Half psychopath, half hen...

That's me folks... half psycopath, half hen.



Long story.



Last night my lovely Tom went out on the razzle dazzle for yet another work's do (damn the pub trade and all their revelrie!) I was like Cinderella at home feeling all sorry for myself as I jabbed yet more drugs into myself, avoided alcohol and generally felt like poo. I feel constantly sick and can't eat a thing. I think I'm the only person on the earth to actually lose half a stone whilst going through IVF. I simply can't eat without retching and I feel awful as a result.



Now, Tom and I have an agreement. He knows that as ST used to emotionally bully me, disappear into the night, drink himself into stupors, get violent and generally be vile to me whenever there was drink involved, Tom knows to keep me informed and let me know he's OK when he's out drinking. This is especially important during my IVF as I am now starting to feel a little emotionally "wobbly". It's the same sort of anxiety feeling you get if somone turns on the lights suddenly when you're asleep, a sort of "Oh God, what's that? Oh it's OK, I'm in my bedroom but God that gave me a fright" kind of feeling. It's very weird and I just feel anxiously on edge all the time. Therefore, my lovely Tom telling me he'll ring at 9.30 and then not calling at all whilst I know he's boozed up with a load of nubile (not to mention fertile) barmaids at a lovely party whilst I just sit at home and pump myself full of drugs is a bit of a recipe for disaster. However, he did send a text at 2.30am.

Yes folks, 2.30am. This was after he had promised to call and 9.30 and to make matters worse, I called him as soon as I got the text but there was no answer. Now, ordinarily (and in the cold light of day) you assume that the person has fallen asleep. But, in a fog of hormones and in the depth of the night, you assume he is lying about where he is and whip yourself up in to a storm.

By 3am I had convinced myself he was leaving me for a woman as fertile as a queen bee and I was pumping myself full of drugs whilst he partied with her into the wee small hours. I eventually phoned my mum as I was borderline hysterical with the hormones and couldn't stop being sick. She came round and sat up with me all night whilst I veered between retching and sobbing. Good old mum.

Eventually I calmed down but had no sleep at all. Not good when you have to teach the next day.

However, my mum came with me to my appointment at the hospital today and it was nice to have company as I usually have to go on my own as Tom's away so much. But I made a small error in taking her for a coffee as we were early. We got into town at 7am and our appointment wasn't until close to 8am. My mum confused a cappucino with an espresso and so was bouncing off the flippin clinic walls when we did get in there. I remarked that I didn't know she liked espresso and she replied, "Well I didn't like that one; it didn't have any frothy milk in it..."

I had my scan though and it's a bit of a mixed bag.

Apparently at this stage the normal number of eggs to be developing is between 8 and 10. I am officially a battery hen as when I asked the nurse, "So how many do I have?" and got the reply "14" I was initially pleased. She then added, "on this side".

Jesus. I have almost double the number of eggs for one whole person on just one ovary!

Strangely there were exactly 14 on the other side too so I have a grand total of 28 eggs developing at the moment. They're at size "4 to 8" at the moment whatever that means but apparently it's good.

The bad news is that they are a little concerned that there's simply too many. I'm waiting for the consultant to call me back today as the nurse wanted to discuss with her if I'm actually at risk of the dreaded OHSS. Apparently they can't say for definite at the moment as it's too early but if I keep popping out eggs like a sturgeon making caviar then I may be on a bit of a sticky wicket. They'll have the definitive answer by my scans on Monday apparently and I'll know by half six tonight if I need to tweak my medication. It turns out I'm on the lowest dose possible at the moment but they don't like my weight loss or the vomiting so they're looking into maybe reducing the dose.

So, I am officially a hen.

If nothing else in my life then I appear to be a champion at making eggs. Half psycho then, half hen. Nice combo.

My poor mum got a little confused then and shouted, (in a haze of espresso), "But I only wanted 1 grandchild; I don't think I can cope with 28!" I reminded her that I am not some kind of cat who will have a litter of babies but that these are just the eggs developing.

Have been teaching at school all day but am absolutely exhausted after no sleep. Just going to crawl home and go straight to bed and await a hungover Tom who I still feel needs a clonk over the head. That's twice since we started this treatment that he's gone AWOL on the booze when the clinic staff have all said that his priority should be keeping me calm. I'm no pampered princess but it is a little upsetting to be three sheets to the wind on a gallon of hormones and have your other half at the other end of the country out on the lash.

Bloomin men.

Anyway, am off to incubate another dozen eggs now. Hopefully they'll confirm on Monday that I'm not in danger of OHSS and we can press on with the process.

Thanks again for all your well wishes and in the meantime, if you see a middle aged lady, power walking in a Barbour whilst buying 28 babygros, you know it's only my espresso fuelled mother.

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