So… I have to admit…. I’m an angry person when pregnant (this time round). Maybe the IVF kept my hormones at bay last time. Maybe I was just happy to have finally fallen pregnant? Who cares? I just feel horrendous this time round & I’m making the whole world pay for it. Bothered? Not really. That’s the kinda mood I’m in. People should be lucky I can’t drink as I’d be a fucking nightmare right now.
So in light of my “with child status” am I experiencing anything new in HK? Nope. In fact, I’m sooo pissed off at the moment, all I can think about is London. Funny isn’t it? I know, people get “Island Fever” and have their highs and lows with Hong Kong… & so yes, I’m having a low point. I’ve not seen anyone the last couple of weeks (which for someone with 2 kids, aside from playgroups with strangers…I think is essential to your sanity), I’m angry with people I know here (dunno know…I just am) and I’m now looking for a 2nd Helper to, well “Help”, in the house. Would I have got this kinda help in the UK? Of course fucking not!!! Does this make me any nicer a person? No.
Why? I’m finding there is no real substance to the friendships I’ve made here (I guess having a history with people at home is different), and plus, I’m feeling like I’m hard work (I’m not really). I’m a great, loyal friend but in essence, I’m your party girl. I hate doing mundane bullshit and I HATE shopping, so I’m struck off many a “girls shopping trip”. They actually have facebook groups dedicated to this in HK. Wierdos. I like people I can call up last minute, have a chat to and basically relax with a drink. As I cant do this (due to my impending 3rd child), I am fucking torn with being here right now. I realise the substance of most of my friendships (not all, don’t get me wrong, I’ve made some very good friends too), but the ones you think you can count on, are the ones you always end up with at 4am, looking for a drug dealer and not speaking to for weeks on end after.
Is it all to do with my pregnancy? Probably but I don’t care. I’m dangerous like that though. I cut off from people very easily and don’t feel one shred of blood doing it. Nancy Kissel & I could have been great friends (joke).
Soooo… my mindset at the mo? I have to apologise as I’ve been getting emails from readers asking what hell is going on with my writing at the moment… The truth? I really truly can’t be fucked right now. And, feeling quite alone (can people even say that out loud in this day ‘n age?) here, I am fed up & cannot be arsed with anything. I keep getting invited to shit that I would NEVER EVER do in the UK and the girls in my apartment block want to throw me a “baby shower”. OH LUCKY FUCKING ME. A BABY SHOWER?! Someone stab me now. I explained, very gently that (a) no baby shower until this kid arrives healthy therefore I can actually have a drink, and, (b) NO FUCKING BABY SHOWER! Its not a party unless I can get drunk/dance on tables/get arrested & The Captain turns up to collect me grim faced & angry (hence angry crazy monkey sex will usually follow). As this wont be happening until February 2012… I’m gonna be a right bitch until then (& I guess, pretty lonely). BUT I still have to attend these stupid things. I’m too old for this shit. I want my old life back.
Fed up? Damn right I am. Can I moan to a single person here? Aside from one, or two, not really. That makes me feel pretty alone (yes, its my fault for being sooo cut off & a bitch…shoot me) If I was at home right now, I would have a WHOLE support network who have known me forever (therefore forgive my flaws/alcoholic tendencies) & who are, well, just like me … normal (ish).
So a few weeks ago, I started feeling incredibly ill… non-stop. I was being sick constantly, bad stomach cramps, lots of spotting between my menstrual cycle, up all night pacing the apartment with insomnia (handy when my kids kept waking in any event) and during all of this, I managed to neck a bottle of wine (sometimes Vodka) here and there too (hey, I’m only human).
My local Doctor kindly sent me off to a Specialist Gynaecologist after giving me a well overdue Smear test (don’t you just love opening your legs to a Doctor last-minute when you’ve forgotten to have a Bikini wax and not shaved your legs. Soo sexy).
The Specialist turned out to be a lovely Doctor based in Bank of America Tower (Hong Kong) and she chatted through my medical history in detail. I told her about the Twins, IVF, various operations I’ve had in my lifetime and that I was 100% sure it must be my huge Fibroids that were causing me the pain I was experiencing. I also asked this Gynae specialist to rustle up some good contraceptives for me too as I hadn’t got round to sorting any of this. She then asked me if I had taken a pregnancy test. Now for a normal woman who had not endured the fertility treatment I had, this would be a normal question, but for me… well, it just seemed pointless. That being said, I told her I actually had taken one that morning (ok, I did a quick test on a stick and looked at it a couple of minutes later. Negative of course). Soooo….. Gynae Doctor asks me to hop up onto the big white moving table thing and pulls out the horrific light sabre Luke Skywalker uses in Star Wars to stick inside me and have a root around, while both of us stare at a computer screen to see my insides.
