. To implant the next embryo, this time a frozen one.
I went off to sleep last night thinking about that; about our little embies in their icy, icy home in the city lab and how it's almost time for another transfer again.
I think my state of mind can be summed up in one simple facial gesture. Make sure your two rows of teeth are pressed against each other, open your lips to form kind of a pretend or fake smile, jut out your jaw, widen your eyes, wrinkle that forehead and breathe in audibly. Your shoulders may rise at the same time. Your palms may involuntarily turn outwards or they may indeed come flying up to your mouth in either a mock or genuine nail-biting movement.
It is a gesture that, altogether, screams: "holy shit, this is pretty freaking scary, isn't it??"And thank god for Google images, really...when words just aren't enough. Even the enormous amount of words I seem compelled to use. Which you would think would be enough. Sadly, no. Is that Fifi Box in that photo?
Anyway, as I was thinking about the next transfer I got that familiar old feeling of anxiety. For me, it's a physical reaction. First, there's a white hot strap over the back of my skull - the left side, mostly. Does that mean anything? Then it's a queasiness sitting at the top of my stomach, where I imagine the diaphragm to be based on those diagrams we used to study in Year 10 Biology.
Ring any bells? Flashback to Year 10 Biology anyone? Stop playing with that bunsen burner! Turn the gas off! You cannot drink the hydrocholoric acid! Please note the general diaphragmal area, where my anxiety butterflies are primarily contained.
But then I really made a point to put any abnormally huge fears out and away from my mind. I think a small amount of anxiety is completely reasonable, rational and normal.
But I really have to let most of it go. Relinquish. Give it up. Disregard. Abandon.
The large doses of anxiety that threaten in my case, being as highly-strung and frankly mental as I am, are really not healthy. They are not constructive. It is that simple.
So - chill! Perspective, sanity, calm.
Perspective, sanity, calm.
I figure if I write this stuff down often enough, it will actually translate into a reality in my mind!
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