Tread softly

I have more than a couple of pet peeves about this whole infertility circus.

If I started writing about them all, I'd be here so long I'd lose the energy to make a fist. So I won't.

Two of them, however, won't be escaping so lightly.

One can't be helped, it's unavoidable. I hate not being able to be there for every appointment. I've managed so far for every scan and talk with the doctors, but there are other things that I can't be at.

There's often no reason for me to be there, when ET takes a blood test for example, it just irks me. Often, appointments with the specialist are carried out over the phone directly with ET, which I'm also not there for.

The other, is very much avoidable. Why can't these doctors or nurses just be nice? We have had some friendly ones, but more often than not, they don't crack a smile.

They are surely clever enough to equate working in a fertility clinic with having patients who could do with seeing the occasional friendly face. We don't go to make their day worse or just to irritate them.

People who need to be there, need help and reassurance, yet too many of those providing the help seem to do so almost grudgingly.

I wonder do they need reminding of what it is they do, changing the lives of people every single day.

These two pet peeve cross paths this morning, ET is going to the clinic by herself for a blood test.

A pregnancy test.

I'll be at work, hoping that whoever she deals with today will just give her a smile.

She deserves it.

Pop

Take a balloon.

Blow it up to almost full, leave it just a little soft.

Hold it as close as you possibly can to your face.

Using just the fleshy part of your fingers, squeeze it.

Always increasing the pressure.

It's fun in the beginning. Squeezing it is exciting, the anticipation making you almost giddy, but each push of your fingers makes you flinch a little more.

You must increase the pressure, firmer and harder with the balloon directly before your face.

You are not allowed to relax and start again. No easing up, no stopping.

It starts to make those stretching noises, you know it's about to burst. You clench your teeth and flinch faster. It's not fun anymore, the bad part is coming.

Regardless of how much you are expecting it, when it does explode, you know it will be loud and startling. Just for a second or two, leaving you gasping for a breath.

That's what waiting for this feels like.

Feline literature from Guantanamo

It's been roughly eleven years and four months since the IUI.

My calendar says it's been a week, but it's defective, it must be.

My brain has seized up, and ground to a halt. The neighbour's cat is capable of more productive output than I am at the moment. In fact, the cat is writing this on my behalf.

Under optimistically normal circumstances, which let's face it -if I'm imagining a cat using a spellchecker, these are not, right now somewhere deep inside a short woman in an office building in South Holland there's a whole lot of implanting going on.

As she is sitting there, pretending to work while reading about Susan Boyle's breakdown, there could be a fertilised egg burrowing it's way into some cosy looking corner of a uterine wall. Like those kittens you find in the cupboard under the stairs, rats under the kitchen sink, or asylum seekers in the attic.

The quandary is, who's to tell? how do we know? without waiting for another thirteen years before we get to actually find out. Do early stage pregnant women act as a beacon for small woodland creatures? Does an implanted egg make a noise if you poke it from the outside? What does hCG smell like?

What our neighbour's talented cat is nervous about typing is that today we have had a significant dip in temperature. From steady rises up into the 36.80s, right down to 36.23 C.

Exactly a week after the IUI.

Go on, say it. I dare you.

We'll be over here, in the two week wait cell, that part of Guantanamo bay they were afraid to tell you about.

Simmer, then bring to the boil

We've done this before. Many, many times.

We have waited.

Two years ago we waited with innocence, excitement. I do miss that.

A year ago we waited sometimes with naive enthusiasm, sometimes a knowing dread.

The last 6 or 8 months have been peaks and troughs in the extreme. The laparoscopy and the supposed increased chances it brings, being teased with the promise of an IUI, having it eventually cancelled, a cycle on a very effective dose of Clomid. Always ending up with waiting, a couple of weeks every time, wondering if this is the time we could cross that fine line, but with the weight of all the previous months holding us back.

I don't know how people do this long term. The treatments, the trying, the extending yourselves, the offering up of slices of your energy reserves and sanity.

The waiting.

We have some daylight now behind us in this two week wait and I can feel it starting. Half conversations that haven't been touched on in nearly 2 years, counting months ahead on our fingers, the daydreaming allowed to linger that little bit longer than it has been for what seems such a long time.

