We were discussing my husband's family recently. We don't think the fertility issues stopped at his dad. His dad's brother never had kids of his own and had to adopt. Obviously his grandad had the two of them, but they're very far apart and this was at a time when people had lots of children (my own dad was one of 13 and he and his brothers knew my husband's uncle), so a family of only two kids was strange.
They say that if you have a low sperm count and you have ICSI, you are likely to pass on those problems to any boy you conceive. If we manage to have a child that way, in 30 years or so, we might be watching them go through the same heartache. Is that right? Can one really justify doing that? It's not like it's a horrible disease or anything, but it could negatively affect their life. There might be a cure 30 years down the line, but will there still be the stigma?
I think the worrying thing for me is that I can spend the time to think about things like this at the moment because ICSI is not something imminent. However, if I suddenly came across the money to do it, wouldn't I just go for it without a second thought? Probably. I suppose it's only the same risk as carrying on trying to conceive naturally, which we're doing anyway. I can't help but feel guilty though for being willing to put our children through the agony we're going through to satisfy my selfish need for a baby. But who am I kidding? It's not like I'm just going to give up trying.
Wednesday, 22 July 2009
Friday, 17 July 2009
Recovery
Well, it turns out it wasn't a mystery virus, it was an allergy to my antibiotics. I went back to the doctor and got a clean bill of health, except for the fact that the urine infection seemed to have resurfaced, so she gave me some more antibiotics.
I took the first one and within an hour, the whole thing started again. My throat started tightening, my head and neck started to ache and it started to hurt when I breathed. I called to speak to a doctor who told me to stop taking the antibiotics, take some antihistamines and that he would prescribe some replacements for the infection.
It was even worse than before this time and I was really struggling to breath and in a lot of pain. I had to call my husband home from work to bring me antihistamines. Obviously, as I only took one tablet, most of which was promptly rejected by my body, it only took a few days to recover. It's no wonder I was out for nearly two weeks the first time though. I had carried on taking the full 5 day course, topping up the poison. It's reassuring to know that it wasn't just my body being as pathetic as my mind.
Although I could have done without the illness, I think the break did me the world of good. Being on my own all day and feeling rotten meant that I didn't beat myself up if I wanted to feel sorry for myself and spend the day sobbing. I think I really had the chance to get it all out of my system and accept things. I'm not accepting that I'm never going to have children. I can't do that. I still think there's a chance. I just know that it's going to take some time and some working out before we find a way to do it.
So for now, I'm going to keep trying to lose weight to maximise my chances (being ill helped me out a little in that regard) and try to stay healthy. We'll try and keep our spending to a minimum and find ways of generating more money. Eventually it'll all work out. I have to believe that.
I took the first one and within an hour, the whole thing started again. My throat started tightening, my head and neck started to ache and it started to hurt when I breathed. I called to speak to a doctor who told me to stop taking the antibiotics, take some antihistamines and that he would prescribe some replacements for the infection.
It was even worse than before this time and I was really struggling to breath and in a lot of pain. I had to call my husband home from work to bring me antihistamines. Obviously, as I only took one tablet, most of which was promptly rejected by my body, it only took a few days to recover. It's no wonder I was out for nearly two weeks the first time though. I had carried on taking the full 5 day course, topping up the poison. It's reassuring to know that it wasn't just my body being as pathetic as my mind.
Although I could have done without the illness, I think the break did me the world of good. Being on my own all day and feeling rotten meant that I didn't beat myself up if I wanted to feel sorry for myself and spend the day sobbing. I think I really had the chance to get it all out of my system and accept things. I'm not accepting that I'm never going to have children. I can't do that. I still think there's a chance. I just know that it's going to take some time and some working out before we find a way to do it.
So for now, I'm going to keep trying to lose weight to maximise my chances (being ill helped me out a little in that regard) and try to stay healthy. We'll try and keep our spending to a minimum and find ways of generating more money. Eventually it'll all work out. I have to believe that.
