Monday, 30 May 2011

Womb For Two?

The embryologist delivered the good news. In the four hours since he had last checked, one of my morula's had transformed into a blastocyst. The other was still lagging behind a little. Regardless though, he decided to put both the front runners back in to my womb.

There are three more pre-morulas kicking about.  He is going to check them again tomorrow, and hopefully freeze some survivors.

Before the transfer the nurse wanted to check that my bladder was full to the point of bursting. I was hustled into theatre and, on the second go, deemed ready. At this point last IVF the nurse had scurried off to get the husband.

This time she didn't.

A different embryologist introduced herself, and Doctor.

No one made a move to get the husband.

The doctor appeared. I was manoeuvered into the stirrups, my arse hanging off the edge of the bed and modesty towel removed.

Any moment now they'll nip and get him, I reassured myself.

I was tipped back, ankles higher than my head.

They weren't going to get him.

I fought my natural British abhorrence of complaining, or even asking, and requested, if it was at all possible, whether my husband could maybe join us.

Without covering me up, and with my flange facing the door, they fetched him. And what a charming sight that must have been as he strolled in.

As I was speculummed open the pain was excruciating, alleviated only by my grasping little fingers trying to inflict an equivalent amount of pain on the husband's hand. The Doctor, master of the understatement that he is, observed that it might be quite tender because of the thrush. You know when guys will boast that their appendages will make a girl's eyes water? Believe me, that is not a good thing.

The whole process took ten minutes, it would be wrong to say they were the longest ten of my life -  I had to sit through the Man United / Barcelona game the other night - but certainly time didn't fly by.

Now I am chilling on the sofa hoping that these two little'uns will bed in.

I've been so touched by the comments here, texts and emails I've received wishing me luck.  But if I were to choose a favourite it'd be the phone call from a friend's son. Not long after she texted me he rang up and we had a lovely little chat. He burbled away excitedly and I mostly just listened unable to get a word in edgeways. Later his Mum texted to say that I was the first recipient of a self-initiated phone call from her one year old boy. Which has to be an auspicious sign.



Cover me, they're going in

The embroyolgist called at 9am on the dot.

As soon as I hung up I realised there were about 50 more questions that I should have asked, but I got a few answers.

Let's start with the disappointing news. I don't have any blastocysts, which you'd expect on day five. I do however have two Morulas.  These are at the stage just before they turn into blastocysts, usually at day four.

So I go in today at 1:15pm for the transfer.

Questions I forgot to ask:
Are they putting one or two back in?
What about the other 11 embryos?
Any chance of getting some to freeze this time round?
Can you promise me it will work this time?

I did mention that I had thrush. (Ladies, it is horrendous and is showing no signs of abating.) I might as well have told him I had stubbed my toe he was so uninterested. But I persisted.

"I just wanted to ensure that this wasn't going to be a problem or cause the transfer to be cancelled."

His response was straight from the IVF 1.0.1 source book.

"Your embryos go into your uterus so it will be fine."

Who the fuck knew?!

Although he did go on to address my concerns and assure me that the area would be cleaned* more throughly that usual to ensure no infection is carried into my inner sanctum**.

The thought of my most tenderest of parts being hoiked open at lunch time today is causing an involuntary leg cross, but needs must and compared to labour I am sure it'll be a breeze.

*My pride forces me to point out what I am sure you all already know. Thrush is not a sign of uncleanliness, in fact it is often exacerbated by over cleaning which upsets the ph balance in ones bits.

** The husband has just winced at my honesty. I'll be frank, I could happily have written this (and the last) post without mention of my unwelcome downstairs visitor. However, I hope someone else, like me, who frantically googles "thrush between egg collection and transfer" will find this and be reassured that a) she is not alone b) Canesten cream is fine to use (I wouldn't use the suppositories but my Doctor was fine with the cream) and c) the transfer won't be cancelled. In which case, my work here is done.



Saturday, 28 May 2011

A Bird In The Bush

After a couple of weeks of being regularly impaled by a variety of KY jelly-enhanced medical instruments my vagina is rebelling.

I have a touch of thrush (which sounds a little like a prime time TV show - I might pitch it).

