Sunday, 20 September 2009
Me, Colin and the rest of the clan...
Well, here we all are, getting ready for Will and Jo's departure round the world next weekend. Sorry I haven't been updating this week either but I've been absolutely run off my feet at work and there's been quite a lot going on at home too what with one thing and another.
On the IVF front, it's all kicking off. We've got a patient open evening this coming Thursday and then our first consultant's appointment on October 15th. This has meant we have had to cobble together some covert secret squirrel type tactics for filling in all the forms. Now, normal people going through IVF would obviously be sharing a house and life together and, as a result, the same GP wouldn't they...
However, due to my commitment phobic attitude which roughly translates to, "I daren't move in with anyone for fear of them disappearing and doing a bunk into the night a la ST" then of course, Tom and I are still residing at different addresses. Despite the fact that we never spend a night away from each other and to all intents and purposes, live as a "married" couple, we are still forking out for two mortgages, two sets of bills and are contributing to one of the Midland's largest carbon footprints by constantly having to drive between each other's houses. Mental I know.
This "dual residency" has not been a problem for the IVF until it requested a few things. The first is we have to prove we are in a stable relationship. This is rather difficult when you don't live in the same house. However, up until now that has not been a problem as we assumed no one would be sending the NHS police round to raid our wardrobes to check if there's eveidence of both male and female clothing in there so we've always just implied that Tom lives with me at my address. The second is that you'd think that a couple who are trying for a baby may well share the same GP. Oops, not us. Not even the same practice in the same village, let alone the same GP. This means that this week we've rather hastily had to register Tom at my doctor's and make up some cock and bull story about him being a bit lax in updating his move. No problems there so far then, until we hit problem number three. We have to take in photo ID for the hospital so that they can attach our pictures to any eggs, sperm, embryo details so that it reduces the chances of a mix up in the lab. No problems for any normal couple. However, i still have a paper driving licence in my maiden name, registered at my mum's address, my passport is still in ST's surname as we had holidays booked over the summer before my divorce papers came through, and Tom's ID is all registered at his address! Add into the mix that we told the hospital that we had been together over 18 months but my divorce wasn't finalised until May of this year and you hardly get the picture of a "stable" relationship. This is just another example of how ST is still casting his ugly shadow over everything I do as I am now going to have to take in my old maiden name passport, my married name passport and my divorce decree absolute and go through the whole sorry story with the fertility people. Will I ever be free of that weasel????
The irony is that Tom and I are completely stable and Tom has been saying again this week just how mad it is that we are running two houses instead of living in one. I'm just burying my head in the sand about the whole thing and putting my fingers in my ears and kind of going "la la la la la la la" about it all. I just hope the hospital understand that we really are solid and that despite the whole "two houses, dual identity, multiple address" fiasco, they can see that we both want this more than anything in the world and the fact that our postcodes don't match at the moment doesn't mean that we're not serious. Either that or they'll assume that I'm running some sort of identity theft racket so I'll be frogmarched out of the assisted conception unit by my ear and flung into Welford Road prison across the road!
I've also been preparing for PG-hell this week. Yes, it's that time again, a week away with my little darlings from school on a PGL activity holiday, flinging myself off tall towers and canoeing in freezing rivers. My best mate's been there this week with her school and has reassured me that it just doesn't get any better (or any warmer). So, I was in town yesterday buying the city's most unflattering but definitely the warmest throwaway clothing that I don't mind getting wrecked by a week in a load of mud with forty two 11 year olds. Now, seeing as God hates me (or at the very least uses me as some sort of pawn in a real life version of "game for a laugh") then our first fertility meeting is this Thursday whilst I'm away. This has meant that I've had to plead with my boss for a pass out to attend the meeting otherwise our treatment would've been put back at least another 5-8 weeks. So, I've had to come clean at work too and believe me when I say that there's not a lot more hideous that trying to talk about gynae andinfertility problems with your 41 year old male boss. I almost curled up to the size of a crumpled crisp packet I was squirming that much. The upshot is though that he was very supportive and said that on a selfish level he was annoyed that I'd be having so much time off but on a personal level I had to go for it and that his 3 year old means the world to him so I needed to do everything possible to make it happen for me. Completely the opposite reaction to the one I expected but very nice all the same. I've told the other girl who's the other deputy at our place too as she's going to have to pick up some of my workload but she's been fab about it too so all seems well at the moment thank god! It does mean that I've got a minimum four hour round trip on Thursday evening in the middle of a 5 day residential with a load of over excited kids. How I'll look turning up in muddy combats and hiking boots with hair remeniscent of beaker from the muppets is anyone's guess. I'm beginning to think that this hospital is going to have me sectioned rather than sign me up to breed me.
I've also been busy with all sorts of parents' open evenings this week and with trying to prepare for Will and Jo's departure. We were round there last night for "substantial nibbles" (which is a term that is now a staple in our family!) and lots and lots of booze. The pictures show us all trying on the rucksacks and deciding what they should take. Jo's actually bought 5 different sets of walking boots and 3 rucksacks so we were playing an odd game of "rucksack factor" where we had to pick which one was the lucky one to be taken around the world. They then packed their bags and I realised my handbag was actually heavier than Jo's "nine months round the world" rucksack - hence the dodgy weightlifting shot of me...
We bought them loads of random pressies like wind up phone chargers and head torches and had a lovely bit of family time before they head off. They're off down to London today to drop off the cat with Jo's mum who'll be looking after her whilst they're away. My mum's already a hormonal mess at the thought of Will going so I'll have to look after her over the next few weeks. Poor mum, there's me collapsing all over the place and Will dashing off to the other side of the world - she doesn't exactly have it easy. Dad's been coping by making vats of enough damson jam to sink a ship and making gallons of quince jelly. He's like Delia Smith on hormone treatment.
Anyway, the upshot is that I've been working and dashing around like mad. Looks like my brief "detached navel" incident was a one off too as I've been back in the gym a lot and pounding the treadmill like an Olympian, albeit one with a few chunks missing. I feel loads better although I may be playing the "surgey" card when the kids try to get me to leap off stuff over the next few days! I therefore won't be posting til Friday or Saturday at the earliest but just wanted to say thanks again for all the e-mail etc that I keep receiving. They're so lovely and always make me feel so much better.
So, I'll sign off for now; wish me luck with the whole "Hospital Identity" nightmare and hopefully when I'm back on again then we'll definitely be in the system and on the way to a little baby Em/Tom.
Lots of love in the meantime.
P.s please feel free to comment on the fact that Tom does not resemble Colin Firth. He is adamant he does. I am taking him to Specsavers.