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Welcome to Crazyville. Population: me.

Sadie…you idiot.

Yesterday I went from calm, in control and enjoying my relaxing Saturday to full blown crazy. The insanity set in so swiftly I couldn’t seem to stop it, or even slow it down. One minute I was my normal self and next thing I was Psycho Sadie. I don’t even know how it happened, but now the crazy is turned on I can’t seem to switch it off again.

It started not long after I woke up. I was standing at the bathroom sink brushing my teeth when suddenly I was overcome with an overwhelming urge to vomit. I gagged and spat out the toothpaste.

“What’s wrong with you?” Doug asked, listening to me choke. “That cold still lingering?”

“Yeah it must be.” I replied sadly. “Just my luck!”

I’d come down with a cold earlier in the week and had two days off work to recover. I’d assumed I was over it and was looking forward to enjoying an illness free weekend. It was my first weekend in a long time that didn’t involve hormone injections or the stress of timing sex (or dodgy syringe inseminations) with ovulation. Of course my stupid body had other ideas. The cold was clearly back, except I only had this one weird symptom.

After a quick shower I ran the gauntlet of the freezing hallway and entered the warmth of our bedroom (we can’t afford to heat the whole house – we’re paying for IVF you know!) and started dressing myself. Pulling my bra across my chest and hooking it closed behind my back I winced in pain.

“You ok?” Doug asked, watching me with interest.

“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes at the fact he was still watching me like a hawk. “My boobs are so bloody sore today.”

“Still cramping?” he asked oh so casually.

“Yeah I am but don’t get excited Doug. It’s just the progesterone.” I warned him.

My sweet husband had been jumping on my symptoms all week. I’ve never seen a man so eager. Every time I mentioned I had a cramp or felt off he had cried out “Implantation!” and I had to calmly set him straight. It was starting to do my head in.

You see, I know almost certainly that I’m not pregnant. For the past forty-eight hours I’ve had bucket loads of clear, watery cervical mucus. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. When I first noticed it I thought I had peed my pants. Given my propensity to research everything and my newness to ovulation, I immediately turned to Doctor Google for support and learned that this is one of the first signs that your body is preparing for your period to begin. Ideally, if pregnancy was occurring, my mucus would be creamy rather than watery. I’d explained that to Doug and he looked like someone had just told him his kitten was dead.

After the bedroom incident, Doug went off to meet his mates. They were going out to lunch then spending the afternoon and evening at the football. As he was leaving, he kissed me goodbye and asked me if I had any creamy cervical mucus. That’s not normal, right? I mean honestly I was just glad to have him out of my hair for a few hours. I didn’t need his forlorn stares when I was trying to enjoy my weekend and I certainly wasn’t planning to provide rolling updates on my vaginal discharge.

With no one at home I decided to meet up with my mother and go shopping. Doug and I are selling our house and I have been jazzing up the rooms and doing a bit of decorating before the real estate agent comes to take the official photos. I wanted to buy two new rugs and some candles. I also needed some supplies to scrub stains off the tiles in our outdoor area and some pot plants.

After spending a few hours at a department store and going a little bit silly with my credit card, we decided to stop in at the hardware store on the way home to pick up cleaning supplies and pot plants. As soon as I walked in the door, I was overcome with the smell of paint and grabbed my mother’s arm.

“I’m going to be sick.” I gasped.

“What’s that?” she asked absently, perusing a range of garden gnomes near the front of the store.

“I said I’m going to be sick!” I hissed urgently at her.

When she finally turned to look at me I must have been pale as a ghost because she reached out to grab my shoulders, then dragged me through the store to the customer bathroom in the back. In the end I didn’t vomit, just dry retched for a few minutes. But I still felt queasy and had no idea what was wrong with me.

“Have you taken a pregnancy test?” Mum asked when I exited the restroom.

“No Mum!” I replied. “I’m only seven days past ovulation! And I’m not pregnant!”

“How do you know?” she pressed. “You seem pregnant.”

“Because I’m not.” I said firmly.

“Do you have any pregnancy tests at home?” she continued. “Maybe we should buy one?”

“No I don’t have one, and no I don’t want one.” I said, shooting her a warning glare. “Drop it. Now.”

Thankfully she did as I’d asked and didn’t bring it up again for the rest of our shopping expedition.