In addition my stomach is still doing a pretty good impression of a pregnant one. In fact I was asked yesterday, by someone at work, if I was pregnant. (Which isn't quite as bad as it sounds as I told her before I was having IVF though wasn't specific about where I was in the process.) But worse than the size is the pain, it is seriously uncomfortable - taut, stretched, aching. All things I would happily put up with if there was anything in there worth hanging on to.

At the moment there is nothing in there, but not for much longer.

My little ones are all doing pretty good.  Do you want the numbers?

No?

Tough.

So I started off with 14. At the moment the embryologist is looking for embryos between 8 and 6 cells big.

Six are 8 cells (five of which are top quality and one is a mere good)
Three are 7 cells (one top quality, one good quality and one average)
Four are six cells (three top and one good)

Those of you who can count will realise there is just one unaccounted for, it is one day behind the others.

This is amazing news. Last time at this stage I only had eight looking likely - now I've got thirteen potentials in there.

In fact the embryologist is so confident that he isn't going to disturb my little ones tomorrow but will check in on them on Monday and, all being well, get me in for the transfer on Monday.

Which gives me two more days to liberally smear myself with Canesten and hope the bird flies the nest.



Friday, 27 May 2011

Still growing

After an inauspicious false start things in the petri dish seem to be going quite well.

All fourteen embryos are developing. Two at a faster rate than the others, although if - like me - you thought that might be a good thing then you are wrong. Apparently /the early growth spurters often have something wrong with them. But we still have 12 strong contenders. So there is a football (soccer!) team plus a sub on the benches.

My clinic does like to mix things up a bit and so, as nothing managed to implant last time, they are going to try assisted hatching this time. Depending on which website you stumble upon this is either the answer to my prayers or a complete waste of time.

The theory is that the little blighters get caught up in the outer layer of the cells so can't break out and latch on to the womb lining. By cracking the shell the embryologist is giving them a fighting chance.

As they all seem to be developing well they are going to be given a bit longer to give the embryologist a chance to identify the most likely candidate for pulling through the next nine months and longer. So we are looking at a Monday or Tuesday for the transfer.

But I await my daily phone call from the embryologist, I have my bag packed and am ready to go and spread my legs at a moment's notice.

*** Updated to Add ***

amiracle4us - makes a good point that is usually done on day 2 / 3  embryos not older.  They are going to do it tomorrow but, it transpires, they don't need to put an assisted hatched in the womb straight away. Hence I can wait a few more days after the shell has been cracked.



Thursday, 26 May 2011

Fertilisation Report: IVF #2

The embryologist was supposed to call before 2pm today.

He called at 9:30am. Thereby preventing me spending the whole morning compulsively checking my phone and occasionally ringing it from my the landline to double check that it was actually working (and then getting paranoid that my call coincided with the embryologist trying to get
through).

If this made me love him a little bit, then what he had to say made me love him even more.

Out of the 18 eggs retrieved 14 have fertilised!

I am ridiculously pleased.

As a comparison, last time from 19 eggs, 12 fertilised - and that seemed like a high proportion at the time.

It is still early days.

You may remember that last time 10 eggs dropped out of the picture leaving just two left to implant and none to freeze. Also my Doctor has, repeatedly, warned that the "coasting" whilst I waited for my oestrogen to drop can impact the quality of the eggs.

The embroylogist said it was too early to comment on quality - or a date for the transfer - he'll call me tomorrow with some more answers.

But this is about as good of a start as I could hope to get.

I'm getting eggcited now.

Egg-cited.

Geddit?!

Hullo?


Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Three years ago

Three years ago today I wrote my first post (there are a couple that I wrote later but post-dated so appear on the site earlier).

Three years ago I didn't think I was infertile. I thought that, after a year and a half of trying, we were "having problems" and I was probably overreacting.

Three years ago I knew just one other woman having IVF, today she is a couple of weeks off her due date and now I know all of you lot (well, the ones that comment anyway), my twin sister and one of my closest friends.

Three years ago if you'd told me that, today, I'd have just had 18 eggs retrieved for IVF I would have:
a) googled egg retrieval to work out what on earth you were on about
b) tried to work out if 18 was a good number - it is I'm very happy with that
c) hoped that this would be for our second child.

