(cont. from Part 8)
The fertility issue -- a difficult subject to discuss even with the closest of friends. No one likes to admit they are lacking somewhat in that department, especially my hubby. It was the most challenging thing to hit our relationship and if we'd parted at that time it would have been more than understandable. I'd been placed on fertility drugs by my general practitioner. My daughter was 4 years old and although we tried throughout her toddling years to conceive, a little brother or sister were not forthcoming. I paid a visit to my general practitioner who at that time was the best doctor I've ever had the pleasure of confiding in. She put me on oral drugs at first and when they didn't work after 12 months she referred me to the hospital. There were lots of intimate questions, ones that we'd never discussed before and what they asked us to do was something teenagers mock when in a group of friends. Our first appointment, faces red, and fidgetting on a chair in front of a very handsome doctor. He asked me to attend the hospital every day for intravenous drugs and then on the last course my hubby was to come along and do his bit. That first attempt was absolutely embarrasing to say the least. We walked into a room of strangers equally as embarrased as we were, and one by one the male partners were summoned to a room with a little pot and one of those magazines straight off the top shelf of a news stand.
Each lady was called in, I suppose when they'd gathered a sample from their partner. Some were called almost straight away, others like me waited for what seemed like hours. I joked with one of the ladies that they'd probably be better off having the nurse do it! To which all in the room burst out laughing and from that point on --- dignity over. Eventually I was led to a room. In that room were 4 or 5 people in gowns, a long tube and a small pot. I was placed in the most uncompromising position, legs high and apart, shaking like a leaf and dreadfully embarrased by it all. I felt the probe inside and then it was all over. I was wheeled into another room and instructed to lie flat for an hour. My hubby was waiting in another room along with all the other guys and the topic of conversation I believe was who had the biggest pot! The things some men say about their manhood behind closed doors never ceases to amaze me. We had 3 attempts at this procedure and it was always the same result -- negative. There was nothing wrong with either of our plumbing and it just left the doctors scratching their heads after each failed attempt.
We were placed on a new treatment which had been quite successful for some people and they felt sure this would do the trick. By now I was injecting myself with fertility drugs each day, it saved me the trip to hospital and it meant I could still run my business without any time off. The drugs were strong and my mood swings were like having PMT in hypermode. The big day came and I was prepared for theatre for this was a treatment unlike any other in the past. An egg was to be gathered from my ovary whilst I was asleep and mixed with my hubby's sperm. It was then placed back into my tube and hopefully nature would take it's course.
The proceedure went fine until I began to regain conciousness -- I couldn't breathe. Somehow I'd refluxed into my lungs and was choking. The medical staff panicked and I was turned over and bashed around finally ending up on air. I was blue and had a very lucky escape. Needless to say, the fertilisation didn't work either and because I'd given them such a shock during my recovery, they never offered the treatment again. I went back on fertility drugs but when I became ill again with another bout of pneumonia, they pulled the plug. I was 35.
We never had any more kids, just the one, but what a good one she is. I have lots to be thankful for, at least I was allowed one little treasure.