At this time next week, I will be a million miles from home, starting my second IVF treatment. In a sick sort of way, I’m excited to be starting the stimulation phase again: Sick, because I probably shouldn’t be looking forward to giving myself injections twice a day (three or more closer to my retrieval date) and, exciting, because it will feel like I’m actually DOING something that has a (slim) chance of ending up with a baby. One might say that DH and I have been “doing something” quite natural for the last three years, but after the first 28 unsuccessful cycles, I began to seriously question the effectiveness of our activities.
I’m also excited to be heading into a city. I live in a remote village. I didn’t always live here, and I miss my café Americanos, my latte grandes, fancy restaurants, girly drinks, wearing heels, dressing in ‘city clothes’… sigh. Don’t get me wrong; I love living in hiking shoes, the small town friendliness of our village, living so close to nature. But every once in awhile, it feels oh-so-civilized to sit on a patio with a drink (any variation of a non-alcoholic, decaffeinated beverage) while the busy-ness of the city rushes by. It’s very ‘Sex and the City.” Perhaps I’ll look for a pretty pouch to house my Puregon pen? Just because I’m infertile doesn’t mean I need to be unfashionable. ☺