My Mad FET Diary: Entry One

 Let me transport you back to a pre covid time, a time where a stranger could cough next to you and only cause a mild discomfort instead of pure panic. A time where you could embrace your friends and family without any worries. This is my mad FET diary, that I finally feel ready to share now my darling daughter is here safely asleep next to me. Let us go on a journey through time and space, back to February 2020.

After the hospital had to reschedule my appointment, my husband was unable to have the day off. So here we are, the FET diaries entry one. Starting with me, Nina alone in the infertility cloud of what the fuck and drugs.

The 4^th of Feb 2020 was the day I was due at the priory for what I thought would be a scan and a prescription for this cycle. I instead, was met with a series of stumbles that can only happen to a woman in her thirties who has never learned to drive due to her ridiculous anxiety. I took the train to university station, from there all I would have to do was simply walk 30 minutes to the hospital. I got there extremely early, but my maps wouldn’t work. Que frantically calling my husband and having a semi mental break down next to the homeless man outside the station. He offered me a smile and told me all would be well; I weakly gave him a smile back. In hindsight, I should have got him a coffee or given him some dollars.

Eventually, I got a taxi to the priory but not before being rejected by one taxi firm and uber not downloading on my phone. I sat a puddle of sweat and nerves in the back of the taxi, observing the man’s burgundy hat that partly covered his salt and pepper hair. I thought for a moment about my Dad, and how he said he prayed for me to have a child every night.  He safely dropped me off, and I made my way upstairs.

It was the blonde nurse; she could be a little stern at times, and I was a bit anxious and tried to crack some jokes about how shit my uterus is. She smirked and asked of course if the new trainee could be present. Turned out all the shaving and prep had been for nothing; I was simply being prescribed my meds and being sent on my merry way. She said “You know how to take these! Pretty much the same as the menopur.” She gave me a demonstration and told me to collect all the drugs. Heroin, weed, cocaine, speed and ketamine? No you idiot! No fun shall be had on your FET cycle! Collect buserelin, step 2 weeks down to oestrogen town, do not pass the pessaries do not collect £200. I was however to only start the buserelin on the Friday, day 21 of my cycle injecting 0.5ml each day at a time of my choosing. Oh how I laughed and smiled with glee as she told me of all the side effects. “I’ll look forward to that then!” I said a long with “Yey more injections!” All met with some confused smiles.

I had by then downloaded uber on to the phone, I ordered my uber to drop me at the damascena in the city centre. Looking down at my drugs, my heartbeat went from 0 (that’s right, death)-100. Was I really ready for this to take over my life again? Shit, was this it? Injections, feeling like shit and making up lame excuses to miss evenings out. How do I get out of stuff? Surely people would figure it out. We had decided not to tell anyone this round. Was that the right choice? Will this work?

Momentarily I caught myself in my anxious indulgence and looked out the window. We were passing the Malmaison, I fantasized about checking myself into the hotel. I could spend the night lazily milling around the hotel room sipping a drink. Maybe watch a film, order room service and prep me up to stab myself. Or buy a ticket to France and pretend I am not infertile and am in fact just a struggling artist who chose never to have children.

Then we pulled outside Damascena, I went into my safe little haven. I love this place; the food is always amazing and the drinks are too. I ordered a green tea and chicken shawarma and sat myself at the window seat. Here I could take up my second favourite hobby, people watching. I watched the families hurrying their kids along. I watched the couples, blissfully infatuated with each other. Smiling, laughing playfully teasing each other and I wondered if any of them would know the hardships that could possibly come their way. There’s some sort of magic about new couples, it’s palpable. You can see them a mile off, high from their dates possibly a little giddy after a few cocktails. I thought back to our simpler times, how easy everything was at the beginning. Before the infertility monster. Going out on the weekends, getting drunk together two twenty somethings unaware of life’s many challenges.

My husband started ringing me, “It’s going to be OK. We’ve got each other.” He said at the end, and this was true. I responded “Well, I have to stab myself so.” He laughed, he was used to me panicking over this and knew that keeping his cool was the best he could do. When I hung up, I finished my food and was offered another refill. I took it and sat for another half an hour, enjoying the blissfulness of simply doing nothing. Then it was time to head home and arrange my new meth lab in the correct places.

 Love, Blue moon girl x