July 2015.
I was nervous, so nervous. I didn’t want a repeat of last month – but what if this was the end? What if my body was done, and that was my fertility season? That my reproductive system had closed up shop and nothing, not even invasive and expensive procedures with wildly ridiculous odds could help?
I got the call at work, and hid down a side corridor. The nurse had no idea I was even nervous, she made small talk and organised my next appointment, and delightfully mentioned my FSH levels were 8.1 as an aside. The second I was off the phone I cried. Great wracking sobs of relief. My body wasn’t too old, I still might be able to have children. Oh God, thank you thank you thank you.
I’m so relieved, like I have something concrete to hold on to. A few weeks of shots, I can do that. I just need to make it egg collection.
Oh life, I miss you, I feel like you’re just around the corner. I can do this. Just a few weeks.