The next 336 hours will be tough. No. The next 336 hours will be really tough…
I feel like an Olympian, waiting to see whether the years of hard work, sacrifice and dedication are finally going to pay off, or whether my body’s about to fail me at the last hurdle and make me wonder why I ever hoped I could win.
My best friend is pregnant, my single friends are planning their pregnancies and, after five long years of tests and investigations, I’m coming to the end of my third – and supposedly final – IVF treatment. There are 336 hours to survive before I’ll know if I get to join the motherhood club. That’s 224 waking hours of pure psychological torture. 112 sleeping hours to stare at the ceiling and wonder, what the hell am I going to do with my life if it turns out I can’t have kids?
Based on the author’s true life experiences, 336 Hours is a humorous and poignant diary about one woman’s quest to be a mother.
Excerpts from 336 Hours
‘They should have IVF farms for women like me to book into at times like these; pretty padded cells with flat-screen TVs and row upon row of feel-good DVDs and relaxation CDs, and beautiful gardens and luxury bathrooms with hot taps that would never heat up to embryo boiling temperatures, and gigantic rocking chairs so that we could legitimately sit and rock ourselves backwards and forwards for hours on end without looking completely crazy in the process.’
‘The most terrifying realisation is the fact that I am a woman entirely out of options now. If DH were to be revealed as a serial gambler, a serial philanderer, or probably even a serial killer, I worry I’d just have to sigh, ruffle his hair as though he were a badly trained puppy, and go back to reading about the latest fertility breakthroughs on my iPad. Because how would I doggedly pursue my fertility treatment without a dutiful husband in tow? And how long would it take me to find a suitable replacement? Many years, I’m guessing. Or, more likely, forever. Either way, I’d be menopausal before it happened.’