Rage!

Today I had a go at:

1) A workmate:  I fully sprayed her for questioning my career decisions and said you ain't no help to me sista and I thought we should stick togetha.

2) My boss:  How can you give me all the crap work just because I took a couple of days off work last week, which apparently made me inadequate and not sharp enough for any new and challenging work, thus you gave me crap work to do this week.  This is not on.

3) My brother:  How dare you say I shouldn't have drank so much at your wedding last week, and how come you are always on mom's side and thinks she is always right.  How about being on my side for once and understand your mom is not perfect and don't always have a go at me first.

4) My mobile phone service provider - the rotten 3 phone:  You losers managed to give me three mobile phones in a row, all of them don't work, and you are now asking me to purchase a new battery, at my own expense, to see if it was a battery problem, and if it wasn't, I should go to the service centre myself, during business hours, at my own expense and time, to have it fixed up, or alternatively I should pay an extra $14 a month, just to get myself another new phone, which I have already done this once before, so I can solve this `shit phone' problem once and for all, of which I won't be needing to do any of these if you gave me a functional mobile phone in the first place?  Cancel my phone policy you dirt licker.

God I am such a monster today.  And unfortunately I don’t feel bad either.  I am still raging.

Sigh…the ride of the hormone roller coaster is getting worse by the year. 

Pre-Start Talks

Am back after a weekend of getting trashed - brother's wedding so lots of alcohol and fun times of taking relatives who travelled from overseas around town whilst secretly nursing the after effects of alcohol consumption (but not a hangover).

Just want to say something about PGD - because Betty and Meg had questions about it. 

I went to my appointment yesterday to review the drug protocol for my upcoming fresh cycle (currently Day 12 since my last dud one).  They have agreed on a dosage for me, and I am to down-regulate for a week prior to fresh start.  I discussed the pre-implantation genetic diagnosis with them.  I asked them about everything except for the costs - so Meg you are probably on the ball park figure about how much it costs.  It is probably going to be $2500 out of pocket on top of the standard IVF costs - and since I had to have my results couried overnight to Melbourne for analysis - that is probably going to further increase the cost.

You see - my previous doctor (who is a guru by the way), thinks this PGD test is a waste of time and money.  It is only of use if you have a genetic problem or serious hereditary illness in the family - and you don't want that to be passed on to your unborn child.  But my new doctor believes that PGD is an excellent test to be used to rule out failure possibilities - if your embryos turned out to be genetically perfect then that is one less thing you will have to worry about and can focus your time in doing more IVF cycles - knowing that it will work eventually.

I was told of a story of a few couples from the clinic - who embarked on cycles after cycles using perfectly normal looking embryos but either cannot get pregnant or kept miscarrying.  They all did the PGD as told - and some of them ended up finding out that all embryos produced were genetically flawed - which means they will never implant normally.  These couples are in fact relieved  - because they can either move on to egg or sperm donation.  Often they find that out of a dozen embryos produced, there are really only one or two that are okay to use.  And the success rate using these `qualified’ embryos is extremely high.

I guess with me bollocking about here about how good PGC is, is probably to motivate myself that I have not yet run out of options yet.  I still have something I can do and more questions answered.  I am not happy with the costs but then again it is either that or a lifetime of not knowing.....so bring it on.

I had an ultrasound scan yesterday - just to make sure there are no cysts and no polyps growing.  It showed more than half a dozen of growing follicles on the good ovary and another half a dozen on the little ovary.  I pointed to the cluster of follicles out to the technician and said oh my god are they all follicles?  She said yup.  She said are you stimming this cycle?  I said nah.  She said oh looks like you have a bad case of PCOS.  I said yippee lucky me.  They grow when you don't want them to, and don't when you want them to.  But she said don't worry as long as no cysts no bumps and lumps we are good to go. 

I also got counselled.  Load of bullocks initially, but after some careful thinking and did some of that reading I was given, I think I can be a little more optimistic for my next cycle - for everyone's sake.

 

 

Outlash

Haven't been able to use the `fuck' word for ages, it's because I have been sneakily posting using the email method. And I can't use the `fuck' word using work emails. But today I am having a day off. At home. So here it is.

Fucking hell. Fucking hell. Fucking hell.

