Yes, that's a perfectly respectable title I think.
It has been a little while, hasn't it?
Shit, are we going to start that weird-ass Greek chorus thing again?
I don't know, are we?
Why are you answering a question with another question? That's a sign of...
Why are you persisting in asking questions?
Who is speaking here?
Who are you?
It's in the freezer, isn't it?
Yes, yes, 17.
Am I going mad?
No need for a question mark on that one. Yes, it is too late. My sanity went the way of Elvis loooong ago.
Well, bbrrrrr, now that I have blocked that scene and succcessfully arrived in character of Blog Poster Number 4...let's begin.
It has been a few days since my last post because I had an instant worry as soon as I fell pregnant that the very raison d'etre for this particular blog had all but disappeared.
Here I was thinking TTC sequels, book deals, a telemovie script and a three-part special investigation on Oprah and it turns out the best I could manage was a 30-minute pilot.
Gash! Failure! I can hear you yelling it right now. Please stop. Haha.
You step on that cliched IVF rollercoaster and because you are so in the moment, and so focused on one cycle at a time, you never really think about the end. Of course that's what you are working towards, that's what you are doing it for...but for very complicated reasons of self-preservation, you don't allow yourself to think too much about the "prize" at the end. Because you may just not get it.
Today, I am three weeks' pregnant. What do I do now? It's too early for an OBGYN appointment. Too early for a scan.
The clinic nurse rang me this morning to see how I was going (lovely) and I shared the good news. "Oh, well done you," she said, surprised, and sounding disarmingly like a Jennifer Saunders character, perhaps an uppity politician's wife.
"What happens now?" I asked, anxious.
She explained that the doctor would want to do a six-week scan to see if there is a pregnancy still, looking for a "sac" (what?) and a heartbeat. And apart from that, it's just a case of keeping healthy and calm.
I think I have healthy down pat: I have been consumed with an intense obsession with full cream milk. And I have never been a milk fan. I slather it all over my cereal in the morning and lap it up like a cat who's got the cream. Ooh! Cream! Must put that on the list.
Everything becomes about the pregnancy. I went for a walk the other night along a busy-ish road. Lots of cars flew past, many of them spewing exhaust smoke into the air and up my nostrils. I suddenly felt the urge to hold my breath to keep the toxins away from my teeny blasty (it is a blastocyst at this stage...I prefer to disregard the "cyst" part of that word, thanks very much Mr Medicine). Because I am sure restricting oxygen to little blasty by holding my breath is going to be a whole lot better than breathing in a few carbo-mono-whatevers.
A lady at work was using a glu-stick and I remarked that I hadn't seen one since primary school, before immediately rushing up to take in a big whiff of the gluey end to gauge whether it still smelled the same as my memory. Red flag unfurled and raised itself too late. "Stop that! Think about the baby. The baby, Jerry."
Alcohol is off the menu, along with all those other potentially dodgy things: soft cheese, seafood, leftovers, BBQ chickens, pre-prepared salads, alfafa and a whole lot of herbal teas that I thought were safe, but come with lots of scary stories online. Google, are you here to help or hinder? I wonder sometimes.
I am also trying desperately to reduce my caffeine intake. Coffee has followed Elvis and my sanity out of the building, but I cannot - cannot - give up my English Breakfast. I won't. And I think I will be ok.
I am actually eating a lot more than I used to...but smaller amounts more often during the day. In fact, I feel like I am always eating there at my desk. Goodness, people will talk!
While the clinic nurse was on the phone, I took the chance to ask her about our six little embryos sitting in their cryo-home.
"Don't even think about that until your baby is at least one year old," she said.
Call me a cynic, but that then prompted me to enquire as to the cost to store those embryos. $225 every six months.
Hmmm. Was she targeting my deepest core emotions to perform a simple up-sell? I am a cynic. Fifteen years in journalism will do that to you, I'm afraid.
I'd like to think she wasn't chanting Tom Cruise's famous Jerry Maguire line in her head as we talked. Whatever her motivation for picking "one year old" as a good time to consider whether to donate or, I guess terminate is the word, those embryos...it is something we will have to deal with.
Apart from that, I feel alright. Not as tired as last week and kind of bloated (d'uh!). I am in a constant state of "fuzzy in the brain" and will often forget what I am doing/saying even though I am in the middle of it. Quite disconcerting, really. But I am not sick and I am doing ok.
Hope it stays that way!