Tag Archives: Sadness


… has unfortunately consumed me.

I have a big pile of work with my name on it (unfinished, obviously).

I have a big list of things I told people I’d do and I haven’t. Sorry, sorry. Sorry again.

I am sad, and I am so tired.

Several of my friends* had babies this week, and a number are due imminently.

I very, very loudly shouted bad things at my husband this weekend.

I got really, really drunk**

It’s my birthday in less than a week and I really REALLY don’t want a fourth baby-less, pregnancy-less birthday. I don’t fucking WANT IT. It’s not even a good birthday so I won’t get presents.

Anyway, I imagine I’ll be back soon with a picture of a dog driving a car or a garden vegetable that looks like a penis.. but until then I hope you are all well,

BB xx

*using the term loosely since apparently knowing another person since childhood means jack shit once you are infertile.


The AMH News Report

I am aware that I have been somewhat quiet of late. Maybe you are less aware. Probably. Whenever anyone else posts, “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long!” I usually think either a) have you? or b) who are you again?

I kept going to write something, but I just kept writing long, whiny posts filled with boring crap. I also (thought I) was on the verge of getting news everyday: about to go to an appointment; about to get some results; about to get a New Plan. However, as I’m sure you all know All Too Well (I sang that in a Taylor Swift voice) waiting is par for the course with all this IVF shizz. More waiting. More admin fuckery. Blah blah. The main news I have to report is that my AMH is 9.66. The nurse was very sad faces about this as it is apparently “very low” for my age. I am aware that a lot of you ladies have much lower AMH than me. I was sorta expecting it to be lower given the amount of invasive surgery I’ve already had on my ovaries. I’ll take 9.66, thanks.

My antral follicle count was 25 – 12 on the left and 13 on the right. I don’t understand how that fits with low AMH and I can’t be bothered to find out.

The upshot of this is that I will probably be having 400 Menopur instead of the 225 I had last time. I feel irritated that the other clinic never bothered to properly check my ovarian reserve. I’m not sure what they based my dosage on other than I have severe endometriosis. I feel irritated that they wrote in my notes (and also told me at egg collection) that my response was “sub optimal”. Well, I recall them informing me that I “might only get one egg”. Pretty sure that 2 eggs = pretty fucking optimal according to that. I think they knew exactly what they were doing, and they gave me a low dose on purpose. They told me not to worry because I’m only 30 which means that “the one egg we get will be a good one”. Yeah well, thanks for that. Dick heads.

I should have known a couple of weeks ago what my next plan of action would be. I should have known last week. I should have known this week. I could go on about this for a very long time but I’m tired, so luckily for you I won’t. I will tell you that I have an appointment with the consultant (Dr Hero!) again on Monday so hopefully a New Plan shall be forthcoming then. If it’s not, I am going to go mental. Mental in many, many ways. Many you couldn’t even imagine. Don’t try; it will break your mind (this is coming from a person who a few weeks ago spent several days in bed. Not asleep, not reading, not crying, not watching TV. Just lying there. Like a statue. All day.)

I don’t know what to say. I appear to have failed at not writing a long, whiny, boring post. Sorry about that, but I think I’m about to projectile vomit a big dirty whinge-boo-for-me right in your faces. Two of my cousins are due on my non-due date. A lot of my friends are currently pregnant. Scratch that, most of my friends are pregnant and most have babies. Most are annoying. Most don’t understand. Most feel awkward around me. Most don’t want to know how I am. Most are very happy right now with babies and houses and good jobs. Most can spend all their hard earned savings on nurseries and family cars and houses with gardens. Most have families around them who are excited and happy, not sad and disappointed. Most have lots of friends to hang out with in the same boat as them. Most are pregnant; most have babies.

Sorry, I’ll clean that up later.

I’m attempting a new Get My Shit Together routine which includes Eating Properly and Doing Exercise: current World Record is 50 lengths in 35 minutes (sandwiched by a 5 mile power walk). I am intermittently stopping being an alcoholic but that only seems to last a couple of days, then a nice glass of Sancerre has my name on it and you know, one thing leads to another.

I have missed my virtual world the last couple of weeks so I shall endeavour to be more present in it from now on. I bet you have missed me too, you guys.

BB xx

P.s. Any more current fancies? I have a new one: Pasha from Strictly Come Dancing. This will be meaningless to any Americans, sorry. When I go on Strictly, I hope I am paired with Pasha.

Spot the barren, picture bonus edition

I quite like that everyone keeps telling me how strong and brave I am, so I don’t want to admit the full horror that the last couple of weeks has been.