It's simmering. The nervousness, hope, positivity, a little worry.

And damn it, excitement.

The Sperm Runner III: Was it good for you?

So how did you start your day?

With a tasty low fat yoghurt? Went for a jog perhaps? Or maybe leisurely skimmed through the morning papers?

Me? I milked myself in the name of procreation. Again.

You know you are getting to the sharp end of this process when you are excommunicating yourself into luxuriously wide rimmed, heavy duty, tinted glass pots, and not the measly plastic pill bottles the GP hands out.

Wide rimmed or not, I still had to despair at the volume I produced. Again, I mean quantity, and not decibel level. I’m no good with judging millilitres, so let’s just say the amount would probably stop a wasp in its tracks, but not be enough to drown a small bat.

I’d have wrung my own neck if my hands weren’t busy wringing out my own head.

The race was on. As sensible as putting the pot between my legs seemed to be at the time, when I saw the state of the roads from last night’s storms I had a rethink. One slam on the breaks could mean explaining to police exactly why my windscreen was covered in semen, awkward, even in Holland.

Instead, the fruit of my loins was popped into my jacket pocket and delivered incident free. Unless you count the scornful look I received from the receptionist as I used both hands to hoist the pot onto the counter to emphasise its tremendous weight.

Once I’d assured the nurse, who I’m certain also works as a baggage check-in person at the airport, that I had filled the pot myself, that no-one could have interfered with it since I had interfered with myself, and that the potent potted produce she was pawing, was in fact, mine, I was out of there.

*** *** ***

Four and a half hours later, ET and I were sitting in the small waiting room behind the heavy white door, alone. Footsteps came and went, and the puddle of water from her closed umbrella spread on the floor between us.

An unsurprisingly blonde, incredibly tall, and reassuringly friendly IVF doctor came and took us down to a treatment room.

There, she explained what was about to happen, absolutely none of which registered with me as I was too busy grinning from ear to ear with the news that the sample, after washing, had 21 million Spencers ready and waiting. The usual target after washing is 5 million.

When I returned from cloud 9, ET was again semi-naked in the chair, refusing to wave hello to Spencer like I asked, with stranger number 7 chalking up carnal knowledge.

Out came the catheter and the syringe filled with my self abuse, and in it went.

Or not.

Seemingly ET’s uterine cavity didn’t take too kindly to this jizz filled stranger popping it’s head around her door, so the good doctor called an assistant to bring a different catheter.

In a world of ever decreasing stereotypes, the assistant was a 50 plus year old bald man, with a bandage on his head the size of a post-it note. Despite becoming the 8th stranger to gaze into my wife’s nether regions, he brought with him the new improved catheter.

A moment later it was in, and so were 21 million of my finest. After a 5 minute rest (and I think ET had one too) it was done and dusted.

On reflection it’s a simple procedure, painless and quick, but that doesn’t deter from how proud I am of that midget wife of mine. Five times in stirrups in one week is at best a real pain in the arse, or that approximate area anyway, and I know how nervous she was in the moments just before the IUI. I hope she knows it’s those same moments that make me most glad that it’s her and me.

Now, we just wait. I’m half afraid of what for.

Eeny, meeny, miny moe

That's just how these few days have gone, pure chance and guesswork.

In this morning's game of reproductive cluedo, the culprit once again was humourless Janneke in the big brother room, with the withered face and the dildo-cam.

They really need a curtain in there. Seriously.

We'd met a few times before, so there was no small talk to make while ET was doing her graceful semi-naked hop dance. Clothes neatly arranged in a heap on the floor, she climbed up into the stirrups.

For the fourth time in a week.

Janneke guided her probe towards ground zero, and even from my vantage point I could tell that we had a big 'un. 18mm plus, sitting cosily alongside another of 15mm plus.

Stop me if you've heard this one before, but again we had two, where there had been three.

Off she went to the other side. Exactly how she knew where to look when it's supposedly in the wrong place is beyond me, but find it she did. Where there was one 14mm follicle last Friday, sat a shrunken old mass. Barely 10mm and out of the game.