Well…. there staring at both of us, and I knew the minute I saw it, having had numerous scans throughout IVF, was a BABY. A 9 week old baby. The Doctor asked me again “When did you have a pregnancy test?”, my shaky response was “errr…. this morning why? Is that a blood clot?” (knowing full well it wasn’t). The Doctor responded “No Mrs X, that is a 9 week old baby. CONGRATULATIONS!!” Then she turned up the volume on the Scan machine and BOOM! I heard the heartbeat.
At this point I almost fell off the table (even with the light sabre still inside me and no underwear on) and started crying. The Doctor (clearly not a woman with children) thought they were tears of joy. Ok, I admit they were a little but it was honestly more full-blown, holy fuck, shock. I explained to her that there was no way I could be pregnant unless it had been by divine intervention as I had been beating the Captain away from me with a stick for months (he’s like a Puppy trying to hump me non stop. It gets exhausting after a while, even if I know I should be grateful he’s not out banging Domestic Helpers in Wan Chai). I also asked her how, when, what the fuck was going on. I HAVE 16 MONTH OLD TWINS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!!? HOW WOULD I COPE!!? I had to refrain from physically shaking her by the arms as I asked these questions. I also recalled the past NINE weeks of parties, drinking constantly, sushi, debauchery and anything else that you would never do while pregnant. Shit. I’m going to hell for this one.
At this point the Doctor was rushing me through to her nurse for blood tests, weight checks, urine samples and handing me my Ante-Natal card while smiling happily and patting me on the shoulder telling me I was due next February. I stood there, dumbstruck, holding the Ante-Natal card in my hand like it was contagious. I was convinced there had been a mistake and was desperate for a glass (ok, bottle) of wine and a cigarette (I gave up 9 years ago after starting at the age of 12. I’m hardcore clearly). I asked for a photo of the scan as I knew the Captain would not believe me – bless we both thought I was seriously ill, which made me drink more. To cope with the stress obviously of thinking I was dying or something.
So in my daze, I somehow manage to flag down a Taxi, get to the Captain’s office and ask him to come down to meet me for lunch. He suggested Sushi. I told him no (obviously I was being responsible the minute I discovered I was pregnant).
As the Captain made his way down the escalator, I felt myself shitting my pants and thinking, I’m about to devastate this man who has been soo happy the Twins are finally becoming more self-sufficient. I ask the Captain to come sit with me outside and right away, he’s like “Shut up! Whats wrong?!?!” I initially thought it might be easier to tell him (a) I was actually really ill and had only a few months to live (b) I was having an affair, or (c) Both of the above. I was terrified to say I was pregnant. I mean, this is meant to be my Best Friend in the whole world and I was scared to tell him. I didn’t even know how I felt about it all but that was the shock talking. Two years ago, before Itchy and Scratchy, we would have been jumping for joy. Now, without IVF, and one night of crazy monkey sex (thats what we call it when we go all out), we had managed to do what we had failed to do before. Fall naturally pregnant.
In the end, I just pulled the scan out my bag and handed it to him … kinda like I was serving divorce papers. The poor Captain, stopped in his tracks and asked me “Whos the Father!??” as I clearly have loads of time to shag around in HK, in between my sleepless nights, writing, Pilates classes, cooking, cleaning, drinking etc. The Captain then went through an hour of torturing himself (like I had in the clinic), wondering how we would cope with 3. THREE kids under the age of 2.5 years old?! Madness. I’m going to turn into a raving alcoholic at this rate ladies as I can’t see any other way to enjoy this one sober.
So… thats it for me at the moment. I guess my hardcore partying days are now limited to cakes, baking, waddling and eating cheese, while rubbing my expanding belly and moaning about carpal tunnel syndrome and pain in my hips. Allll those months of Pilates to give me a washboard tummy… down the fucking drain.
How could I be this irresponsible for fucks sake?! I’m a grown woman. The Captain, of course, wanted to celebrate that night by having “crazy monkey sex”. I told him to piss off and never touch me with his penis again.
ps. The pregnancy test, the one I took in the morning before my specialist appointment. Well…. lo and behold, there it was staring up at me from the bin, with two positive lines when I got home. I had been so convinced it would be negative, I didnt re-check it 5 minutes later as per the dumbass instructions state you should.
pps. The photo above is taken of an Organic Wine Cellar I visited in Chinon, France……I then consumed 3 bottles just to make sure I was happy with the 8 crates of vino I had purchased.
