This post was submitted to me within the ethos of Blognonymous. This post will strike a chord with many readers and the author explains that she has used the Blognonymous outlet because it is hard to find someone to talk to who isn't connected to work. This post is more for moral support than finding the magic cure. Please feel free to offer your invaluable support, advice and even personal experiences in the comments section. There is a "guest comment" facility if you prefer - sign out of Disqus and you will see "guest" appear as an option.
With so much misery in the world, floods, famine, people with life threatening illnesses it seems a bit indulgent of me to be feeling sorry for myself. But I am.
I’ve just returned from a fertility appointment at my local hospital. I’m posting to Blognonymous as people know me pretty well on the old blogosphere, you know who I am, where I work and lots about my life, this is the bit I’ve kept secret, mainly because of my career – not sure why life is so unfair women can’t progress up the career ladder and still search for the magic formula for making babies but certainly in my case it is, so I remain anonymous for now.
I met my partner later in life, after a series of failed relationships and some disastrous dating I finally found my soul-mate. I knew he was ‘the one’ after the second date and our life is pretty great all in all. We have problems like other couples – he’s been searching for a job, then setting up his own company, I’ve had work stresses, we both get stressed by the goings on of his ex-wife and her general lack of parenting skills, but when it’s the end of the day and we close our front door, we have our own little bubble where we love and protect each other from life’s harsh realities. I know I am very lucky.
However I said mentioned, we met later in life. I’m mid-forties and so is he. We’ve been trying to conceive for the last two years or so to no avail. I’ve had blood tests at the doc’s to reveal a high FSH which has been subsequently followed by hot flushes, weight gain around the middle and mood swings.... watch out peri-menopausal woman about!
After swabs and blood tests which have taken five months to chug through the system, I had been referred to hospital, for a long awaited appointment – only to be told that my county consultant has a “policy”. Yes I was so glad to hear he had a ‘policy’. His policy is if you’re over 40 there’s not much point so he won’t treat you and if you already have kids in the relationship then what’s the big deal you have kids already??..... both factors means – no treatment.
So thoughts turn to going privately and this is something whirling in my brain as I type.
The hospital have taken another blood test to check my FSH levels and if they are lowered this time there is a chance my reading of 18 was a blip and I could try Clomid, if they are 18 or above then the nurse thinks Clomid is a waste of time.
Although her answer was less than tactful - Her words were "Well go home and keep trying you might get lucky." How bloody insensitive are these people??
If I went down the route of IVF then she intimated that it would have to be with donor egg, as mine are too old and wrinkly I guess! So I still don’t get the baby I desire, the meeting of me and my partner.
I know I really should be eternally grateful for all I now have, I do have two beautiful step children who I love, but it’s just not the same. I want to see my own child grow up and become whatever they become. We’ve even spoken of adoption – but I want my genes to be in there somewhere. When someone says “she’s got her mother’s eyes/nose/temper” I want to say ‘yes she has’ – not ‘maybe she does’.
I know my partner was unsure about having more children initially, he adores the ones he has of course, but I think the more we live and love each other the more he wants to create a baby together too.
He’s working away tonight and just phoned to check on me. I know I was moody to him on the phone, but I just can’t deal with my own emotions right now and need time to have a good cry and be on my own. Hit a few pillows with my fist, shout that life is unfair – why didn’t I meet him earlier when I could have given birth to his children and not her? I need to throw stuff around the house and stamp on things in a fit of temper shouting that I would be a better mother. So maybe it’s a good thing I have a night in on my own, so I can be a calm-collected-Carol (my name’s not really Carol!) on his return and bury my feelings as usual (that’s no indictment on him, more on my lack of ability to share feelings with anyone).
Part of my job is to do with children and I regularly have to subscribe to the likes of Practical Parenting, Mother & Baby, I’m Pregnant etc and read through them, if this is it and I really can’t have children and there’s no chance of ‘getting lucky’ as she puts it, I'm not sure how much longer I can torture myself with a job that entails reading through baby magazines, writing for baby websites and generally putting myself in the shoes of a new mum, knowing I will never wear those shoes myself.
Trying not to feel as unhappy and helpless as I do is exhausting.