I'd like to say that infertility has made me a better, more compassionate, nicer person, whose relationship has been strengthened by our trials. It hasn't. (Luckily I was already perfect.)

In many ways I feel exactly the same as before; I live in the same place, work in the same place, have come no closer to pregnancy and have watched from the sidelines as friends upon friends get pregnant and have first, second, even third babies. Meanwhile I feel like in the last three years I have just been treading water.

But, hopefully, tomorrow's fertilisation report will bring good news and in eight or nine months I'll be treading in breaking waters.



Monday, 23 May 2011

Trigger Happy

I've just got the call. I trigger tonight for egg collection on Wednesday.

It is such a relief, I've spent most of the day convinced that the whole thing was going to be cancelled.

Although, I am still feeling less than confident about this round.  I had a scan today and was talking to the Doctor.  He cautioned me that having coasted for so long waiting for my oestrogen levels to drop that it was highly likely my egg quality wouldn't be great.

"Next time" he said "they'll probably give you a lower dose to start with."

A bit later he said, "It'll be great if we can get some to freeze, so you don't have to start from the beginning again."

Later still: "So next time, you'll be going private not NHS ..."

I really like this Doctor, but it would have been nice to feel he had a bit more faith in it working THIS time.



Sunday, 22 May 2011

Holding pattern

Whilst, as I mentioned in my last post, my follicles are at a very similar stage to this time last IVF the scheduled has changed.  I will not be getting my eggs collected on Monday, I have to wait for my Oestrogen levels to drop.

I've thought of an analogy to explain this, bear with me, I am either a genius or imbecile for this one.

Picture a bunch of balloons, like the ones in Up.

The Menopur is like the helium that fills them to the right size. These, naturally represent my follicles. I haven't taken any Menopur since Tuesday, and my follicles are nice and plump.

The Buserelin that I have been taking is like a big net over the ballons, tethering them down and preventing them going anywhere. I am continuing to take this.

My oestrogen is like the wind - at the moment it is blowing a gale. Not the kind of weather you want to release a bunch of balloons in.

If I am given the trigger (the equivalent of the cutting away the netting tethering my balloons down) whilst my oestrogen is high and rising there is a high risk of Ovarian Hyper Stimulation disorder, which is a bad thing.

So the Doctors are waiting before they adminster the trigger (that cuts away the buserlein net) and collect up all my eggs.

I am continuing to have my daily blood tests as they wait until my oestrogen levels become more stable.

However, they can't keep me like this for ever.  Like balloons that get a bit old and wrinkly after they have been hanging around for too long (seriously, this is the analogy that keeps giving!) my egg quality will start to deteriorate the longer they are hanging around. If my oestrogen persists in rising there is a chance the whole IVF will be cancelled, but equally if there is a sudden and dramatic drop off in oestrogen it will also have to be cancelled. There is a fine balancing act going on at the moment to catch me just at the right time.

I guess it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, I am getting increasingly nervous about whether this is going to go ahead at all.

**Update**

The Doctor just called. The good news is my oestrogen levels are starting to drop, (down to 21,000, yesterday it was 29,000 and the preceding two days 26,000 and 25,000 respectively). I've got another scan and blood test tomorrow and we are now aiming for the trigger tomorrow night and egg collection on Wednesday.  



Friday, 20 May 2011

Now for something a little bit different

I was a bit disappointed when I was given my protocol for this IVF. It was exactly the same as last time, starting with the same drugs, taking the same dose.

Considering the last IVF hadn't worked the fact that everything was the same convinced me that the outcome wouldn't change either.

My body, however, has had different ideas.  The way it has responded to the drugs has been completely different. Last time, like this, I started with two vials of Menopur a day. The daily blood test results caused them to tweak it a bit down to one and a half up to two again.

This time I started with the same dose but clearly over responded. Quite apart from muffin-top Tuesday I keep getting hauled in to the hospital for unscheduled scans (I've had one every day this week and, frankly, I don't know if I'll ever walk the same again). On Wednesday I was told to lay off the Menopur - and haven't restarted it.