Monday, 6 July 2009
Illness
I had thought I was coping quite well. I knew that depression was lurking, but I kept telling myself to pull myself together and reminding myself of all the good things I have in my life. I have my wonderful, loving, supportive husband and a healthy, happy, kind son. We live in a house that we own and we don't really go short of anything. I should feel lucky.
I knew it wasn't normal to sob uncontrollably the moment my son went to bed every night. I also knew the strain of holding it all in every day was going to show eventually. I was getting migraines more frequently and my skin was bad and I had a feeling this was all related. Then it all came to a head when I got a urine infection. Nothing new there, I seem to be at the surgery every couple of months with one of those, but this started a chain of events.
I went to the doctor and she prescribed the antibiotics as usual, but I went on to mention to her that I thought my immune system was probably low because of the stress I'd had. She asked me to elaborate and when I did, I had a meltdown right there in the surgery. Now, normally when this happens, my long-suffering husband is there to cling to and I'm in the privacy of my own home and can cry it all out, but here I was, in a room with a doctor I'd never seen before and I had to snap out of it enough to walk out in public and get on a train and go to work.
The doctor asked if I'd been crying a lot and if I felt I was depressed. I was so scared of that word, that there was no way I could admit that. But I did say that I was getting ill a lot and I did feel very low, but that I knew I just have to get on with my life. She tried to get me to ask her for pills, but I don't want that. I don't want to be dosed up so I think I'm happy. I want to be happy. Rather than the NHS paying for me to have happy pills, I'd rather them pay for the thing that's going to make me happy.
I actually feel very let down by the NHS. They broke this bombshell that they weren't funding our treatment in a very blunt way and then we've just been left to pick up the pieces. You'd think someone would sit you down in a warm, yellow room with sofas and cushions and talk it through with you. Then you'd be referred for counselling to help you accept the enormity of being told you that you can't have children. But no, I was sent a strange, unclear letter from the hospital saying that our PCT don't fund treatment there. Then I had to do the running around to find out from the PCT what their criteria were? They respond by email, just sending me their criteria. That was it. No cosy room, no kind-faced, curly-haired lady breaking it to us gently and telling us where we go from here over coffee. Just the abyss of hopelessness and us falling uncontrollably towards it. God, I'm dramatic!
Anyway, I got to work and everyone kept asking if I was okay, and I just thought that my eyes must be a bit puffy and that I wasn't hiding my emotions very well. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I got a sore throat, then a headache, then a stiff neck, then I started to feel very hot. I went to the loo and when I looked in the mirror I saw why everyone had been asking if I was okay. Both of my eyes were bright red, not crying red, something is very wrong red. They were both really bloodshot and I looked terrible. It wasn't long before I felt so bad I just grabbed my stuff and left.
I called NHS direct who thought I might have swine flu and told me not to go to the surgery, but go straight home and call the doctor out. The journey home was like hell. I actually thought I was going to die because I had started to get pain in my chest and back when I breathed. When I got in, my husband called the doctor and she thought it wasn't swine flu, but meningitis and told me to go to A&E.
At A&E they found I had a temperature of 39 degrees and gave me paracetamol. After hours and hours of waiting and being spoken to rudely by very mean nurses, the doctor told me she thought I might have a viral infection and sent me home.
The next day I woke up in such pain. Every joint in my body was swollen and painful. My head was pounding and my neck was very stiff. I could barely move, other than to drink and swallow pills. On the plus side though, the back and chest pain had gone and there was no sign of the sore throat.
When the joint pain was still just as bad the next day, I got my mum to drive me to the doctor. She sent me for a blood test and told me to come back the next day. I did, but she was none the wiser. She's working on the assumption that the urine infection had triggered something that had inflamed my joints and eyes. So I've got to have more blood tests this week when the infection should be long gone and see if the results are the same. My joints improve greatly throughout the day, but when I wake up, I'm always very tense and have a stiff neck and headache and have to move around very carefully for a few hours.