But it was too late. The seeds of hope had been sown in my mind. That night, as I sat alone on my couch eating Chinese takeaway and waiting for Doug to get home, the cogs in my brain slowly started turning.

Was there a reason Doug and my mother had been looking at me so curiously all day? Was it because I did have nausea, and I did have sore breasts and I had been experiencing dull, pressure cramps for days? Was it because I was pregnant? With that, my rational self completely lost control of the situation and my crazy self came out to play.

You see, I’d lied to my mother at the hardware store. I did have a pregnancy test at home. In fact, I had eleven of them. Like most women going through fertility treatment, I tend to keep stashes of them hidden for emergency purposes. And this was definitely an emergency…right?

Dropping my food, I raced upstairs and pulled the tests out of their hidey place in the back of my wardrobe. I dropped all but one of them onto the bed, and held the packet aloft triumphantly before hurrying into the bathroom. My little dog Arnold followed me excitedly, watching my every move with great interest. His eyes, they were judging me…pulling me back to reality.

“What are you doing Sadie?” I asked myself out loud. “Put the test down. Put it down. Put it down.”

Ignoring my own warning, I ripped open the test packaging and let the contexts slip easily into my hand.

“You’re seven days past ovulation.” I berated myself angrily. “And you’re about to waste a test with evening urine. STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING.”

Did I stop? No.

Did I take the test? Yes.

Was it negative? Yes.

Was I devastated? Stupidly, yes.

I threw the ghastly test in the bin then covered it with paper towel so that Doug wouldn’t see it. The last thing I needed was for him to think there was a possibility and start hounding me about my cervical mucus again.

Suddenly feeling tired and depressed, I decided the best thing would be to get a good night’s sleep and try to forget the whole thing had even happened. I knew I could brush it off as a moment of weakness, move on from it and stay strong until mid-week when I originally planned to test. The crazy had momentarily emerged, but I knew I could shove Psycho Sadie back down inside me. No one needed to know about my little slip up.

Then I woke up this morning, locked myself in the bathroom and did another pregnancy test.

I LOCKED MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND DID ANOTHER PREGNANCY TEST.

I have full blown lost it, people. Full blown lost it….

An infertile and her pregnancy tests are easily parted I suppose. So I guess I’ll be testing every day from now until I either get a positive result or my period because I don’t see any other way to end this madness. Either way, I hope something puts Psycho Sadie out of her misery soon because it looks like she’s here to stay for the next little while at least.

Weakest. Resolve. Ever.

 

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The slow clap begins

You know, if I’m not going to be pregnant this month at least my body could be kind enough to not leave me in a constant state of pain.

It started yesterday, five days past ovulation. I noticed it as soon as I woke up – a dull ache in my lower abdomen. You know how period cramps are sharp, twisting, stabbing pains that come in waves and make you double over? This is just an even, consistent pressure type pain. It hasn’t let up once since it started.

Don’t get all excited or *wink wink nudge nudge* on me, I know exactly what this is. It’s caused by the damn extra progesterone in my body following ovulation. I had this ache when I was on the crinone gel. Yes I had this pain last time I was pregnant, but that is because I was on the crinone gel. It was because of the progesterone, not because of the pregnancy itself. It’s just a cruel trick my body is playing to mess with my mind.

I was hoping when I woke up this morning the pain would be gone, but no it’s still there. Digging away at my insides. Constantly reminding me that I’m in the two week wait, when I’m desperately trying to push thoughts of ovulation and pregnancy to the back of my mind.

The first few days after I ovulated I did really well and hardly even thought about what was going on inside me. I was so busy at work, and then I ended up coming down with a cold. Unable to take cold and flu tablets, and finding myself super fatigued, I had two days off work where I lay in bed, watched my X Files dvds and imagined how I’d have made a great FBI agent if I was remotely athletic, taller, stronger, or you know…American.

But then I went back to work and I didn’t have Mulder and Scully to distract me anymore. Now I’m getting impatient and the constant cramping isn’t helping the situation one iota.

