I have a crazy friend who lives on the other side of the world, but who has been refusing to let me give up. She's come up with all sorts of ideas to stop me sinking into a pit of self-pity and giving up on my dreams.
She's made me think about really radical things like moving house or selling all our things; anything to raise the money. She's also made me look into other options like adoption or even fostering. It's certainly given me food for thought and it really helps me to keep hoping.
It's been really hard carrying on with my life. Getting up, getting dressed, going to work have all seemed like enormous chores. I was thinking about why this was and I think it's because, to me, I always had those two children. Even though they weren't there yet, they featured in all of my plans for the future. I often thought about their names and what they would look like. They were real to me, not in a mental, walking down the road talking to them way, but in my mind, their potential was always there. By losing hope of having them, I feel like they're gone; those children that were mine have been taken from me. I'm not comparing myself to someone who has lost an actual child, that would be absurd, but I do feel a very real sense of loss. So I suppose it's understandable to want to go and dig myself a hole to crawl in and hide rather than sit at a desk and type. My husband has told me he feels the same way.
I have wonderful friends though and they have all been tremendously supportive. It's not just ideas, but simple things like emails and texts, or coming to meet me for lunch, or offering to take me for a coffee to talk. I owe it to myself, my husband, my son and my friends, not to mention those two potentials (who incidentally, at present, are two blonde little boys with curly hair and green eyes and who are called Edward and Henry!) not to give up until all avenues are exhausted.
Wednesday, 24 June 2009
Sunday, 21 June 2009
Heartbroken
We've just come back from our trip to ask my mother-in-law to lend us the money for IVF. This was basically our last ditch attempt at having children together. The answer was no. She has the money, but it's all tied up. So that's that. We don't get to have children.
I was being a bit hopeful naming this blog the IVF diaries, wasn't I? Our savings and windfalls have all been spent on university debts, getting married and buying a house. Last year we spent our last £5000 on a holiday of a lifetime. My mum had taken me to California Disneyland in between primary and secondary school and I really wanted to do the same for my son. So we went and we had the best holiday ever. It was fantastic and I have so many happy memories from it. However, had I known then what I know now, I would have sacrificed that holiday for the hope of having a child. Hindsight is cruel.
I always saw my future being filled with nappies, bottles, potty training, tantrums and school plays. It looks like all that is only destined for my past. I'm so sad because I don't get to do it all with my husband and my son doesn't get to have siblings. I wanted to experience the pain of child birth because I missed out last time having had an emergency caesarean. I wanted to agree on names and enjoy keeping the pregnancy secret for the first few months. I wanted to go shopping in Mothercare again and buy maternity clothes and baby clothes. I'd left space in my life for all that. What will I ever fill that space with?
I'm not a career girl. I can't throw myself into work. I hate exercise so I'm not going to start training to run marathons or climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I'm not artistic, so I can't start making things. I already have one child so I can't just up sticks and go travelling. I just don't know what my future holds for me now.
I guess I'm feeling very sorry for myself at the moment, but it really is unfair that all this comes down to money. It's not like we're on the poverty line and we couldn't give a child a good life. We're earning enough to make sure our children wouldn't go without anything. We just don't have access to £5000 at once and we can't afford payments of more than £120 a month over the next 7 years to pay back a bank loan.
I can't quite believe this is the end of our journey, but it looks as though it is. We don't want to adopt because the idea was to have a child that was a bit him and a bit me. There are egg donation schemes whereby you can donate some of your eggs in return for a free cycle, but it's not really a free cycle. You still have to pay for the drugs and the appointments and you still have to pay extra for ICSI, and I'd need to lose at least 3 stone. Perhaps that's something we could save for, but it would be a long time before we had enough money and it might be too late by then.
My mother-in-law said that she suspected her late husband had the same problem. He had been married to his first wife for many years and they'd never had children. When he married my mother-in-law, they managed to have my husband, but she thinks he was a bit of a miracle, and they never had any more because it just didn't happen. His line was destined to end.
So very sad.
I was being a bit hopeful naming this blog the IVF diaries, wasn't I? Our savings and windfalls have all been spent on university debts, getting married and buying a house. Last year we spent our last £5000 on a holiday of a lifetime. My mum had taken me to California Disneyland in between primary and secondary school and I really wanted to do the same for my son. So we went and we had the best holiday ever. It was fantastic and I have so many happy memories from it. However, had I known then what I know now, I would have sacrificed that holiday for the hope of having a child. Hindsight is cruel.
