Today was decision day and I hardly slept a wink last night. I collected the last of our results from the other clinic and went to the posh fertility place, suitably dressed this time to face the lovely but far to glamorous receptionists. First piece of good news. I am a crap at interpreting Xrays and in fact the fluid filled sack I saw veering off to the right was in fact my uterus which sits at a very bizarre angle but this has no affect on my fertility. Tubes are both normal and patent. Marvellous.
We do still need the most expensive form of fertility treatment there is but again good news, it costs 30% less than I calculated originally so my maths is worse than my diagnostic skills.
In this predominantly catholic country, fertility treatment is widely available and seems to hold more importance than Britain. It seems, to be childless is no way to live and I often hide my age here to avoid the blunt comments and questions locals freely hand out. I feel more pressure here at my age to be a mother already but looking around the waiting room I finally saw many other women aged 30-40, sitting, staring at their shoes and whispering to their smartly dressed husbands. So this is where they are all hiding. It gave me a little more perspective. There were a few pregnant bumps too which outside the clinic ignite a deep pain somewhere inside me but in this waiting room I looked on with awe and wonder. Feelings that I thought I had lost along the way these past, long, dark months.
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