A load of old cobblers?

I watched a really interesting programme last night about alternative therapies - specifically, reflexology and massage - which covered how they can play a part in helping women get up the duff.

Now, normally I'm quite cynical (had you noticed?!) and I tend to file all such notions under the generic heading of "a load of shite".

And even though the programme included a lengthy segment featuring smug mummies surrounded by children who were allegedly conceived with the help of an alternative therapy, the presenter was quick to point out that in the absence of any convincing clinical trials, there's just no way of knowing which of the women would have got pregnant anyway.

(Speaking of which, hubby and I will in a week's time creep into that sad, forgotten percentile of couples who don't conceive within two years. Whenever you read a book about fertility - and I've read LOTS - they always quote the statistics in the first chapter: take 100 couples; by the end of the first month 20 will be pregnant, and so on until you get to the 24th month, by which time 95 couples are pregnant.

As of 6 April - the night I took my last Pill, which I remember both because it was also the night of my dad's retirement party, and because I'm an obsessive-compulsive freak - we are in that sorry 5%. Depressing, no?)

Anyway, back to the New Age bollocks. While the programme didn't convince me that reflexology would help me to conceive - after all, as I've said before, thinking positively isn't going to make my ovary magically not polycystic, and neither is a foot rub - it did help me make two decisions.

1) When my period comes (which it hasn't yet, of which more later) and I know the HSG is nigh, I'm going to treat myself to a full-body massage at the beauty clinic. I've had this once before, as a birthday present, and it was fa-a-bulous. So as a gift for myself, and in an effort to relax me pre-pokery, I'm going to indulge.

2) I want my mum to come in with me for the HSG. I realise many of you will be appalled at the prospect of inviting your mother to sit in on a procedure where your genitalia are splayed to the four winds, but there's method in my madness. First of all, my mum and I are really close. She knows all about what I'm going through, and she's coming with me to the appointment anway - she's more of a comforting presence than hubby, who I'd just end up shouting at.

My other reason comes from a section of last night's programme in which they hooked a woman up to electrodes that would administer a small - not excruciating, but sore - shock every so often. Thing was, she was alerted to when a shock might happen by a big red X on a screen in front of her, so she got to anticipate the pain rather than be surprised by it. They monitored her brain's activity throughout this Mel Gibson-inspired vignette.

The first time, she had no-one to comfort her, and of course her brain went bananas. The second time, they had a complete stranger go and hold her hand. The effect was amazing - her brain dealt with the experience much more calmly. Thirdly, they had her husband hold her hand, and this time she barely registered on the angry-brainwave-measuring-thingummy at all.

This, they concluded, proved that touch - ANY human touch, even from a stranger - helps people deal with painful and/or traumatic experiences. The touch of a loved one REALLY helps. Hence my mum theory.

Who knows when it'll actually happen, though. No period. Cracked and did a test on Sunday - which was the day it was due, so not a very impressive length-of-time-before-cracking.

I might as well have weed on an Easter egg.

Rampant dread about the HSG

Thought my period had started yesterday, which would mean I'd need to book in for the HSG this week as it has to be done within 10 days of a new cycle starting. My plan was to call into the fertility clinic for my day2 blood tests tomorrow morning and while there book in for the procedure, probably for Friday.

That spurred me to do some more detailed research about what the HSG actually entails, and I have to say I am now absolutely sick with terror. I want to cry whenever I even think about it.

I've read a few blog sites where women have posted about their experiences, and a disconcertingly high proportion have used phrases like "the worst pain I've ever experienced", "excruciating", "100 times worse than delivering twins vaginally" and "I passed out it was so bad" to describe it.

I'm a big wimp at the best of times and have been lucky in that I've never experienced severe pain in my life. I've never had a tooth out, have only one filling, have never broken a bone or had surgery, and until all this started, the most invasive procedures I'd ever endured were routine smears. I've never found smears to be that bad, and while speculums are cold and uncomfy, I've never felt that they actively hurt, so I'm really hoping that stands me in good stead for this...

The consultant at the clinic told me that I should take 800mg of ibuprofen beforehand to "ease the cramps". She said I'd feel these when the dye is pushed through my tubes, and that they are like bad menstrual cramps. OK, thought I, period pain is nothing I haven't dealt with before, and there was something reasonably reassuring about it being a familiar type of pain rather than something unexpected. But from reading some of the comments on the web, it seems these "cramps" in actual fact resemble late-stage labour contractions, and that DOES scare me.

There are also lots of people who found the insertion of the catheter through the cervix unbearable. That bit really worries me - after all, the worst part of a smear isn't the speculum but the bit where they scrape your cervix. It's not active pain, it's more a sort of unpleasant, fingers-on-blackboard sensation of what the FUCK are you doing touching one of my ORGANS?!

I almost want to be cross with the women who've posted comments featuring words like "agony" and "excruciating" - but then I suppose they are just sharing what the experience was like for them in an effort to prepare others.

Having said all this, my period has now vanished altogether, so I don't think it was a period after all - perhaps just some spotting as a hangover from the travails of the Espace earlier in the week. I need to ring the clinic tomorrow to find out what I should do. Part of me wants to get this horrid HSG over with - spending the next couple of months sick with dread over it doesn't appeal to me. And of course, even if it's horrible, it's worth it to find out what's going on.

However, there's a really big part of me that just wants to have one more cycle before getting it done, in the desperate hope that a miracle will occur and I'll conceive without having to go through it.

In the words of Eliza Doolittle: Not bloody likely.