Sometimes things happen that make you think, why? Like the fact a tiny little baby thousands of miles away was left for dead inside a sewerage pipe while for almost a year now, we’ve battled our own journey trying to bring a small person into the world. But then life doesn’t always deal out fairness in dollops.
Earlier in the week we implanted our last little icicle in the hope we might be blessed enough to have another – well for me at least – baby in nine months time. There’s no more little icicles left in the freezer for back up so this one has got to make it all the way. This time, it was not just about simply sending a little defrosted kidsicle up but there was so much more than that. I have grown so fond of my dear specialist Baby Doctor that I am planning on suggesting Queenie puts him up for an OBE in fertility.
Through yet another set of tests – and more needles – fun times, plus a uterus biopsy (oh, you want to know about where all the good times are being had, you come see me) which revealed my NK cells are way up high, like a diamond in the sky. Except that’s not a good thing – well it isn’t when you’re trying to conceive. It basically means my immune system seems to be a little too good and basically goes in and kicks the ass of anything trying to make a little nest for itself…great for infections or bacteria however, shitful for a little harmless embryo doing its best to burrow in under the layers of uterus lining.
To try and counteract this, four days before implantation, I was hooked up to an IV of introlipids (fat cells) for five hours in a hospital bed while my uterus hopefully gained enough fat and lining to go all Kill Bill on those NK cells. It has also meant I’m a pill-popping manic…and I do mean M.A.N.I.A.C guzzling anything that starts with a p and ends in something erone…including a nice round little group of four steroids, plus oodles of progesterone and HRT a day so don’t be surprised if you spot my family walking down the street with their suitcases in tow. Life in the Lady MamaG house may not be as fun as it once was.
I’d decided after going three months back-to-back and having three failed attempts I needed just a little break to regain a little bit of positivity (and perhaps some saneness) and I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was scared as all hell that this one isn’t going to take either. Strong as I’d like to think myself as, this whole infertility thing is so much bigger than me. But then when I feel all sorry for my own lovely self I am reminded of others’ pain being far more greater reaching than my own. At the clinic the other week, I watched as a girl asked the scientist if she thought a picture of her blastocyst (embryo) looked like it would take. The scientist was about as able to answer that question as the Big Man upstairs himself. She patted her gently on the shoulder and kindly reassured her, ‘I know you’ve been through so much, I really hope it works for you this time’ the scientist told her. Her shoulders hunched I could see the woman fighting back her tears. I didn’t know her but I wanted to go and give her a big old hug, to tell her I’m sure it would take to share some of her burden because there is nothing more painful than being constantly deprived of the greatest gift of all time.
While it feels like everyone from Kimmie K to the girl in the hairdressers seems to be up the knock except me, it’s hard to remain up beat when the thing you want most in the world is so utterly out of your control…but while we cross our fingers and wait, hope and pray I am reminded of the two biggest blessings I do have…9 y o and The Vet…for that I am truly grateful…Love n hugs, Lady MamaG xox