So girls, I have a question for you? Or those of you who’ve had IVF treatment or suffered years of infertility treatment, which include dozens of Doctors, in every shape & size, taking a peek inside your vagina (undignified, even if you do arrive stoned and giggling). When you finally fell pregnant, did you then tell people it was “all natural bla bla” (like J. Lo) or do you fess up and be honest (like Julia Roberts with her twins), saying it was because you had fertility treatment?
The reason I ask is that I got told, politely of course, by a family member, not to tell people I had IVF when asked if Twins run in my family (actually, Triplets naturally do). “Why?” I asked innocently. “Because they don’t really need to know, if they don’t know you that well”. Well, I have a couple of issues that caught in my throat over this particular discussion.
I spent nearly TWO years trying everything to fall pregnant. I mean, bloody hell, I saw Princess Diana’s nutritionist on Harley Street as someone said he helped them. If someone told me to sleep with a wooden penis under my pillow as it would pass on good vibes (or is that a vibrator?!), I would have done it to speed the mind-blowing, heart rendering process up. That kind of strain is horrible on any relationship, but when you spend soooo many years trying not to get knocked up, it kinda feels like a cruel bull-shit joke, when you want to, and yet, cant.
Especially when EVERYONE and their dog (ok, it felt like everyone) was falling pregnant around me and those really annoying ones who had JUST got married, well they were pregnant right away (bastards). We had TWO years of different treatments until the Doctors said “its unexplained”.
I’m sorry, but, WHAT THE FUCK DOES “UNEXPLAINED” MEAN???! I need hard-core facts, not “ooh sorry, you fall into that 20% group of people who just don’t know why they can’t fall pregnant”. FUCK OFF!!! You’re a bloody Doctor. You’re really telling me that you can’t get me pregnant any quicker?! Yeh right. It’s all about money. I was told to change my diet, no sugar (no fucking alcohol or drugs, the bastards), try Clomid first, then Metformin, Progesterone (orally or anal…joyous both ways), smiley annoying faces on ovulation sticks, then I got the expensive machine from Boots to make sure it really worked with an extra big smile and temperature valve, then injections to make you ovulate, the test with dye through your tubes to make sure there are no blockages, IUI (absolutely pointless and fucking expensive if you ask me), and then finally when all else failed and screaming at my husband to “pound away as I’m ovulating!!” didn’t work, we did IVF.
Now, I dreaded IVF, but I have to admit, it was fine. I used THE most amazing clinic in London (The London Women’s Clinic on Harley Street) and they were fabulous from the minute I got there. I was pregnant within a month.
WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T I GO THERE AT THE BEGINNING?!?! Ok, so the Captain had to chase me around our house with a needle every night to administer various drugs … and considering he’s terrified of needles ie, before a jab for Hep B he infamously said, “Dr, I have a fobia of needles, can I have a Valium first!?”, I was a little worried. He had to give me 3 injections daily, FOR NINETY MOTHER FUCKING HARDCORE BASTARD DAYS. NINETY DAYS. During the period before this, he was due to go on a boys weekend to Spain and on announcing this, I threw, yes threw, an ashtray at his head (it was when we were still allowed to smoke spliff). Yes, that’s right. I’m a determined gal. I wanted babies and then, boom, allllll those injections (which involved freezing my arse and then warming various body parts to get maximum effect), TWO arrived! What can I say? I’m an overachiever… plus The Captain has a fab sperm count, which massively helps his ego (& his daily attempt to frame his count results).
So, you see, when someone says “Don’t mention IVF”, like its you or your Hubby that’s a failure, I don’t see it that way. I wear it with a badge of honour, as I know how hard that time was, and I also know that we have helped lots of friends who have been, and are, going through the same thing because of it.
Why hide it?! I didn’t have fucking herpes, although at times, we would probably have preferred that so we could treat it! I’m annoyed that anyone tells me “not to mention it“, like that makes me, or The Captain… well, “less perfect”. It’s life!! When you get older, it gets harder to conceive and not just that. Its like I’ve got my own version of war medals for all the shit I went through to get to where I am now…. and I feel proud of myself, every single time I look at my gorgeous, screaming, moaning, laughing, now walking (& teething… WOT?!), Twins. I did ALL of that work, and put my own body through all of that (yes, The Captain was great & wonderful too) because I wanted to love these babies that much.