Today I was idle so I did some idle thinking. It has been six years. Six years of unprotected sex (with the exception when the nurses said don't have sex tonight because you have hyperstimulated so it's dangerous). These days I calmly walk into the blood room (as compared to the early terrified days), plonk my right arm down on the cushion and position myself, fist pumping. If the nurse is unsure I will say right here, in the centre, you won't see the vein but the sucker is there, just feel for it. And if they miss, I'd say don't worry, if you've lost it - pull it out and try the same arm again. You won't have any luck with my left arm and don't even think about the feet - we've been there once and it wasn't pretty.

And that was just one of the many, many procedures of IVF I am now so familiar with. No change of clinics or new doctors is going to take that familiar feeling away from me.

Got a phone call earlier today from the clinic. They want to do PGD on my fresh cycle next month. They want me to make an appointment with them to discuss the procedure - on top of the counselling session I booked with them. I said fine. Lets talk PGD.

This is depressing to write. So we will leave it as that. PGD it is.

On a lighter note - I did feel happier today - less pessemistic because I have the prospects of a new cycle to look forward to. I just need to get a good grip at it and take it in the chin.

La la la...

And so that was that.

Pretty much resumed my `normal' way of life two days later.  Getting out to do things, cleaning up the house, buying more towels and crap for the house.  Life goes on.

In between Apeman lost his nanna - she died as a result of a mild heart attack and old age.  Sigh.  Again, like my grandpa's passing last year the last thing she said to us was she was keen to see great-grand children from us.  Again we failed in that department and lamely tried to tell her that we are `busy' and will have kids `a bit later'. 

When I got my test results that day, via that `I am sorry I don't have good news for you' phone call, I thought I will never recover from this experience again.  I went all numb and weak and couldn't pull myself up from the sofa.  I wanted to be swallowed and never be seen again.  I want to be in a coma.

But eventually I got up and moved on.  I made myself busy and cleaned mirrors and shower screens and wiped every surface in the house.  I threw away needles, old medications, wipes, instructions for this cycle.  I did some light gardening.

Then a few days later I realise I can do this again.  It is not the end of the road for me yet because I never believe I cannot fall pregnant.  I know I have it in me somewhere.  This one just happens to fall into that 87%failure rate for a frozen embryo transfer cycle, although it has already happened one too many times I still don't believe I will die childless.  Because I won't.  Apeman and I will be parents soon enough.

So here’s what next.  Looks like this is the rest cycle and will be looking at a fresh collection with this new clinic in April.  I am going to try the assisted hatch Day 3 transfer combo – possibly investigate the benefits in tubal transfer.  And yes I will be taking advantage of their counselling option with the fresh cycle.  In the mean time I am going to hang tight and live as dangerously as possible.  Hack, if Britney Spears can be a mom (and for the second time - five months after the birth of her first), so can I.  And when I do fall pregnant, I am going to have the biggest and loudest baby shower this side of Australia.

Baby hit me one more time.

10^th / 11^th cycle all over again with nothing much to say really.  They say nothing much to do now except to keep going or no do anything at all and maybe get some counselling to help me cope with future cycles I will be doing.  Right now I just wish for enough strength to get me by till the end of this work day and not fall down flat on my face.  Thank you.

Moving Moving Moving On...

Got the news today that, the workmate of mine who told me about his wife’s pregnancy last year the day after my previous failed IVF attempt – is due to give birth any minute.

Always bad timing.  Was meant to do lunch with him tomorrow, you know, a professional power lunch in some overcharged restaurant, hoping to boost my confidence and be proud to be a career woman (of sort).  He emailed and said nah mate, can’t do lunch tomorrow; the missus is due to give birth any minute. 

So ho-hum – probably better off anyway, I am in such a foul mood today I almost had a go at the woman who served me at the café counter, I wanted to say to her GET WITH THE PROGRAM, I SAID I WANT MORE PASTA AND LESS CHIPS, IS THAT TOO DIFFICULT FOR YOU TO COMPREHEND?  SHALL I JUMP OVER TO YOUR SIDE OF THE COUNTER AND GIVE YOU A FREAKING HAND?  But of course I didn’t.  I am not made like that.

Just bad, bad mood today, depressed, deflated, defeated and SAD.  The cramps are getting increasingly real as I close in on the test date.

Despite my foul mood I am a little bit calmer then last round of FET.  (Can you be angry and calm at the same time?).  I have a little holiday planned for the long weekend, I am trying to make the most of the situation. 

Rang mom this morning to chat about brother’s upcoming wedding in March.  Was going okay until I blurted out about my recent FET cycle, and I commented that I am getting cramps and don’t know if this will work.  Mom thought for a moment, and said don’t worry, it’s not meant to be.  If you want you can always adopt a little girl from China.