I always saw my future being filled with nappies, bottles, potty training, tantrums and school plays. It looks like all that is only destined for my past. I'm so sad because I don't get to do it all with my husband and my son doesn't get to have siblings. I wanted to experience the pain of child birth because I missed out last time having had an emergency caesarean. I wanted to agree on names and enjoy keeping the pregnancy secret for the first few months. I wanted to go shopping in Mothercare again and buy maternity clothes and baby clothes. I'd left space in my life for all that. What will I ever fill that space with?
I'm not a career girl. I can't throw myself into work. I hate exercise so I'm not going to start training to run marathons or climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I'm not artistic, so I can't start making things. I already have one child so I can't just up sticks and go travelling. I just don't know what my future holds for me now.
I guess I'm feeling very sorry for myself at the moment, but it really is unfair that all this comes down to money. It's not like we're on the poverty line and we couldn't give a child a good life. We're earning enough to make sure our children wouldn't go without anything. We just don't have access to £5000 at once and we can't afford payments of more than £120 a month over the next 7 years to pay back a bank loan.
I can't quite believe this is the end of our journey, but it looks as though it is. We don't want to adopt because the idea was to have a child that was a bit him and a bit me. There are egg donation schemes whereby you can donate some of your eggs in return for a free cycle, but it's not really a free cycle. You still have to pay for the drugs and the appointments and you still have to pay extra for ICSI, and I'd need to lose at least 3 stone. Perhaps that's something we could save for, but it would be a long time before we had enough money and it might be too late by then.
My mother-in-law said that she suspected her late husband had the same problem. He had been married to his first wife for many years and they'd never had children. When he married my mother-in-law, they managed to have my husband, but she thinks he was a bit of a miracle, and they never had any more because it just didn't happen. His line was destined to end.
So very sad.
Wednesday, 10 June 2009
More bad news
My primary care trust won't pay for me to have IVF because I already have a child. The weight issue was a problem, but I can always lose weight; I can't lose my child though.
It's so very unfair. My husband is not entitled to have a child of his own without paying thousands of pounds for it. And what was his crime? Falling in love with someone with 'baggage'. Taking on the responsibility of someone else's child. Well, that and having dodgy sperm, which is not exactly his fault.
Unfortunately, I got the email informing me of this while I was at work. I was already feeling emotional because my period had just come on, four days late. Four days! I knew it was very unlikely to mean I was pregnant, but after four days, I had started to let a few positive thoughts come into my head about beating the odds and our bodies overcoming adversity. After all, it's not beyond the realms of possibility, just extremely unlikely. But along came Aunty Flo, bringing with her a whole host of misery.
I came back to my desk after a particularly stressful meeting, feeling a bit gloomy and vulnerable and opened up my email to find the news that I'd been dreading. I tried so very hard to keep from crying. A colleague asked me to look at something she'd been working on. I thought that burying myself in work would help, so I gladly agreed, only to find that is was about child labour. Of course, my mind jumped straight to 'it's not fair, these people have children and mistreat them and I'm a good parent and can't have any more' mode and the tears started finding their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks.
I sent a hurried email to my friend and told her. She immediately offered to take me to the cafe for a coffee and a cry, which I accepted. I couldn't even leave my desk before my face was beetroot red and very wet. I told her all about it and sobbed and felt sorry for myself and then gave myself time for the swollen eyes to go down a bit. I felt like a fool crying at work and that made me even more angry about the situation.
Now we have to ask my mother-in-law to lend us the money to pay for a cycle. We checked out the prices. ICSI costs £3200, but when you add on the cost of appointments with specialists and the drugs you need for the procedure, it starts getting closer to £5000. Of course, that's only one treatment. One very expensive 1 in 3 chance of having the longed for product of our love. What if it doesn't work? Do we pay again? Do we give up? What if she won't/can't lend us the money? These questions were always going to be there, but I was hoping they wouldn't arise just yet. I thought we'd get at least one free go.
The next step is to take a trip to visit our home town to have the very awkward conversation that I imagine going something like "Hi mum. You know how you always wanted more grandchildren? Well, you're going to have to pay for them." or perhaps "Hey mum, I haven't been able to knock up the missus despite lots of trying, so we got a doc to look at a jar of my jizz, it turns out my swimmers aren't all that, so lend us a few grand will you?". How do you even bring a conversation like that up?
However, this is me, so there is a positive side to all of this. If we are able to secure the finances, we'll go the the patient information evening early next month. There, we will be given an appointment to see a doctor (I'm imagine in the next couple of weeks, this being private). After seeing the doc, we are told to call on the first day of my next period for treatment to begin. By my calculations, that should be at around the time I have booked off work for the summer - perfect timing. All being well, I should be able to make an announcement at Christmas about a forthcoming arrival (or two).
Fingers crossed!
