This blog was about my experience with infertility. As we have a perfect baby girl it no longer seems right to continue it as I’m not a man desperate to become a father anymore.
I’m a father. A father to a happy and healthy baby girl who laughs, smiles, cries and poops.
On 30th March 2016 Mrs B and I drove towards Waverley Private Hospital. Calm, cool & collected. Listening to a playlist I had put together months before for 007 to listen to whilst hanging out in the womb. Foo Fighters, Def Leppard, Extreme, Stone Sour, Rise Against, Metallica.
There was no screaming, I wasn’t fighting the urge to speed and there were no contractions. We were 10 days overdue and going to be induced, much to Mrs B’s disappointment. I don’t remember what we discussed on the way to the hospital. But I remember thinking about what my mate Karl said to me about his drive to the hospital when his wife Kate was to be induced. “This isn’t how I imagined it.”
Here we are. The last few posts I’m ever going to write on this blog. As its been a year since the post before this was written we have a lot of catching up to do so I apologise in advance for the uber long post. I’ll split it into 3 for easier reading.
Firstly… I’m a complete idiot.
Today has been a massive day. I’ll explain why in a minute. But first… as stated above I’m a complete frigging idiot! Continue reading
Transfer was done a while ago. 007 was a perfect frozen blastocyst. Mrs B has been on Dexo, Asprin and Clexane needles for weeks. Her belly is bruised like a peach that’s been in a tumble dryer. The blood test is tomorrow. Continue reading
Well it was bound to happen eventually. I’ve mentioned a few times that IVF just becomes part of your life like any other chore.
Wake up, brush teeth, take pills, have injection, shower, get blood test, have embryo transfer, have lunch, negative result, have dinner, bed.
Obviously it’s not like that. It’s nothing close to that. But last night Mrs B and I were talking about how this cycle doesn’t feel real. It’s as though we’re so accustomed to the outcome we don’t have any real feelings towards the process any more.
It’s like paying for a gym membership without using it. The money leaves the bank account but nothing changes. And that’s our lives now.
Spending money, with no results, and being totally OK with it.
Until the clexane injections start I’m literally sitting here doing nothing, feeling nothing.