Sunday 31 July 2011

The Alarmist, The Fantasist, and The Frenchman

What a week.
First of all, I was supposed to move into another flat of my landlord's and after an entire week of going back and forth about what I would pay, what he would or wouldnt do, and how long I could stay, he vetoed the whole thing. And now to top it off, I am still in the same old place with noisier neighbours than I had before.
Hence my lack of writing as I now spend as much time out as possible, and when I am here, its too noisy to concentrate on writing this. Anyway, theres' been a lot going on this week, the upshot of which blog-wise is that I will have to write about seeing my old friend and y appearnace in today's Telegraph, another time and focus on what you are all here to read- the donor story.
And this week, the donor hijinx have been unending. On Monday a man was due to come on the eurostar from Paris to stay over night in a hotel and discuss the possibility of us co-parenting, but after a chatty start on the internet, he became more demanding and intractable ('I am coming to London on Monday') and then unreachable, not responding to my texts as the day got closer, so I had to cancel. I had visions of someone as difficult as my tyrannical second husband, and who needs that? If I wanted to share parenting with someone like that I would have had kids with my husband. Ok, so technically most of that took place last week, but it had an effect on the start of this week.
Then I another donor was due to come from Devon on a coach (!) and return the same day (!!) on Friday to meet and discuss co-parenting, but I had to veto him as well. He kept writing me these emails which kept saying things like 'take the utmost utmost care of yourself' as if something was going to happen to me, it was really weirding me out. I mean we havent even met yet, what would he be like once I got pregnant?? The upshot was I got food poisoning the night before he was due to come and I had to cancel at 4 a.m.. As I was retching, I kept thinking what a lucky escape I'd had this week, times two. Neither of them, I might add got back to me by email or text or anything, which just shows you what kind of people they are.
But was that it? Noooo. Middle of the week (please forgive the jump in timeline) I got the weirdest email from a guy I had communicated with a few times. He is, get ready for it, a German, with a French name, who lives in Ireland, and not even Dublin, but the outer reaches. He is an actor. I tell myself to keep an open mind, and this is what I get. Anyway, he writes me this email saying how he couldnt look at me on Facebook 'for personal reasons' and that although we now knew each other's real names (although his is a made up French 'real' name) that we should continue to address each other by our screen names as it was more poetic. And, he went on to tell me that, although he had contacted me, he was unable to meet or consider donoring until September. Well, I completely lost it in response. What a load of fairy nonsense! Make that three lucky escapes in one week.
Oh, and on a more minor note, the sort of skivey back back up donor I have had around, responded to my text requesting some proof of who he is and his test results, by saying that he is now newly in a relationship- yeah, right. Ok, make it four.
All of this (except the flat stuff) just proves the concept that there are a lot of weirdos on the internet, and that, by and large, there is usually a reason why a man who wants kids, cant find a woman to be with.
I'm off now to enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the neighbours get home.
Toodle pip
*:-)

