And on the 13th day....

I got the call this morning and all I can think is, eek! What it means though, is that the next stage of the journey has started. The foreplay is over and we are at the ‘pointy end of the season’.

Last time I wrote about the ‘the journey’ it was with a sense of hopelessness.

When I first starting considering going down the donor insemination route, I wasn’t exactly sure when I would start. “When things were right,” I thought, which essentially translated to when I had lost weight. Other than a sense of nerves, my weight was the only thing holding me back. You constantly hear how being too overweight can diminish your chances of falling pregnant, so my original plan was to wait a few months and try and lose weight before doing anything.

Then I started the appointments. I was dieting and losing weight at the time and highly motivated to do so.

I was also highly motivated in the baby-stakes. More than I imagined. Apathy has dogged me over recent years and it takes a lot of ‘steps’ for me to do what I need to. So, my fast-tracking of this process has surprised even me. I went very quickly from ‘sending off an innocuous query email’ to appointments, to procuring donor sperm. Despite this, in late February I was still, however, shocked to hear that doctors expected I would progress this in coming months. In my mind, June or later was ideal. I had excuses other than the weight: I didn’t want to have a December baby (who would suffer as I did from lack-of-presents or joint-presents around Christmas and be younger than school friends); and I didn’t want to be heavily pregnant in summer. The reasons were (vaguely) logical. To me, anyway.

But then something happened. I don’t know what, but I decided (a la Nike) I would ‘just do it’. I was ready and raring to go. It was March. Then the roadblocks started – not just sending me on a brief detour, but briefly into a downward spiral I found hard to escape. I had to wait a month to settle my blood pressure down. This was exacerbated by the fact that obstetrician was having holidays in April. I despaired over another month’s delay. May seemed forever away and I worried about (probability) statistics dropping as the months ticked by.

Strangely, March passed. When I revisited my GP at the end of that month, the medication had worked and my BP was almost normal. I was free to continue the journey.

The next steps of were the important ones. Actually ‘trying to get pregnant’ meant taking a fertility drug called chlomid in the first few days of my cycle. Then, on day 12, I have a blood test to see if my hormones are where they should be (heightened I gather). If they are, then I am ready for the insemination.

Having said that, I don’t entirely know what the actual insemination entails, other than assuming it to be some cold and clinical process. What I do know is that the ampoule which I purchased, is with the obstetrician and ready for inseminating.

But, having been given the green light, instead of being excited I was torn. I had faltered badly during the month. March had seen me throw away my diet and put on the weight I had lost. The hard work had been lost. How could I go ahead now? I had to re-lose the weight! How could I say that I was determined to have a child when I couldn’t even ‘stay the path’ on my diet? Perhaps it was for the best that my obstetrician was away in April after all. It would give me time to get back on track.

April arrives, as does my period. Earlier than usual. I think this is more of a problem in terms of my obstetrician’s holidays. I tell myself it is karma or kismet or some other k word that means it is meant to be. But, I call the clinic anyway, just to check.

I am more-than-shocked when the nurse tells me that I can go ahead. I have to start taking the drug the next day (days 2 – 6 of cycle) and then have a blood test on day 12. Incidentally, day 12 is Good Friday. That would mean insemination over the Easter weekend. It seems that the clinic’s blood testing facility is open (briefly) each day over Easter. It seems that my doctor will be back from leave and is on call over Easter. It seems that it will be April after all.

Instead of relief, I am hamstrung. ‘But, I haven’t lost weight yet,’ I think. There are so many problems with April. I am cat-sitting for two weeks and pregnant women aren’t supposed to be around cats, and I can’t back out as I have promised my niece.

Then I realise. It is unlikely to ‘happen’ this month. I remind myself that I can’t allow myself to believe that I will be pregnant this month. It may not happen for many months. Or ever. It may also happen, but not last. So I start to plan for treats, for things to cheer me up when I am not pregnant. ‘Perhaps a two-week stay at a weight loss retreat would console me – and be of benefit,’ I think (before remembering that I will need to spend that money on more ampoules).

So I go ahead. I take the chlomid. I break the first one and worry I haven’t consumed every morsel. I have diarrhoea after the second one and worry I haven’t absorbed it. I wonder when I need to completely stop drinking alcohol and caffeine.

Today is Good Friday. It is day 12. I started cat-sitting today. I had my blood test at 7.30am.

At 10.30am I had a call from my obstetrician. It is all systems go. My hormones are where they should be. Despite the crumbling tablet and the upset stomach. I forgot to mention the cats, but will tell her that tomorrow. Pre-coital banter. (Or something.)

It feels strange. I think eek. It feels big. I wonder how women cope with this for months. The expectation; the trying; the waiting; and the disappointment. For me it has only just begun.