Dryness (and selfishness)

So my skin, my face, my vagina (sorry, but this is a blog about fertility I kind need to tell you about how my junk is dealing with the egg donation too) everything is so dry! I woke up gasping for a drink of water. I've definitely had my eight glasses today. I'm like a fish gulping it down. The dryness means that my skin has broken out with acne, which is quite annoying. It has to be the suprecur. -------------------------------

 It's been almost painful going to bars and pubs and not being able to drink like I normally would (since I'm only supposed to be drinking two units a week of alcohol). I like a drink and it's definitely been the hardest part of the process so far. I also feel like a bit of a douche going, "Ooooh, I can't because of the baby." I don't tend to say it like that, but sometimes I have. I mean, it's true - I can't drink too much because it may affect the healthiness of my eggs, the success of the egg transfer and pregnancy, and the health of the potential child.

One of my favourite novels, We Need To Talk About Kevin, has this scene where the main character, Eva, is having her one glass of red wine that she's 'allowed' each week and her husband barges into the flat and goes off on her for being selfish. It's a great passage because it really highlights the way the character resents being pregnant, because it's like her body isn't her own anymore. Yes, (you might be thinking) that's really obvious but it's also quite profound. Suddenly my body, which has always only belonged to me, has become part of a wider process and it's definitely throwing it into a new light for me. I'm amazed it's not stressing me out a lot more, but I think I'm conscious of the fact that I've willingly entered into this agreement and the physical side effects are minimal and aren't going to last longer than two months or so.

I have been reading up on the effects of the drugs, though, and I'm a bit... disturbed to learn that the injections (that I'll be starting in the middle of August, if all goes to plan) may make my stomach swell up and make me look around four months pregnant. That may not be true (and let's pray that it isn't) but I was surprised at how much I didn't like the idea. I don't really deserve the flat stomach I have, since I barely exercise, but I'm still proud of my thin, young, twenty-two-year-old frame and I don't want to 'ruin' it. The idea definitely throws up a lot of ugly thoughts, thoughts I'm not proud of having. Maybe it will spur me on to working out more regularly if I've got pseudo-baby fat to lose. Seems quite petty, but y'no, I'm not getting a baby out of it. So hoping for a more responsible exercise regime isn't really that selfish, is it?

That is what I'm enjoying about this experience the most; it's just confirming all the things I already knew about myself that would make me a terrible mother. I can't WAIT to get blind drunk once this whole process is over. I am absolutely thrilled that I won't be turning my body inside out to push a skull the size of a grapefruit out of my vag. I am so incredibly happy that in a few months I will still be a single, independent, graduate whose top priority is getting properly trained and starting on her career. No baby for me, no baby for me, la la a la la la.

So while if all goes well someone is going to go home with a healthy, happy little human grown from the gametes I provide, I'm still utterly psyched that person isn't going to be me. We live in a beautiful moment in human history. They want a baby but they can't make one. I can make one and I really don't want one. SWAPSIES.

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I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to be writing in this blog, but I think it's best if I just write how I feel and document the technical process as best as I can. It's probably not going to be pretty. Sorry, but, not sorry.