Friday 22 July 2011

Life,The Fertility Clinc and Me

Hey ho, again I feel I must apologise for not keeping things up to date. AGAIN.
But, what with my computer being dead as a dodo for a few days (needed a new power cord, again, the second in three months, but that was somewhat of a relief as fairly cheap to sort out), and more nutty neighbors which make it impossible to it peacefully at my desk and write, its been tough, although my mind has been full of ideas. Which has led me to the decision that I must get one of those mini laptops so that I can a) have a back up devise, and b) take it with me and write in pubs, parks cafes etc. The money isnt there, but am beginning to see it as a professional necessity.
Anyway, getting on to what this piece is supposed to be about as per the title, last week I had a very surreal experience. Usually when I set up a scenario like it my mid would be rife with memories and connections and projecting how I was going to feel, but because I have been so distracted by donor stuff, and money stuff, and business stuff (related to money stuff, but not the same) and perhaps because the Sedona Method has allowed me to let go of some of my obsessiveness, it just didnt cross my mind, until I had crossed the threshold. 'Of where?' I hear you asking, hold on, I'm getting to that. I started having an obsessive moment a few weeks ago that I should check out my reproductive health (still obsessive in some ways then) and as such, felt I should do a chlamydia test (bought from Boots for £25, why spend more, esp when I've only had sex about 3 times since my last one) and get a smear test (known as a pap smear in the States), since I hadnt had one in a couple of years. After giving some thought to my GYN options (all private as I do not currently use the NHS) I realised that the two GYNs I'd been to wouldnt do,didnt really like them plus would have to pay for an office visit, so made an appointment at the London Women's Clinic where, not only did ave my last smear done by a female nurse fora reasonable cost, I have had a number of fertility treatments and tests there as well.
It just didnt occur to me how much water had passed under the bridge of my fertility journey since my last visit.
SO now having become the face of known donoring, and having tried both AI and NI through those means, and having been properly pregnant and miscarrying, you could say that quite a bit has gone on in the last couple of years. It made me realise just how much I have change and matured in my relationship to this stuff and how much more in control I feel; because I have taken control, and so it felt quite good. Plus I got my smear done for £50 by a nice female nurse, instead of having some rough handed male doctor do it.
Win win really. My only gripe is that they wont, in some bid for sensitivity, leave the results on my voice mail, which means a constant round of phone tag, but never mind.
That's it really *:-)
So in the next couple of posts, I'' take about new donors found and lost (some intentionally), and meeting up with an old friend.
Until then, the only song thats been going through my head lately is kind of sappy and 90s, its 'Hold On' by those Beach Boy daughters (gakk, but lyrically appropriate *:-))

Sunday 17 July 2011

'Something is Rotten in the State of Denmark'...*

Hello All.
It has been far too long since I have last posted, but as things go, first there wasnt much going on in my fertility story, and then something so monumentally upsetting happened that I had to take a while to digest it all. So here we are several weeks later with things suddenly picking up speed, and several people asking what was going on having checked here first and found nothing.
First of all, lets put pay to the last chapter of the Danish donor, so that we can move onto other things.
Several weeks ago he was due to come over again, having cancelled on me in the last moment both of the two cycles before; this time he promised he wouldnt let me down, I held out hope. About a week before though he literally ceased any type of communication, and this after emailing back and forth more than once a day for months on end.
Finally after really pressing, he responded that his father had had a heart attack. I responded that although that was a shame he still had made a commitment to me and that to cease communication was not acceptable (I said some other things too; I was quite upset) because at this point it was far too late for me to make other arrangements. After some more back and forth he finally admitted that he had received an email from a Dutch guy on the site that I had exchanged about 3 emails with, and then written off because he was obnoxious and rude. Well, this guy decided he was going to try to get his own back, so looked up the only Danish donor and  must have told him some lies about me, because there would really be nothing else for him to say, as he hadnt even met me, and knew nothing about me. That didnt piss me off so much as that stupid Danish donor believed him, some guy he didnt know, instead of me, who he'd been communicating with for almost a year. Then the cherry on top was that he said he had been on to the consulate website to see about my passport. What an asshole.
Anyway, thats the story, and it would seem I've had a lucky escape, as he proved himself to be a devious Hollyoaks type!
Moving on I have joined a new site and met some new potential donors there, plus I am meeting someone on Thursday who heard me on the radio. He sounds a very nice guy, but is married so I am unsure how that would, or wouldnt, work. Still we have a good communication so I dont want to write off a good potential co-parent, as they have proved very hard to find!
In other news, a couple of weeks ago, someone I met and dated 6 years ago found me on facebook, and we are meeting for coffee tomorrow. It isnt about dating with him, as we only dated briefly and then became friends before losing touch about 5 years ago, but it will be interesting, as I havent met up with anyone from that period in my life since, and there's been soooo much water under the bridge.
I also had a lovely lunch with my Dad the other day. We also had a look around the frankly primarily gag-inducing Wallace Collection- far too much guilt for me. There were however, some gorgeous Van Dyck's. The Laughing Cavalier is amazing. Also some good English and religious paintings.

Thats it for now.
Now that I'm back to writing, I will do my best to keep you up to date on all goings on!
*:-) xxx

*The title is of course a quote from the great man himself, Shakespeare