In my personal opinion, and of course, it’s just mine, the IVF generation need to stand proud, and say it loud!! There is no shame in IVF.
Ok girls…. I’d be lying through my teeth if I said I didn’t miss my munchkins (Itchy & Scratchy). Plus, The Captain doesn’t appear to care as much as I do that we have (1) left them with our Helper in Hong Kong (yes, shes wonderful & yes we have cameras….) (2) time alone together just us … well…. it’s a bit harsh no? I mean, we’re meant to be getting on brilliantly.
I had images of him chasing me into the ocean waves, or strolling in the sun hand in hand, laughing, joking, gossiping (basically… I was imagining a gay friend, I had the bonus of having sex with). BUT, the reality…. we have just agreed, we want to literally harm each other. The Captain told me to “go ahead and order another Cosmo” as I’m such a joy when drinking … which of course I did (hey, you don’t need to tell me twice), and I told him “sometimes I’d like to hold a noose round your neck and keep tightening it”. YES I SAID THAT. Big fucking deal.
Who isn’t married and comes out with worse comments… seriously? I’ve actually edited some things that took place at lunch-time today. I was in a very jovial, almost over happy mood after indulging in my new book by Russell Brand (my not-so-secret celeb crush), “My Booky Wook” and was enjoying myself, laughing out loud (he’s fucking funny), until HE (AKA “The Captain”) turned up to “talk” about my behaviour (hey, for the record… I wasn’t sat there without a top on indulging in any sexual/illegal act….well…not today anyway).
What is it with the new age /metrosexual man and their need to chit chat!? What happened to just relaxing with a cocktail and no feelings chit-chat bullshit? After a row at lunch which involved many a familiar line about how I hated his family, him mine (people staring at us both while this took place, but The Captain always does like a good dramatic scene) and how neither of us can agree on anything…. I then text my troop of fab girls back home who told me “I’m loved” and then I wanna cry and jump on a plane back to London, Heathrow ASAP.
Even on holiday in the Philippines, I want to be home. I want my family (who drove me maaaad), my girlfriends (who I always, always love being with) and the biggest loves of my life, the kids. The Captain and his brood though… well at the moment… I’m all done on exhausting arguments about family, and whose is more “normal, better, wierd” etc. I’ve always had to spend more time with his than mine, mainly because mine like a quiet peaceful life, and the Captains love drama, have more religious holidays, followed by arguing and me always feeling like the odd Duckling in the crowd (I didn’t say Ugly, I said Odd). That will never ever change, nor do I want it to.
I am now stuck between a rock and a hard place. Does anyone know what that actually means because it sounds to me like I’m pretty much fucked either way?! I want out of the whole non-stop arguing. I’m not “lucky” or “ungrateful” because of my new bull-shit fake affected life in Hong Kong. I’m alone, I have 2 small babies (who I have had to leave in HK to “prove” my love to The Captain) and I miss my Mum (yes, I’m also a big girls blouse…. anyone know where that saying comes from?!). I wanna go home. If anyone reading this can give me a ticket home (plus enough space for 2 babies) and no Legal crap about an additional accompanying adult for baby no.2 (any infants under 2 can’t travel without an adult), please email me.
I want to go to London without ANYONE but MY family & friends knowing. I want to go home. The Captain today… well… he just sealed the deal on how hard this relocation business is. I thought I was doing really well until he told me I was “ungrateful”.
Ungrateful!? Have a look at our Twins from 2 years of trying IVF. Have a look at your new home that I moved us into, once again (for the 3rd time…he didnt unpack anything but his underpants), have a look at how happy and chilled your kids are (they get that from me/wine). Have a look Captain. I have done everything you wanted and i tried very hard. Today…. I’m mentally packing up and heading home ….. even if I do have to live with your Mum as shes the only person who has any room in her house.
Damn it… I need to re-think things or start playing the fucking lottery.
ps. As I’m writing this, the family on the next balcony to ours is KICKING OFF. Big fight between Mum/Dad about “respect” (I’m drinking my freebie bottle of red vino and blatantly staring!) So you see…. EVERYONE is fighting and yet we all put on a fabulous bull-shit, we’re so fucking happy show. I feel better now….. right…. errr… where’s The Captain?!
Why do they call it a baby shower? Apparently it’s because you get “showered with necessity gifts”. I think it’s because when it rains, it pours… You have NO idea what lies ahead and 3 or 4 months of sleepless nights, 2/3 hourly feeding and basically … if you’re lucky to brush your teeth, hair, or trim your pubes… you’re already ahead of the game.