Last time I was prescribed a growth hormone to help those follicles, this time they are doing fine by themselves.

Today's scan showed 20 follicles of between 12 and 20mm. Which, if they come through, will be a pretty impressive haul. Not dissimilar to last time but they feel a little less hot-housed.

I can't help but hope this is a good sign for the rest of the procedure.



Tuesday, 17 May 2011

Going Belly Up

Last night I suddenly noticed just how swollen my stomach looked. Distended to the point of starvation victim (or five months pregnant).

It was a bit disconcerting not just because of its enormous size but it was hard - like a basketball (I'm guessing here, I only ever played netball but always thinking of the foreigners who read this blog I like to use references you Yanks understand!). I poked and prodded it a bit, and showed the husband.

He was more concerned than me - the Doctor cautioned last time that swelling might be a symptom of Ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome, this he remembered - so he made me promise to ask the nurse about it when I went in to hospital today. I did, and other than a nonchalant shrug and asking me whether I was drinking plenty of liquids (I am, I'm drinking water like it is gin and I'm my Grandmother), she wasn't bothered.

However, last night the husband was unaware that the nurse would be so unconcerned, so he googled it. How can I properly emphasise the momentosity (momentality? momentousness?) of this action?

I'm going to have to repeat it.

Twice.

My husband googled an IVF symptom.

My. HusBand. Goo. Gled. An. I. V. F. symp. tom.

In many ways I consider us an atypical couple in terms of our roles in the home. He does the majority of the cooking, buys the most shoes and spend more on clothes than me.

I have DIY responsibilities.

But there is one role that is mine, and mine alone. I am the one that googles the shit out of infertility - endlessly. He waits for me to explain things in words of no more than two syllables and listens to what the doctor tells him.

But last night the husband went on to use words I never thought I would hear him say, "I read
on this IVF message board..."

Once the smelling salts had bought me round, he continued:

"... that quite a few women say they got more bloated on their second IVF than their first."

IVF-ers out there - was this the case for you?

A little post-script:

At one point last night when I thought the husband was safely in the next room watching telly I was sitting on the bed minding my own business just idly resting my hand on my tummy. He came into the room, "You secretly quite like it don't you? You're pretending your pregnant" he accused.

Ladies, I am afraid I was, and I can confirm without a shadow of a doubt that if I do get pregnant I will totally turn into that woman.

I will be a stomach-stroker.



Monday, 16 May 2011

Adventures in Acupuncture

Today I had a scan to check whether the follicles are doing anything, and I can confirm that they are indeed. It is remarkably similar to last time.

On the left there are four follicles, two are 13mm, one at 9mm and the fourth is 7mm.  My right ovaries is only slightly lagging with three follicles, two at 11mm and one at 9mm.


Last time at this stage I had six follicles at around 10 or 11mm, and I ended up with 21 follicles in the end.

So the scan wasn't the exciting bit.

The exciting bit was the acupuncture session I had.

I have been going to the same acupuncturist for a while now, today he bought in the big guns, his tutor, for a second opinion.

I have been expecting a rather ephemeral woman, envisaging beads, floating garments and probably hennaed hair.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

Nora was reassuringly practical and with a no nonsense air about her. She felt my pulses and prescribed a few different points to be needled.

The first set of pins were to bring my spirit into line with my mind and body, apparently they were out of kilter, She looked deep into my eye to check things were aligning and eventually she pronounced herself satisfied. I am intrigued to know what she saw in my eyes - I do have particularly large pupils so I imagine she had a clear view of my soul through their windows.

The humdinger though, was the procedure to ensure my core channels weren't blocked.  If I hadn't read on May's blog about this particular procedure I would have fled from the room at this point.

I got a needling in the 'taint.  For those who don't know, the 'taint is so called because it 'taint one thing and 'taint the other - it is the bit in between your legs that isn't a hole.

Going by the 'no pain, no gain' principle I reckon this must have done the trick because it certainly gave me a kick up the arse. That jab was completed with a corresponding needle in my chin. The next needle nestled between my butt cheeks at the end of my coccyx, and was topped off by one in my upper gum, under my top lip (not, you'll be relieve to hear, the same pin).