Apart from the time Mom told me she threw away all my high school and university text books because she was doing spring cleaning and `needed the space’, this is the only other time I want to tell her to F-off and hang up on her. 

Sigh.

Interlude

I was in the waiting room with Apeman.  Apeman was holding my hands because they were shaking so much.  He told me not to worry and whatever will be, shall be.

I clutched onto my already damp shirt and wish I can pull it over my head and hide inside it forever.

The doctor himself came out, he has a strange look on his face.  On his hands was my destiny – a sheet of computer printout with rows and rows of hormone levels.

He began:  `Drew…’

I said: `Don’t, please don’t, I don’t want to know.  I can’t take this anymore.  I don’t want to do this anymore because my heart can’t take it.’

He said: `But Drew you are pregnant, it finally worked!  Your HCG levels are not very high but I can almost be certain they are going to keep doubling based on our calculations.  So go and celebrate sweetheart.’  He gave my shoulder a squeeze and sent me and Apeman off home.

I panicked.  Oh my God.  What have I done?  Is this for real?  They must have got my results mixed up with somebody else.  Oh that’s too cruel.

Then I figured, hell, might as well enjoy this moment.  I just hope I am not dreaming.  I need to celebrate, I want to forever freeze this moment and replay this memory for the rest of my life.  I am too happy.  I am going to have a baby and going to be a momma - finalfuckingly.

I went down to the hospital newsagency, and figured I need to buy something to celebrate.  So I bought a flag.  Of all things I could’ve bought, including my favourite New Weekly magazine, I bought a freaking flag – a medium sized one which I keep waving it back and forth as we returned to our car – our 4WD bought for our unborn child.

Then I woke up.  I started to cry because I was so disappointed that it was only a dream and it is only 11 days past ovulation.  Not testing until another week or so.  People get knocked up everyday including drug dealers and low life human beings who beat and abuse children. 

Just scared.

Think am cramping already. 

The more you do this the scarier it becomes. 

This just plain sucks.

 

One more day

Pessimistic side of me: 

Supporting parties include my knees (for injuring themselves despite my non-involvement in any kind of sport except for yoga, my brain (for thinking up too much rubbish so I worry myself more), the pimples that comes and goes according to hormonal fluctuations, my uterus (for taking perfectly good embryos and not giving them a good home), and finally, my hair (for not behaving regardless of use of products or blowdrying techniques). 

 

Optimistic side of me: 

Supporting parties include my right ovary (for being there and stayed calm during my reproductive years), my left ovary (for going and coming back), my hands (for washing dishes in restaurants and working in factories so I can put myself through university, and for trying - but unsuccessfully, put injections on my stomach, my stomach (for taking all those injections without complains), my eyes (for staying strong despite the hardship I put through them - including taking on a LASIK surgery to correct my vision, ouch that hurts), and finally, my feet (for picking myself back up again after each disappointment and for the hardship they have to endure for wearing my trophy heels).

 

Pessimistic side chanted this morning:  What makes you think it is going to work for you this time?  This is your 7th embryo from this batch, your 7th FROZEN embryo, from the final three, it didn't work last time, or the time before, or the time before that.  Ha it never worked.  Just get on with it and wait for your period.  Oh by the way Hair is looking pretty crap today, you look like you are wearing a wig.

 

Optimistic side retorted:  (Note:  Feet are wearing shiny flats today, so the comfort factor helps).  It is going to work.  It is going to be SWEET.  You just wait because it is your turn this time, it is your time.  It didn't work before because it simply wasn't your time.  Your body is in top shape, you had a nice surge, the embryos are top grade blastocysts, you have a fantastic shoe collection, you bought the 4WD so the baby IS coming.  A baby is going to come into your lives and you are going to be a mom.  You just wait for the positive pregnancy test.  You hang in there. If I'm you I will get on with that shopping for pregnancy shoes.

 

Looks like it is time to give myself that really, really short haircut.

In Peace

I am finally at peace with Deirdre - my forgotten ovary.  Last Friday she gave me a much needed dominant follicle and we had a lift-off at LH=42.  Deirdre started off as my nasty bitch from endometriosis hell, and then reduced to nothing, only to grow back six months later to give me minor pain and suffering.  She's now back on my follicle production line and I suspect she will stay there for as long as I need her because it is nature intended. 

If everything goes according to plan (yeah right, what plan?), we are looking at a transfer on thursday.

