6 weird things to know about me then . . .

I’ve been tagged apparently. Feels a bit odd, but at least this post can have a focus which is neither my reproductive system nor even my idiotic work situation. And it has given me something to think about for the last 24 hours or so – what is weird about me? R is very loyal, and told me there was NOTHING weird about me, but I have come up with one or two . . .

I have a female tabby cat called Roger. I pretty much knew, even when he was a kitten that he was a she, but I had it in my head that I wanted a big, confident tomcat, so we named him Roger. Perhaps even more weird is that Roger pees like a tom! We actually chose 2 (female) cats from the same litter – the other is called Delia and doesn’t have any gender confusion!

There is a 21 year age gap between my youngest sister and my oldest sister. I think that’s weird. There are 3 brothers in between, but I have always been slightly embarrassed that there is such an age difference. When I was a kid people used to ask if my parents were catholic when they found out I was one of 6, which with hindsight I think is a bit odd of them too.

I met my husband at an indoor climbing wall. I was 38, he was 35, and neither of us had been married before. Apparently this is weird. Even the vicar who married us, when she realised my age immediately assumed I was divorced. When she realised I wasn’t she said ‘ well, your mother must be delighted that you are finally getting married at your age’! I was all for ditching the vicar after that, but R is more tolerant, so we stuck with her.

I used to be completely driven in my life by the desire to travel. Right from when I was a child, I always wanted to travel, and not just holidays, but to live in different places too. This influenced the subjects I took at school (languages) and the whole life I have led and kind of business I now work in (travel). I have lived in Germany, Austria, Spain, France, USA and Canada, as well as all over the place in the UK. The WEIRD thing, for me at any rate, is that quite suddenly about 5 years ago I just stopped wanting to travel. Nowadays I am not even all that keen on going away from home on holiday, or even away for a night. I do it, of course, and mostly enjoy it, but that drive has completely vanished. I have no explanation for this, though I am now happier than I ever was.

I prefer cheese to chocolate. I realise I am in a minority with this one! I have been vegetarian for more than 15 years, but I could never give up cheese.

I do tend to get things in the wrong order – I was a ski rep before I could ski, I did a degree in German after I had just failed a German A level exam, I ran my own company in Spain before I ever had a ‘proper job’ in the UK. And, of course, I got pregnant before I got married, although as you know, I didn’t get the baby. That’s not meant to sound self-pitying, by the way, just a neat finish to this post.

Thanks again for all the comments - I know I am an irregular blogger, but I do enjoy the feedback and support!

In Praise of BBT

Strange to be discovering something at this stage which is really so basic, but proving an enormous comfort. I hadn’t realised until I finally buckled and decided to ‘chart’, that the process does more than identify the point at which ovulation takes place. Towards the end of the cycle, if all is as it should be and you have actually managed to achieve pregnancy, your temperature remains high, while if not your temperature will drop back over the last 3 or so days. This has been such a new experience, as towards the end of this cycle (a) I have had a very clear idea of the exact day on which I ovulated, and (b) I could see that my temperature was NOT staying high, gradually, so that somehow it has not involved that horrible disappointment of the p-stick. So that when I was woken up at 3.30am this morning by the (certainly unwanted) feeling that ‘a new cycle had started’, I was expecting it completely and not ‘hanging on’ to that feeling that maybe . . . just maybe . . .

For a long time I have been using OPKs, but I am rarely 100% sure that one line is darker than or the same as the other - it just never seems quite unambiguous. So it has been case of a ‘I think I ovulated about then . . .’ and that has made the end of my cycle very difficult to predict, and I have used at least 2 HPTs most months (which gets expensive in addition to all the misery!) This time I didn't use any at all.

So - what happened in Harley Street? Here's the update. I have not been pregnant since last October, and although I realise this is not particularly unusual I am about to embark on something else new . . . I have just been prescribed a ‘super ovulation’ treatment - a bit of help with a push in the right direction. I now have 10 tablets of Clomid to stimulate some egg production, Ovitrelle to stimulate release, and then ‘timed intercourse’ to follow the Ovitrelle injection (– so no more giggling Mister!!) I admit I am slightly sceptical of all this ‘treatment’ which obviously comes at some cost again, seeing as I seem to ovulate perfectly all right without assistance. A little (greedy) bit of me thinks maybe the result of Clomid treatment will be to provide 2 eggs for a cycle and that I may have the miracle – twins. Of course the point seems to be to improve my chances. I am not getting any younger, and I don’t want to sound tragic, but I WILL stop this whole process at the end of the year if I continue unsuccessful. So I want to give myself the best shot I can.

Here’s hoping.

A long period of silence

I will try and make up for a long period of silence.