It's so very unfair. My husband is not entitled to have a child of his own without paying thousands of pounds for it. And what was his crime? Falling in love with someone with 'baggage'. Taking on the responsibility of someone else's child. Well, that and having dodgy sperm, which is not exactly his fault.
Unfortunately, I got the email informing me of this while I was at work. I was already feeling emotional because my period had just come on, four days late. Four days! I knew it was very unlikely to mean I was pregnant, but after four days, I had started to let a few positive thoughts come into my head about beating the odds and our bodies overcoming adversity. After all, it's not beyond the realms of possibility, just extremely unlikely. But along came Aunty Flo, bringing with her a whole host of misery.
I came back to my desk after a particularly stressful meeting, feeling a bit gloomy and vulnerable and opened up my email to find the news that I'd been dreading. I tried so very hard to keep from crying. A colleague asked me to look at something she'd been working on. I thought that burying myself in work would help, so I gladly agreed, only to find that is was about child labour. Of course, my mind jumped straight to 'it's not fair, these people have children and mistreat them and I'm a good parent and can't have any more' mode and the tears started finding their way out of my eyes and onto my cheeks.
I sent a hurried email to my friend and told her. She immediately offered to take me to the cafe for a coffee and a cry, which I accepted. I couldn't even leave my desk before my face was beetroot red and very wet. I told her all about it and sobbed and felt sorry for myself and then gave myself time for the swollen eyes to go down a bit. I felt like a fool crying at work and that made me even more angry about the situation.
Now we have to ask my mother-in-law to lend us the money to pay for a cycle. We checked out the prices. ICSI costs £3200, but when you add on the cost of appointments with specialists and the drugs you need for the procedure, it starts getting closer to £5000. Of course, that's only one treatment. One very expensive 1 in 3 chance of having the longed for product of our love. What if it doesn't work? Do we pay again? Do we give up? What if she won't/can't lend us the money? These questions were always going to be there, but I was hoping they wouldn't arise just yet. I thought we'd get at least one free go.
The next step is to take a trip to visit our home town to have the very awkward conversation that I imagine going something like "Hi mum. You know how you always wanted more grandchildren? Well, you're going to have to pay for them." or perhaps "Hey mum, I haven't been able to knock up the missus despite lots of trying, so we got a doc to look at a jar of my jizz, it turns out my swimmers aren't all that, so lend us a few grand will you?". How do you even bring a conversation like that up?
However, this is me, so there is a positive side to all of this. If we are able to secure the finances, we'll go the the patient information evening early next month. There, we will be given an appointment to see a doctor (I'm imagine in the next couple of weeks, this being private). After seeing the doc, we are told to call on the first day of my next period for treatment to begin. By my calculations, that should be at around the time I have booked off work for the summer - perfect timing. All being well, I should be able to make an announcement at Christmas about a forthcoming arrival (or two).
Fingers crossed!
Saturday, 6 June 2009
Bad news
Four whole weeks after I sent off the forms to the assisted conception unit, I received a letter. It told me that our Primary Care Trust doesn't fund treatment at that hospital so we have to start all over again.
I'm so sad about it. It's been over four and a half years since I last used any contraception, it's been well over a year since I first went to my doctor about my concerns. It's been over 11 weeks since they told us that we'd need IVF, and we're still no closer to getting a baby.
The letter is very unclear and doesn't really explain what I need to do. I'm assuming I have to go to my GP and be referred to another hospital which will take more time and they won't have the special unit and the high success rates that the London hospital has. In fact, having looked at the HFEA website, it seems that there are very few hospitals in our area that do fertility treatment and I can't find any statistics on them because they haven't done IVF or ICSI in the last year, which suggests to me that they don't do it.
I can see why people go private for this kind of thing. I'm going to be 33 in just over three months and that means that I'm edging ever closer to that 35 boundary. I just wish things would start moving in a more positive direction.
I'm so sad about it. It's been over four and a half years since I last used any contraception, it's been well over a year since I first went to my doctor about my concerns. It's been over 11 weeks since they told us that we'd need IVF, and we're still no closer to getting a baby.
The letter is very unclear and doesn't really explain what I need to do. I'm assuming I have to go to my GP and be referred to another hospital which will take more time and they won't have the special unit and the high success rates that the London hospital has. In fact, having looked at the HFEA website, it seems that there are very few hospitals in our area that do fertility treatment and I can't find any statistics on them because they haven't done IVF or ICSI in the last year, which suggests to me that they don't do it.
I can see why people go private for this kind of thing. I'm going to be 33 in just over three months and that means that I'm edging ever closer to that 35 boundary. I just wish things would start moving in a more positive direction.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)