This morning I have a neat purple bruise to match the faded yellowy brown ones that look like dirty fingerprints across my belly.
So far I have not been the hot mess of hormones that I expected to be. I have gone about the jabs pretty cheerfully – they give me a sense that I am actually DOING something as opposed to just hoping against hope that nature will take its course.
But yesterday morning, when I went back to the clinic after a four-day break from ultrasounds, I was a nervous wreck. What is the Orgalutran didn’t work? What if my ovaries betrayed me, releasing my eggs and dashing all hopes of a successful outcome?
Then through that weird grey-black nightvision of ultrasound, I saw them. I didn’t break down sobbing; it was more a case of weeping.
IVF is a process that can go horribly wrong at any moment – if it was a horse race, it would be a steeplechase. But so far so good. My horse has taken the first few jumps, and now we’re approaching the next – 7.30am Monday morning, egg retrieval. Steady.
Today I have no needles at all, and am off to find something to distract myself with until that next jump. The mist outside is clearing and it looks like a sunny day, I am taking this (and everything at the moment) as a good omen.