Roller coaster

It seems my will to live has decided to take off to Australia.  Not sure it's coming back, maybe just bought a one way ticket.  Hence the lack of blogging. You see, I thought it was game over before I started, as per my last post.  But then... Symptoms started to appear, exactly like those I had when I fell pregnant in March.  Weird indigestion, cramps that were poking rather than dragging in sensation.  And so I began to hope. It seemed that, in spite of the odds of having an IUI on the day of an LH surge as opposed to the recommended day after, I might have been lucky after all.  Around day 8-9 post IUI I was convinced I was pregnant.  So much so that I calculated a due date and trawled the 'trying to conceive' forums.  Well, it's usually me that warns you about those, so I only have myself to blame. 

I had all the symptoms. Fatigue, check.  Constipation, check.  Bloating, check.  Weird poking pains, check.  Just feeling pregnant, check. Veins like a road map on breasts, check. Overheating, check. So persuaded was I that I ignored the tell tale shivers on Day 11 and the odd, low blood sugar, shaky feeling that appeared momentarily.  I now recognise this as progesterone plummet and it's a sure sign that I am about to see the red devil.  I began to spot on Day 11 post IUI, but brown spotting, very light.  I was actually pleased, believing that this was implantation bleeding because my new cycle length, post miscarriage, was 32 days so it couldn't possibly be my period.  Perhaps the early ovulation on Day 9 of my cycle should have clued me into the fact that my body had reverted back to it's 24 day cycle. So, on Saturday 30th, on my 25th day, my period began.  I was absolutely floored.  Disappointment didn't cover it.  I actually felt grief.  Again.  This roller coaster of up and down - am I pregnant, am I not pregnant - it is utterly stressful.

And so here I am.  Exhausted, weary and skint.  Nothing new there then.  I can't do this again in August because the flights are too, too expensive last minute.  Next time I will take the Clomid and I will do it in late September.  As I am 44 in exactly one month's time,  time is slipping away faster than a speeding bullet and I am feeling very panicked.

I am still worried about the Clomid.  Will it thin my lining?  If my ovulation is pushed to Day 12 of my cycle won't my luteal phase be too short if my period is due on Day 25?  Should I take progesterone after the IUI?  If so how much, when and for how long?  I've made an appointment with my GP, but I'm sure he won't know the answers because he's not a gynaecologist.  Copenhagen Fertility Centre gave me the Clomid, but are not , it seems, really going to advise me beyond that.  The NHS won't refer me to a gynae.  I feel stressed out, to be quite frank.  Think I might just join my will to live in Australia.

However, let's see what my GP has to say tomorrow.  Perhaps it's time to get a little bolshy and demand some sort of help.  I may be over 40 and single, but I'm not asking for free assisted reproduction treatment, just some bloody help in asking what I should take to help myself.  Surely after paying tax for umpteen years, and after having major gynaecological surgery, that's not too much to ask?

Obstacles

I have just checked the website for flights to Copenhagen on July 8-10 when I am probably going to ovulate and, unbelievably, we're looking at £180-200 already!  God only knows what the price will be when it gets to the point I can actually book flights.  I can't reasonably do that until Day 1 of my period, because I'm not sure if I will follow a 24, 25, or even 28 day cyle this time. Even then it's a minefield knowing whether I will ovulate on Day 10, 11 or 12.  So, this time around it looks like my flights will actually cost more than my insemination. Fabulous. 

I do wonder whether or not fate is beginning to get rather fed up with me constantly trying to swerve the various obstacles it has tried to put in my way and has decided to screw me over with the one thing it knows I cannot overcome - money.   If the flights are more than £300 then I will have to wait again.

Added to which, I seem to have hit a bit of a downer mood wise.  I don't know if it was because I went on dates that did nothing to help my self esteem, or because I'm working my butt off exercising and shedding not a pound from my tummy, back and chin.  Or maybe it's because I have the very uncomfortable feeling that time is hastening me towards the prospect of childlessness, not to mention being alone, and I have no idea how I will get over it.  I know that I have around 3 times left to try, but I feel today as though everything is conspiring against me.

If I was to really indulge in self pity I'd say I feel  rejected, unloved, fat, old and useless today.  Yes, it has been a rubbish weekend.  It's time's like this I just want to move abroad, buy a dog, eat whatever I want and drink red wine. And no longer care about being a mother (or never being with a man again.)  Somedays, I just feel like I want a release from this deep seated desire to have a child.

However, I suppose as ever it's pick your ass up off the floor time and get on with it.  Maybe without a smile this time.  I wonder if anyone else feels the same...

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..