Janneke, perhaps feeling she needed to compete with the tabloid headlines of 'your-ovary-is-in-the-wrong-place' nurse, declared that she thinks we have been seeing a few cysts left over from the over stimulated cycle.

Regardless, we are left with two follicles of good size and growing on one side. Bingo.

That's half the battle. The decision rested on the results of the bloods taken, which have since all come back good.

We go ahead with the insemination tomorrow, without the need for the trigger shot.

After all the hiccups of the last week, I'll believe this is actually going to happen when I see it.

Which will most probably be through white knuckled fingers.

Now all I have to do is figure out how to tell my customer I'm going to the hospital once again, for the fifth time in 8 days.

I'm sure they already think I'm dying.

As I present a sweaty pot filled with the juice of self-abuse to Janneke & Co tomorrow morning, I'll probably wish I was.

Of course, what else?

Sometimes, you have to laugh at it all.

We were given a semen sample pot and detail form when we arrived at reception this morning. That was surely a good sign, things were about to happen.

For good measure it was an unfamiliar face that called us into the big brother room. Making her the sixth stranger make a human lollipop out of ET in the last year or so.

I think we'll bring a special prize for the 10th, a framed picture or something.

Cutting to the chase, we have 4 follicles again. With the 3 from two days ago showing little or no growth. All four are between 12mm and 14mm.

Not big enough to trigger, and too many.

Meaning, we await confirmation that we have to go back again over the weekend.

I haven't a bloody clue what's going on in there. There's no pattern, no consistency, and to add a little spice, our dildo-cammer for today announced that one of ETs ovaries is in the wrong place.

The wrong bloody place. Not in her jacket pocket or on the mantelpiece or anything, but it's above the uterus as opposed to the side of it. She assures us that makes no difference whatsoever.

I like to think that it just fancied a stiff word with it's partner on the other side, hopefully telling it to get it's arse in gear.

Well shout louder, bitch.

So, we wait, again. For a call back for a scan, again. To see if we can go ahead or be cancelled, again.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to throw my head back and laugh dementedly.

[EDIT - We go back on Monday, they need to see growth, they want some 18mm follicles. We are a way off that at the moment]

[DOUBLE EDIT - Mammydairies found the idea of one ovary trying to get at the other so amusing, she turned her hand to animation. Quite the achievement considering she is quite literally about to blow any second. We are in talks with the ovaries over a stage musical about their lives, set to the back catalogue of Duran Duran.]

Now for my next trick

My heart sank when I saw it was Janneke, and not our preferred vag-visage, calling us.

'Laugh-a-minute Janneke' as I've Christened her.

Unfortunately that minute seems to have taken place somewhere in October 1986, so we just have to make do with humourless Janneke.

We had been asked to come back for another scan today. They wanted to check the growth of the 4 follicles, in the hope one would stop growing and the other three would push on. Based on the growth the follicles showed in the last Clomid cycle we were not expecting anything good to come of it.

We were ushered to the 'big brother' ultrasound room, so called as it doesn't have any curtained area for ET to get her kit off.

There I sat, Janneke to my left, interrogating me on the standard of my Dutch conversational skills, while to my right ET ever so gracefully hopped on one semi-naked leg in an attempt to get her jeans off.

After a couple of moments wishing I was temporarily deaf and blind, ET was in situe, her bare feet framing Janneke's stern face.

"I'm going to put the probe in now" she delightfully announced.

Er, Probe?

In it burrowed around the grainy black and whiteness of my nearest and dearest's reproductive organs, it was all I could do to stop myself announcing 'One small step for man...'

Probe indeed.

Straight to the right hand side she went this time, yesterday's ground zero, the cause of our distress. One, 13mm. Two, also 13mm.

No number three. Vanished. Gone. Vamoosed. Janneke claimed it wasn't uncommon, giving us some sober tale of larger follicles using all the hormones and leaving the smaller ones to wither away.

Over on the left hand side, the solitary follicle remained, having grown another 1mm. This leaves us with 3 in total, a 14mm and two at 13mm.

Almost unbelievably, exactly what we needed, but didn't for a second expect we would see.

The 3 need some growth, so most likely we will go back for another scan on Friday morning, when we should know more definitely if, or when, insemination will happen.