One night last weekend, R and I lay in bed giggling about all the adjectives you can form from parts of the face. Cheeky, nosey, lippy, mouthy. You can’t have foreheady, or eyeish. ‘Eary’ works, though of course only phonetically, and not literally. I don’t know why we were finding such a daft conversation so funny, but we definitely did not end up in either the position nor frame of mind for making love. We chatted for a long while. We fell asleep hugging, and smiley. Like we should.

The night of the giggling was in spite of my LH surge. And I don’t care. (Except of course that we made up for lost time the following morning, and then for good measure the following evening too. I do care, of course and am worried now we might have missed the right moment).

But something in my nature makes me feel that I have to fight this whole ‘be good and do it by the book’ – I have a sort of back-to-front approach with a strong dash of superstition. Does it make any sense at all that, in the middle of a cycle during which I am desperate to get pregnant, I saw a little purse that would be so perfect for keeping tampons in, and felt completely compelled to buy it? It was truly as if the failure to buy it would have been the CAUSE of my next period. So I bought it. How could I do anything else? It was like taking back a bit of control.

I know I am probably sounding crazy, but I feel so angry. I am fed up with being out of control. It is depressing and frustrating. I caught up with www.thalia.typepad.com today, and I know exactly how she feels, on such a fine emotional knife-edge that she is moved to cry at a short film, regardless of the company.

Dammit, I can cry at those cancer adverts, I can cry when I break a glass. I can even induce real tears by imagining that my cat doesn’t really love me, but only sits on me because my lap is warm. I feel like crying some days when R leaves for work. But all these tears are just misplaced – all wrapped up in the frustration of not being able to take control. And a good old dollop of self-pity. (How do I know about the power of self-pity? I read it in Enid Blyton as a child, and recognised it as an indisputable truth, even then!) Self pity kicked in bigtime when I went to lunch with a colleague last Friday and caught her up on all the latest.

The latest is that I have been completely overlooked for a very minor line-manager role which has arisen as a result of another colleague’s maternity leave. (Naturally. There is always room for a little more irony in my life.) Not only was I overlooked, but I wasn’t even TOLD of the decision to give it to someone else, FB, who, as it happens, grumbles regularly about being overworked.

Incidentally, to do my current job I was taken out of another role where I had line management responsibility for 2 staff. I have also been with this company for 6 and a half years.

In contrast, FB joined the company a little over a year ago. She is also more than 10 years younger than me. This is not calculated to boost my self confidence.


When I confronted DM she said her credibility would have been compromised; "as we know", I went through a period when I was "struggling to cope". How could she have justified to the team an additional responsibility for me? I countered with the facts that since our ‘little talk’ I had made huge efforts to turn this all around, (which she acknowledges, and apparently I am again 'a pleasure to work with' ) and, after all, she knew what lay behind this temporary inability to cope. 5 miscarriages. 5 miscarriages. 5 FUCKING MISCARRIAGES. When you repeat those three little words, it definitely brings on a flood of self-pity.

But, apparently, if you need to maintain a commercial focus (which DM clearly does) they are not words that make much of an impression. Thanks for the flowers. No thanks for much else. Thanks also, I suppose to my self control – I hated myself for breaking and for walking out of the office, but really better that than to fight anymore. This is a woman who not only cannot cut me any slack in spite of all the years of damn good work I have put in and the efforts I have made and all in the full knowledge of what I have been through – but who was actually my 'friend' for years before she became my manager. It is ridiculous, but I can hardly bare to admit - this woman was a second bridesmaid at my wedding in 04. What???

Shovel on the self pity. What kind of friends do I have?**

Hmmm – interesting really that I find myself writing about this, which happened nearly 3 weeks ago now, but is still making me SO ANGRY.

And so here I am writing about work again. I honestly don’t know to what extent work really is unbearable, and to what extent I use it to refocus all this suppressed rage about the lost babies. My 5 lost babies. And in my radar are 3 new babies born since I last blogged: Sophie, Niall and Isla. I am not angry, not even exactly jealous, (I feel more jealous of women who are actually pregnant - is that odd?). I just want to be included too. How sad that I can’t just be happy like everyone else about a new baby.

I still read a few blogs, especially the ones of people who visit me here, but I bore myself when I rant like this, and I don't see that it achieves anything. My fragility makes it very hard to read the sad stuff, and I wish I could write something more positive.

I see Dr X on Monday, as I will be 7 days into my latest course of Prednisolone, and he wants to check me over. I don't know what it involves. 7 days after that . . .well let's hope for something more positive.




**Actually I wish to state here that I do have some very good and loyal friends indeed, and I would never put any of them in a category with DM. It hurts me that I have to admit that I have to have a category for not-good friends.