Eternal optimism and inner-calm dissipates.  Panic sets in.

Welcome to cycle numero 11.

Snail Trail

Its slowly happening.

Today is Day 345 into my FET cycle (or in realistic days, Day fucking 16).

Kath - if you are reading this I want you to know that they pumped me up with drugs again since my non-response after the first blood test on Day 7 - and I did what was told and didn't think much of it. You are right dude, nothing to loose here!

So the Puregon kicked in and started to get some follicles happening. The last scan two days ago showed five on the good ovary, but only two of them looks promising (12um), and two pissy little hairlike things on the little ovary. Oh and a large pocket of adhesions/fluids thrown in on the `where the bad ovary used to be' side for good measures. All these follicles you would think I am doing a fresh cycle. But no. Estrogen nicely climbing at 606.

So today I went in for another scan and needle torture, and something different came up today. The two `promising' follicles on the good ovary seems to have stalled and stopped growing, only 13um today. But the bad ovary seems to want to party too and ended up giving me what seems to be my dominant follicle. We have a 15um happening there. It's a fucking miracle, just goes to show the forces of nature. Estrogen at 786 today. LH moved to 12 and hopefully going up.

Me: `Is it going to happen? Like, am I really going to theatre?'
Coordinator: `Yes I think so, we just need to wait for the LH to keep climbing.'
Me: `I just don't want another let down. Something always happens, even if it is physically not possible I still manage to do it.'
Coordinator: `Drew you ARE going to theatre.'
Me: `Okay.'

I slept in this morning. Just before I woke up I dreamt I was playing with my neighbour's adopted Chinese girl. I was tickling her and felt really happy.

Then reality sank in - I slept through the alarm (how the fuck did I manage that?) and was late for the clinic.

If all goes well I am going to theatre to bring home my last embryos. From a team of eleven, now there's three.

I hope, hope hope hope hope, that one of you will become the apple in my (and Apeman's) eyes.

Here we go again

Was doing some thinking today (between my walk from the carpark to the office – which is like a 10 minute walk – quite pathetic).

 

I can sit here and mope around, be depressed, be crappy to Apeman, watch my marriage break down and die a lonely death.

 

Or

 

I can get out and do the things I do, buy more frigging shoes, go swimming, go do yoga, continue to be at the sidelines for friends who are well into their pregnancies, and be happy for them, and be happy with what I have. 

 

I choose the middle.

 

I shall continue with this bullcrap called in-vitro fertilisation, buy more frigging shoes, go do yoga, be crappy to Apeman – but whatever I choose to do my marriage is going to be a testimony of our love for each other.  At our wedding reception 6 years ago, Apeman said to me, in front of a rather large audience, that there are a lot of stars amongst the sky, but he has found his shooting star.  I guess he loved me.  And still does for as long as I am not injecting myself with Puregon.

 

Puregon is making me depressed.  This medication should be banned.

 

Day 7 today into my 10^th/11^th/12^th cycle (I can’t remember).   Will see how far we go.

Another Pause

Another perfect 28-day cycle came and went and I am still fruitless with everyone else around me getting pregnant or due to give birth, all due in March or April, all miracles conceived during the heightened months of my pain. All Beckys and Marys are cradling their bundles of joy and grinning from the cover of heftily lifted magazines. I scream silently in defeat and ask for mercy.

All I am left with is a soaked pad of sadness and a spectacular shoe collection that gives me no pleasure and no meaning in life.

I just panicked. I want to see if there is a power somewhere I can trade my soul with. I just don’t understand.

Today is not a good day.

Oh No Not Gwen!

If you don't want to know, don't go digging.

Bought a magazine yesterday with a rather unfortunate picture of Britney Spears on the cover - poor lass was photographed with her double chin and her post-baby stomach hanging out - photographers can be really cruel if they want to be. The girl just had a baby - at least she didn't starve herself like the other supermodels and actresses out there and appeared anorexic just weeks after giving birth.

So I turn to the back for the quick gossips, and discovered my rock goddess Gwen Stefani, who is the epitomy of cool, rock chic and the iron board stomach is pregnant.

Oh dear God.

Even rock goddesses are getting pregnant. And I am still sitting here wondering where all the sperm went the last six years we've been having unprotected sex, vaginal secretions as indication of ovulation, and why do planes almost always experience really bad turbulence when we fly over Indonesia.

Ha.

We just had our six year anniversary. Six years of infertility. It is becoming very real.

