The bearded lady

Pee on a stick

Pee on a jar

Pee for the doctor

Pee.

It has become an every day part of my life.

And I am little prude when it comes to discussing things like that, so it's been quite the journey thus far.

I am resisting the urge to go into the city centre and buy another pregnancy test.

1) I'm alarmingly skint, on month 4 of furlough salary and

2) There is literally no point paying £7, it is literally pissing money up the wall.

See what I did there?

I've lost count of the amount of pregnancy tests we have bought, let alone the cost.

We've tried every brand of ovulation test under the sun, every app, a little chart that lives on our fridge, all of it.

Being married to a scientist ensures a procedural like methodolgy to baby making.

Times, temperatures, dates.

I've become a living breathing experiment.

Fertility denied our referral based on the fact they think it's "likely" that I am indeed ovulating, my so-called regular periods denote as such.

Then why, oh why, after our 1,000,000 attempt at getting pregnant, are we no closer?

The doctors ran a full blood panel and told me I had such low progersterone levels that ovulation was an inpossibility.

Prior to that, an a few years ago, the doctors told me I had the hormone levels of a post-menopausal woman so that doesn't exactly inspire confidence.

So I am frustated.

Sat at my kitchen table, now working part time, I have thrown myself into work and I am excited to regain my structure and my purpose, any more at home doing nothing time and I would have lost the plot.

But there are still moments in the day, due to working at home, where I can't escape wondering.

What is wrong with me?

Is it the weight?

Because I see much fatter birds than me pushing prams a plenty

Is it the hormones? If so, why do the doctors keep ruling out PCOS?

Guys, I'm going to share something that only my darling wife knows and loves me for regardless.

I am a bearded lady.

I kid you not, were it not for my handy friend gilette, I would look like that lady in the greatest showman by mid week.

My hair, my once beautiful hair, falls out, beyond measure. And no matter how gentle I am, what products I use, handfuls leave me on a daily basis.

The irony, too much fucking hair on my face and not enough on my head.

How's that femininity?

I think we have become so obsessed with the "expected aesthetic" than many of us who are not particualry "normal" hide our 5 oclock shadows,.... in the shadows, for fear of mockery, shame and perceived lack of feminiinty.

Don't get me wrong, I can be a big butch dyke when I want to be, and I own it, I am proud of who I am, and I use that word as a positive identity, not a negative slur.

But equally, I love pretty dresses and lacy bras, and makeup and shoes, just as much as the next girl. Which is hard to pair - the heel with the stubble.

The flat with the hairy leg

The flowy dress with tarzan swinging by.

So when my hormones are literally failing me, I am irrationally pissed off.

I can gym it, slim it, and eat a vegan diet until I'm an NHS worthy BMI, yes I can, but lord help me, someone fix me.

I spoke with the doctor yesterday to ask for help, we've done our research, I've had the scans, there are no cysts on my ovaries, but I do have a hairy fucking face and insane periods that lurge from one extreme to the other.

As I type this I'm on ady 33 of my cycle, which used to be a normal 28 predicted to a T situation.

Some months I can hit the gym, go for a swim and barely notice it, other months I feel like auditioning for Carrie.

TMI.

I know, I'm sorry.

But you know me, open book policy and sharing is caring.

I feel like I'm failing.

We took our most recent pregnancy test on Sunday and I closed my eyes and made Sarah look first, we were both still that little bit hopeful despite promising ourselves not to get our hopes up.

I cried as soon as I saw that glaring singular line staring at me, and of course, as any hopefuly hoping to get pregnant lady will do, I shone a light and looked at that damn test in every which direction, squinting for the sign of a second line. ALas, if it's not there on first glance, it's not there.

It's so frustrating.

I lay in Sarahs arms in our bed and the only words I could muster were 

"I'm sorry,"

And she laughed and then gave me a stern look.

Sarahs stern looks are serious business.

So I got a little grumpy with the GP on the phone.

He says no chance of ovulation, therefore, not producing an egg, which makes our monthly attempts rather silly.

Fertility clinic say, yes, could be ovulating, no reason to think otherwise.

No reason other than a big fat blood test result that says so.

I had a little rant about my hairy face and my erratic monthlies and that these factors were major playerse when it came to PCOS and that just because a random ultrasound "x" amount of years ago, showed no cysts it didn't mean there were no issues.

I mean, for one, constant flare ups of pelvic inflammatory disease for one, thanks to undiagnosed "clap" from delightful sexaul predator, the irony, the gift of a pregnancy and an STD, neither of which were welcome.

And now, I suffer from the fall out on both fronts.

THANKS.

I want to run to the shop and buy doughnuts.

And eat a pack of 5

But I'm not going to.

Because what good would that do? Aside from put me further back from my goal?

When we got another negative on Sunday, I had my cry and then got up and at it, went to the gym and smashed through a 700 calorie workout.

Not a doughnut in sight.

For me to get to a NHS worthy BMI, I'm looking at loosing 4 more stone, thats still quite the mountain to climb, but whilst we are waiting for them decide what the hell is wrong with my baby making equipment, it gives me some time to keep at it.

We have sickening stresses in our lives, both Sarah and I, things that go on behind the scenes and would keep even you, my avid readers up at night.

Stress leads to high levels of cortisol, high levels of cortisol reduce progesterone levels.

Stress leads to fucked up fertility.

Theres no amount of citalopram on planet earth that would take out some of the major stresses ongoing.

Stress of big shit.

Stress of little shit

Stress of fertility shit.

I'm surprised I don't have grey hair - well, depending on how long it lasts.

So after much grumping, I'm going to drink a glass of water, have a decaf tea and get back to doing what I'm good at - working my ass off.

For all my hairy faced sisters out there, stay postive, we are all in this together.

It can be absolutely mind numbing and heart breaking for you and your partner, but the pay off will be so so worth it, no matter how it happens xxx