Maybe it’s because I’m a cynical Mum of twins… no sleep… no perspective. I recently attended a lovely, thoughtful baby shower (I’ve asked if the gorgeous gal in charge, who has lived in Hong Kong for over 15+ years, would do any other parties…she thought I was joking). I have to say it was brilliant. I met some absolutely hilarious, witty, sharp minded ladies and my face is aching from laughter. The lovely lady who threw this function for us all… if you are reading this, is, in my eyes, a dream Mum/friend/and I’m guessing wife.
We had an endless supply of champagne (already an A star in my books), food, and cakes. The company though, I found hard to begin with. Not because they were difficult but I’ve said this before… I’m absolute shit at small talk (which is a complete nightmare when meeting new people and my Husband always needs the loo the minute we go anywhere).
So, I’m talking to someone I’ve never met before, and they are looking over my shoulder to see who else is more interesting, when more people arrived. I have to say that along with (a) Not saying please/thank you/Excuse me/& was that you that just farted? (b) Looking over someones shoulder and not engaging them in conversation, just in case someone more interesting arrives, pisses me off. It makes me very annoyed and then when that person is stood all alone at the end of the day (as everyone else has noted they are rude too), I’m not going over to say “Hi” or recover that conversation. They were too rude to begin with! Engage in your conversations people. It’s not hard to be polite. Especially to a stranger! I don’t like it and you are blacklisted from my life, forever.
Anyhow… I got pissed on a batch load of Rose Champagne and the lovely Hostess with the mostess, sent me home with food too. I climbed out of a Taxi in Repulse Bay with balloons strapped to my wrist and our doorman….looking at me & thinking….”hmmm….where’s that number for Hong Kong child services?”
I’m not going to apologise for getting drunk at these functions (hey, it’s not like I’m taking my top off to flash my boobs or anything). I like to have fun! All of us do. Some people just like to judge more than others (it makes them feel superior… idiots) and that’s why we all act like weirdos when we first meet. We’re trying to suss out who’s fun and who’s going to judge later.
Why why why can’t we go out, have a ball, get drunk…without judgement? And, its only women who are like this. Men (I have 3 brothers) are not this judgemental…probably because they have more to hide (especially the ones who give you that smirk when they say “oh we went on a boys trip to Vegas”.. oh fucking grow up)… or don’t really give a crap.
Please tell me??! I have never ever met a person, in my entire life (& FYI, I’ve met EVERYONE who is slightly odd), who hasn’t done/said/partied/drunk/snorted/slept/something …. Teenagers, Parents, age, background…. it’s all irrelevant but please… stop being soo fucking patronising.
I went out on the town a few nights later with a huge group of girls. Some got absolutely hammered on wine/vodka (you pick your poison), some didn’t. The ones who didn’t ended up putting others in Taxi’s and giving that “knowing” look like… “tut tut… she’s soo drunk” – FYI… it wasn’t me! You (yes you who is reading this now…not the “literal” you) were carried home once I’m sure by a friend/someone, puked somewhere from booze or g-d knows what (if you haven’t… then you’re square and get off this site immediately as I can’t deal with anything critical unless its funny).
We have ALL done something and, we are the ones who set the bar on right, or wrong. I’m NOT going to apologise for going out, getting drunk and having a great time. If I make YOU feel uncomfortable, then remove yourself from ME. BUT, don’t ever, patronise me and act like you are doing ME the favour by taking me home, or giving me some “advice” on life. I’ve survived 4 operations in 2 years alone, cancer (not me but someone so dear it may as well have been Me.. my heart.. My Mum), strokes, IVF (3 injections every day for NINETY days), redundancy and every other piece of crap that has been thrown at me.
Take your smirks, judgements and everything else somewhere else. You don’t drink, you don’t party, you don’t get angry, you don’t EVER lose it? You must be a Saint then.
I’m all done here. I’ve lived a good few years and survived without help. I love to live now and that’s what I’m ALL about. You don’t like it. Fuck off. I wake every day in my world (nobody else but you experiences your life so don’t listen to anyone but you) and I’m going to live by my rules. I’m so done with everyone elses. To be fair, I think we all are.
ps. I think I need more sleep.
Tired Mum?! Yep…that’s me. I’m soo tired that when I took the twins for their MMR this week (which BTW i was shit scared about after reading up on it ….) the Dr asked ME, if I was ok. Cheeky MF (I put make-up on too the git).