I left with all blockages clear and my pulses nice and rounded and assured that "there was nothing to stop this treatment working."



I don't know if it was the relief at leaving with my perineum, if not my dignity, intact but, as I walked out onto the street I felt more optimistic about this IVF than I have since I found out I needed it.



Thursday, 12 May 2011

Just Call Me Spock

It has been a real source of comfort this IVF to know that I am completely unaffected by all the hormones that are pumping round my body.

When, for example, at 11pm the other night I suddenly decided that I had to get to grips with a new room booking system at work I was secure in the knowledge that this was entirely rational behaviour.

I was just as secure at one minute past eleven when I was a blubbering wreck. Curled up in the foetal position and rocking slightly saying "I can't do this, I can't do my job, I can't, I can't, I can't". I was confident that I was analysing my situation in a clear, calculated way that was driven by facts not emotions or hormones.

By ten past eleven I was composing a letter of resignation.

And then the husband sent me to bed.

The following day, and a quick call to the room booking team later, suddenly things didn't seem quite so bleak. However, I remain confident that my melt down had absolutely nothing to do with the drugs. I mean this is normal behaviour, isn't it?

Likewise when, as I sent an email to IT thanking them for their help, my eyes filled with tears. As they would for anyone in my situation.

It feels good to be driven by reason rather than hormones.


Monday, 9 May 2011

Top and Tailed

I've had a day of orifice inspections.

First thing today I went to the dentist.  I confirmed, for the ninth time since starting trying to conceive, that I was not pregnant. (One very early blog post, here, was about that very same subject - then it was only the third appointment.)

You will be delighted to know that my pearly whites received a clean bill of health. See, you American readers, not all Brits have bad teeth.  We are of course all related to the Queen, say "Gosh" a lot and are usually dressed in a sharp Harris tweed suit but the teeth thing? I spit on that national stereotype.

Post-dentist it was a matter of a brisk cycle ride across Zone One, when I was only sworn at by one cabbie, and again I found myself reclining on a medical couch and parting my lips for a thorough inspection.  This time of the downstairs variety.

My womb lining is lovely and thin (a phrase that, after the kerfuffle I've had with my womb lining over the years, never fails to fill me with delight). And with just minimal prodding of my stomach to move my bowel (the low-fibre thing didn't work), I was declared cyst free.

Which means, my little amigos, the IVF is going ahead.  I've scans booked for next week and the tentative date for egg collection is two weeks today.



Sunday, 8 May 2011

Junk in my trunk

So much of the preparation for IVF seems to be about virtuous self-denial. No booze, caffeine and not much in the way of fun. But if it is for the good of our ovaries then so be it.

However, I have found a chink in the armour. A loop hole that has allowed me to indulge my lack of will power and do something that all and sundry agree is 'bad'. My pre-scan information includes the following bit of advice:

"You will need to avoid high fibre foods for 3 days before the scan."

It then goes on to tell me to avoid fresh fruit and vegetables, whole grain and pulses. But allows me to eat a whole host of processed food.

This has been a problem in the past.  I eat pretty healthily. Spinach is one of my favourite vegetables, I am a sucker for a bean stew, and eat wholegrain toast for breakfast.  All of which keeps me regular and healthy (I haven't had a day off sick for over a year - I book time off for my Doctors appointments). In the past I have been berated by various scanners who can't find my ovaries because of the ... um ... gaseous obstructions. They press and pummel my abdomen and grumble about hiding ovaries and how much roughage I must ingest.

So today I had a McDonalds for lunch. The first for years (it wasn't as good as I remembered).

Nice to put a bit of junk in my trunk. (As in junk food in the trunk of my body, not a reference to my big ass as a result of the aforementioned.)



Friday, 6 May 2011

Just a tingle

This time last IVF I had written four posts on the subject.
Honestly, the shit you guys have to put up with/ read.

