Crying and Cake

We had our first individual appointment (after the group seminar – see the ‘Sad Club’ entry) on Friday. It was about 45minutes long, the consultant went through our medical history, what tests we’d had, their results etc, it was pretty straightforward.  I’d asked at our group seminar  that if by this appointment I was on day 10 of my cycle whether I’d still be able to start my treatment this cycle – treatment usually starts on day 21 so I knew it would be pushing it but on that occasion the Dr didn’t seem to think it would be a problem.    When I asked on Friday it was a different Dr who said this was very unlikely, it made me feel both a bit silly for hoping and desperately disappointed at the prospect of another months wait.  I know you’d think that when you’ve waited over 3 years one more month shouldn’t be significant but somehow it  seemed a devastatingly long time.  The consultant could see I was upset and stressed and had a chat with one of the nurses to see if it would be possible to start this cycle and with a bit of tweaking to drugs he said it could be done and a nurse would call me this week to discuss it.  Having said that I’m now not sure what to do, starting this cycle involves more drugs and feels rushed.  Also, though one of the reasons I gave for wanting to start this month was that I’ve planned my shifts for starting sooner (because I waited longer than expected for the referral to be sent from the hospital), I haven’t been able to plan things as well as I would have liked in terms of getting time off at the crucial stages.   So the logical, sensible part or my brain is telling me to wait another month but the emotional, desperate part of my heart  is telling me to start sooner. 
 

So having had a straightforward appointment and been offered the choice of when to start my treatment it’s difficult to say why I spent 2 hours crying afterwards.

Somehow that appointment just made everything hit home for me.   It got me thinking about how difficult the next year might be, the appointments, the hormones, the pain, the potential for heart breaking disappointment, the reality that if this doesn’t work I’m going to have to come to terms with never carrying my own children.  The realisation that I might never get to experience  being handed my baby in the hospital for the first time and seeing the look of love in Matt’s eye’s.   I got myself into a really spiral of sadness.  We know that if the 2 cycles of NHS funded IVF don’t work we won’t pay for any more so this year feels like it’s going to be ‘all or bust’, and when finally faced with starting that journey the  weight of it all got the better of  me.  I know there’s  potential for unbelievable joy just as much as for pain, it’s pretty much 50/50, but I know that getting my hopes up could prove a dangerous business.

A few hours, a hot bath, a cupcake and several cups of tea later I managed to pull myself together.  It should be made law that every fertility clinic be near a cake shop, or in our case a Waitrose that provided us with some yummy cupcakes after our appointment on Friday, I sense we may be visiting there a lot over the next few months.  I know  this won’t be the last time I get overwhelmed by it all and there’s going to be a lot more tears but at least for now I’ve lifted myself back onto an even keel, even if my balance is somewhat delicately held.