Umm, no. I can’t do it. I will tell you that we have a fortnightly recycling collection (BEAR WITH ME) at my new pad. My recycling overflowed this fortnight. With bottles. Lots of bottles. I’d say and alarming amount of bottles. Jesus, when I said I was going to become and alcoholic I didn’t mean it! How all those bottles were consumed by me I do not know. My husband barely drinks so I can’t blame him. If I am still this bad in a few weeks time will someone stage an intervention for me?

I imagine that you already read all of my posts in full, then check back every few days to read all the comments and responses. I imagine this because it is probably true. You guys. Just incase for some weird reason you didn’t read them last post, I will highlight something.

I should make note first that all of the comments cheered me up. I really don’t know what state I’d be in without you all scraping me up off the pavement (sidewalk? do you really call it that or do you just not have pavements over there because you drive everywhere?) and urging me not to drown myself in a bath of gin. One thing that cheered me up inparticular last week was a fellow blogger (single motherhood by choice) who on reading my crumpled up piece of paper post, did this for me. Click on it, go on. Click on it*. How cool is that? I am truly humbled by how many lovely cool people have virtually befriended me.

*NOT YOU SUBFERTILECHICK!! (she had somekind of allergic reaction to Taylor Swift in my last post, God knows why).

Anyways. I am enjoying all the pregnancy updates. In between minor episodes of extreme jealousy and rage, it gives me so much hope. It really does. That sounds a bit worse written down than it sounded in my head. Maybe I will edit it. Nah.

I like it when other people put pictures in their posts. I imagine you are exactly like me, so as a treat here are some pictures of my weekend away in The Best Place In England. This is also where you can play Spot the Barren. Some spots are significantly easier than others.

Bonus picture, my allotment/jungle:


Double bonus picture, harvest from my allotment:

Triple bonus, the jam being made:

I’ve just realised this is the lamest anonymous blog ever. I’ve posted pictures of stuff inside my house, paintings and now me. What else do you need to see to confirm my true identity?

BB xx

P.s. Who do you fancy at the moment? I am currently fancying Norman Reedus. A slight deviation from the norm (lolz) for me. If you don’t fancy him yet, watch The Walking Dead. Those arms. Dear God.

Crumpled up piece of paper lying here

Well I won’t lie, it’s been a rough few days. If I had to quantify it, I’d say about as rough as Lindsay Lohan’s face multiplied by Donatella Versace’s leathery bum cheeks and raised by a factor of 15 to the power of 10.

I don’t think I’m going to go on about the ERPC, suffice to say I have been ERPC-ed. If you ever feel like you want to know anything about it, drop me a line and I will go into great unlimited detail.

I had a very bad mental episode this weekend which left my poor husband thinking I was having a proper nervous breakdown. I think he is convinced I still am, but I am not so sure. I think I’m sorta on the edge. I feel incredibly anxious and out of control with no plan, but we are contacting a new clinic tomorrow so a plan should be forthcoming.

What else? I’ve drunk too much. I’ve eaten bad food. I look 3 months pregnant. My best friend who on being told I needed IVF 5 months ago was VERY WEIRD, couldn’t stop covering her face and wailing, “Oh God, no no no. This is so terrible, I don’t know what to say” then proceeded to ignore me entirely for the next 5 months, popped back up out of the woodwork the day I went in for the ERPC. I was feeling quite peeved that when I was clearly facing a very difficult time, she had done a bunk for months, but I was busy focussing on IVF and all that shit jazz. You win an award if you can guess what she had to tell me.* Guess it makes sense why she has been so fucking weird. I have more to say on this and “friendship” in general, but I am VERY PISSED right now so I am going to be all grown up and let the dust settle around my barren sickbed of crisps, wine and pizza before I write a post/draw an angry cartoon.

I am so thankful for all the messages I’ve had from you the last week. It has honestly been the worst few weeks of my life and I really don’t know where I would be without the support I have here. I’m sorry I have been a bad replier again. Lame. I’m getting my shit together now and will henceforth be less lame.

I need something to focus my mind on for the next couple of weeks that isn’t work and isn’t IVF or miscarriage related. I started a painting a while ago and never finished. Partly because I am lazy (mainly because I am lazy) and partly because when I was painting it I was feeling sad, and now it looks sad. People look at it and say, “that looks sad”. Well, perfect. It’s going to be a MASTERPIECE because I am the most fucking sad sad-sack I know. I’m going to show you a picture of my current progress to shame me into finishing it.

I can’t remember why I started writing this post. I’ve just opened a bottle of premium cider which ain’t going to help either. The post title is a line from a Taylor Swift (yeah, shoot me, whatever) song that used to go round and round and round my head in the IVF waiting room. I used to just sit there, looking at all the sad, crumpled faces and that stupid line played in my mind on a loop that never ended.

BB xx

*imaginary award