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...

Round 5 (or round 2 post miscarriage) and 28 degrees

So, arriving in Copenhagen without a sense of humour because I had to deal with Stansted at 5am, I find myself dive bombing into serious bad temper.  It's 28 degrees and I'm wearing a jumper.  To make matters worse that's all I have to wear so that I don't have to pay for luggage on the budget airline.  Not happy.  I make my way on the 5A to Lytgen and make it 30 minutes earlier than my appointment. I calm down once in the cool of the clinic and its clean design.

Dr. Svend appears to give me an ultrasound and confirms that one of my follicles has popped and the other is about to go.  Based on this, he says, I should be inseminated in 30 minutes after a shot of Ovitrelle (an extra 350 DKK or £38) to ensure the second one pops too.  I'm relieved.  As I'm whipping my trousers back on to wait while they do whatever it is they do to the sperm, Dr S says he's very impressed with the quality of my ultrasound report from the London Ultrasound Centre.  'I should think so', I replied, 'it cost £120 - practically half the cost of an insemination'  'You didn't get it on the NHS?', he queries.  'Er...no.'  Where to start?  If I explain why that wouldn't be possible, I might start ranting about being over 40, female, single and British.  And I'm wearing a jumper in 28 degrees.  So I don't.

After a 30 minute wait Dr Jan ushers me into a suite.  He's my favourite.  He's a very friendly, avuncular sort who doesn't make me feel like a muppet asking all the questions I usually bombard him with.  He greets me and then asks me if I'm happy with blond and blue as requested.  182cm this time.  I say yes and sign on the dotted line and up on the couch I go.  Not for the first time I consider just how truly bizarre this is.  A couple of minutes later it's done and off I go to enjoy the sweltering heat of Copenhagen, with a 'good luck' and 'take two progesterone suppositories per day from now on' ringing in my ears.

I got so bad tempered in the heat that I caved and bought some cheap clothes from H&M so that I could actually enjoy a bit of sightseeing.  After a spin around Nyhaven harbour, the shops and the castle grounds I made for my hotel in Orestad.  This time I chose Cabinn Metro and I wish I hadn't.  It really wasn't up to the standards of Wakeup and it was  located a metro ride away, by a huge shopping centre and nothing much else.  It was, however, only 485 DKK or £58.

The next day I sat by the river for ages in the heat and pondered my lot, whilst feeling yucky about the ooze that comes from using suppositories. I considered the fact that, if this round doesn't work, I have just two more shots (self imposed end - emotionally need to draw a line and well in to my 44th year).  As if to cheer me up a crazy man on an adapted cycle, complete with sound deck and sound system, cycled past pumping sounds and whooping. Everyone sitting on the wall and by the river whooped and joined in, including me.  I hope it was a good omen.

The best laid plans...

Between my consultation and my period I was stressing out watching the cost of easyjet flights go up and up.  For the last 6 months my digital ovulation tests had shown that, no matter what, I ovulated on Day 10 of my cycle.  As my cycle was between 24-27 days each month, I thought this would be a piece of cake. However,  watching the pennies meant I couldn't risk buying flights only to ovulate on a later or earlier date or worse, not ovulate at all.  Equally my budget wasn't going to stretch to stupidly priced last minute flights.  What to do?  I gambled.  The night before I was expecting to ovulate, I booked a flight and a night's accommodation ( remarkably good, chic and cheap - Wakeup Copenhagen at £60 a night). I'd already booked the time off work. I figured I'd give myself a two day chance and also a proper chance to find everything and see a bit of Copenhagen.  However, the voice of doom began to whisper at 6am the next day - no ovulation and a flight to catch.  Once I arrived I tried again, with two pee sticks for good measure.  Nothing.  I calculated I still had that night and the next morning before the game was up and I'd wasted my money on flights.  I could feel the usual crampy tugs and knew I was ovulating, but the stick said no.  I wandered round a really rather beautiful city, took in an exhibition at the Museum, ate great food, but went to bed disappointed.  This was not looking good.  The next morning at 6am my body was not cooperating, so I had a good cry and hit the sack for a couple of more hours, trying my best to think of it as a 'learning curve'.  Mmm.  Like I needed more of those.  Two hours later, I half heartedly tried again and there it was, a little smiley face in the window.  Cue sobs of relief.  Appointment booked, off I trotted to sight-see, this time with a smile on my face. 

At 2pm, Danish time, I arrived at the clinic fluttering with nerves.  The clinic is a stone's throw from the city centre metro station Kongens Nytorv, a 35K and 15 minute ride from the airport.  A lovely midwife ushered me into a swish room and we sat and had a chat.  I poured out my tale of stress and she smiled knowingly.  Apparently this is all too common and some women don't ovulate at all until they're back home after wasting flights, especially the first time.  So I was lucky.  The learning curve?  Don't bloody book your flights until the smiley face appears.  You then have 24-36 hours. 

The whole process took 15 minutes, plus a 30 minute chill-out lie down afterwards.  It didn't hurt, was remarkably easy and very well explained.  She also told me everything 'looked good', which was so nice to hear after constant sharp intakes of breathe about my age over here.  All I have to do now is wait 14 days and I can test.  Flying back I felt a bit crampy, but this is perfectly normal.  As I flew I considered what I'd just done.  It has to be the weirdest thing I will ever do, but I don't regret it for a minute.  I'm hopeful, excited and restrained all at the same time.  I have been pregnant before, but now for me the issue is whether or not my endometrium - after a second trimester miscarriage and an abdominal myomectomy to remove large fibroids -  is thick enough to welcome any fortunate fertilised egg.  We will see.

The next time I blog, we'll all know..