Nothing much really, there is another one of those baby boom at work, just about everybody's wife is pregnant.

One incident I can recall was roughly between my 5th and my 6th IVF attempt, I was feeling particularly down, and ended up chatting to a lovely lovely boy whom I worked with because I really didn't feel like doing any real work. He is a good catch - he can cook really well, and treat ladies with alot of respect. I ended up chatting to him extensively about my kitchen knive collection for an hour. He told me at the time he started seeing a beautiful girl he met at his church and want to find out from me if there are any nice places around town to take her. I suggested a few upmarket eateries. He thanked me and asked if I liked his new jumper - a gift from his new lady friend. It was a nice jumper.

And last month he emailed me out of the blue (he has moved on to a new job), his wife (that lady friend of his) is up the duff. She's four months pregnant. He is a happy man.

Just goes to show how long this infertility journey has been for us. It is tiring. At times I want to say fuck you to the forces of nature who subjected us to this. But now I am way beyond that, it really is okay. I haven't lost hope but at the same time I have accepted it. I have somehow managed to convince myself that it is okay and not to get upset over it.

And thanks to those who left a comment for my last posting - you are all so incredibly wonderful and strong. :) For those who's journey has not been completed yet let's hope 2006 brings about good news and bundles of joy.

New Year!!! Yeah!!

All that high-horse `I'm happy regardless of baby or no baby' bullshit behaviour of mine certainly paid off last year - I finally entered a BRAND new year HAPPY. Not sulky, blameful, whiny, depressed like the previous years.

I had a delirious month - I spent 4 weeks travelling with the Apeman - we did a few towns amongst a few continents and went skiing and sightseeing and actually tried to have a good time. And we most certainly did. And oh my god we actually had sex whenever we feel like it (not timed like before. Fuck that).

One night in Beijing, on Day 34 of my Clomid cycle, I was sitting in a heated hotel room pondering if I should put on my bathers and go for a dip in the heated natural springs. Every fertility book I have read said `Thou shall not go for dips in pool post embryo transfer to prevent risks of infection'. I said fuck it anyway and went for my life. Sitted in a hot spring amongst an atmosphere of -8 degC is way cool. Have to try that one again.

And thankfully, sigh, period rocked up with a vengance 2 days later. Ladies and gentlemen - its another dud cycle. But oh yeah I ovulated alright.

So anyway - onward and upwards - I have started a new regime of Chinese medicine - we spent almost AUD$3000 on boxes of these formulated chinese herbs purchased from Beijing - apparently the formulations were created according to the doctors who served the imperial family. We also had our pulse read by the professors of the Chinese medicine insitute and not surprisingly I was told by the master that I have irregular periods and have, urm, chunky periods. Apeman's swimmers are apparently a little on the slow side due to the `heating up' of the liver. Apparently.

And congrats to Ovagirl on your pregnancy - I have been thinking of you and hope to rub a bit of that babydust from you to use in 2006. Everytime I read about the news of a pregnancy from a trooper like yourself gives me hope. You go girlfriend!!!

And to share another bit of good news, I recently read about a couple who tried to conceive for more than 8 years gave birth to a baby girl on Christmas Day. The thought of it brings tears to my eyes.

The Story So Far

Entered total life changing experience - new motto in life - baby or no baby am not going to loose marbles over it.

Resumed social drinking again after a 5 year break. Regained appreciation for good (and bad) red wine, and dashes of bourbon with coke. Only on fridays. And only when invited to work socials. Never alone - that's alcoholic.

Resumed buying tight fitting jeans/pants. If a baby comes along, great - we can work on a new wardrobe. But in the mean time this lady here needs to be decked out.

Gained fresh approach on the job-front. Started to take my career seriously again - haven't been since I got married because I always thought I will be a mom straight away. I did a little bit of PR for myself at work and volunteered for travelling trips to earn brownie points.

Don't know if I ovulated the last two months but then again I wasn't too bothered. Basically it doesn't keep me awake at night like it used to.

Last week went to see fertility doctor for check-up. He said are you worried about your ovulation problems? I said yeah I am to a certain extent. So he said well how about we try something simple for once - like one little Clomid pill from Days 2 to Day 6 and see what we get? I said sure why not but am not going to get too excited about it because 2.5 weeks of Puregeon injections did fuck-all so what can one Clomid pill do for me?

I think I might ovulate this month. I don't know how the universe works but I seem to be responding to this light dose of Clomid. Scan shows one dominant follicle on its way a coupla of days ago. Fabulous.