Anyhow…. I have heard back from some of you lovely gals, who promise (unless you’re all bloody lying in which case stop emailing me with fake hope), that shit will get easier. The kids apparently do grow up, I apparently chill out a bit, and apparently the Captain’s penis grows bigger as a prize (ok…that was a joke…its already HUGE. In fact, any bigger and he’ll be in the Guinness Book of Records).
So… seriously. I’m having a week on, then a shit week off … of general tiredness. Yes, I’m a lucky cow for having help bla bla bla. I don’t care what you think. I’m not some privileged asshole. If I was here or in Katmandu… I would be BEGGING someone to help me with twins. It’s not a joke, despite IVF and all sorts of fertility treatment for nearly two whole years (you name it, I did every sodding, undignified thing I had to do). I love these kids but I don’t feel guilty for asking someone to wake at 6.30am to feed my monkeys while I have an extra 2 hours in bed. Why? (a) I’d be a real miserable bitch of a Mum if I didn’t, (b) She gets paid more than I do (although apparently I live in lala land where my bank account has an endless supply of cash…according to the hubby) & (c) I have terrible insomnia. I always have, which means at 4am, when I’m EXHAUSTED & WANT to sleep… nothing happens … I’m awake. I’m organising, polishing silver (quite relaxing actually) and generally wandering around our shoe box apartment, dyyyying to sleep.
I have what’s generally known as “Para-insomnia”…. basically, I also get to experience (as does my poor Captain) weird dreams that are sooo real, I’m literally wandering around the room, chasing a nightmare. I almost opened our balcony door (fast asleep, not because I’m suicidal…. it was before the kids were born, clearly!) thinking it was the bathroom. My parents had to put extra bolts on our front door when I was about 11 years old as I would sleep walk everywhere (you don’t even want to know what happened at boarding school…. which I was pulled out of after one month because we were in the middle of a mountain and I was clearly a threat to, well, myself!).
Crazy? Me? Nope…. its “Para Insomnia”… or in my mind… another fucking thing to deal with on top of everything else. The night before my best friends wedding, I woke up one of her bridesmaids (also one of my very old school friends who loves me/& I her, so no one who would get weirded out…. trying to wind her as in my dream, she was my son and I couldnt understand how he was wearing purple PJ’s. This is the 4th time I have woken someone (yes, of course its almost always The Captain… or my Mum, once). It seems to have got worse when I’m tired, or stressed. I actually feel quite happy though, so I’m not quite sure where its all flowing out from!?
Sooooo…. all you Mummys out there having a tired week, feeling down, maybe a little alone…. or just… welll… fed up as its the SAME thing, day in, day out (kinda like “Groundhog day” as one good friend described it) It’s fine. Just relax. It does get better and easier…. and the minute it does….. I’m packing these cheeky sods off to boarding school.
Having spent the last 2 years trying to conceive, I decied to set up a blog, more for my own sanity and self-preservation, as well as wanting to help others in the same predicament as us. My poor friends, work colleagues, family and not to mention, my partner, have all been embrolied in this tireless fruitless journey of highs (IUI that I was convinced would work) and lows (when it didn’t). This site will hopefully lay to rest any concerns, doubts or thoughts you may have. Those moments alone when you convince yourself you are ok. Or the days you just can’t understand why this is happening to you and your prayers dont seem to be answered (this is someone who only used to pray when they wanted good grades in their University exams!!)
When the Dr’s told us that my partner and I had “unexplained infertility”, then patted us on the backs and told us to keep trying for another 6 months, we had no idea what that phrase meant and how potentially devastating it could be to our lives. You don’t quite grasp the level of stress this sort of thing puts on you as a person, or as a couple. Not to mention to constant talking about it with your friends and family (poor them!). The amount of times people must have cringed and had to bear listening to me talking about my cycle….I dread to think!
If you can’t laugh (as well as cry!) during the whole process (and it is a seriously emotional & physical one), then you’re not releasing your real emotions during the time you are trying to conceive.
Over the years, I have looked at and googled hundreds of sites for information on “unexplained infertility” and Polysistic as this is where my condition apparently lay. Some sites pointed me to self-help blogs, others were chat rooms for infertile women like myself, needing reassurance, guidance, explanations.
I also searched for the best Doctors to go to, the highest success rates of clinics, and self-medicated (which one Dr told me off for!) with Vitamins B6, cyclogest (from a friend), nutrition advice, what to eat, not eat, wear, dont wear, drink, dont drink. The list is endless and yet none of the things I did, nor the time, energy and money spent, gave us the goal we were searching for. To become parents.