Twilight descends on my baby dream

I'm sorry I haven't posted for so long.

I feel that I've completely run out of inspiration, and of things to say. The doomy feeling of apathy that had - if I'm honest - sort of descended even before the showdown at the clinic last week has just deepened and I don't feel able to deal with fertility stuff on any level.

It's just impossible to get my head around another year of waiting. What I really should be doing is picking myself up and being proactive, the way I usually am: getting my bloodwork done, maybe seeking second and third opinions.

But I'm not, and haven't. I was supposed to go this week for another blood test but I haven't. After the butcher's job made of my arm last week, when I ended up with a huge purply bruise that made me resemble a heroin addict, I felt my vein needed a rest. I plan to go in the morning but it's a bugger having blood taken repeatedly in summer when one wants to wear short sleeves!

At the core of me, I just now feel that it is never, ever going to happen, and that if I am to have any semblance of a life, I need to start dealing with that.

I feel like the medical profession has turned its back on us. I feel like nobody will help us. And I feel like we are barely coping with this anymore, as a couple and as individuals.

I think Blackadder said it best: "I think the phrase rhymes with 'clucking bell'"!

Off-topic but bear with me - I'm hurting

This isn't going to be a post about fertility stuff, which I realise may irritate my readers since that's the point of my blog. However, it's also a blog about me and how I'm feeling, so I'm hoping you'll understand as this is what's upsetting me most just at the moment.

My cat has cancer. The vet recommended at least trying to operate to remove it, which is happening on Tuesday morning.

However, because he's 17, there's a chance he won't survive the operation. They will do a comprehensive bloodwork beforehand (he and I are similar creatures, it would seem) and if all is well, they'll go ahead, but there's still a chance his heart could stop during the surgery.

This means that when I drop him off at the vet's on Tuesday morning, I will have to say goodbye as I may never see his little ginger face again.

I've booked Tuesday and Wednesday off work. I figure I'll be around to nurse him round the clock if all goes well. I will stay up and near him all night Tuesday night. I can't bear the thought of losing him. I know he's 17 so I have to be realistic - but not now; please, not now.

He's such a good, sweet, affectionate little cat. My mum and I sat and sobbed over him for the best part of an hour this evening, and agreed that if it all goes wrong we will bring him home and plant a rosebush above him.

I told him he has to survive. I'm reluctant to put him through surgery at his age but we have to at least try to save him.

I said he has to be around to meet my baby one day. I hope they will be great friends.