And after all these - I still secretly asked Santa for a baby this year. If he comes up with the goods this year that will be very nice indeed. If he doesn't I am just going to have ask nicely again next year.

I think.

Summer Holiday

Yup - still here.

The day after the last post - the holy mother of the forever maternal river of blood came rushing, I had a big period. It kind of goes hand in hand nicely with my hangover and that sorry month of misery I called (almost) frozen embryo transfer cycle. Not nice.

And then I had a week of life changing experience. I stepped back from my usual role and started a new job - doing something a little less intense, and supposingly less stressful because I am supposed to use a little less brain (not that I use that much of my brain anyway). Work people around me thought I had gone insane. I soldiered on with my thick skinned face - because the last few months I had a totally different outlook on life and I feel most importantly that I do not need to justify my actions for anybody (with reference to the nosey un-family-like members).

And I delievered what I said here. I still get the odd person asking me about `how's everything?', `are you guys still trying?'. I smile sweetly and said no, life is too beautiful and I am relatively young so I much rather enjoy life the way it is. But thanks for asking. And oh did I tell you about my hangover last week?

Not that we are not trying. We try. I am not on any sort of contraception (derr! like THAT's going to do it for us...), and we have sex whenever we can - which is not that often but hey, sex is sex and we all have to be in the mood for it. And most importantly I don't whinge about this whole infertility issue anymore. Not even to the long suffering Apeman. We talk about our future as if it will fill with happiness with, or without, children.

Life should keep getting better - and so it should be.

Last night we went out to celebrate our birthdays - there's a couple of us who is turning 31 - and for some, turning 32. It was a night of laughter, beer, shooters (oh yes), dancing, loud music and a female DJ who staggered into the ladies loo absolutely plastered - demanding for the spot at the front of the long que in exchange for a dedicated spin to that person - which was me. I said sure go right ahead and pee away. And despite being quite intoxicated, she kept her promise and spun me a cool track. It was really cute.

And then we acted our age, me and Apeman went home just after midnight because one of my ears popped due to the loud music and became partially deaf. We bought a large bag of McDonald treats scoffed it down at home - just like the way it was when we were struggling uni students after a long night studying or at the pub.

Once I was told by a gifted woman that babies only come to you when you are happy and shine positive energies.

If all these life changing experiences and appreciation of life don't attract a baby into our lives, I don't know what can.

Never Again (Red, Red Wine)...

Last night I went out and celebrated with a bunch of people - some old, some alot older, and some alot younger - the life as engineers (i.e. a fully company-funded piss-up). It was fun. I haven't had that much fun since ages.

Honestly.

And I am severely hungover today.

I am almost 32 and have never, ever had a hangover in my life - not even during the supposingly hard-rocking years at university. Even this god forsaken computer screen is too bright for me this morning so I have to wear my sunnies whilst typing.

I vaguely remember telling my workmate last night (who at 28 already had six major operations to fix her endometriosis, and was told by her doctors that she has zero chance in conceiving because her disease had so tragically damaged her reproductive organs) to not give up hope, and remember you are too special and you WILL have your babies, and so will I. We will both go on and have healthy babies, our time will come eventually. I said this probably somewhere between my fourth and fifth glass of red wine. She agreed and we hugged. She is getting engaged to her boyfriend of four years in Christmas, who is a wonderful, wonderful man who nursed her back to health after years of depression as a result of endometriosis. She said there is nothing more she want at this point in life but to have a baby with him.

Me too.

I guess we can all live in hope. Just have to remind myself every now and then I need to give myself a break. Just enjoy life the way it is.

I just want to thank everyone of you, even those who only stumble into this blog by accident and find out what a nut I am - for reading my blog.

Sometimes you just want people to know, you want to tell people how tired you are because not too many people (in fact none) can fully understand what goes on in my head - not even Apeman because he is male and tells me `she'll be right' but gets teary when he watches a live birth on TV. From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you for reading, and bless me with a comment and support. It means alot to me - especially alot of you out there are such credible people who are fighting the same battle (and some, thankfully, have won).

Next year is it. (I actually said the same thing last year and the year before that...). But yeah. Next year is it. We are going to approach things head-on.

If only I survive the rest of today nursing this virginal hangover of mine.

Screeching Stop?

I noticed something this morning.

