Poppers

I've been trying to think what the nasel spray reminds me of, and I've figured it out. Four and a bit years ago, when I was in my first year of university, a gay male friend of mine let me try some poppers before we hit the clubs.

Taking a snort of liquid from a small bottle is exactly the same action (although a nasel spray nosle would have been useful at the time). It's muscle memory.

I think the reason my friend had them in the first place (and I don't know why poppers are plural since it's a little liquid in a little bottle) was that they relax your asshole so anal sex hurts less. I was just curious though. I've got a curious nature.

Right at the start of the Aids crisis there was some speculation that it was poppers that were causing GRID. I have some photocopies of old issues of Gay News that mention it. But I didn't find out that snippet of gay history until after I'd tried them.

God, thinking about GRID always makes me feel really sad. The thing that struck me from reading the old copies of Gay News was the fear and the crushing horror these community journalists were feeling. It just struck you how monumentally unfair it was, after all the trials and victories of the 60s and 70s, for the fear and suspicion and discrimination to just come flooding back.

I need to remember to switch over to the second bottle of nasal spray.

And I must remember to keep hydrated.

My thighs really hurt. But I think that's because I did 32 squats yesterday.

Hormones in the fridge

At the jobcentre today I was telling my advisor about this (because the financial compensation may interfere with my JSA) and she said something about my mum being able to help with the donation in terms of support and noticing if I was having a bad reaction to the drugs.

I was like, "Er, my mum isn't very happy about the whole donation thing. I expect she's a bit annoyed that there's a bag of hormones in the fridge right now."

And the jobcentre woman was like, "Oh, I thought this donation was a happy thing."

I was all, "Well, yeah, you'd think so."

The donation starts to interfere with my life

Reposted in part from my journalism blog - http://anahine.wordpress.com/


So,  yesterday I had my first scan at the hospital (which was a vaginal probe, not the nicest of surprises I've got to say). There was a bit of a problem with scheduling at it looked as if I might not be able to go through with the donation as I'm supposed to be moving to Manchester and starting a journalism course in three weeks.

I cried myself to sleep last night.

It would be so disappointing now that I've had the psychological build up and the first round of chemicals and all the appointments to fail at the final hurdle.

Especially as it took me months to write the 'letter to your genetic child' thing that you have the option of including. 

Today we managed to sort it out somewhat, but it's going to be a really close call. I'll start the injections this friday, have two scans and then hopefully the donation will happen the week of the 26th.

My heart is in knots and my stomach is in my mouth. I feel all messed up and upset.

Hormones in the fridge - photo

The purple bag to the right hand side on the top shelf is full of hormones.

I wish I had my own flat and could fill my fridge with crazy shit in peace.

Was speaking to one of my friends about the process of donation (and how many feelings I'm having) and a thing that struck me was how in my circles no-one is having kids. Yes, occassionally someone from secondary school has a baby and it goes up on Facebook, or a friend in their mid 30s has a kid with their husband, but the vast, vast majority of my friends are more at the living-with-a-partner stage of their lives. If that.

I mean, we all just graduated in the last couple of years (or haven't graduated yet).

So I feel like I'm worrying about alcohol consumption or getting fat or making a human being all on my own.

It's a bit weird.

Again, so glad I'm not raising a baby before the majority of my friends. It's just donation. No biggy.

Still. It's odd. She said, "I know I can't understand how you're feeling..."

It's interesting to be having a mini journey that no-one else is having. I hope I meet someone, someday, who also has donated some of their eggs. I hope some of my friends are inspired by how easy it is and do it themselves (once I've been through the whole process and can honestly recommend it).

I'm making a freaking baby.

Not Being A Mum

It's summer, which for some reason means that people are out with their kids more. I find myself saying a silent prayer of thanks that they're not my kids.

Part of me thought this whole process might make me a bit broody, but no it's really making me really glad I don't have kids.

There are so many things I want to do with my life that would be ten times harder with children. I want to be able to work late, leave the country at a moment's notice, not come home for a few days, ride on the back of a motorbike, get into relationships that aren't good for me, blast loud music and dance around the place, relocate, drive to a different city in the middle of the night, eat in nice restaurants, where white clothes, have expensive handbags, join the army.

I've wanted to be an adult ever since I can remember. To drink wine and talk about politics, be able to just walk out of a situation you don't want to be in and go for a walk to clear your head, to come home to an empty apartment and make yourself a cup of tea and just sit. I don't want to be responsible for anyone but me. I want my shit together. I want to be independent. Without dependants. Free.

I think I'll genuinely be happy if I never have children.

But this way my fertility doesn't go to waste.

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.