Gone, Daddy, Gone!

Even if my arse is physically not on the plane yet, my mind has definitely gone. I have had loads of things to tell you but in the white heat of the panic.... all. gone.

Thank you for all your great advice on the flying thing. I have every herbal remedy known to woman in my trusty leather rucksack so we will see. Actually Mr P is a great calming potion in himself. He can usually talk me down from the luggage bin. Love that man. He should be available in a bottle.

I have been hair cut and coloured, waxed and pedicured to the nth degree so I am ready for Cape Town. Is it ready for me though???

Due to the fact that I will make Mr P carry everything on the return leg, we will be laptop-less on this trip. However it is the 21st century and there are internet cafes on every corner, everywhere so there will be updates. Small but current, nevertheless.

I am trying not to worry about the big things so I am focussing on what to wear on the plane, in true Trinny and Susannah stylee. But I tell you, those fetching flight socks match nothing.

Does that Airborne stuff mix well with vodka???? Or is it more of a gin mixer? Thank you, Amy, for hooking me up with that.

I leave you with a photo of my arse, from earlier in the summer. You can use it to visualise me bobbling about in Cape Town. Don't worry, the nightmares will not plague you for long hahaha. And yes, that is a Scottish summer photo. Note the blue feet and the jacket required.

Coming Down to the Wire

7 days to go.

In 7 days time, at this exact time, I am on the flight from Amsterdam to Cape Town.

Shriek!!!

I have just to finalise some odds and ends in terms of airport transfers and small stuff. I alternate between panic and fear and excitement. I already have a Plan C for a next time but at times this week, I have felt that enough is enough. I am weary and I am not sure if I have the strength any more to go through this.

I keep trying to give myself the pep talk about the fact that I have only ever had one embryo transfer and theoretically it worked first time. So it must be a good sign, right? No. That shit doesn't fly with me. I know how much of a fluke this whole crock of shit is.

It is too late to back out of going to Cape Town but the prospect of a 11 hour flight is driving me batshit. The longest I have flown before is 9 hours to Florida and I was a whole lot younger and more confident then. Does anyone have any non-pharmaceutical tips for panic attacks on planes? My GP refused to give me any proper drugs to take on the outbound flight. I hate drinking booze on planes and it does not make me sleepy.

I don't want to be like that woman who ended up arrested and in restraints on the floor after a panic attack. It is the claustrophobia that does me in. Pity I can only afford Economy class! Last year, going to Toronto, I had to spend about an hour standing outside the galley in order to calm my breathing. The stewardesses were giving me funny looks. No wonder.

Confession Time

Despite the hormonal storms that overtake me on a regular basis (now up to 4mg estradiol valerate per day), I do still manage the pretence of a normal life.

I have to confess my latest shopping manias.

Xmas wrapping paper and ornaments

Baby clothes

Yes, yes, I know it may seem as if I have lost my mind but I do have a logical reason for these things.

Bear with me whilst I find my brain.

An hour later.

It is only 14 weeks on Monday to Xmas. Time is a passing and I like to have the pick of the wrapping paper. It could be worse. Before I used to spend all my time and energy on ART, I used to start Xmas shopping in the previous new Year sales. There is nothing better than a bargain, eh?

Next, the baby clothes. Have I lost my famous negativity and decided to embrace the positive thinking and adopt the fertile approach of planning your layette and nursery before conception? Errrr, no.

I am doing my bit for karma in the Mother City. Tertia's sister has a charity for new mums and they are always looking for donations. So it is super-easy for me to take a small extra suitcase to SA and leave it there with the gorgeous and divine one.

I normally shop online for baby gifts but I have been enjoying shopping for onesies and blankets and teeny-tiny little socks. It eases the pain when I think of the joy the gifts will bring to those South African women who do not enjoy my wealth and shopping privilege.

There are addresses in the UK and the US where donations of new and second-hand baby clothing can be sent to help Bosom Buddies. It breaks my heart to think of women giving birth and struggling to clothe their newborn baby.

The Estrogen Has Landed

And the z-pack antibiotics and the baby aspirin. No wonder I feel nauseated. The depot lupron did not give me hot flashes so much as extreme tiredness and headaches. It could have been worse. Hopefully now that I have started on the progynova and start ramping up the dosage, I will feel more lively.

Amy, my ray of Californian sunshine, did perk me up no end. From the giggles at her lack of clean underwear and the shrieks as Mr P scraped the wayward bat off the hood of the car under the full moon rising to the wolfing of the delicious Bangladeshi curries and the restrained consumption of only ONE bottle of natch, South African wine during her visit. It was good. We did the obligatory ancestral castle visit and saw the heilan coos and the yomping for miles and the lying around eating cheese and biscuits and roast red pepper hummus and falafel. Again, again!!

As soon as she left though, I plunged back into gloom and darkness. She took the sunlight with her and now there is only rain.

Somebody slap me.

Only Women Bleed

Does anyone remember the TV show Rock Follies from the 70s? I had a giant crush on Julie Covington. Her cover of that song spoke to me in December 1976 as I got my period for the first time.

30 years later, the novelty has worn off and I am sick of bleeding. I have had two periods in the last 3 weeks, and in between the flows, non-stop spotting and break-through bleeding from the Yasmin. Ugh. Add that to the depot lupron shot on Thursday past and the envelope from my clinic detailing the records of the last 6 years fertility treatments and no wonder I was feeling a tad overwhelmed last week. I had been in denial about the length of time I had been attending my previous clinic but to see it all laid out in black and white just about killed me.

I was feeling a little "Why Me" too. Why do I have to travel across the world to have DE treatment? Why do I have to pick myself up from the pit and start all over again from scratch with a new donor? Stop the bus...I want to get off.

I do not really want to go back to work but I think I must as I am becoming bored by the Internet. How is that even possible?

Physically the hammer shot has left me more moody than normal (Mr P says it is not possible but it is hard to hear what he is saying from the muffled depths of the hall cupboard). A bit headachy and tired but nothing too drastic. 6 days until I start the estrogen. I am going to make it.

I have to be the hostess with the mostest tomorrow as Amy arrives. She survived 95 miles of Scottish hills and weather so she can survive little old menopausal me.