1) I have been sleeping like a baby the past week or so. I used to stay awake thinking about babies, IVF, drugs (fertility type), dosages (again fertility type) and when my period is going to arrive so I can start a new cycle. But no. Not this past week.
2) I have COMPLETELY stopped charting my temperatures. The two thermometers (I have one duty and one standby) have been collecting dust doing bugger all.
3) I don't really give a shit about when my period is going to here. Although I secretly wish it's here, but if it never comes then fuck it.

I have been, actually, living like a normal human being.

Mom said: `You just look after yourself, if there are not going to be any kids, then let it be.'
Sister L said: `Hunnie think about adoption - you have so much love to give and it does not necessarily need to be your own!'
Bitchy sister in law said (and during a buffet, unfair I'd say): `Are you expecting? Your stomach's huge! Have you FINALLY got good news for us?'
Woman's Day said: `Mary's little prince!'
Cosmopolitan said: `Look fabulous in 7 days with new butt-tightening technique'
WHO said: `Hollywood Baby-Boom!!!'

Ha - who to listen when there are so many wise people out there?

I say listen to my heart.

Celebrity Breeding - Part XVII

Am partially glad that finally we are getting more pregnancy news on celebrities who don't induce nausea if I ever see them on gossip magazine covers.

First up - the very lovely Brooke Shield, whom I've heard battled for years to have a baby. She left Andre Agassi, then moved on to a new hubby, finally got pregnant, and then suffered post-natal depression. Well done Brooke on getting pregnant, naturally or not, at 40. Fuck yeah.

Then it was Aussie actress Claudia Karvan. I used to love her to bits because she is such a humble person and incredible actress. I am however a little jealous that she managed to have her acting career down-pat and be a mother at the same time. Damn lucky.

The third piece of pregnancy news is a novelty one. Because she is a bit of a novelty herself. It is Geri Halliwell - a.k.a. Ginger Spice. She struggled with her weight and singing career for years, probably drugged out of her head when she was involved with a string of boy band singers, became a yoga-zen-like spoke person promoting yoga and her fine figure, became an alcoholic/addicted to painkillers and at the same time secretly bulumic. Finally she is at ease with her natural weight, suffered shitty singing career, and fell pregnant. What more can you ask for? She bedded Robbie Williams and now have a baby (two events unrelated).

Sigh...well good for these women. Really. I really am happy for them.

I wrote a long blog about my thoughts on adoption yesterday. Something about wanting to end this IVF misery and be happy. And would like to explore the adoption option. Then, as art imitating life, I put that blog on-hold and saved it as draft.

Today I feel different. I watched a real life caesarean delivery on TV last night - the cutting of flesh and the sight of blood did not gross me out at all - in fact I was totally intrigued and the next thing you know I was crying - it was as if I was the one giving birth to the baby. I saw the baby emerged from her mother's uterus and it was the most amazing thing I have ever seen. The baby girl came out all agitated and shocked, and started to cry for her life.

The crying was the sweetest thing I have ever heard.

I then looked over to where Apeman was sitting, he was watching it too and I saw tears in his eyes.

This infertility journey, at times downright shitty and unforgiving, is definitely worth fighting for.

Maintaining A Fabulous Self

During IVF off-season - I do what I feel is best for my body, mind and soul - and that is to go shopping.

It was a rather numbing experience. Friday night I went for quiet drink with work people, a rare occasion for me because I usually `go home and rest' during `trying to conceive' period. So when things go to shit - I go social drinking and do what normal 31 year old women do and live the `carefree' life. I think.

I had my one-off bourbon and coke, left the half drunk crowd to their own demise, and off I went.

I tipsyly dropped into some shops, and tried on everything that looked remotely appealing. Didn't end up buying alot, just a few tops for work, but the idea of draping myself in beautiful clothing and model them in front of the change room mirrors seemed appealing at the time.

So as I indulged in a little self love (ooh Drew, that's hot. Oh that actually makes your bum looked a little tighter. You're hot, HOT HOT!), I briefly forgot about that IVF mess last week. I wanted more.

So I walked out of one of the change rooms, and demanded to try a ridculous shift/cloth/drapey item I had on at the time in a smaller size, and was in smack-bang confrontation with my work friend and his wife, who announced they were three months
pregnant on the day I found out about my 9th IVF failure. Suddenly my big band parade came crashing down. It sucked.

I said my hellos. She's totally lovely, she said I looked good in that drapey/shift cloth item, and she looked beautifully pregnant. He - who usually by this time on a friday night should be relatively shitfaced at the pub with my other alcoholic workmates, is dutifully playing the future dad and was escorting his pregnant missus in and out of expensive boutiques like a gay designer or sort.