I have a theory as to why I’ve suddenly lost the ability to bury these thoughts of pregnancy. It’s because IVF has spoiled me. The last embryo I had transferred was a day six hatched blast. The doctor told me hatched blasts usually implant within 24 to 48 hours if they’re going to implant at all. Mine was right smack bang in the middle of that timeframe and I got my first positive on a pregnancy test five days later. And here I am on day six of the two week wait, and I have at least another four or five days to stew before I’ll get any sort of real indication as to whether I’m pregnant. This is driving me bananas.

You know how in cricket, when things are taking too long between balls the crowd begins a slow clap? That’s what I feel like this is. My mind is starting a slow clap. My mind is ready for things to happen now. Unfortunately, my mind has a fair while to wait.

The good news is tomorrow is the weekend so hopefully I’ll be able to keep my mind off everything and distract myself again. Then it’s Monday and I’m on the home straight to my first pregnancy test which I’m planning to take on Wednesday morning (eleven days after ovulation) but realistically I don’t expect to see anything until the end of next week. Or anything at all, because let’s face it…it’s highly unlikely I’m pregnant.

In other completely non-fertility related news, I gave my health freak, sugar adverse husband a bowl of mint choc chip ice cream last night. I didn’t shove it down his throat, he asked for it. Usually he’s happier eating a bowl of raw grated beetroot or steamed spinach. I guess he wanted to try something different. Something from my filthy world of calories and fun. And then he giggled. For an hour. I’ve never seen anything like it! He was like a seven year old on a sugar high.

We were watching our Prime Minister Kevin Rudd on television, being interviewed by a journalist. A few times he used the phrase “can I be frank for a minute…” and that’s all it took to set him off.

“He’s Frank Rudd!” Doug laughed, tears streaming down his face. “Frank Rudd! Frank Rudd!”

After he finally stopped rolling around on the floor dying from laughter, he proceeded to give me a blow by blow of every text message he and his best mate had exchanged that day about football. It was at least half an hour of non stop drabble and he barely came up for a breath. By the time I got to bed, my head was throbbing.

Note to self: if we ever do manage to have a biological child never feed it ice cream.

My nipple obsession

I can’t stop touching my nipples.

In other news, I am an idiot.

You see, I have been torturing myself these past few hours. I’ve ventured into the scary alternate universe that is the fertile woman’s internet pregnancy forum.

Fertile forums are strange places. Uneducated places. Full of ladies who don’t know how their menstrual cycles actually work because they’ve never had need to learn, and don’t have any idea about the pain of true infertility, though it doesn’t stop them moaning about it.

Reading posts on these forums kind of makes me want to poke my eyes out with daggers, yet once I find myself in the midst of their ignorant bliss I struggle to escape.

Let me give you a few examples I’ve come across…

Exhibit A:

“I ovulated yesterday, and today I had a small amount of spotting. Is this implantation bleeding?”

“Most likely! Congratulations!”

What?! I don’t even…

Exhibit B:

“I’ve been TTC for 2 whole months now and I’m starting to become so depressed. Is there something wrong with me?”

“You’re being so brave hon! I know exactly how you feel I tried for 4 months before I got pregnant with my son. It’ll all be worth it I promise!”

Two months? Four months? Please go away….

Exhibit C:

“I knew I was pregnant right after we DTD!! It was instant!! But then I lost the baby about a week later. So devo. I’m hoping this month we will conceive again.”

“OMG you poor thing! Sending good vibes and baby dust your way.”

You did not know you were pregnant because you were not pregnant. You can’t lose a “baby” before it even implants. This is horrific on so many levels.

I could go on and on with a myriad of equally disturbing examples but I’m sure you get the general idea. As I said, fertile women are blissfully ignorant and their forums are therefore downright painful to read. Torturous.

Of course there are a number of ways infertiles can torture themselves. We’ve all been there, we’ve all done it. For starters there’s Facebook and it’s newsfeed that constantly reminds us that all our friends and family members are happily pregnant. Yes, all of them. There’s the walk through the mall or department store, where every second female you pass is inexplicably pregnant or pushing an infant in a pram. Let’s not forget YouTube. In moments of terrible weakness we’ve all searched for “baby eating lemon” or “giggling baby” then cried salty tears into our keyboards.

I try to avoid all of these temptingly vile places as much as I can. But I’m not always successful because I’m a masochist. All infertiles are, otherwise we wouldn’t willingly go through the mental anguish of continual failure or the physical torment of injections, medications, surgeries, internal ultrasounds, blood draws, dye studies, MRIs and all the rest of it. But I’m being serious when I say I wasn’t seeking out a Monday afternoon pity party today. I was simply looking for some clear medical advice.

