It’s been a busy few weeks. I didn’t realise how long it would take to get Mrs Astronomer’s hormones in check; she’s on a bit of an emotional rollercoaster at the moment and prone to bursting into tears at any moment, or for what seems like extremely random events. She’s job searching, so I suggest that she sends her CV to my stepmother; cue waterworks. Perhaps I’m just being a tad insensitive, but I just don’t get it.
I’ll be interested to see what happens to her once the down regulation drugs start; these essentially turn her ovaries back on once the menopause sniffy drugs turn them off. If memory serves, these are injections, and that’s all due to start on the 21st, when she has an ultrasound to check on her ovaries and the number of eggs there. Or something. Anyway, I’m willing to bet that there will be even more hormonal changes.
What really bothers me about the IVF proccess so far is that at no point have I really been considered or supported by the system; I’ve received recognition as a fully functioning spunk dispenser and that’s about it. At no point has anyone turned round and properly said:
“So, Mr Astronomer: this is going to be stressful. Obviously for her, as she gets pumped full of hormones, but it’s going to be stressful for you because you’re just an add-on whose two jobs are wanking into a jar and providing support for your stressed wife. Cool?”. Instead, nobody (bar Mrs Astro, obviously) has even seriously acknowledged the fact that this is really difficult for the male half of the team. Males supporting their partners through IVF essentially get paid lip service to. Its like I’m not even there; my role could be filled by an anonymous sperm donor. You have all of the stresses of potentially becoming a Father wrapped up in your wife undergoing a somewhat intimate medical procedure and a disconcerting number of total strangers looking at her lady bits with deep interest. To an extent, I get it. She’s the one undergoing squeamish things, she’s the one who is voluntarily choosing to go through with childbirth. (I’ve looked it up. It looks like it stings a little). But still… A small amount of support? Anyone…?
Above all though, this is tiring. I mean, day in, day out levels of tiring. Stress wears you out big time. This is all on top of house hunting, putting our place on the market, university work (piece of maths due on the 22nd, which I have barely looked at yet), job hunting for wife, final argument with boss at last workplace… I mean, it’s all a bit much.
I am so far out of my depth, the fish have lights on their noses.
Mrs Astro is tired too; she’s been tossing and turning, and I’m slowly coming to the conclusion that Pratchett was right: a marriage is made up of two people, both of whom will swear blind that it’s only the other one who snores. Obviously, it’s her.
On the upside, things are starting to move on the house selling side; our first viewers are coming tomorrow. This has induced a mild state of panic in the Astro household; panic is good, as it distracts from the whole ‘IVF’ thing. On the downside, stress is one of the key things to avoid for reproductive success. So, yeah.
Additionaly, Mrs Astro has been getting vexed at my inability to get much done during the day whilst she’s out. We’ve decided to settle on having one large task per day; today, the big ticket item its finally fixing the bedroom doors, which have been broken for a few years.
And by ‘fix’ I mean ‘finish’. I made them a few years ago; they still need painting and doorhandles… Procrastination, thy name is Astronomer.