Well, that went well. And by 'well', I mean 'FUCKING NIGHTMARE'. Basically, I ain't ever going to get any AC help on the NHS. Yeah, you read that right. Let me explain:
I go into room. Doc - who knows why I'm coming cos they sent me the letter asking me to come in now they've got the info of the consultant who did my lap - looks like she's bricking herself. Not promising. She then tells me that the new Government have changed the PCT rules about AC. And that because the county I live in was just about the most generous in the UK, they've had their wrists slapped and been made to be super-strict. The new rules - and I dunno if they are just for my area or the whole of the UK, because I was crying so much I didn't think to ask - are that they will only see you after you've been trying officially for TWO years. That would mean that we would only be eligible in July 2011, which would be before my 39th birthday. BUT! The PCT trust for this county has also introduced rules as to certain diseases and conditions which preclude you from getting AC. And mine's one of them. I would have to prove that I've not been ill for 3 years - which would make me over 39 and therefore illegible age-wise. AND she weighed me and my bastard BMI is a teeny fraction over 30 so am illegible for referral cos of that AND there was some other reason about me being too old but I can't even remember that.
All of these new rules have been rushed in by the new Government. The BESHDoc actually told me that she's been having to tell so many women over 35 that she can't refer them, who she would've been able to happily send off only a few months ago, that she's been going home and crying at night! But why should Cameron, fathering 4 kids and Clegg, dad of 3, give a living shit about other, non-rich, less fertile peeps?! BESH, never vote for either of these parties again!
(not that I would do anyway, but still)
There has been mucho crying and ranting. Not just me, but TYF and also my parents, as I had combined the appointment with seeing them (they live round the corner from the surgery). The wonderful, darling, stupid things, they started Googling prices of AC stuff and telling me they'd find a way to help us. But they're retired and not rich. TYF's parents are mega-rich but tighter than a gnat's chuff and the sort that would make us feel like they co-owned an IVF-win baybee, IYKWIM. And MIL would tell all 8000 of his relatives, even if sworn to secrecy, if we so much as hinted at the topic. And I haven't got a job. TYF is so upset that he didn't even tell me that Astrology is a load of bollocks when I yelled angrily 'No-one says no to Scorpios!' (we're both Scorps). That, for him, speaks volumes 
Please make room for me in the pit. I may be there quite a while. Me and my fat, gross, infertile, too-old body. 
Sorry this is a bit hysterical. I think you can appreciate why. Please for loving, no violence?