My veins are completely non compliant. Which is not helpful when you have a nurse trying to insert a cannula the size of a slurpie straw into your somewhat grey and dull looking inner elbow. Did I mention I fucking hate needles?

My lovely Nurse, who recognises me from the somewhat unfortunate fact I’ve become a regular at her hospital, beams a big smile at me. ‘You’re back,’ she says. ‘I thought you weren’t going to do anymore,’ we catch up here so often we’re on a first name basis – except we don’t know each others actual names. Love and darl will do fine. 

I tell her I’ve been blessed with some donor eggs from an incredibly generous friend and am hopeful of a transfer this afternoon. ‘Oh how fantastic,’ she says. ‘Well this will be the last time we see you then,’. I smile and blink away tears, they come far too easily these days. Emotions on hiked up overload. Fucken hormones. 

Patients with eye patches start filling up the recovery room. No other ladies with failing ovaries to share my battlefield story with today. I may be forced to become a Days of our Lives devotee instead. 

After taking my blood pressure, the Nurse tries to stick me with the cannula but my veins say no. ‘Shit, sorry love, I know that hurts. Damn I can’t get it to feed back through, sorry we’ll have to get the doctor.’ I wince and look away. Fuck I hate needles. Oh the pain, it’s real alright. She tries to distract me with tales of our homeland. ‘I’m off back for Easter,’ she tells me, if her visit to a spot where my family has a place. ‘Can’t beat those beautiful Kiwi beaches,’ she adds, small-talking through the pain. No you can’t but my arm’s now bleeding like a fucking bastard. 

She pulls out the unsuccessful giant sized cannula and my toes curl up inside my shoes. Shit it’s hot in here I tell her. And not because I’m feeling a bit of Nelly inspiration, I expect the ridiculous amount of hormones being orally ingested into my system over the past month contribute to the claminess. I choke back the urge to empty my guts all over her pink crocs and the lino floor. She goes to find the doctor, see if he can do a better job. 

Between surgeries, Dr Babies comes to the rescue and has another shot, by which point my veins are meeting to decide if they’ll completely disband from my body altogether. He digs around a little and finally gets a feed through. Stupid ass veins. 

The Nurse hooks up the intralipid fluid and so begins the start of a day that, for the past two weeks, I’ve been both dreading and anxiously awaiting. 

As the gooey white substance begins its crawl into my body at the rate of 10mls per minute, upstairs there’s a teeny little Hugo or Evie being taken out of the freezer getting prepared for this afternoon’s transfer. I don’t know if it’ll defrost. I don’t know if it’ll take. I don’t know what the days and weeks will hold for us, us three, my beautiful family…I don’t know if my uterus will hold this tiny miracle, if my body can do what it’s meant to…all I know is fear. 

I want to skip this bit altogether. Go straight to the end of my two week wait. Sleep for a fortnight and then get up and know it’s all worked. Our dreams have come true. If only it were that easy…but fuck it all to hell, infertility is anything but…lov n’hugs from a hopelessly hopeful Lady MamaG xox