Injections and Test Tubes

Funnily enough, my daughter's desire for a sibling coincides with my own desperation to give her one. Now that she knows not only that it takes an egg and a spirit, but how the two shall meet, she has decided her Mummy and Daddy should start immediately on production. It is difficult to explain to her the myriad of complications such production would entail. She has at least stopped suggesting, when told that Daddy doesn't want one, that I find someone else to get a spirit from before running off and saying "um sorry, actually I'm with Daddy". It is not so easy to explain, however, that Daddy so didn't want a baby that he let a man stick a scalpel in his testicles just 6 or so weeks before we met. It is harder to explain that while my uterus did an amazing job of making her, it is now filled with adenomyosis and covered with endometriosis and the reason I was so grumpy last year was the fact my pain levels were barely tolerable, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. It is harder still to explain to a 5 year old that the only way to get rid of the pain is to undergo a hysterectomy. And it is even harder for me to face that myself.

2011 was a year to top all years in the misery and pain that it caused. In Christchurch the earth rocked, ground turned to silt rivers, buildings toppled, our lives would never be the same again, 185 people were not so lucky. It was a year for me that was ever so hard. In the city that rocked, pelvic pain took over my life. Two surgeries, hundreds of pain killers of every strength, herbal and vitamin potions, unthinkable sanitary nightmares, months of stomach injections and induced menopause, one reality. I had never heard of adenomyosis although had had numerous surgeries for endometriosis. The only surgery and cure for adenomyosis is a hysterectomy. Once the luckiest Mummy in the world to have one perfect wee rabbit, I felt like the unluckiest of mummies to not be getting one more. In a head battle the size of Goliath and a medical battle the size of his more evil twin, I clung to the hope that if I would just get the pain under control, I could convince Mr G to reverse the vasectomy, another picture in the puzzle. Just a chance is what I asked for. Just one more baby is the dream.

I find it hard to believe that last week my husband and I, me almost pain free, he reluctantly resigned, attended an appointment about a reversal. The reality remains, I am reliant on Zolodex injections and amitriptyline to get through the day. I need a hysterectomy. I want a baby. If the reversal was successful I would need to come off all medication and we would need to get shagging like rabbits and praying to the universal gods that a pregnancy would occur before the pain and menstrual dilemmas return in full force. I'd like to think we had months. The reality is the pain would be back in a matter of hours, the window of opportunity would be small. Mr G isn't leaping for joy at the prospect of any of it. For me the nightmare of agony is a scary thing to return to but a chance is what I am clinging to. What I didn't expect and what I can't quite get my head around, is that the specialist suggested we try IVF.

I've never actually suffered from infertility. I once accidentally fell pregnant, all but single and scandalous. We haven't been trying for years to conceive and my husband in fact has had himself sterilised. The idea that sperm could be retrieved and an embryo could be implanted inside me was something I hadn't considered. That it could happen in a matter of weeks is quite scary. That I could remain on the injections throughout the process, however, was an invitation that simply couldn't not be considered. In Mr G's words "it's a needle in the testicles no matter what you decide". The fact it comes down to a window of opportunity and percentages of possibility is something I am getting my head around. What is certain, however, is that it is looking like the chance that I have been begging for, is about to be realised.

The truth is I am not young. At 37 the tick, tick, tick  was always getting louder. I have one perfect child. I have an abdomen riddled with disease and a beautiful husband who has had a vasectomy. He doesn't want a baby. But he wants me to be happy. He is the not often proud owner of one very difficult at times teenager. She should have put me off wanting to have a baby with him, he says. She has most certainly put me off the idea of having one with her mother. I have been the solo parent of one very sick little girl and at the time I met Mr G, I most certainly didn't want to be the solo parent of two. Whilst the vasectomy was a reality, it was also a relief. In the years that we have been together, however, it has caused me much grief. I could handle it a lot more easily when I thought I had a choice. When given the choice of pain or being barren, however, I'm not ready NOT to take the pain. I cry when I see pregnant women. I think of names, I am desperate to be pregnant. I think of very little else.

For the most part I started this blog because quite often, if I say so myself, I can be terribly, blatantly funny. Sometimes others find me so. I have a life which gives rise to many a laugh and a perspective which is bluntly honest and occasionally offensive. I have a husband I adore, a darling daughter who is a dream come true and a step daughter who tries every ounce of patience I have, but is a good hearted kid who I am trying to love. I am hoping also that I can face the funny sides to embarking on a journey to getting pregnant to a test tube and hoping that our lives gets some fairy dust sprinkled on them and that we get to juggle a baby between us. I know the Rabbit will delighted. I know Mr G will be amazing and completely won over. I know the teen will be mortified but she'll cope and probably even love it. I just hope that my chance gets me a poppet I can share with you. To be honest though, I'm also really hoping it's not a ginger.