Echoing my lack of enthusiasm for this IVF I've written nowt, 'til now. But, so far, I have:
  • Quietly updated my 'What the IVF' timeline
  • Finished the pill
  • Waxed myself to within an inch of my pubes (It still amuses me to rush into the sitting room, pull my trousers and pants down and shout "Hitler Impression!" at my poor, long-suffering husband - although I do manage to restrain myself when in company. See, I know how to keep the sexy in a relationship ...)
  • Restarted the injections - And I know what you are all itching to type, because everyone that I have told that I have started injecting myself  has sniggered "Did you use the right needles?" Yes, I fucking did.  Honestly! 59 injections last IVF. 59 - and just four were with the wrong sized needles. But what is it you all remember?
  • Started my period
  • Got booked in for the check-there-aren't-any-cysts scan on Monday.
Actually, now I'm starting to get just a tingle of excitement again ...



Wednesday, 4 May 2011

Cath Kidston On Desert Island Discs

At the risk of this blog turning into a low rent version of Hello! with all the celebrity content of late, indulge me with one final splurge.

Cath Kidston is to the early Twenty-First Century, what Laura Ashley was the the end of the Twentieth. She is all about the homewares, selling everything from cowboy wallpaper (how I long for it to adorn an accent wall on my nursery, whilst at the same time teaching my children to respect indigenous inhabitants) to heart-breakingly sweet baby paraphernalia.

Last week Cath was on Desert Island Discs, you can listen again here if you are in the UK, however if you are not, what she said about not having children really moved me (to tears, goddamit) so I've gone to the trouble of transcribing that section of the interview (although it is more powerful if you can listen to it).

This is a woman who has done what Mariella and Grace champion. She has built up a fifty million pound international business, and I bet long haul flights hold no fear for her ...

The Interview

Cath:
My step-daughter's 18. I've been lucky enough to know her since she was a year old. So not having children, I am very, very fortunate to have a step child

Kirsty:
So you youself have never given birth although you've been very active in Jess' life. I have read, and I am not sure if it is right, that the reason you didn't have children was to do with being diagnosed with cancer. Were the two connected?

Cath:
It's true. I had breast cancer in my mid-30s and it turns out there is something like 8 or 9 women in my family that have had breast cancer. Huge amount. But people never use to talk about it in the old days. Actually a lot of them survived it, we don't have the aggressive gene that you read about and I was very lucky that it was found very early on, and so I didn't even have to have chemotherapy. 

But I had a choice afterwards. We could have had children. At the time I was advised not to because of the risks, to have children quite soon afterwards was deemed to have quite a high risk.

And we didn't take that risk.

Then afterwards when we went to see a specialist, who I'd see for regular check ups, he said 'Oh what a pity you didn't have children, of course it reduces the risk.'

So it is very difficult and, you know, really hard decisions. But, I never imagined I wouldn't have children.

So it is very hard if I think about it. But I would never, I am sure, have had my business if I'd bought up children. In a way my business has been a bit like a replacement child. I've had to do that, to fill that gap. And it has served me in that way.

And if you'd said to me now, 'What would you have rather done?' I'd of course as a woman, I think, say I have rather had children. I don't know the experience of what I'm missing out on (luckily), and anybody I talk to who's had children say they wouldn't exchange it for anything.

I believe them. 

But I think I've been able to fill that gap by running a business and having this sort of, in a sense, it is an extended family within the business

Kirsty:
Cath, I think that is almost breathtakingly honest of you, what you've just said.  And I think it is very rare to hear a woman say that ... to say that, you know, that they have managed to forge ahead in order to replace the thing that they didn't have.

Cath:
Well, I think it is true. It is very primative, isn't it underneath? We think we are very sophisticated and off buying all these kind of fine things and doing this and that, but at the end of the day we're animals. I think.





Monday, 2 May 2011

Comments Round Up

I love getting comments, but they are also a source of great guilt to me, (another thing I blame my Catholic up bringing on). I used to reply to every comment, but the way that Blogspot works, allowing me to write a response only at the end of everyone's comments rather than slipping in answers after pertinent observations (like Wordpress), makes it unwieldy.

That, plus the fact that many comments don't require a separate response. It starts to make personal responses tricky.

Also, who actually comes back to check a response to their comment?  I know I very rarely do elsewhere.

But some comments deserve a response. Some are hilarious, touching, personal or ask a specific question. And it is these ones that I feel most guilty about.

