Category Archives: Fertility

An AMH to count my eggs

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility by

Six months later and we’re at the baby doctor’s office, waiting for our consultation. Again, we’re back at the same clinic where I was diagnosed, but thankfully – this time – they have put us in a different waiting area. No more having to stare at the door, the room, the memory of where I was first told about cancer. Thank goodness for that.

So. Today’s appointment with the doctor went rather quickly. Apart from waiting (we always wait) for fifty minutes, everything was straightforward. [Zsolt and I now arrive at a doctor’s office, any doctor’s office, and immediately find the best magazines. Then we plop ourselves into some chairs and engage in the waiting. This is a-okay with me for one reason: when I had my emergency, we didn’t wait more than ten minutes. Now that my crisis is over, it’s okay to let others go first.]

Essentially Dr Baby-Maker recommended that I test my Anti-Mullerian Hormone (AMH) which will help ascertain whether I have any eggs left in my ovaries.  And then later on (whether it’s here or in Canada, but most likely Canada) the test can be repeated and we can see what’s happening with the girls. It’s a game of ‘how fertile are you’. Apparently from a blood test this lab can determine the number of eggs in a woman’s body- described as ‘Ovarian reserve’ ranging from optimal fertility, satisfactory fertility, low fertility and very low/undetectable. Boo for very low fertility, and yay for optimal to satisfactory.

Again, there were reassurances not to worry about my lack of menstrual cycle. So, I am trying not to worry – and what’s the point anyhow, now I’m going to take a test that will monitor my level of eggs . . . so whatever mystery exists is soon to be resolved. Tomorrow I’m calling the clinic to arrange for the test. Because it’s new, the test isn’t covered by the NHS, but – obviously – Zsolt and I think it’s worth the reasonable £50 fee.

Speaking very honestly, I’m not keen to have a treatment like IVF – at least, not at this point. Hormones got me into this breast cancer mess, so avoiding a surge of drug induced hormones (more, following eight years of on-and-off birth control and now the estrogen blocking tamoxifem, though that’s a bit different, it still pertains to estrogen) doesn’t feel like a good idea.

Anyhow, I’ve been surprisingly calm about this entire day. Soon Zsolt and I will learn whether I have eggs left in my ovaries. That’s an important thing. And then we’ll get on with our lives (and our family planning), one way or another. 

PS. Zsolt and I followed this visit to the hospital with a visit to the cemetery. We found the resting place of Benny Hill, a British comedian who Zsolt quite admires. If you are ever around the Southampton general, and you’re a fan, it’s worth stopping by to pay respects.

PPS. The weather here is amazing. Today was all sundresses and shades, with a great dose of clear skies and a warm breeze. Perfect for a walk through the cemetery.

Eggs in many baskets

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility by

Monday morning. Have spilled orange juice all over myself, but thanks to a damp sponge and a (once) clean tea towel, have cleaned up mess. Weather: cloudy. Apartment: messy. Allergies: active. Temperament: not so bad.

I nearly forgot that Easter was coming. This year we’re staying at home for the sake of Zsolt’s study habits and the impending viva.  But I will miss having an Easter with family. In Canada we go to my grandmother’s home (Bonjour Lulu!), or someone’s home in Quebec, and share a lunch. My family is comprised of cooks and bakers, and people create excellent food. Like, lick your fingers and smack those lips excellent.  When we were younger (proper grandchildren rather than adult grandchildren) Lulu would always hand out these large chocolate bunnies with marshmallow filling. They were pretty to look at – I loved the idea of them, the idea of the chocolate and the bright pinks, yellows, blues on the wrapper . . .of a bunny who also collects painted eggs and carries a blue tinfoil basket. . .  but could never bring myself to love that marshmallow filling. Oh well.

In Hungary, Zsolt’s mother will hard boil about two dozen eggs, and his sister will prepare the dyes out in the garden. Then we’ll sit around for an hour or two and dye the eggs. I love it. After you have your egg dyed with whatever colour arrangement you choose (all red, half red, half blue, some purple in between, or yellow and blue with a green band, etc) you take some pork fat and rub into the egg shell to make it shine. On Easter morning people crack into the coloured eggs, but Zsolt’s mom saves the prettiest ones from hungry fingers.

