Squeamishness

It took 5 hours to drive to Birmingham for the egg freezing appointment. The sky was dark grey to match my dreary mood.

Parked in a cold concrete slab of a car park and walked down a pokey damp stairwell that smelled of urine.

The clinic’s waiting room had strip lighting, a fish tank and self-serve tea and coffee on the side.

Read a gossip magazine about poor old Britney in the waiting room. There were lots of couples wandering about.

I was summoned in to meet Dr Victoria, who spoke with a thick Birmingham accent. This is how it works.

"You'll have to inject yourself for six weeks during which time you'll probably swell up like a balloon, have mood swings, hot flushes and headaches. It is a 'temporary menopause'" she said cheerily.

"If at any point you feel sick and vomit you could be suffering from over stimulated ovaries and we'll have to be careful of that.

"You'll be fully concsious during the egg recovery session when we line your uterus with anaesthetic and inject through the vaginal wall and thrust the needle into your ovaries to scrape off the follicles." (she didn’t really use that language but she might as well have)

For a woman over 35 the success rate of a baby being born from a frozen egg is a piffling 15-20%

After a scan, blood & urine test which cost a further £250, I was informed the next step would be the invoice for £3,000. After that’s paid the fertility drugs will be delivered and will have to be stored in the fridge.

The Prince rang while I drove back blubbing. He didn’t know what to say. Nor did I. Am through with saying stuff – it just doesn’t get anywhere.

Phoned lesbian friend.

“That’s close on four grand,” she said. “Forget it. Just leave him, shag someone else and you’ll get pregnant.”

It’s the equivalent of the Prince saying “this is all your problem, I have nothing to do with it” in terms of not getting it.

For her, it’s simple. Her cleaner/lover has already moved in with her two kids and they’re playing happy families. Only the poor ex-husband is weeping into the phone every night, missing his daughters and nursing his pride.

This is so boring now. When will it lift? I wish there was such a thing as a ‘mind wash’.