You don't get many days when you get good news in this game, and indeed, your perception of what constitutes good news changes dramatically over time.

But today, is one of those days.

Uno, dos, tres...

I felt it was a good sign when the male nurse, who still looks eerily like the husband of a friend of ours, opened the ultrasound room door and called us in.

A familiar face at least, keeping the number of strangers who have peered up my wife at five since this debacle began.

Pale, bald headed, big lipped, with a neatly trimmed wiry beard, I wondered if he ever felt like he was looking in a mirror when he was down there sometimes.

As he got to work with the dildo-cam, I cracked open a fanta and offered around my peanut MMs.

First to the right hand side. One. Lovely stuff. Perfect.

The dildo-cam burrowed and snuffled it's way to the left.

One, two, and fuckyoudruggobblingsonofabitchfollicle, three.

In total, 4. Cuatro.

One 13mm on the left, and three at 12mm on the right.

The 13 is too small to induce ovulation now, which means giving them some growth time which would probably bring them all into the 'big enough' category.

If that happens, 4 is too many and it all gets cancelled.

Again.

ET is upset, tired, frustrated and stressed. I don't know what the fuck I am.

We await a phone call this afternoon to give us our next step. Maybe we go back to scan again tomorrow in the hope one has miraculously stopped growing like I did when I was 8, or vanished into the night like some South American resistance activist.

Or, it gets cancelled.

Again.

Slow, slow, quick, quick, slow

It's one of life's puzzlers. When you can't decide if time is going fast or dog slow.

It hurts my wee head to figure it out these days, so I won't even bother .

The five day drug binge has come and gone, with no casualties. Yet.

Hopefully the reduced dosage will give us just enough growth to have more than the usual quota to play with. Two or three juicy eggs would be perfect.

Tomorrow morning we have the first scan to see the progress of the follicles.

Again, more than three and they will cancel the whole thing, so we really could do without it being a repeat of 'man-milky white and the seven Chernobyl dwarves' from last time.

If all goes well, we may or may not need another scan the following day, and we should know when we can trigger shoot, and when the insemination would take place.

My guess would be Friday or Saturday.

I'm oddly curious to know if we will be entertained by humourless Janneke again, or the bearded male nurse (who looked remarkably and unnervingly like the husband of a friend of ours), or will ET be showing her pearly, er...pinks to yet another complete stranger.

Either way, we'd show them off in time square if it would guarantee no more than three follicles and the IUI could go ahead.

I'm off to assume a zen pose and repeatedly hum 'one-two-three' for the day.

Achtung no baby

Today, a woman will attempt to cross international borders with mood altering drugs in her possession.

While German customs guards will be on the look out for tips of heroin filled balloons peeking from the bottoms of elderly ladies, and sniffer dogs will have their noses in the cocaine caked crotches of teenagers, this lady will pass unnoticed.

ET has to travel to Berlin for a day or two, a trip joyfully coinciding with starting her second round of Clomid.

The first time around, we naively thought we had escaped with little or no side effects when she had finished her 5 day course relatively unscathed. Little did we know that the fireworks really start post ovulation.

Let's just say those Berliners are lucky that this is the first day and a lower dose, otherwise if they still had that wall of theirs, she'd be climbing it.

It may have been expedition point for some of the most overwhelming military movements of the 20th century, but Western society knows of no destructive potential greater than a wee woman full of Clomid.

To be on the safe side, those Germans better not start any shit, for the next 36 hours anyway.

Concurring with the Boomtown Rats

Due to normally being in a daze until they are almost over, I've never really had an issue with Mondays.

Today, I don't like Mondays. Today is cycle day 1, again.

Yep, again. For the 28th time.

There is something ridiculous about having used up all your fingers and toes for counting failed cycles on. When you've exhausted your testicles, penis, and useless manly nipples, and are patting yourself down in the search for sticky-out bits to count on, you should probably just stop altogether.

At the bus stop at least.

Exhausted is apt actually. Along with weary, weak, tired, spent, and any other of the many pitiful adjectives you can muster.

On the other hand, we'll get through this one - just, thanks to knowing we now have a shot at IUI again.

