Notes From The Bunker

I have a pain in my chest from the anxiety.

I spent an hour on the phone to my donor this morning, talking her through what tomorrow will bring, the anasthesia, the nerves, the wobbliness after the procedure, the arrangements for the picking up and dropping off that we will do as she cannot drive afterwards. Talking about how she feels and how the trigger shot went last night.

Have I told you that she is pathologically afraid of needles? She gave herself the trigger without the benefit of an injection pen. I offered to go round and give her the shot but she said no need. She has come a long way since the first visit to the clinic where she had to lie down to have blood taken as she was so green!

I finally had my last sniff of that damned Synarel last night. My nose lining is very grateful. It will be nice to blow my nose without blood streaks on the hankie.

I assumed the position for the first progesterone suppository this morning and I remembered to stock up on panty liners. I am bloated to hell. I just put my shorts on in preparation for going out to the garden and they are too snug, even with an elasticated waist.

I am having flashbacks to the previous IVFs where we had nil fertilisation. I told T this morning in an e-mail that if I could pray, I would do it now.

Who will talk me through this?