So today’s Productive Thing was that I watched a documentary about a fertility clinic on BBC i-player.
Interesting, although as a connosieur of the art I would have preferred a section on IUI. All we got as far as that was concerned was a brief interview with a sperm donor.
I wondered what our children would look like.
Fortunately, he looked OK, which was a relief. I don’t think I could have coped had I found myself staring into the seal-like face of Trifon Ivanov, former Bulgarian defender from Euro ’96 and universally recognised Ugliest Footballer Ever as he banged on about what a privilege it was to be able to create a life using purely one’s right hand and a television with nothing but porn channels.
What if they wanted to masturbate to BBC4? I mean, I do.
So naturally they were focusing on IVF (with the obligatory ICSI shot), which was depressing as out of four couples having treatment, only one got pregnant. And IVF is supposed to have higher success rates than IUI.
Bloody hell. I would have thought they could at least have featured a lesbian couple, just for a bit of variety, instead of just loads of white, heterosexual couples. I mean, WE DON’T ALL HAVE A LOVING HUSBAND TO HOLD OUR HANDS WHEN WE’RE CRYING AT A NEGATIVE PREGNANCY TEST YOU KNOW.
Not that I’m jealous or anything. Hard to be jealous of a bunch of people weeping on national television when you know that’s going to be you in a matter of weeks. Hopefully not on national television though, in my case. Just had horrific vision of what events might lead to that eventuality, and can think only of myself in a television report about a dreadful natural disaster such as a tsunami whipping up from the Grand Union Canal and engulfing the whole building and me, wailing like I’m in a war-torn Middle Eastern country and my son has just been blown up by rebel forces, beating my breast as I scrabble among the ruins of my lovely flat, now reduced to rubble and bits of disassembled furniture from Dwell.
And thou shalt see me weeping on the BBC.
Anyway, there were some highlights to the programme. I found myself positively skidding across the room with excitement every time someone did an embryo transfer. Although all seems a bit futile now, given that most of those transfers didn’t amount to anything.
I shall hold that mental image of the sperm donor dear, and dream happy thoughts, hoping that I will be one of the few lucky ones.