ET will start sucking on the Satan sweets from Wednesday to Sunday, a quarter of the previous dose. Hopefully her innards won't end up looking like something from Chernobyl again, and we can go ahead with the IUI this time.

In the delusional state of staying positive, all that would happen before the end of next week.

A fortnight from now, we could be pregnant.

Did you laugh manically at that line? No?

I did.

Beyond here lies nothin'

I had another post written. I just re-read it and it was an unbelievable mess, a huge mixed-up confusion, so instead, I threw it all away.

Back when the IUI was cancelled, somewhere in between them telling us everything is broken and ET pulling up her dignity, we were told that we had to arrange to speak to the doctor again in order to see what the next steps would be.

"Ok", you may say, "just do that then".

Well bless your wee heart and your cotton socks jokerman, but things don't work quite that straight forward here in Mozambique, sorry, the Netherlands. That takes time.

In the meantime, we had to decide whether to try ourselves or not. Eventually, I got my mind made up, and we went for it. Lay lady lay we did, and we delivered to those eggs many a shot of love.

Anyway, ET phoned the hospital in order to make an appointment to speak to the doctor. Calling to make an appointment, to make an appointment, if you will.

All went well and there was an opening to speak to the doctor by phone 10 days later. That appointment was just the other day.

The doctor proceeded to tell us a load of stuff we have been saying for months, but the long and short of it is we try another medicated IUI. Instead of the previous 100mg of Clomid, she offered 50mg, a fool such as I would have taken her up on that offer, but ET decided on 25mg. Just like a woman.

She had rarely seen such a case of hyper stimulation so she won't let us do it next cycle, but the one after that.

The times they are a-changin', this is already looking like stretching into June, again, and that makes my brain hurt.

Now, if you can't tell from this entry what concert we're going to in a couple of days, there really is no hope for you. If you can, and can pick out the 16 song titles of that artist in this post you win a prize. I want you to.

The prize is my respect and the contempt of everyone else.

The answer my friends, will be blowin' in the wind.

Forgetting

I frighten myself sometimes at how easily I can forget something.

Not facts, or figures, or deadlines, but bigger things. Important things. Things you can't always write down in a calendar or in a few words.

Just like the previous year and a half, the last few months have been filled with trying to conceive and all that comes with it, but while forgetting what it is all for.

'Trying to conceive' has almost become a parody of itself, an unreal superficial lifestyle of sorts with it's own specific unglamorous trappings, and no substance. Doing things without even thinking, for no other reason than they must be done. Charting temperatures, popping vitamins, wazzing on sticks, pushing for appointments, waiting for tests.

It's amazing to think that I forget why we have knots in our stomachs for the last days of every cycle, and why we feel like thrashing neighbourhood cats when another last day becomes a first. Maybe it's routine, familiarity breeds contempt and all that, or maybe it's the old self-preservation chestnut.

A disruption in the process, like we had last week, makes you stop and allows you to think. All the trappings, peripherals, and figures fade away to unimportance and you are left with nothing. Then you remember.

There is a real reason behind trying to get the hospital to offer us the IUI, a real reason behind chasing those appointments, and behind learning how to give an injection. There is a real reason behind why ET has filled her belly with drugs and now follicles, and a real reason why we spent the lowest 48 hours I've ever known going back and forth trying to make one single decision.

The reason is that we desperately want a family. That is all.

We understand the risks, many of which you have laid out clearly and carefully, we truly do. We know that we could make them completely disappear by just deciding to let this one pass.

We know that we probably would have other opportunities, less risky on paper, but intangible here and now. The chances of 'naturally' conceiving multiples with however many eggs we end up being left with now, are no greater than the chances of conceiving them with the 3 eggs we all wanted with a trigger and IUI.

It's statistics to justify a decision, but that's all the hospital have to go on in their decision, and it's all we have now in ours.

We are responding, not reacting, to a very real but small calculated risk. One that we will take for the most real of reasons, we simply remember how much we want to, and it feels right.

ET is not a labrador retriever

So seven became six. One poor bugger vanished into the darkness overnight.

The poor follicle was not alone, nurse Janneke became a balding bearded male nurse, much to ET's surprise.

