I thought I was doing ok with all the questions until we started talking about "the baby" and if any tests had been done on "the baby" after "it died". I had a bit of a cry, slipped into the conversation that "the baby" had been called George, and he wasn't autopsied, then cried a bit more and had a cup of tea. Someone always seems to make us a cup of tea in the maternity unit.
The appointment was with one of the fertility nurses, rather than the ob/gyn. She now wants all the testing done before we see her. Okeydokey.
Blood tests, blood tests and more blood tests on different cycle days, of course. And just one teeny tiny "test" for Ray.
I need to lose weight. I know, I know, I know but not working and painful feet don't help. At least I've got the comfort eating under control again. Did I mention that had reared it's ugly head again? And don't be silly, I am not giving up chocolate. Ever.
The fertile nurse (as Ray called her) then told us that the very act of "handing over responsibility" for our fertility often lifts a lot of stress and sometimes has the desired effect, and we must tell them if we get pregnant at the end of this cycle because they will still ultrasound us at 6, 8 and 10 weeks before handing us over for consultant-led care. The desired effect. Wouldn't that be nice.
Talking about 6, 8 and 10 weeks reminded me that getting pregnant is only the first hurdle; the one I've been concentrating so hard on. So many others.
I think I ovulated early this month, cd 10 instead of cd 13, according to my pee-sticks.
Think those fertile thoughts for us will you?
Think us a baby will you?
And dear lovely Danielle and Rach. Offering me your "turns" was just about the most wonderfullest, kindest, loveliest gift I have ever received. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Love you.