Having never ovulated before, I wasn’t sure if the things I was feeling were normal. I wasn’t sure if there were things I should be feeling that I wasn’t, or things I was feeling that I shouldn’t. So I simply googled ovulation. From there, it was an unfortunately simple hop, skip and jump to the wretched aforementioned forums.

And it was there that I noticed the same thing coming up over and over again. These annoyingly fertile women kept on insisting they knew they were pregnant only a day or two after ovulation because they had sore nipples. Sore breasts and sore nipples.

Are my boobs sore? I thought, poking and pushing them through the thick fabric of my dress. No. Maybe? Sort of? A little?

The rational side of my brain told me that my breasts were no more sore than they were a week ago. I have hyperprolactinemia and I’d been on FSH for over three weeks. Of course they were a little sore. I should have been worried if they¬†weren’t sore. Was it related to a fertilized egg? Absolutely not.

But the nipples…well they stumped me. I didn’t have sore nipples. My nipples felt a-ok. No matter how much I pushed or squeezed my nipples I didn’t get the reaction I was looking for. I only gave up touching them when a colleague walked in on me in the bathroom while I was poking my chest. Thankfully she didn’t bat an eyelid and said “ugh my bra is driving me nuts today as well” and I just nodded and laughed.

Even though I knew I was being completely and utterly stupid I couldn’t help but stress. I mean come on, why was I letting those fertiles get to me? They didn’t know how implantation worked, they didn’t know how progesterone and estrogen worked, they probably didn’t even know how ovulation itself worked. Once they’re inside your head, it’s so hard to drown them out though.

At the moment I only have one symptom – I’m feeling quite crampy. But I know that’s because there’s extra progesterone in my body at the moment from the ovulation, coupled with the fact I’ve had more sex in the past week than I have in the past six months. It makes sense that I’m tender. I know definitively it has nothing to do with an egg, neither fertilized nor unfertilized.

I need to work on keeping my mind off “symptom spotting” and more importantly, I need to stay off those damn forums.

I will say though, there was one fertile lady on those forums who was working her hardest to put the others straight. She was repeatedly explaining the science behind ovulation, and explaining how the body doesn’t start producing hCG until the embryo implants. As this usually happens from day 6 – 8 it was incredibly unlikely all these women were experiencing pregnancy related symptoms a day or two post ovulation. But did they listen to her? No. They were all actually getting mad at her. One posted “I don’t care what medical rubbish you’re trying to shove down our throats, we know our own bodies!” and all the others vehemently agreed with her and congratulated her for standing up for the truth.

Infertility is awful and debilitating, but never in my life have I been more glad to belong to a group of women that is equally diverse and inclusive. Infertile ladies aren’t ignorant of each other, or the unique circumstances that make each of us unable to conceive. We give advice and we take advice. We don’t lose the plot when we’re told something we don’t like, instead we’re glad to hear other opinions. So I guess I just wanted to say thanks to all the infertile women reading this blog post. Your support and understanding gets me through the dark moments. Maybe sometimes it isn’t so bad to belong to this club.

Off and racing. Maybe?

The past few days have passed by in an incredible blur. Don’t read anything into that though, I’m pretty sure it’s just because I’m coming down off 24 days of FSH injections and my brain has turned to porridge.

On Friday morning I went back to see Doctor B and had another scan. My follicle was still in tact, and a healthy 18.7mm. I really couldn’t believe the little bugger had managed to do exactly what it was supposed to do, and hold off on rupturing until it was big enough for the egg inside to be considered pregnancy viable. My body never does what it is supposed to. My body is highly skilled at doing exactly what it isn’t supposed to do.

Doctor B was also extremely impressed with my endometrium, which apparently couldn’t get any healthier or better looking. In fact, she told me she was just as surprised as I was at how good everything was looking. I’m really not accustomed to good news like that and didn’t know what to think.

We then looked over my most recent blood test results, which saw my LH levels were rising but I wasn’t quite surging yet. She predicted I would begin the surge that day, and ovulate the following day. Just to be sure, I was told to have another blood draw that morning.