All of those six have shown growth. On the left, a 12mm and a 13mm, and on the right, two 14mm, a 16mm, and a 17mm.

Basically, 2 small, 2 possible, and 2 right on track.

So the IUI is canceled. Next week we make an appointment to see what the plan is from here.

If we had the IUI, we would run a 2-5% risk of multiples. 1 or 2% of those multiples would be 3 or more.

We asked about trying ourselves this month, he kept to the official line that they do not recommend that we try to conceive.

He said he would not recommend that we use the trigger shot, and to be honest I wouldn't have considered that anyway.

He told us that people have ignored this advice in the past, and come back with multiples, but "not in large numbers".

Right here, right now, we have a golden opportunity to get what we want. Our chances of turning around the 25 failures this month are much improved. We could get pregnant.

But we run a risk of a multiple pregnancy, impacting mother and babies, raising the risk of the unthinkable.

Do we go with our hearts, and be irresponsible towards lives that don't even exist, or do we sulk for a month or two, hoping that long term sensibility pays off?

This is not a choice we should have to make. This is not fair.

We're lost.

Of mice and men

Nurse Janneke meant business.

I clearly wasn't going to get any knock-knock jokes from this member of the Dutch medical profession.

"You get undressed in there madam, and the chair over there is for you sir."

Now, ET is shorter than the average Irish woman, and the Dutch are a very tall race. Everything caters for that, including examination chairs. Having to take a wee hop and jump while naked from the waist down, in order to clamber up into the chair, is quite hard to do gracefully.

I sat back and waited for the main event to start. Like a cross between COPS and some night vision badger watch show, the dildo-cam tunneled it's way though the grainy black-and-whiteness towards a blob that Janneke announced was ET's left ovary.

She measured and pointed out a couple of other blobs, which from here on out we'll call follicle number one, and two. Well done left Goldilock!

Off she went, twisting and turning and burrowing in the direction of the right Goldilock in search of a much desired third follicle.

There it was, our third follicle, fat and round. Party time.

We were somewhat less amused to see a fourth. Not to mention a fifth, and a sixth, and oh why the fuck not, a seventh.

With one measuring 12mm, two at 10mm, two at 11mm, and two at 14mm, it was like Noah's ovarian ark.

Janneke and her clip-board refused to be influenced into saying whether this was normal, or how likely it was there would be further growth in all of them or not.

All would be revealed to us by phone later in the afternoon.

So, none the wiser, I gathered myself. My walking follicle farm for a spouse put her pants back on and we left.

Seven hours later, one for every double crossing follicle, the hospital called. Basically, seven are way too many, and also, being suspiciously close in size the probability is that most of them would mature.

Tomorrow morning we go back for another ultrasound to measure their growth again.

Unless there is a real sign that at least 4 of them are not growing at the same rate as the others, the IUI will be canceled.

No IUI.

Do you think there is anything else they could say that would make it any worse right now?

Oh yes there is.

Not that we have to listen, but due to the number, and subsequent risk of multiples, they recommend we use contraception for the rest of the month.

We started today looking forward to an IUI, a real life shot at getting real life pregnant.

We finish today needing condoms.

The best laid plans.

Someone's been sleeping in my bed

The Clomid munching days are over for this month. For good hopefully, with a little bit of overdue luck.

The only concrete physical side effect seems to have been some blurred vision half way through the five days.

There was some restlessness and giddiness thrown in for good measure also, but considering what we're just a few days away from, that's no surprise.

Anyway, enough about me. ET is fine too.

I jest. Mostly.

About 36 hours from now, on Friday morning, we'll be having an ultrasound to see how many follicles have developed, and how well they have developed.

In the meantime we have a day and a half to wait, hoping that ET's little ovarian popcorn maker has spat out just the right number and quality.

More than three and the doctors cancel everything.
Less than two (or ONE as it's occasionally referred to) and the drugs will have been a waste of effort.

I think I need to rename ET's ovaries, seeing as we need the number of follicles to not be too little, to not be too large, but to be just right. So Goldilocks it is.

Goldilocks and the three follicles.

From that scan, we should know exactly when we need to give the trigger shot, and then exactly when the insemination will happen. Not to mention, sandwiched in between, we will have my own brave selfless act of self abuse to produce a batch of my finest man milk with which to perform the magic.

