January 19, 2013 | Walking the Skyline

The nurse told me on the phone this morning, “take it easy today.” I didn’t tell mum or Guy that (I guess they'll find out soon), and without knowing they were unsure whether I should be joining them on the ‘Skyline walk,’ which is a hike that stretches for 13 kilometres along the hilltops that make up one horizon from our house.

We began climbing Mount Kaukau, a steep uphill with stunning views. My hands clasped on my abdomen, we made it to the top fine. There were a number of people up the top, some talking about how they were going all the way to Karori, a faraway suburbs. Some were older and some simply looked unfit, and so I said to mum, “If these people can do it, so can I!” “Sure, but they’re not recovering from an operation yesterday and in the middle of radiation,” was the response.

The procedure yesterday to retrieve the eggs was a lot worse than I had expected. I had thought I would just breeze in, hand them over and breeze out. Typical Wellington though, it was a cold morning and my hands were cold (okay, typical me.) They spent over half an hour just trying to find the right vein to put the sedative into (so I now have little pricks and bruises dotting my arms), and then the actual egg collecting was just as much painful as it was uncomfortable, even when sedated.

I waited today in a sunny little cemetery to be picked up after our walk, contemplating death as you do in gardens of the dead. I could help but notice all the eerie ‘reserved’ spots for people who wanted to be next to each other, and the things that people were remembered for. “Loving husband, father and grandfather” was the most common [male] remembrance. Wealth doesn’t matter when you’re gone, neither success. We all know this logically but it really hits home in a cemetery.

So I was sitting there on a bench thinking about the value of family when you’re gone. Just then, a young family came by with three yelling, misbehaved children whom they looked quite fed up with, and not bitterly, I couldn’t help but thinking about how people don’t quite realize that it’s lucky simply to be able to have children. I say this as three of the six eggs they got out yesterday have fertilized overnight and they are quite frank when they say “you’re lucky if you get more than one to succeed.” Many women undergo multiple rounds of IVF before success and in this case, we can only hope that our age helps the success rate so we can at least have something to freeze for a later date.

And so now I am back at home, which is beginning to feel a bit like home (although I still do consider Moscow home). I may be ambitious with trying to keep living, but I’ll be the first to admit it’s really hard to get started on online classes half a world away that I am already late in beginning. To write a blog and help with the housework, or start this class that I’m already behind in and feel distant from? I have to ask myself. I guess you can see which option won this time. I don’t know where time goes – and am hoping to have more time now that IVF is finished and it’s all in the hands of the embryologists. It’s so much better being able to attend real classes, something that in regularity we often forget to be grateful for and emit the occasional complaint about.

Week one of radiation is officially completed! It’s really not too bad. In fact, I have a lot of fun striding into the radiation treatment rooms, greeting the lovely receptionist lady with a smile (who always says “why hello, darling, just go on through Bethany”). The radiation nurses are incredible too, I feel that in some ways they are my friends (although perhaps that is due to my current relative lack of physical friends). I take my earrings out and lie down in the position on the bed I have come to know is aligned with the lasers, and wait while they do the position checks. “Perfect,” they say, and then leave the room. When they have left the room, on blasts the song of choice for the day in a feeble attempt to drown out the dying bumblebee sound of the radiation beams. After about six minutes stuck under the mask, I am free and can breathe properly again. I thank them, grab my earrings and phone and wander out, making sure to say goodbye to everyone on the way.

There are just 25 of these days to go, and I understand that things are going to get harder and my hair will conveniently fall out in patches, permanently, about a week before James returns. It’s nice there is a build up as it gives me time to develop my mental strength in the situations, so I can be stronger when the dreaded chemotherapy begins.

Alright, that’s it for now, thanks for listening to me ramble about this new, crazy life!