The long wait

I’m off all the hormones now, counting days and figuring out how to track ovulation. It does seem to involve a fair variety of things to lick, pee on, and other odd behaviour. Yesterday we picked up an ovulation tracking kit. We sat in the van outside the chemist reading all the instructions together and Rose asks me ‘so what method do you think you’ll use, peeing on the stick, or peeing into a cup and putting the stick in it?’ I attempt to explain with dignity that I have limited experience in peeing onto or into anything but shall practice.

Rose and I are desperately excited and also daunted about how challenging this could be and how long it could take. It’s kind of hard to be rational, I feel like I’m either going to pregnant the first month, or not for a year. I can’t make myself believe it might be, say, month 4. We’re preparing for a trial run of inseminating with our awesome donor in early December. We’re also going to get a blood test on day 21 of my cycle to double check I am ovulating.

Rose is sick again, her psoriasis makes her terribly vulnerable to these awful ear infections. Each time she uses antibiotics she’s at more risk of developing an antibiotic resistant strain of the bacteria. Apparently she’s also increasing her risk of knocking her skin bug balance out badly enough to wind up with a fungal infection in there too, which is what the doc reckons has happened this time. She started getting better after going onto the antibiotics then a day later went downhill badly. So her face and neck hurt like hell, her jaw is stiff, she’s weak and sleeps all the time. It’s kinda scary to be honest! I miss her when she’s like this. She slept over last night when the locum didn’t get to us until almost 1am, and I loved the way she reached out in her sleep or held my hand whenever I rolled over.

Everything’s become infused with this last glow… We talk about Christmas thinking it might be our last without kids, we have a lie in on Sunday mornings and tell each other we should soak this up while we can. And the possibility of months or years trying is something we try to adapt to, but every time I say it to myself, something small inside me squeaks like a squirrel that’s been kicked and curls up into an unhappy ball. We had a chance to visit a birthing suite at our local hospital and it was pretty cool, very different to a delivery suite, large and comfortable with a big bed and a spa for soaking in. It was really exiting and a bit frightening. I felt a long way away from my own territory. I’m doing my best to give myself lots of space to process things before they happen. I’m hoping that book writing will give me a project to focus on while we try.

I’m not quite back in the zone I had going for work before the surgery yet, still struggling to walk far or eat regular meals, and work is erratic because college stuff is due next week and Rose is ill, not to mention I’m behind on housework. Between the surgery and choosing to link my mental health work to my face painting, I’ve scared off about $2,000 worth of work in the past few months, compared to this time last year. I’m expecting that loss to double by the end of this year. That’s sad and hard, but hopefully as I pick up more mental health work it will be worth it. It has been really nice to be in less physical pain from all the painting than I was at this time last year.

Life goes on hey.

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