Crash and Burn

So the day after EPU we headed off to our most sedate Fair Day experience ever.  Usually I have the enough gear to survive several weeks in the desert and I am there waiting for the gates to open.  The week leading up to the day is spent emailing and texting plans with everyone, deciding where to sit and who should bring what and where we’ll head to afterwards to continue celebrating.  I love that my birthday is always around the same time – and I consider Fair Day my personal celebration.  This year of course we weren’t even sure we would make it.  We were conspicuously quiet about our plans and told a few friends we were tied up with fertility treatment without giving any details.  It was actually easier than I thought – mainly due to so many friends being away this year, and our main social circle having started to disintigrate several months earlier due to gay boy pride (as opposed to Gay Pride).  The irony.

We managed to wander around enough to be seen and catch up with some friends.  Mainly we hung out with some good friends (and their precious baby girl) who knew exactly what was happening.  We nervously phoned the clinic and found out that out of the 13 eggs that were big enough, 9 had fertilised.  I felt pretty good all in all, and we headed home for a quiet night.  What a change a couple of years of fertility treatment makes.

The next morning I crashed severely.  I woke up in absolute agony and cried hysterically.  Poor L totally freaked out – I don’t cry very often.  In fact, in six and a half years she has seen me cry about 5 times, which isn’t a lot considering everything we have been through in that time.  She rang the clinic and they told her to bring me straight in for a blood test to check for OHSS.  We then had to ring my Dad and tell him we wouldn’t be able to make it to his 60th birthday.  L told him I had gastro and needed to go to hospital for an injection to stop the vomiting.  She is such a bad liar, but my Dad didn’t seem to notice.  I felt absolutely terrible for not being there – it was his first “milestone” birthday since my Mum died in 2001, and I felt very guilty that I wasn’t there to share it with him.  I consoled myself that if everything worked out, giving him a much wanted grandchild would make up for it.

Four days of becoming one with the couch and I felt almost human again.  I realised how much I love our couches.  Our friends have exactly the same ones and theirs always look so pristine.  Ours always look like they have come from the Rolling Stones tour bus, and have done since quite early on in our relationship.  But no matter how trashed and squashed they look, how many odd socks live underneath them, how the cushions refuse to sit up properly, they are unbelievably comfortable – and were my lifesaver.  Well, that and a gorgeous devoted girlfriend on hand to supply favourite foods, magazines and DVD’s galore!

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