Clinic Counsellor Conversation

The Counsellor was ok. Bit older than us and she spoke with a Flemish accent, which sounds to Dutch ears as Very Clear ProNuNCiaTioN. As I had thought a lot of time was spent on 'consequences for everyone involved', on the most basic level: what will we tell whom and when. Since I've been fairly open about my lack of eggs it makes the most sense to be open about donor eggs from the beginning as well. But the most important point for me was to realise that it is possible to have a known donor, but NOT share her identity till the child is ready and interested.
Experience learns that some children are interested, feel a 'missing piece' and other children are simply not.
She stressed the point that I will be the ONLY mother, that it is the clinic's point of view that the donor should not want nor get any motherly bond or contact.
While I agree on me being the real mother I have to get used to the idea of not having some kind of casual contact.

The short term outcome of this step is that Fof, our partners and I need to agree on what to tell the existing children. Probably some story of 'nice lady went to the hospital to give an egg' for DP's boys and 'mommy went to the hospital to give an egg so some nice lady can have a baby too' for their girls, without names for the 'nice ladies' involved. Of course these genetic-half-siblings only need to be told in case of actual live baby being born.
But we need to agree before Fof's CCC appointment next week. Sounds simple enough. I have no doubt it will be easy to agree, but pffffff it is another little step that I have to arrange.

O well, pharmacy was easy thank goodness. Name, date of birth, 15 euro, goodbye. Since DP had to attend some school evening for his boy I spent the evening at HB. And because it had been at his place I took my last pregnancy test it seemed the right time and place to take my first pill there too. At least that was easy.

Tiny step

Just got off the phone. My tiny step is that I tried to order a prescription for the pill through some kind of voice mail system from my gp's practice. If it works I can pick it up at the pharmacy tomorrow. Tomorrow. So if the system does not work I'll stand there in the pharmacy feeling odd. Tomorrow is also the day DP and I will speak with the clinic counsellor about Donor Eggs. I keep telling myself it will probably be nothing more than a polite conversation where some lady verifies that we know what we are doing and are aware of the consequences for everyone involved. (But of course it feels like some stranger can just say she doesn't think we should be parents and should not receive treatment from their clinic)
So ordering the pill is another step, 'proving' I said goodbye to my genetic miracle. But it will also be nice to not be spotting for four weeks without getting a period. Or a surprise flood. Especially since we will be camping for two weeks in July. Not looking forward to it, but also not dreading it as much as other summers.

You know, I've been thinking about getting a print of the picture of the goodbye basket. But it seems so hard. I kind of know what I want, a square white card with the picture in the middle. But it is hard not to be put off by the print-order-websites with all the options I don't want. I wouldn't know what text to put on it. I'm not prepared to tell my parents we named our (dream of our) little one Knut. I'm not even sure I can show them the card. I think everybody else accepted the fact long ago and it is just waiting for me to move on. I don't want to cry in front of my parents -much prefer you guys/ladies. My mother acts weird and nobody feels comfortable. My mother is great when she believes I'm fine so I'll leave it like that for now.

For my birthday I treated myself to my first pedicure ever, the weather is suddenly tropical so I might just go out and flaunt my professionally polished toe nails.

Big Steps

Life keeps happening.
I wanted to do our little ceremony while I was still 38, so we ended up doing it on the very last day. I was not looking forward to my birthday and had said to DP we would be ignoring it. On the train to the beach he apologised that he would not have a birthday gift for me and that he would not pop the question.
Ehem.
(?)
Thank you, I guess.
I wasn't in the mood for present anyway.
With my aunt and uncle I had a lovely scones-and-cakes breakfast as a celebration, small party, big breakfast though.
In the mean while I was getting nervous for news from Fof. I had convinced myself it would be more bad news and that I couldn't handle it. That I was not ready to say goodbye to my possible donor. So when her email came in I downloaded it to my phone without looking and arranged to meet HB, who could get out of work half an hour earlier than DP. After he told me it was safe to read I read it super quickly (and the three of us went for sushi). Fof mentioned hope and more appointments and more test results that had to come in, something like July 8 and 28. A day later now, and I still can't bring myself to read it carefully. I need some time to recover from my fear first.

While I was in Egypt DP had gone to the clinic because they wanted to test his sample at some stage. When he told me I thought it would have been for nothing, but now it seems he was right.
So we need a (phone) appointment to get the results for that too.
It is a good thing that our meeting with the clinic counselor is only in two weeks, at the moment the whole idea of planning things in the future feels a bit preposterous, like hubris.
Maybe I'm just afraid to allow hope back in.

Bye

Saying goodbye is hard, sometimes


This was our little goodbye basket, just before I put it to sea. And if your sense if irony is well developed you'll appreciate that everything about it was hard:
In the middle a struggling candle, that had trouble staying upright. (The candle on the beach wouldn't burn for more than two seconds before the wind blew it out again)
The white flower is from a Hortensia in my parents' garden that has been there for a very long time. My aunt gave me little blue Hydrangeas to match, and a handful of forget-me-not-s. From HB's garden some lavender, from our balcony some strands of oregano, thyme and rosemary. I meant to rub them to release the soothing aroma but DP was helping and had already put them in.
From me was a little strand of hair, tied with a ribbon from my brothers wedding.
From DP was a little goodbye letter. I was hoping he would read it, but he just put it in the basket. I managed to convince him to take a picture before we let go. (But the picture is out of focus)
Then we waited for a moment between waves, I set the basket down on the water and it floated, ... just... till the next wave toppled it over. DP picked everything up, tried again, but the waves kept pushing it back even though the tide was going out. Then we decided to throw caution and the basket to the wind, I just wanted to make it go away.
DP watched the upside down basket bobbing in the waves for a while, I just buried my tears against his shoulder. Feeling slightly silly in my grey silk summer dress. Oh deep sigh, that critical voice would just not shut up. It just kept pointing out the meaninglessness, kept saying that none of this was real, that we were faking it.

So, anyway, life and or universe don't go to plan, it is not like we didn't know.
At least the sunset was beautiful.

Dreaming away

'twas magical.

The moment I submerge I'm in another world. It takes my breath away -literally- and lifts the weight of my shoulders -also literally. It is possible to not think, not feel sad but just look, look look at the colours of the abundance of fishes, the coral and all other creatures.
My ears always protest a little at the increasing pressure, but nudging them gently they will squeak, squeal and finally squeeze into equilibrium. At first I hear nothing but the escaping bubbles of my own breathing. But then, sometimes, a parrot fish munching on coral. KrrrGGggK. Or a school of little damselfish making tiny tick sounds (like popping mini bubble wrap). A dive buddy making a metallic sound to point out a rare creature. And towards the end of a dive I can hear waves crashing above me.
And when I feel my cheeks get wet I know I smile and water is coming in my mask. I clear my mask and feel warm air on my face again.
Part of me never wants a dive to end, but the water is steadily taking my body heat away. HB, my buddy signals, our time is up and up we go. Warm in the Egyptian sun for a minute, then rest in the shade. Drink a mango lassie or a cup of Bedouin tea. And dream about our next dive....

Stupid steps

Last time with BambiEyes we discussed saying goodbye to our genetic child. I wanted to blog about that, but I almost choked with sadness.
Then HB's father died and we went to the funeral.
Now Fof had another appointment, her CD3 scan, and it yielded only 7 follicles, which is not great. In two weeks her other test results will come back and we think the doctor may have an idea if she would be a possible donor for me, fertility-wise.
I'm going on a diving trip to Egypt and pretend for a week that none of this makes me sad beyond words.