Second clomiphene cycle: mid-cycle report

It's been a really weird couple of weeks.

In several respects things have been rotten, but in the space of the past few nights I've had more fun than I have the whole rest of the year, and that's kind of made up for all the stuff that's gone wrong.

I got my period in the middle of the night of my last post, and cried so much that my eyes resembled those of a pig. It was a nasty one, with bad cramps and really heavy for the first two days. But I picked myself up and dusted myself off the following morning, and went to the clinic to get my new prescription, hoping that I'd manage to get hold of an ovulation enhancer rather than an anti-psychotic.

They gave me the correct drugs this time, and I spent the next five mornings taking the little tablets as directed. I actually felt a lot less bad this cycle than the first cycle. I was going to use the word "better" there and realised it wouldn't be quite accurate, as I did feel weird, but I escaped the daily headaches and didn't feel sick at all this time round. I wonder whether taking it in the morning made a difference?

Although I've got on with my next course, though, I've been really downhearted about the failure of the first cycle. During the early part of last week I was more dispirited than I've ever been. I was really stressed out and got to the point where I just couldn't imagine this ever working; couldn't picture the scenario where all this is over and we have a child, or even a bump. I was getting through the days and basically coming home every night from work and bawling.

Then a concentrated dose of fun happened and it has done me so much good. On Thursday night I went to watch one of my favourite stand-up comedians, Ross Noble, and had a blast as he put on a great show. He's the kind of performer where the show is completely different every night because so much of it is based on his random chats with audience members. So on Friday, I kept thinking how much fun it would be to go again that night, and how I deserved it after a shitty week and a failed cycle. I ended up calling the box office at 4pm and getting two returns in the first couple of rows, which was so lucky.

Having roped my best mate into coming with me, and into pizza before the theatre, we proceeded to have one of those brilliant, spontaneous evenings where it's all the better for the fact that when you woke up that morning you didn't know you'd be having so much fun just a few short hours later. The show was 75% different from the night before, and best of all, he did 20 minutes or so on fertility tests, which he hadn't even mentioned the previous night.

I watch a lot of stand-up comedy - it's my favourite thing to do - and I'd always wondered what it would be like to watch a routine about fertility issues. I figured it'd either be extremely entertaining because it would strike so many chords, or that it wouldn't be funny and would actually be quite difficult to watch because it's too close to home.

I'm happy to report that the former theory was on the money. I don't think I have ever laughed harder at a comedy routine. The focus of his material was going for a sperm test, based on his own experience, and the way he described it was genuinely hilarious, so much so that I was struggling to breathe. The whole audience seemed to love it but I felt I'd earned the right to enjoy it that little bit more - there remains something heartwarming about the image of myself howling with laughter at a subject that has caused me so many tears over the past three years.

As if that wasn't enough fun for one week, hubby and I then proceeded to have a splendidly silly barbecue evening round at said best mate's house on Saturday. Lovely food, far too much wine, sunshine, karaoke games and pure daftness ensued, and it was all just what the doctor ordered.

The only blip this weekend has been that I have ovulated. Which obviously is a good thing, but boy has it been painful. Last month I had a day where I was wracked with these stabbing, almost trapped-wind-like pains really low down in my tummy, and wondered if it was ovulation. When I asked the clinic about it they said it was and that clomiphene can cause pain during egg release because of the fact that the ovaries have been over-stimulated.

Yesterday saw me spending time crouched on the floor with my arse in the air as it was the only position in which I could get any relief. But the pain is fading now and we managed to have sex - only just, mind you, as hubby is struggling with performance anxiety AGAIN - at the right time.

Now it's a case of the dreaded two-week wait. I will not allow myself to get as hopeful as I did last time. The disappointment is too hard to bear if you have let yourself hope. And anyway, I actually don't think it will have worked this time, whereas last month I was absurdly confident it might. I've had a lot of stress and upset in the past fortnight, and I just can't see how that would be conducive to success.

Mind you, there's a lot to be said for happy hormones. If they play any part in aiding conception I may have some thank-you letters to write to my lovely friends - and to Ross Noble!

Getting by with a little help from my friends

Last night I had a perfect evening which has given me a big boost in the "surviving the break from babymaking" stakes.

It followed a not-so-perfect day, during which it had rained relentlessly, I had spent 90 minutes on the phone renegotiating our mortgage - which, in these credit-crunching times, is going to cost us around £100 more each month from August - and hubby and I had fought. (The argument was primarily about the fact that months ago, around the time I was stressing over the HSG, I assigned him the task of sorting out the mortgage situation, and he proceeded to do precisely nothing.)

But sometimes I think that good nights following bad days are all the better for the contrast. This one involved all the following aspects, which came together to make a perfect whole:

Good food. As possibly the world's fussiest eater, with a long list of dietary idiosyncrasies that renders me unable to stomach several whole food groups, including meat and dairy, I very rarely have a restaurant or dinner-party experience in which I love and gobble up everything put before me. Last night I did: a starter of fried soft-shell crab with chilli and cashews, followed by tempura barramundi served with homemade chips and mushy peas. Yum.

Good drinks. The evening included just enough alcohol to make me merry and relaxed, but not so much that I have a headache this morning - in short, the ideal amount. I also discovered the nicest cocktail I've ever had - a summery concoction involving raspberries, hazelnut liqueur, gomme syrup, vodka and Chambord. I had three.

Fun. We were with friends whose company I really enjoy, and there were several laughs big enough to hurt. Even hubby lightened up, although one of the best moments was sort of at his expense - after the restaurant we came back to our house and ended up playing somewhat drunkenly on the Wii. Hubby got so worked up flailing around during a boxing match that he actually broke wind - dramatically. It's juvenile, and you probably had to be there, but our collective wails of comic disbelief and revulsion afterwards brought tears to my eyes.

Ambience. The place where we ate had a live band and a very chilled atmosphere. Despite it being wet, it was warm, and there was a covered veranda out back where we drank our post-feast cocktails.

After our friends left, hubby retired immediately to bed and I sat up, finishing my wine and listening to the song that the evening had put me in mind of - an indie anthem from my university days entitled 'The Day We Caught The Train', which I always associate with good times as it includes the line:

"And when you find that things are getting wild, don't you need days like these?"

In short, evenings like that make living without what I really want bearable.

But then. I'm going to end by quoting another song I love - I seem to do this a lot, and hope readers don't find it cheesy; it's just that professional lyricists often put it so much better than I ever could. Anyway, this one's by Shawn Colvin, and is called 'New Thing Now':

"And it feels so good to doubt you, I could almost live without you, but not quite. Not quite."