Sunday, 17 February 2008

Wishing and hoping

As the days count down towards both my 29th birthday and day 28 of this cycle, both of which occur on Tuesday, I find myself in the familiar territory of hoping against all odds that we have conceived this month.

Even though I haven't had a 28-day cycle since I came off the Pill (the best I've managed is 33), it's entrenched in my psyche that day 28 is the day on which it is reasonable to start thinking about pregnancy tests.

I used to be able to set my watch by my period. It would come at 10am on cycle day 28, come rain, shine or, indeed, prospect of sex. That I once had such a reliably regular cycle is the one thing that makes me doubt the fertility clinic's current draft diagnosis of PCOS. I just don't understand how I could have developed the condition and not known anything about it throughout my teens and early twenties - even during the prolonged, erm, periods (sorry) when I wasn't on the Pill.

So even though Tuesday is unlikely to bring my period along with my birthday cards, I can't help but wonder. Despite the cynicism borne of 22 months of disappointment - despite even my own better judgment - I have started symptom spotting. Every pelvic twinge, every grumbling cramp nearly reduces me to tears as I assume it heralds the arrival of my period; meanwhile, every passing moment of nausea, feeling of lethargy or tender ache in my boobs brings with it a stab of fierce, almost painful hope. To hope so hard is physically and emotionally exhausting.

I haven't done a pregnancy test yet. I haven't even bought one. (If I added up how much I've spent on pregnancy tests over the past 22 months, it would approach a monthly mortgage repayment and probably induce heart failure in my frugal husband.)

I have a vague plan of doing a test on the morning of my birthday. I'm fully aware this could spoil the day - it spoiled Christmas Day, which also happened to be cycle day 28. But I'm willing to accept the high probability of starting my 30th year in tears on the loo with a blank-windowed plastic stick in my hand. I'm willing to accept it because of the payoff if things turn out differently.

I'm not even going to try to put into words how wonderful it would be if I got a positive result - all I can see when I try to visualise it is the word JOY written across the sky.

5 comments:

The Town Criers said...

Hope does that to you--and I hope you get the best birthday gift this year.

CapitalCook said...

I just wanted to let you know that I stumbled upon your blog about a week ago and have been working to read every single post you've written because...quite frankly...you're the funniest writer I've ever come across. Of course, I wish for you that I soon get to read funny things about your baby!! But, so long as you keep writing, I'll keep reading. And I'm hoping it will ease the pain of my TTC journey as well.

Barrenblog said...

Thank you so much for your comments. I really appreciate them. I really think that infertility's a subject that you have to be painfully, angrily honest about - and you also have to try to laugh about. Not because it's necessarily all that funny - but because how else are we going to survive it?!

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fertility treatment said...

Don't loose hope just keep on praying and have faith. I knew a lot of people who have the same problem before, but now they are happy family not only 1 but 2 kids. Prayers can move a mountain.