Monday, 21 December 2009


Well, it's currently 6.30am and I can't sleep. Not with excitement or worry about the egg fertilisation or anything but because, as Tom was blundering around in the dark this morning, he somehow managed to knock a picture off the wall which sounded as if we were in the middle of the Blitz. I don't know if you've ever heard a picture fall 5 feet off a wall onto bare floorboards at half five in the morning but I can assure you it's not unlike a 21 gun salute. Twin that with my painful hand (more on that later) and you've not exactly got the ideal conditions for a trip to sleepy bye byes land.

I can't believe I actually slept last night after I slept so much yesterday, I am not so much part hen as part dormouse I think (although not the Heston Blumenthal type that he ate on telly the other day... yuck)

We started yesterday at 5am as Tom is completely anal about being late for anything so had us up with Jack Frost and banging about in the dark well before even the GMTV staff have rubbed the sleep from their eyes. I was shattered as Tom had insisted that I drink two pints of water before bed as I was nil by mouth from midnight. This seemed a good idea at the time but not after your fourth sprint down the landing again in the wee small hours... Tom had also snored like the proverbial pig and so we had had a game of "kicksnore tennis" which is where he serves a massive snore and I return it with a kick. He then moans and apologises, turns over and we begin the next round in approximately 5 minutes. (He also always wins)

I was up and dressed fairly early and waking the neighbours with my rumbling stomach (God I was hungry) and decided upon a black hooded velour tracksuit with black furry ugg type slippers on. All this topped off with woolly hat and the trusty barbour. (How is it that I have not had any wriggly fun for weeks when I dress so provocatively...?)

I'd packed my bag the night before and we set off for the hospital at breakneck speed as, despite there being no traffic on the roads at that time of day and enough time to do 17 loops of the hospital, Tom insisted on auditioning for "The Stig" and so we arrived in town in plenty of time but with whiplash and my nerves shredded to pieces.

We parked the car and walked down to the ACU. Actually that is a lie. We ice skated down to the ACU with Tom managing a particularly excellent triple loop by the bus stop accompanied by a shout of "Don't try and catch me; I'll take you down!" So, that was an audition for Top Gear followed by an audition for Saving Private Ryan to follow.

We arrived at the ACU a little early and had to sit in the waiting room where I wondered why on earth there were piles of cat food everywhere and we had another squabble about the weather in Guilford (Tom was meant to be driving there later but the TV was on and apparently it was forecast blizzards. The cat food turned out to be a collection for the local animal welfare shelter!)

I was relieved to hear about the cat food as the previous day I'd been told that I wouldn't be allowed home until I'd sat up and eaten something but that they didn't keep much on the unit and I could bring in something myself if I'd like. For a few horrible moments I did actually think I was going to have to dig in to a tin of Whiskas.

We were led to our rooms and told I'd be in theatre for about 9am. This gave Tom an hour and a half to do the deed. (God I'm laughing again already!) I kept trying to read my book but just kept sniggering. This was not a good idea as Tom was getting more and more wound up about everything which somehow made it even funnier.

Eventually he was led off to this room with his little pot but he was gone ages! I thought he'd be gone about ten minutes but he was nearly half an hour. I think the poor love had stage fright.
When he did finally return he looked as if he'd witnessed a car accident. He was absolutely ashen and kept mumbling, "I just don't want to talk about it". I swear he was almost rocking. This of course sent me into more uncontrollable laughter to the point where I thought the nurses might come in and call off the whole process as I was obviously not mature enough to cope with anything.

By now I had my theatre gown on, a pair of Christmas knickers, the ugg slippers and a dressing gown so tried to cheer Tom up with my take on Burlesque (you see, the outfit was just so glam and gorgeous that it was a natural connection.) Tom didn't seem to appreciate my efforts to lighten the mood and glued himself to his blackberry to try and take his mind off the trauma and my vile outfit. I was bored by now and had read every single noticeboard, pamphlet and leaflet in the room at least twice. I am now an expert on BMI, folic acid and producing sperm samples at home should you ever need any info in these areas, either in Polish, Urdu or English.

Eventually I was called to go for my op and I walked round to theatre with a man who had the longest beard I've ever seen. I thought I was going to trip over it at one point. It was that huge you could have fashioned me another pair of furry uggs out of it. I got led to my bed and had to take off my dressing gown which left me colder than I've ever been in my life. The lovely staff had put the sheets on the radiator for me but I was still like a frozen oven chip there on the bed. It was so cold that it took almost 10 minutes to get the needle for the anaesthetic into my hand. My veins had gone into hibernation and so the anaesthetist was digging around with that needle for ages - hence the sore hand today. I actually have a bruise which goes from the base of my fingers to halfway down my wrist; it's all swollen too. Ouch.

