My last fling

Well, I have been a little lax at blogging lately.  I'm exhausted!  I booked flights and accommodation at the Wakeup Hotel (www.wakeupcopenhagen.com) early, making sure they stretched across CD11-13.  It was so much cheaper doing it that way and it meant that I got an extra night in Copenhagen.  As it was my last time, I thought it would be nice to spend more time there.  So, the Clomid gave me vile constipation, as usual, and made me uptight, but apart from that and a few flushes it was business as usual.   I flew on CD11 and because I had to leave so early, testing for ovulation at 5.30am was not productive.  I wasn't worried though, I had two days to get a positive.  I did test again just before boarding and there it was, mister smiley face.  Bingo.  Cue me in a recess between the departure lounge and the gate on my mobile arranging an appointment at the clinic.  Much cause for interest when you're having to shout above the hubbub of noise on a foreign phone call, 'I started my period on the 29th, yes!'.

On arrival I could not quite get over the cold.  It was bone chillingly cold, and I'm a native Scot, so I'm supposed to be used to it. Dr Sven gave me an ultrasound and we discovered two large follicles about 21 and 22 mm, with a third following close behind.  Insemination was set for the next day and the nurse gave me a shot of Ovitrelle to ensure release of the eggs and prepare my lining.  Off I went to get some lunch and to do a bit of well-earned shopping.  I didn't quite manage sightseeing on account of the sub zero temperature, more a tour of every coffee shop between Stroget, the main shopping street, and my hotel.  I'd like to say I lived it up in a nice restaurant that night, but even having a little more money than usual was not enough to really enjoy Copenhagen.  I made a mental promise to myself, as I sat in Wagamama's restaurant,  that I would return one day with a friend, hopefully even a boyfriend, having brought around £150 a day.  Then I would finally be able to enjoy the true delights Copenhagen has to offer.

Next day, the cold was worse.  I had to position my scarf over my nipples to bear it!  I arrived at Copenhagen Fertility Centre expecting Dr Sven or Dr. Jan, but was greeted by a girl.  I mean she looked about 12 years old. I must be getting really old, or she's a child genius. In fact, she was a student gynaecologist, but someone needed to tell her that chewing gum whilst talking to anxious patients was not particularly reassuring.  Every gynae has to start somewhere I suppose, so I had no problem with her doing the insemination.  Until she couldn't do it without causing me pain, that is.  She tried three times to get the metal thingy up there and I was having none of it.  Dr Sven was called and did the deed, without pain, in under a minute!  I was relieved given it was my last shot. I was more anxious than usual.

Before I left, I talked about donor eggs to my nurse. She gave me the lowdown.  It would cost around 5000 Euros plus medication at 1000 Euros plus.  Ouch!.  I'd go to Denmark on CD 21 to be 'down regulated' then I'd fly to Greece a few days later.  The clinic they use has around a 65% success rate.  It would be easier, she said,  because CFC had all my charts and tests already as they'd been treating me for 6 months.  Hmm.  More expensive and more hassle than Dogus Clinic in Northern Cyprus, and if reports are to be believed 10% less of a success rate.  Food for thought.  It was time to leave Denmark though and I had to stay positive for this last round.  'Let's believe it will work', said my nurse, 'it should, it all looks good.'  Here's hoping...

Negative

I'm sure you will realise that, had I hit the jackpot, I would have posted straight away.  Unfortunately, it took me a few days to pick myself up off the floor so I could post. I waited, like a real patient person, until Day 14 and tested.  A BFN, that's what.  I cried, of course, and then I got myself dressed and out.  In anticipation I packed Friday to Monday full of activities and friends, as well as taking the day off on test day.  Thank God.  I was partly tricked by the progesterone again, but more cautious this time so I'd say less shocked at the result.  The temperature rise got to me in this round.  It was quite distinct and I began to be so convinced. Feel a bit of a fool, to be honest.

I did email the clinic straight away on Friday to ask if there was really any point trying one last time.  The doctors think that I can get pregnant, but it will take time because of my age and once every 2 months is probably not cutting it.  They're hopeful due to how regularly and well I ovulate and also how I respond to the Clomid.  I'm sure they're right, but the question is can I put my life on hold any further, living on sod all?  If I'm going to do that surely I'd be better throwing my money at donor eggs. Everyone around me seems to think so. I feel really old.  I may not be old in actual years, but I'm clearly Medusa in the fertility stakes.

I've already decided, I think,  that I will try to scrape enough together to do a final round in Copenhagen, as I said I would, and then it's saving for the donor package in Cyprus at Dogus Clinic.  It will take me four months to save half the money and, weirdly, I am going to ask my father to lend me the rest so I don't have to wait 8 months.  I can pay him back from the month I go.   Dogus Clinic guarantee you ten fresh eggs and transfer 3 embryos rather than two, freezing the rest.  So if it doesn't work the first time, you can try the rest of your frozen eggs twice more for very little financial outlay.  It's got to be better than one pop only.

So, it looks like I may devote almost another whole year to getting pregnant as my career slides into the mire.  Then there will be an end to it, one way or another.  There has to be a cut off point, as I keep saying.  And I am beginning to dream, nay hallucinate, of what it would be like to afford new clothes, a meal out or a trip away that isn't to Copenhagen. Or what it would be like to think about something else.  My choice though and at least no one, least of all me, can say I didn't do my best to achieve it.  If it doesn't work at all, I can slug champagne on a Mediterranean beach terrace and know I tried. Now I'm off to have a bloody glass of wine.