Almost certainly, it will all be done and dusted within a week at most.

It feels stupid to say it out loud, but just days from now, we could really be pregnant. Not that we would actually know it, but that is very, very hard to get my mind around.

So, for now, I'm not even going to try.

Probably.

Much.

Perfect timing

Sometimes you really could just do without certain events.

Events that in another place or time would just be another odd or funny story to tell, but in the moment they occur they set the mind racing and the tummy butterflies fluttering.

Let's pick an random unsuspecting person. Let's say, er, off the top of my head... a woman desperately trying to conceive, and somewhat vulnerable to emotional extremes thanks to fertility drugs.

Let's call her ET, just for a laugh.

ET was making her way in home last night, and while walking towards our house she overtook a woman walking with a cane or a crutch. They exchanged 'good evenings' and ET walked on ahead, up to our front door.

Now, our neighbours are not the warmest bunch of people you will ever meet. In almost two years we have only ever spoken to the people living directly on either side, so ET was surprised to hear herself being beckoned back out to the footpath by this unfamiliar hobbling woman, who had by then reached our front gate.

Once the usual exchange over what language should be spoken was done with, the woman proceeded to ask ET three questions.

-Do you live here?
-Yes

-Are you married?
-Yes

and then:

-Do you have any children?
-No

At which point the old woman reached into her purse, took out some money, pressed it into ET's hand, and said 'Well then, I will pray for you tonight'.

With that, she turned and shuffled up the street in the dusk.

Seriously woman, are you auditioning for Macbeth or something?

The probability is that the poor woman just reads the blog, or we need to be a bit more consistent closing the bedroom curtains from time to time, but either way the end result was the same, a somewhat freaked out wife.

It's a good thing ET had another dose of Clomid ready just to settle those nerves, eh?

Drugs & keeping your head

Funny old world.

You wait two years for something, anything, to happen and when it does it all comes thick and fast. (I'm mature, so I refuse to add "like me" to that last sentence.)

Tonight ET popped her second 100mg dose of Clomid.

The second of five days of the drug that will get those ovaries of hers working like a popcorn maker. Before we know it the five day course will be up, and we'll be back at the hospital for the ultrasound, finding out when we'll have the trigger shot, and of course the insemination.

The insemination, bloody hell.

It's head spinning to be moving so fast now after so long of being stuck in the mud.

We went with a suggestion from Jane G that she should take the drug at night, in an attempt to make any immediate side effects less noticeable. To me at least, as I'd be sound asleep.

There was a bizarrely scary moment after she took it on Saturday night. She proceeded to apply her make-up for no reason, which gave me the distinct feeling she was intending to decapitate me and face the police and media with her best face on. Thankfully that never came to pass and we both made it through the night with all the appropriate appendages firmly intact.

I may just put a new lock on the garden shed door, just in case.

So, here we are, two fifths through the drug stage of the cycle, and so far so good. I have found it often happens that I say something here and then it comes back to bite me on the arse though, so is there anything we should expect?

Is there any side effect we don't know about? Will she start conversing in tongues or chewing the sofa-arms? Will she end up crying at the weather forecast or will I come home to find her with the postman in a headlock?

Anything that stops me from being woken at 4am with a t-shirt stuffed into my mouth as she stands over me with a nine iron, is greatly appreciated.

Informer

I think we have a mole in the camp.

Someone out there is running to the enemy, someone is telling tales out of class, someone is being loose lipped.

The red menace is getting her information from somewhere, unless of course, shes reading this herself.

She heard that we were ready for her to sail into port over the weekend, so she made one last attempt to throw us off balance.

Today, which was day 24 of cycle 25, became day 1 of cycle 26. A startlingly short cycle, and no, there is no doubt about it.

We were not ready for it today, the realisation that the game as we've been playing it is finished now came as a bit of shock. We worked it out, shouting, slamming, crying, hugging.

I picked my dinner back up of the floor and we'll move on.

We are now in an IUI cycle. It's started, it's really happening, our next 9 days are all planned out.

It's exciting, and surprisingly nerve wracking, finally being eye to eye, with IUI.