“What do you make of all this?” I asked the doctor, desperately needing clarity, and someone in a position of authority to tell me straight that I shouldn’t get my hopes up.

“You know Sadie sometimes these things just happen and modern medicine can’t explain them.” she said with a shrug. “To be honest, everything is just coming together this cycle. Your follicle looks perfect, your uterus looks perfect, your hormones are finally doing what they should. I really would be shocked if you didn’t end up pregnant in a few weeks.”

As sweet and amazing and hopeful that all sounds, let me tell you, it was not something I needed to hear.

I’d already had a medical professional tell me something similar earlier in the week. Flo, the head nurse at the clinic, had looked over my blood test results and predicted this would be my “one-in-a-million cycle” that would give me my baby. Hearing my doctor – one of the most respected fertility doctors in the state of Victoria and the director of the whole fertility clinic – tell me that she also predicted I would get pregnant sent my brain racing off into uncontrollable directions.

This was supposed to be a casual punt at pregnancy. My body is very much against me in this – just look at the facts. This is the first time in my entire life I have ever ovulated, I have one blocked tube (potentially two), severe endometriosis and adenomyosis as well as hyperprolactinemia. And to top it all off my husband has morphology problems. The chances of this actually working are clearly, based on my medical conditions, extremely extremely extremely low.

I knew that our chances were virtually non-existent when we switched this cycle from IVF to ovulation induction. The plan was always to give this a crack merely to pass the time before our next IVF cycle begins. This was never supposed to be a miracle, or a magic bullet to motherhood. And I understood that. I was calm and rational about it all. I had no expectations. That’s not to say I was completely hopeless and thought we were wasting our time, I was simply excited at the idea of experiencing ovulation and moving in a positive direction towards achieving our dream of having a child.

Instead, I left the doctor’s office on a high, went straight to get my blood drawn, then practically floated into the office to finish off my working week. I had lost control of my thinking. The rational had slipped into irrational. I was going to get pregnant. I knew I was. It was practically a sure thing. The doctor said so! THE DOCTOR SAID SO!

The first insane thing I did was calculate my due date, based on ovulation occurring the following day. 25 April 2014. Anzac day!! How cute would it be to have a little Anzac baby! I thought. I wonder what suitably Aussie names I can come up with…

Then I took the crazy a step further and penned a cute little letter ON BEHALF OF MY CHILD to my parents and Doug’s parents. A surprise I could send in the post once we had our first ultrasound done, accompanying a photo from the scan. I imagined the looks on their faces when they read the letter. Hi Nanna! I’m only a little bean now, but I look forward to meeting you next April!

I received the results of my blood test about 3pm that afternoon from Rebecca, one of the other nurses at the clinic. She’s nice, but not as nice as Flo.

“Hi Sadie,” she said when I answered the phone. “Good news! You’re surging now, so you’ll ovulate tomorrow. You won’t need a trigger shot, your body is doing this the natural way.”

Oh my god I’m surging! I thought. This is it! I’m going to experience ovulation!

“What do I do?” I practically shrieked.

“Um….well, you and your husband…” Rebecca started awkwardly.

“No no, I understand what to do now!” I cut her off. “I mean what do I do in two weeks? I’m used to doing things the IVF way.”

“Well in two weeks you need to take a pregnancy test…” she said, as if this were obvious, which of course it was.

“And if it’s negative?” I asked, biting my lip.

“Call us straight away and we’ll prepare your medication pack for your next cycle of IVF.” she replied.

“And if it’s positive?” I asked insistently.

“Well…….you’ll be pregnant?”

Oh. Right.

That night, Doug and I attempted another “moon landing” and thankfully we were successful. It was perfect timing. Afterwards I was lying in bed with my hips under two pillows letting gravity help the little swimmers on their way, when I looked over at him and grinned.

“You’re going to be a great daddy.” I cooed.

“Um what?” he asked, gawking at me. “Sadie I don’t think getting so excited about this cycle is a good idea…..”

Nevertheless, I fell asleep with my head filled with happy baby thoughts and my butt still propped up under the pillows. I woke up awkwardly in the same position 9 hours later.

