Apologies to anyone who has been awaiting my latest update (I am sure there is at least one person out there ha!), my slacking ways have returned!
A lot has happened since my last post, including the celebration of my first wedding anniversary, so that was lovely.
What hasn't been so lovely are my first steps into the world of assisted fertility treatment. In the past few weeks I have had more blood drawn and doctors letters than I can ever remember. It feels good to feel like we are making a start, however I can't say that I am brimming with hope.
Before I made it to my first appointment at the fertility clinic, I had to go through yet another period and it is safe to say it was the worst yet. It wasn't even anything to do with the fact that I wasn't pregnant (for once), but the excruciating agony of it. My husband and I had gone to visit my Mother and I ended up rolling around in the living room, on the floor, the sofa, on all fours, crying and at times screaming in pain. They were both so worried about me that my husband wanted to take me to A&E, the only reason I refused was because I couldn't handle the journey there.
After a few hours the pain finally became bearable, although the painkillers were never too far away! When the weekend passed I went to see my GP and he referred me to a gynaecologist in the local hospital with suspected endometriosis. Over the years I have been back and forth to the doctors about painful, heavy periods but I have never felt I have been taken seriously about the problem until now, it has always been 'all women have periods, take a paracetamol and stop wasting my time'. After facing this attitude many times, I somewhat gave up pursuing it and I was also on the pill for many years, which somewhat appeased the symptoms. I don't go to the gynae until 5th Dec, so I haven't got a definitive answer on the matter, but at least something is finally being done and at last I feel I am being believed. Dec 5th also happens to be the day my next period is due, so maybe if I am able to demonstrate the pain in the Doctor's office it may add more weight to my struggle.
I had a wonderful notion before we attended our first fertility clinic appointment that it would be full of luxury (we are PAYING after all), somewhat like flying first class. I was disappointed. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting a champagne reception or anything like that, just maybe to be treated more as a human than a statistic on an NHS report. When we first booked in, we were given two appointments on the same day and a follow up appointment a few weeks later. We weren't given any information prior to this - over and above the cost - to let us know what we can expect, not even a letter as the clinic has recently gone paperless - some environmental/cost targets to meet obviously. So we went along, expecting maybe some information (even the shittest jobs give inductions, this is PRIVATE healthcare) to let us know what may lay ahead etc. Nothing.
We sat in the waiting room as Doctors walked past in scrubs and crocs *vom* until eventually someone summonsed my husband, as I stood up to accompany him, I was told to sit down and that was that. The next thing I knew about what was happening was when I received a Snapchat from himself laughing like a school-boy at the nudey mags in the wank bank. When complete, he returned to the waiting room with me. I asked him what information they had given him, what they were testing for (Sperm DNA Fragmentation Testing is at the forefront of my mind) he shrugs and says 'they gave me a cup.' Not even a fecking shtitty leaflet.
Burning with rage I went up and asked the receptionist about what tests they were spending our hard earned cash on and she told me that they do not do Sperm DNA Fragmentation Testing and I am to trust the Doctors and that is that. FUCK OFF you condescending cow, I am not five fucking years old!!! I obviously didn't say that, but I thought it and many variations thereof. I sat back down beside my husband and tried to explain to him why I was so annoyed and how important this test is (thank you Womby McWombface on Twitter for the info). Hormonal and annoyed I questioned (silently as there was no one to listen) why struggling to conceive a baby meant I had to be treated like one.
A while later I was called forward (also by myself) where I was taken to a room and told I was to have blood drawn. I was given a computer print out to read in my own time to help me understand what tests were being conducted (time is obviously too precious for them to just explain it to me). Then two nurses struggled to take my blood (I have bad veins) whilst they chatted with a third over my obviously invisible head about their plans for the weekend. One of them is going to something that she got tickets for, Adam is going FYI but he got his own ticket in case you were wondering. I can't even excuse it as inexperience as the three were a range of ages and none of them were particularly young.
When blood finally spilled into the viles, I was given a plaster and a shove out the door. Not an ounce of red carpet treatment in sight.
Our next appointment is tomorrow and all we have had since was a broken voicemail reminding me to bring my wedding certificate as my passport is still in my maiden name. I'd almost rather be going to work. Nevertheless, my beautiful babies will be well worth it all when they come...and no matter what line of work they go into in their lives, they will have manners and empathy.
In the meantime, I will try to remain positive and avoid all of the bullshit names lists that are currently doing the rounds on Facebook, but they're a whole other blog post in themselves!
