Well, you asked for it.
We had people over for dinner last night and we ended up talking about sex. That is unusual in that it’s not something I generally discuss with friends over dinner. This situation was slightly different. The friends in question are currently going through the fertility treatment that I started off on. It’s not so much the side effects of the drugs that make the process so unpleasant, or the waiting, or even the blood tests – it’s the fact that everything is so prescribed.
A doctor tells you which days to have sex each month. Not particularly spontaneous. It’s usually 4 days in a row – sometimes 5. For the first couple of months it’s kinda entertaining. By the end of the first year it’s a nightmare. I’d race home from Youthline late at night having made Shaun promise not to go to sleep. How romantic. The pressure was ridiculous. And it’s not always easy for men to perform under pressure…
But that’s when things start to get more than a bit ironic. After all the months of prescribed sex, Shaun wasn’t even there when I finally conceived. It was all done in a sterile room in a hospital. No sex required.
But that’s not the biggest irony. After less than 2 months out from under the eyes of the sex police, I had a bleeding scare during my pregnancy.
As a result I was put on a strict no exercise or sex order.
First they giveth, then they taketh away.