I am the Starlight!

Yesterday I had a little trip to the theatre to see the touring production of ‘Starlight Express’, which incidentally was the first musical I ever saw at the age of 7: the starting point for a lifetime of loving musical theatre and forever cursing the gods of musical talent for giving me none.   Part way through Act II, Rusty, the brave steam train sings a heart-felt, motivational track, prior to the big race.  It’s an exciting, triumphant moment in the show, which makes the audience want to take to their feet and cheer him on.  And yet yesterday, up in the cheap seats, sat a highly emotional, hormone-filled me, sobbing along to following lyrics (this is a duet, Rusty’s words in italics):

Only you

I am the Starlight.

Have the power within you

I can achieve

Just believe in yourself

Anything

The sea will part before you, stop the rain and turn the tide

All the things I didn't believe.

…

If only you

I am the Starlight,

Use the power within you

I can see it through.

Needn't beg the world to turn around and help you, if you draw on what is deep inside.

Apologies for any errors in the above.  Turns out Dr Google can do more than diagnose my every womb-twinge, as he appears to also know the words to every song ever written.  Although, I have somewhat lost confidence in his accuracy after cheating on my Spanish homework with ‘google translate’ earlier this year.  Not sure what I actually said, but my Spanish teacher giggled for a good half hour.

There are approximately 6 people in my relationship with infertility.  Me and my DH (dear husband for newcomers to my blog and/or the world of infertility acronyms) are pretty essential participants.  Dr Google probably comes next.  I tend to consult with him most days, searching incessantly until I find a post that confirms whatever hypothesis I am testing (or denies it, whichever is most likely to lead to a decent night’s sleep).  An example is last week’s desperate digging for confirmation that norethisterone doesn’t always lead to a bleed 2-3 days after finishing the tablets.  In my case it took 5 torturous days for my period to come.  Dr Google revealed that in some cases, it can take from 2 weeks to never.  At which point I shut down the macbook and tried to erase what I had just read from my mind.  Such is the pattern of my consultations with Dr G.

So it looks like we might be able to fit our third ICSI cycle into the short space before my trip to the London Olympics.  Knocking on wood, crossing fingers, toes and eyes and any other body part that might help to twist fate in my favour.  My fertility counsellor (also an essential part of my baby-making relationship) frequently comments on my tendency to engage in ‘magical thinking’, an exercise most commonly observed in 3-7 year olds.  However, in the world of fertility treatment, where there are so many uncertainties, I think placing faith in superstitions is a natural way of trying to scrape back some control.  But I guess everything is good in moderation and, when it extends beyond lucky knickers or the unlucky route to take to the clinic into an intense fear of singular magpies, then magical thinking can become somewhat paralysing and, quite frankly, pathological.  So my counsellor has been helping me to maintain some perspective and retain my mental health (or some of it).  She has honestly been the most incredible support throughout the last year.  I really don’t know what I would have done without having the time and space to talk to her about whatever was on my mind that particular week.  She is such a lovely, warm and supportive person to be around and I have just about got over the fear that she might fire me due to extreme exhaustion and bleeding ears.

Another party to our fertility relationship have been the nurses at the clinic.  They are the wonderful ladies on the front-line, doing the scans, taking the blood and dealing with many anxious phone calls filled with questions from the sublime to the ridiculous.  Ok, so none of my questions have ever been sublime and most have been completely ridiculous.  This part of the relationship is all about give and take though…I am a nightmare to get blood from.  I apparently have ‘shy veins’.  They are almost impossible to find and the doctor often has to be called to take blood from the back of my hand with a butterfly needle.  Not fun for anyone.  I once asked my favourite nurse why I was so hard to get blood from and her response was “sometimes it’s just harder with chubby arms”.  I didn’t manage a verbal response, although there were many clever ones that came to me later (the story of my life).  I immediately put my arms on a diet, but they just aren’t sticking to it.

Another vital part of our big baby-making relationship is our consultant – chief decision-maker, yet a very elusive presence.  The way our clinic works is that you get whoever is there that day to do the procedure.  So it’s often a different consultant to the person you are ‘assigned to’.  This can have its benefits.  We have met an impressive array of characters in the gynaecologists we have seen over the years.  One had a name that rhymes with ‘fanny’ (no joke).  He was also only about 5 feet tall and had a moustache, which just added to the fun.  Another consultant told me mid-transfer that I had “a really lovely cervix”.  If you can suggest the most appropriate response to that compliment, please let me know, in case it happens again. 

So over the next couple of weeks, my lovely cervix and I are going to be subjected to numerous injections, tablets, scans and blood tests, all hopefully culminating in a successful ocycyte retrieval (egg collection), in which they find lots of healthy eggs, but not too many that the treatment has to be cancelled (which is what happened on both our previous cycles).  I have been talking to my ovaries and asking them very nicely to grow an appropriate number of eggs, as quickly as they can so I can still make the Olympics.  I have always dreamed of being an Olympic athlete, but will probably need to wait until they introduce egg production as a medal-worthy event.

During the inevitable moments of anxiety, panic, fear and self-doubt, I am going to try to remember Rusty’s wise words:  I am the Starlight, I can achieve….anything…I can see it through.  While continuing to try my very hardest not to belt them out to my very own ‘tune’.  Apparently Lord Lloyd Webber doesn’t appreciate changes to his work, however unintentional… 

Until the next time… x