Still fat, still not pregnant.
A lot has happened since my last post, including the celebration of my first wedding anniversary, so that was lovely.
What hasn't been so lovely are my first steps into the world of assisted fertility treatment. In the past few weeks I have had more blood drawn and doctors letters than I can ever remember. It feels good to feel like we are making a start, however I can't say that I am brimming with hope.
Before I made it to my first appointment at the fertility clinic, I had to go through yet another period and it is safe to say it was the worst yet. It wasn't even anything to do with the fact that I wasn't pregnant (for once), but the excruciating agony of it. My husband and I had gone to visit my Mother and I ended up rolling around in the living room, on the floor, the sofa, on all fours, crying and at times screaming in pain. They were both so worried about me that my husband wanted to take me to A&E, the only reason I refused was because I couldn't handle the journey there.
After a few hours the pain finally became bearable, although the painkillers were never too far away! When the weekend passed I went to see my GP and he referred me to a gynaecologist in the local hospital with suspected endometriosis. Over the years I have been back and forth to the doctors about painful, heavy periods but I have never felt I have been taken seriously about the problem until now, it has always been 'all women have periods, take a paracetamol and stop wasting my time'. After facing this attitude many times, I somewhat gave up pursuing it and I was also on the pill for many years, which somewhat appeased the symptoms. I don't go to the gynae until 5th Dec, so I haven't got a definitive answer on the matter, but at least something is finally being done and at last I feel I am being believed. Dec 5th also happens to be the day my next period is due, so maybe if I am able to demonstrate the pain in the Doctor's office it may add more weight to my struggle.
I had a wonderful notion before we attended our first fertility clinic appointment that it would be full of luxury (we are PAYING after all), somewhat like flying first class. I was disappointed. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting a champagne reception or anything like that, just maybe to be treated more as a human than a statistic on an NHS report. When we first booked in, we were given two appointments on the same day and a follow up appointment a few weeks later. We weren't given any information prior to this - over and above the cost - to let us know what we can expect, not even a letter as the clinic has recently gone paperless - some environmental/cost targets to meet obviously. So we went along, expecting maybe some information (even the shittest jobs give inductions, this is PRIVATE healthcare) to let us know what may lay ahead etc. Nothing.
We sat in the waiting room as Doctors walked past in scrubs and crocs *vom* until eventually someone summonsed my husband, as I stood up to accompany him, I was told to sit down and that was that. The next thing I knew about what was happening was when I received a Snapchat from himself laughing like a school-boy at the nudey mags in the wank bank. When complete, he returned to the waiting room with me. I asked him what information they had given him, what they were testing for (Sperm DNA Fragmentation Testing is at the forefront of my mind) he shrugs and says 'they gave me a cup.' Not even a fecking shtitty leaflet.
Burning with rage I went up and asked the receptionist about what tests they were spending our hard earned cash on and she told me that they do not do Sperm DNA Fragmentation Testing and I am to trust the Doctors and that is that. FUCK OFF you condescending cow, I am not five fucking years old!!! I obviously didn't say that, but I thought it and many variations thereof. I sat back down beside my husband and tried to explain to him why I was so annoyed and how important this test is (thank you Womby McWombface on Twitter for the info). Hormonal and annoyed I questioned (silently as there was no one to listen) why struggling to conceive a baby meant I had to be treated like one.
A while later I was called forward (also by myself) where I was taken to a room and told I was to have blood drawn. I was given a computer print out to read in my own time to help me understand what tests were being conducted (time is obviously too precious for them to just explain it to me). Then two nurses struggled to take my blood (I have bad veins) whilst they chatted with a third over my obviously invisible head about their plans for the weekend. One of them is going to something that she got tickets for, Adam is going FYI but he got his own ticket in case you were wondering. I can't even excuse it as inexperience as the three were a range of ages and none of them were particularly young.
When blood finally spilled into the viles, I was given a plaster and a shove out the door. Not an ounce of red carpet treatment in sight.
Our next appointment is tomorrow and all we have had since was a broken voicemail reminding me to bring my wedding certificate as my passport is still in my maiden name. I'd almost rather be going to work. Nevertheless, my beautiful babies will be well worth it all when they come...and no matter what line of work they go into in their lives, they will have manners and empathy.
In the meantime, I will try to remain positive and avoid all of the bullshit names lists that are currently doing the rounds on Facebook, but they're a whole other blog post in themselves!
Still fat, still not pregnant.
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