I also woke up to a terrible pulsating pain on my lower left side. It was excruciating and so bad it was sending spirals of pain all the way down my left leg. I could barely stand up. For a few minutes I thought maybe I had appendicitis, the pain was that bad. A quick consultation with Doctor Google told me that when you ovulate there’s a possibility that existing cysts on the ovaries can react badly to the hormone surge and cause a lot of pain. That made sense. I had a lot of cysts, particularly on my left ovary.

I just wasn’t sure if that meant I’d ovulated already, or my LH was still surging and that’s what was causing my cysts to react so strongly. Does the terrible pain come before or after actual ovulation? I’d love to hear from any other PCOS gals who ovulate. When does the bad pain happen for you? I just don’t know if my ovulation happened prior to, during, or after the pain.

Assuming ovulation had taken place, I suggested Doug and I have sex again on Saturday night. We were told to leave it at least 48 hours between each act of intercourse, but if the egg had already been released there was a full stock of Friday night sperm already waiting for the egg, and the Saturday night swimmers would just be a bonus. If we waited another 24 hours, the egg would already be gone and sex would be pointless (other than…for enjoyment…purposes).

I have vaginismus, so sex is usually painful, but what I experienced last night was a whole other world of pain. Every thrust, every movement, every second, it felt like someone was driving a dagger into my left ovary. I honestly thought it was going to kill me. Doug picked up the pain on my face almost straight away and it was all over. He can’t ever enjoy himself even if he possibly suspects I’m hurting (sometimes I’m not and his worries ruin it for both of us, but it’s sweet he’s so caring).

I told Doug not to worry about it, as we’d already done our job the night before. But he didn’t want to leave any doubt in either of our minds that there was anything else we could have done to help the process, so the syringe and I had our third date for the week.

I think I need to send the syringe flowers in the new few days. That’s customary, right? It’s been a while since I’ve been on the dating scene…

Today I have been extremely fatigued most of the day, but as I said before, that’s almost certainly caused by my body detoxing from the FSH. The pain in my ovaries has almost completely gone today, though I have felt a few sharp twinges on both sides. I’m going to assume (probably naively) that I ovulated yesterday. So I guess that makes today 1DPO.

Let the waiting game begin.

UPDATE:I went to the bathroom about an hour after I posted this, and noticed I had a lot of EWCM. I haven’t had a huge amount over the past few days. Does this mean I haven’t ovulated yet??? I’m new to this so I have no idea. Can you still have EWCM the day after ovulation or does it disappear straight away???

One small step for man

When Doug arrived home from work last night, I was in the shower. He came stomping into the bathroom and I could see through the frosted glass of the shower cubicle that he was in a bad mood.

My suspicions were confirmed when I didn’t get a hello darling, or any other sort of pleasantry. Poor Arnold the toy poodle, who is always terribly excited to have his daddy home, was also being ignored.

“Have you used all the hot water?” Doug asked gruffly.

It’s Melbourne, it’s winter, we live in a small house with a small hot water system. Sometimes the hot water runs out. Shit happens.

“No? Not to my knowledge.” came my response. “Are you ok?”

“I have the flu.” he said, shrugging off his work shirt. “And I’ve been at the physio this afternoon, I’ve pulled a muscle in my shoulder.”

Sure enough once my husband had removed his undershirt I could see the strapping across his right shoulder blade and down his right arm. It looked very sore.

I jumped out of the shower and began to towel dry myself, as he swapped places with me and stood under the spray of water.

“It’s cold!” he said furiously.

Oh goodie! I thought to myself. Doug is sick, he’s injured, and he’s in a bad mood. This is the perfect moment to bring up the fact the doctor has mandated we engage in ‘coitus’ tonight.

“Darling, what about sex tonight?” I asked ever so sweetly.

“Can’t we just use a syringe again?” he grumbled. “I’m tired.”

I felt like I’d stepped into the Twilight Zone. I was sure it wasn’t normal for a young husband to propose his attractive young wife stick a syringe full of his semen up her cervix to try and impregnate herself while he took a nap.

Besides, I’d spent the whole week fantasizing about making love the old fashioned way. About reconnecting with each other, and stripping away the layers of medical bullshit that have prevented us from enjoying sex for so many months. We were finally able to go back to basics, and start our family the way nature intended us to. Finally it could just be about us in the bedroom, and through our love we could create another life. It was that perfect moment I’d always dreamed of, and this was my one chance to have it. I’d never ovulated before, and it was likely I would never ovulate again. I’d be damned if my grumpy husband was going to stand in my way.

