And so the wheels are already turning, jerking us slowly but surely into the New Year… I do like the way this one sounds. Twenty Ten. It has an internal character or balance that ‘2009’ frankly lacked, there’s a certain style and logic to its presentation. 18.104.22.168. Handsome, don’t you think? One might even say that as years go, 2010 is gearing up to be more debonair than most. It feels nicely pressed, lightly perfumed and altogether spiffy. Hello there, you gorgeous new year, you – going my way?!
Today is an important day. I had an embryo transfer this morning, and now a five-day-old blastocyst Llew and I both saw on the screen is sitting somewhere inside my notoriously retroverted uterus. Will our microscopic little friend like it in there? No one can say; despite all the welcome clinical interference, there’s still a whole lot of mystery involved. There’s nothing to do now but relax and wait. 2010. It’s all about time. IVF has been an acutely temporal experience – everything is on the clock. The “harvest” last week was precisely 36 hours after the trigger injection and all the injections etc leading up to it were likewise controlled by the ‘ole hickory dickory dock. Perhaps this is one of the reasons I have thus far reacted so well to the process: I’m fascinated by time. And I have, you sweet people will doubtless be glad to know, reacted well. I’ve never been so even-keeled – I think I should be on these drugs all the time. It’s been remarkably uneventful. Aside from that one day – and I truly believe I would have felt the way I did regardless – it’s been not just ‘business as usual’ but like I’ve had an especially effective training session, like How to Deal with Difficult Customers. I’m not usually this normal! I’ve really never been this sane! All very intriguing. IVF? I love it!
Even if it doesn’t work, I can’t rave enough about the IVF Australia outfit. They are wonderful. It’s like having a crack team of scientists, doctors and other specialists at my personal disposal, all working right through the holidays to give us and others like us the best chance possible of a healthy pregnancy. They are so thorough and kind. And spotless. So, so spotless. Before I went under last Wednesday, I looked up at the gleaming ceiling and thought, “This is quite possibly the cleanest room I will ever see.” Then I was out, emerging from the general anaesthetic a short time later feeling not only alert but positively top o’ the morning.
One of the nurses in recovery regarded me with undisguised interest. My lack of drowsiness was clearly unexpected, but I put it down to Babs, the anaesthetist, knowing exactly what she’s doing.
“You’ve come out of it really well,” she said, peering at me closely.
“I’m feeling pretty good,” I said, smacking my lips and looking around for some light refreshment. “What are my chances of a cup of tea and a packet of biscuits?”
“Better than average.”
See? Love ’em. And after three years of going it alone and producing nothing more than three early and unexplained miscarriages, I can only say it’s been a massive load off my shoulders enlisting expert assistance. I have been able to let go of so much anxiety, because everything that can be controlled is being controlled. And everything else is reassuringly beyond my control, so what I’ve found – and this is a totally unexpected result, I fully expected to be the nightmare patient from hell – is that IVF has had the most awesome settling effect on my fertility psyche. That’s how I feel. Settled. Really at peace with what I can and cannot change. So there we are – I told you I liked the look of Twenty Ten.
There’s lots of other news and a few madcap tales to tell, so I’ll see you tomorrow. Now it’s time to settle down with Wolf Hall.