So, for a trial period I am going to do a weekly round up of the best comments from the previous week.

Let's see how this works.

A Distinct Lack Of Willpower

Most of you seemed to advocate a 'light touch' approach to self-deprivation, which I very much like the sound of.

Adele, who is now 15 weeks pregnant (after IUI converted from IVF), reassured me with this nugget of wisdom:

I think carrying on with life might even be a very positive thing. My doctor expressly told me NOT to give up moderate drinking in the months before IVF. I think he thought that there was no point (i.e, he didn't see it having that much of an influence on the outcome). I also think he said it so that I could hold onto bits and pieces of my sanity.

This last cycle happened right after New Year's. I got on the wagon the day I started injecting. Seems like he was onto something.


Chon and TeamBabyCEO asked what the deal with the pineapple is. It essentially seems to be a bit of an unsubstantiated myth.  Pineapple core contains bromelain and, if you google it, the idea that bromelain improves implantation chances is all over the net.  But I haven't managed to find a single scientific study to back this up.

There But For the Grace ...

Well, Grace Dent didn't comment. But you lot did.

Kylie was given a theory which was new to me (I can't link to Kylie's blog as it is set to private):


My mother's theory (posited at a point when she was trying to tell me it was ok if no kids occur) was that at some point the biological clock just stops ringing its alarm bells, and the overwhelming desire for a baby reduces. Apparently this is the line my childless aunt has given to her.


Honestly I think if someone gave me this advice now I'd be inclined to hurt them in their baby making area, but maybe it is true. I'll let you know in 10 to 15 years ...


Picking Up The Baton

I love you all for extending your sympathy to the Wombmate. It is tough, and still is. I saw her yesterday and she is alright, but the failure is still raw. She too blogs, but rather than using blogging as a way to over-analyse her barrenness her blog is much sweeter.

Anyway, Anonymous' comment made me laugh (perhaps unintentionally):

Sorry, not sure if any could be as lucky as Kate. Who could manage in 28/29 years to bag herself Prince William (Oh Wills!!!), become everyone's little sweetheart, have such cute dimples/smile and that slender perfect shape. Nope, sorry to say she'll probably pop out twin boy heirs within a year. Because apparently Kate has the luck the of gods on her side, haha.

Sorry, I just don't see the attraction to Wills, and twin boy heirs would be a nightmare for succession!

A Rock And A Hard Place

There was one stand out comment on this post from Fragmented Hopes:

I was on a website where some bloke was saying he thought she was pregnant due to "a bulge in her dress." I can only think that he has some sort of eye problem, as there was no room for anything in that dress, corsetry and pregnancy do not mix, and if she had a bulge then what hope is there for the rest of us?!


Oh, and those of you saying Kate is naturally slim anyway.  She is, but she still managed to shrink further between the engagement announcement and wedding.



Sunday, 1 May 2011

A Rock and A Hard Place

Despite erring on the side of the republicans I cannot resist a good wedding.

And Friday was a good wedding.

You may remember back when the engagement was announced, I was all over it, predicting a royal pregnancy as soon as the balcony kiss was performed. (For that is, apparently, how Princesses get pregnant.)

Every girl wants to look best on her wedding day.  I chose to upholster myself in tight elastic, thigh to breast, underwear to give myself a Jessica Rabbit silhouette rather than forego cakes and salty snacks. Kate had clearly gone down the self-denial route to achieve her figure (though she must be kicking herself that she didn't encourage her sister to chub up a bit so that her limelight wasn't stolen).

But now poor Kate has well and truly dieted herself into a corner. The moment she puts on an ounce the media are going to be at fever pitch speculating a pregnancy, more than they currently do with Kate Moss, Jennifer Aniston and Katie Perry combined. Having shrunk herself to a tiny lollipop size she won't be able to returned to her normal weight without the nation becoming baby-belly obsessed.

However, if she maintains her scrawny pre-wedding physic I can't imaginer her ovulating let along producing the future monarch.

I believe this is known as being stuck between a rock and a hard place. Still if the hard place is in William's pants they will at least be heading in the right direction ...