More importantly, I wasn’t going to risk another syringe accident like the one I’d had on Monday night. No more bloody syringes! Reluctantly, Doug agreed with me that sex was probably our best option.

So now, good readers of my blog, I am going to describe the special “love making” I experienced with my husband last night. Feel free to look away if it is too much information for you to stomach, though I will try to speak in innuendo.

*ahem*

Last night my husband and I decided to…..fly a rocket to the moon.

We had no problems with the, um, lift off. The journey into orbit was fine. I’d go as far as to say it was better than fine. But then it came time for the moon landing. And Houston, we had a problem.

Every time the Eagle got close to landing, my flu riddled husband would sneeze…or his injured shoulder would give out…or the dog would start barking in the yard….

The longer the process dragged on, the more performance anxiety built up in my husband’s mind and the harder it all became (no pun intended). Forty-five minutes passed quickly with no result.

Forty-five minutes! I hear you say. What a lovely time you must’ve had reconnecting with each other!

Well let me tell you, it was not a lovely time at all. It was fun for the first twenty minutes when I was happily on Apollo 11, coasting towards the lunar surface. But after that I found myself on Apollo 13, trapped in excruciating orbit and neither able to land on the moon nor return to Earth. Are you feeling me here?

They say if you shoot for the moon, even if you fail you still end up amongst the stars. But Doug had the flu and a sore shoulder. Meanwhile, I have vaginismus which makes sex painful, and I was on day 22 of multiple daily hormone injections. We certainly weren’t interested in savouring our time amongst the stars. The stars were for another day. We badly just wanted moon.

I also want to make it clear at this point that Doug has never been one of those guys who suffers from issues in the bedroom. His moon landings are never too early or too late, they’re perfectly timed. Except this time. And how ironic that this was the one time we really needed that perfect landing. The only time it’s ever counted for anything bigger than just our own enjoyment in each other.

I glanced over at the clock and noticed an hour had now passed. A whole friggen hour.

Gritting my teeth and smiling up at him I tried to allay his fears by promising that it didn’t even matter. There was no guarantee I was going to ovulate before Friday, and even if I did the chance of me actually getting pregnant naturally with severe endometriosis, adenomyosis and hyperprolactinemia was so ridiculously small there was hardly any point in bothering with the whole space program.

“No.” Doug insisted. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I want to continue. I want to get this done.”

Great. I thought. Now he’s become competitive with himself and won’t give up until he wins. I’m going to be here until Christmas.

Thinking quickly, I decided the only way to solve the problem was to take matters into my own hands and take a leaf out of Meg Ryan’s play book. I realise I’m mixing metaphors here now, but you’ll all understand what I mean when I pulled a When Harry Met Sally. I figured if I built up and faked a huge orgasm, it would resonate with his male ego and we could finally go for our moon walk.

But after a few minutes, he abruptly pulled away from me.

“My god Sadie what is wrong with you?” he gasped. “Why are you shrieking like that?”

So apparently Meg Ryan was wrong. Men do know when you fake orgasms. And they don’t like it.

And one hour and fifteen minutes into our space adventure, the mission was officially aborted and we finally re-entered Earth’s atmosphere.

I felt a little like Tom Hanks at the end of the Apollo 13 movie- supremely grateful to be alive and walking on firm ground again, even if I never got to experience the moon.

Well to be honest I was a little cranky. Fertility treatment is hard for women. I’ve had to endure two major surgeries, four minor surgeries, MRIs, dozens of injections that mentally and physically alter me, bloating, cramping, bruising, egg pick-up, ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome which had me convinced I was going to suffocate and die, early pregnancy, morning sickness, miscarriage, a D&C, regular invasive and internal ultrasounds…..and all he had to do was this ONE THING. A pleasurable thing! A thing that we enjoy doing on a regular basis anyway!!

But I didn’t dare tell him how I felt. I love my husband very much, and I am a patient and understanding person. I simply smiled and hugged him and told him it was ok. Then I went to cook dinner.

An hour later, he came downstairs with a sheepish look on his face, thrust a little sterile collection cup into my hands and apologised profusely for not being able to get the job done the proper way, before quickly disappearing again.

And then……..

I had my second date with the syringe.