So this is what people mean about the cracks showing when you're under a lot of pressure. I feel like a balloon, filling up with air and holding it in, occasionally letting out a bit, but not enough and then filling up again. Now I've gone bang. I want to be well again. Physically and mentally.
I knew it wasn't normal to sob uncontrollably the moment my son went to bed every night. I also knew the strain of holding it all in every day was going to show eventually. I was getting migraines more frequently and my skin was bad and I had a feeling this was all related. Then it all came to a head when I got a urine infection. Nothing new there, I seem to be at the surgery every couple of months with one of those, but this started a chain of events.
I went to the doctor and she prescribed the antibiotics as usual, but I went on to mention to her that I thought my immune system was probably low because of the stress I'd had. She asked me to elaborate and when I did, I had a meltdown right there in the surgery. Now, normally when this happens, my long-suffering husband is there to cling to and I'm in the privacy of my own home and can cry it all out, but here I was, in a room with a doctor I'd never seen before and I had to snap out of it enough to walk out in public and get on a train and go to work.
The doctor asked if I'd been crying a lot and if I felt I was depressed. I was so scared of that word, that there was no way I could admit that. But I did say that I was getting ill a lot and I did feel very low, but that I knew I just have to get on with my life. She tried to get me to ask her for pills, but I don't want that. I don't want to be dosed up so I think I'm happy. I want to be happy. Rather than the NHS paying for me to have happy pills, I'd rather them pay for the thing that's going to make me happy.
I actually feel very let down by the NHS. They broke this bombshell that they weren't funding our treatment in a very blunt way and then we've just been left to pick up the pieces. You'd think someone would sit you down in a warm, yellow room with sofas and cushions and talk it through with you. Then you'd be referred for counselling to help you accept the enormity of being told you that you can't have children. But no, I was sent a strange, unclear letter from the hospital saying that our PCT don't fund treatment there. Then I had to do the running around to find out from the PCT what their criteria were? They respond by email, just sending me their criteria. That was it. No cosy room, no kind-faced, curly-haired lady breaking it to us gently and telling us where we go from here over coffee. Just the abyss of hopelessness and us falling uncontrollably towards it. God, I'm dramatic!
Anyway, I got to work and everyone kept asking if I was okay, and I just thought that my eyes must be a bit puffy and that I wasn't hiding my emotions very well. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, I got a sore throat, then a headache, then a stiff neck, then I started to feel very hot. I went to the loo and when I looked in the mirror I saw why everyone had been asking if I was okay. Both of my eyes were bright red, not crying red, something is very wrong red. They were both really bloodshot and I looked terrible. It wasn't long before I felt so bad I just grabbed my stuff and left.
I called NHS direct who thought I might have swine flu and told me not to go to the surgery, but go straight home and call the doctor out. The journey home was like hell. I actually thought I was going to die because I had started to get pain in my chest and back when I breathed. When I got in, my husband called the doctor and she thought it wasn't swine flu, but meningitis and told me to go to A&E.
At A&E they found I had a temperature of 39 degrees and gave me paracetamol. After hours and hours of waiting and being spoken to rudely by very mean nurses, the doctor told me she thought I might have a viral infection and sent me home.
The next day I woke up in such pain. Every joint in my body was swollen and painful. My head was pounding and my neck was very stiff. I could barely move, other than to drink and swallow pills. On the plus side though, the back and chest pain had gone and there was no sign of the sore throat.
When the joint pain was still just as bad the next day, I got my mum to drive me to the doctor. She sent me for a blood test and told me to come back the next day. I did, but she was none the wiser. She's working on the assumption that the urine infection had triggered something that had inflamed my joints and eyes. So I've got to have more blood tests this week when the infection should be long gone and see if the results are the same. My joints improve greatly throughout the day, but when I wake up, I'm always very tense and have a stiff neck and headache and have to move around very carefully for a few hours.
So this is what people mean about the cracks showing when you're under a lot of pressure. I feel like a balloon, filling up with air and holding it in, occasionally letting out a bit, but not enough and then filling up again. Now I've gone bang. I want to be well again. Physically and mentally.
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