And speaking of eggs, I have a fertility appointment this week. Wednesday.  It’ll be a family gathering of sorts. In that it’s about family, and there will be a gathering.  A good friend recommended I stop thinking about fertility and just give my body a break. Good reasoning. It’s on my ‘to do’ list (along with some meditation). But first there’s this appointment.

Right, back to Monday morning. Orange juice is under control. Time to make some breakfast if I can find a clean dish in this mess. Yesterday I made a fantastic meal of some curry chicken and a soup. But fantastic meals leave me knackered, and I can never bother with the dishes immediately. As a result my flat looks like a culinary Armageddon.

But that’s okay. 🙂  And now, onwards with the day.

The writing workshop: results

Posted in After treatment, Bumpboobs, Fertility, Writing by

Good Monday to you! Whew, what a weekend. Totally exhausting. I’d say it was about 65% interesting and 35% frustrating, but that had more to do with the teachers rather than content. One of my teachers was brilliant, the other a little scattered – and so the result was a very productive start with a petering finish.  But it’s better in that order. No matter how much I wanted to vent and rant (and this opinion may be quite singular because other people seemed to find Sunday very productive – like very productive – but it wasn’t my cup of tea) there was the feeling that, yes, overall this weekend was valuable.


It’s exciting to be in a room with other writers  – feels like camp (the musty smell in the building contributed toward that atmosphere) where we’re all there to play games, learn about ourselves (our writing) and take home priceless memories (aka tips on finding an agent). And the opportunity to meet and chat was really helpful. Actually, I even met a fellow Canadian – so there you go! And she has an agent, is on her way to publication, and is crafting the second draft of her novel. Apparently she had gone to the Winchester’s Writer’s Conference and attracted her agent’s attention with just a synopsis and a thousand written words. Hello! That’s lovely.

So we were asked a question this weekend: why do you write? This wasn’t something to answer aloud, but to ask yourself. And I thought about it  – about the project I’d been working on (having shelved it for almost a year) before my breast cancer diagnosis, which is the same project I’m coming back to now . . . why am I writing it? Well, originally I began to write this story because I wanted to get pregnant. I had planned (for the fall of 2010) to start trying for a baby. That was the plan between Zsolt and I, which frankly left me feeling nervous as heck. So – what to do when nervous and uncertain? Write it out. And so I began this lovely story of nine women across nine generations. It was like I could pull on their strength  – their representation of those who have been there and done that – and this would make everything okay once it was finally my turn. Anyhow. Why did I write it? Because it was a coping process.

But now I can’t have children for at least two more years, and that’s assuming my ovulation resumes – and so far, no clear signs indicate that having happened (fingers crossed, please). Giving birth has become a question mark, but not becoming a mother. That will happen no matter what.

So . . . eleven months later (according to my blog archive of entries) and here is the question again: Why do I write?

Maybe I’m writing to heal (certainly blogging to heal, but this goes a little deeper). Plus, I take such pleasure in this story, it’d be an incredible shame not to grow the characters to the end. I guess they’re my responsibility now, so it’s time to step up and support them.  And besides, one day – someday – I’ll be a mother, so there’s still a reason to wade through the uncertainties of that change.

I think other writers sometimes read this blog (you know who you are!) . . . so it’s a good question to ask yourself: why do you write.

Actually, it could be expanded to any kind of project, couldn’t it? Maybe we often do things without realizing our internal motivation? Who knows. Why do you do what you’re doing right now?

This past weekend was really interesting and helpful in defining my story. It helped me create an overall understanding of the work – because this is a novel, not a short story collection. My fuse was shortening come Sunday, mostly because it was what I had feared (all exercises, all the time) and less tailored to our own work/style. But, there you go, not every workshop is perfect. It was certainly something to remember, however, if I’m ever asked to teach.

Wanna hear my one line pitch (still to be perfected)? “I’ve got a story about that uncertain time between pregnancy and motherhood, a coming of age across nine months and nine lives.” Add some explosions and fireworks, and that’ll be a real winner.

Anyhow, in the meanwhile I have a pile of clothes beside my bed asking to be sorted, Zsolt is still loving the post-thesis (pre viva) life, and the weather here had dropped from warming to cool.  Now it’s back to work for one more week and then… and THEN…. HOLIDAY IN FARO!!! Watch out Portugal, we’re coming to support your economy with our tourist dollars. Woohoo!