I was then awarded the "wimp of the day" award as they injected me with some anti sickness medicine. I'm always violently sick after most drugs so when I have anything, I get some special stuff. This is usually added whilst I'm under though but this time it went in first and my god did it hurt. I screamed, yelled and almost sat up on the bed. The nice beardy guy had to do a sort of wrestling move to keep my lying flat and my legs flew out of the stirrups and I almost kicked the embryologist in the face by mistake. It burnt like someone had filled me with boiling acid and gave me the most awful cramp immediately in my shoulder muscle. Luckily, before I could complain much more, or boot any more of the staff in the mouth, I was put under and sent off to la la land.

I woke up back in the little room and saw Tom sitting with the nurse who had done all my egg scans. I tried to talk but I sounded like I'd been on eleven gins. I was all slurry and couldn't quite form a sentence but I managed to establish that there'd been 21 eggs harvested and I fell back to sleep again. Tom whispered that I was really funny and I drifted off wondering how I'd managed to do gags whilst I was unconscious.

I eventually woke up. The nurses apparently had a hell of a job getting me to come round and Tom said I was asleep for absolutely ages. You see, I reckon it was the first kip I'd had where someone wasn't waking me up snoring every five minutes so I was enjoying it. I sat up in bed and had a cup of tea and a biscuit (jammy dodger not cat biscuit thankfully) and we were told we were allowed to go home.

Tom was still giggling as apparently I'd been mumbling and kept asking the staff really weird things whilst I was coming round. These included.... "Where's the wrapping paper?", "You need to move all those boxes in the conservatory" and "Oh God, I need to get to school; I'm late!" Nice to know that I can still worry and nag even when I'm out for the count.

We got back to my mum's as Tom had to go to work and I slept for 5 hours solid. I've got absolutely no pain at all but I think I'm just utterly exhausted by the whole process. Dad made me shepherd's pie and peas and mum bought me an M&S trifle. Happy days.

Couldn't speak to my brother about the egg harvesting though as he was on a flight from Singapore to Australia although he had phoned me up the day before to sing, "We plough the fields and scatter" and to tell me he was collecting mouldy fruit and out of date tins of spam for my very own"Harvest Festival".

Got thoroughly looked after though and we went to see Tom's mum and sister later on to let them know we were still alive and to give them an update.

Tom later revealed to me the horror of the "men's room" and I collapsed laughing again. Apparently there was a single plastic covered chair, a pot plant and a box marked "reference material". In this box were a load of well thumbed copies of "Voluptuous wives, Playboy, Nuts, Fiesta and Razzle". Tom said it was like being back at school behind the bike sheds. But, the thing that had freaked him out the most was not the plastic chair or the tatty porn mags. He said there was something in there so odd that he had absolutely no idea what possible function it could serve or why on earth it was in there. Apparently, opposite the plastic covered chair, in the tiny tiny men's room was, wait for it...

A full length mirror.

So, separated from the reception desk only by a very thin door, surrounded by cheap mags, towered over by a pot plant and knowing you have to produce a sample within a given time in a room the same temperature as a fridge, you also have an audience of one. No wonder the poor lad had stage fright!

Needless to say, I was completely helpless after this. The thought of poor Tom in that room listening to everyone answering the phone and arriving at the front desk whilst he has to do the deed in his work suit in front of a mirror had me on the floor. I couldn't actually breathe for about half an hour it tickled me that much.

He is still in shock about it and the counselling service that the IVF team make you visit may well have a very traumatised young man to deal with when we go and see them. (It's compulsory to go and visit them but we can't stop laughing at the moment so not sure we actually need to go!)

Anyway, I'm now just sat by the phone and waiting for the embryologists to work their magic and let us know if any have fertilised and if we'll have a Christmas bun to put back in the oven tomorrow. Tom's worked himself up into a complete frenzy as he says I've done my bit and produced 21 eggs and now it's all down to him and he's feeling the pressure. Poor lad. Anyway, will update later today and let you know if (as the Spice girls once sang) "Two become one" and if so, how many.

Love in the meantime though. I'm off to try and be all serious and stop laughing about Tom and that mirror!


P.S and do you know.... i never once thought about how weird it was that all this was happening on my wedding anniversary until today. Strange how you move on isn't it.

1 comment:

  1. Good luck! Keeping everything firmly crossed for you both.

    Your comment about Tom rocking back and forth made me giggle - it reminded me of the episode of Scrubs where Turk has been told he may have a low sperm count and he sits on the bathroom floor whining "I'm a real man" like a 5 year old! If you haven't seen it, here's a clip to make you laugh:

    Let us know how it goes

    Aka Mrs Salsaspin xxx