Well - the whole thing sucked for maybe fifteen minutes. Then it was a lonely walk back to the car and a quiet drive home. Apeman had gone hunting/doing things for the house. It was a lonely night, but I reminded myself things could've been a lot worse - so might as well enjoy life whilst I can still afford to.

And then I am going to face my IVF demon once again. Only when I am good and ready.

The Puregon Twilight Zone

Read on, this is funny.

Oh god. I think I am about to laugh. Hope it is not going to be one of those senile/crazy laughs/fits. Like Tom Cruise did when Katie said she's 6 months pregnant.

So after two weeks of consistently jabbing myself with Puregon, until we discovered this morning that hey, I think we are running out of non-bruised area as injection sites, my estrogen has descended from a promising (PROMISING?) 145 to 102 as of this morning.

My ovaries have well and trully said a big FUCK YOU.

Now, as I numbly sit here in front of mountains and mountains of equipment datasheets and simulation results, I wonder, WHERE EXACTLY DID THE PUREGON GO?

Did it:

1) Somehow gets trasferred through the bloodstream in my stomach and flies straight to the bladder, without any form of absorption - and was pissed out as soon as it was injected.
2) Apeman didn't twist the Puregon injection nozzle properly so I ACTUALLY didn't receive any fertility drugs. He was playing make-believe with me. He doctor me nurse.
3) The tubs of Puregon I received from the clinic was in fact, bless me, Holy Water. You may think it has amazing fertility powers but it really is only tap water.
4) The blood test results weren't mine. They fucked it up consistently three times in a row.
5) I imagined the whole thing. What IVF cycle?

The ovaries stopped hurting two days ago. It feels a little lumpy due to the monstrous amounts of follciles I produced but none of them grew to maturity - which explains the 102 estrogen today.

I was told by the fertility clinic to use my friend trigger tonight, that will sort out the little cysts and follicles. The cycle is cancelled and we will treat this coming Sunday as Day 1 again. And then we will start injecting. Again.

Honestly fuck that.

Is anyone paying attention here?

I couldn't raise my estrogen last week, not this week, how can you promise me it is going to raise next week or even the week after that? Is that Puregon stuff bad for my ovaries? Did it fuck up my hormones? Did my ovary grew back because of Puregon?

Is there a God?

Do I feel like crying today? Err...no actually. I am not even that angry today. Not even remotely disappointed.

I feel nothing today.

I feel nothing because as I told Apeman last night, for the past five years I had the same habit of waking up at 5:50am on specific days just so I can be one of the early birds at the clinic. I get my blood tested, I get my meds, I whinged a little to the coordinator, sometimes if I'm blessed I get an ultrasound, and some days when I am really blessed - I actually have a bed reserved for me for transfers or egg collection.

It's becoming a routine. I feel nothing. None of it hurts anymore. Fuck you.

Am just tired. So tired I don't even know when it is appropriate to cry.

I told somebody at work yesterday that I don't like children. That's why I have a dog because I don't like children. That was to stop him from telling me about his 2 year old who likes to pick up the phone and talk to telemarketers and call that person daddy.

Sigh... now I have the Danish royal family portriat to look forward to.

Go Natural - Go Yoghurt Way

Yup. Estrogen didn't even climb after almost two weeks of Puregon jabbing. There are lots of little follicles but none mature enough to get an ovulation happening. There is a thick enough endometrium but probably no use if I don't ovulate. The instruction was to bump the current dosage up to double - and keep going for a few more days.

Fuck that.

I just made an appointment today to see my surgeon. I want to look into getting the smaller ovary removed. Again. The moment it came back it seems my body has lost the will to ovulate and be normal.

I don't know if I am being irrational here. But who cares. At the moment the only person who has to live in this body of mine, and knows enough to care about what is happening to it - is myself. The clinic nurse was a little too busy to tell me my blood levels today - she said it was low - that's all. I said how low, what are they. She sounded a little agitated when she told me about them - as if I was wasting her time because what would I know? I am only the infertility patient.

I think after five years of having regular bloods done I qualify to receive my blood test results. I didn't give all that blood out for no reason.

Yes today I am agitated. I am agitated because I am tired. I am tired because I feel cheated. I feel cheated because my body doesn't work and when I try to fix it, it turns more tricks and creates even more problems so I feel fucked - constantly.

I am not Mary Future Queen of Denmark and can churn out an heir to the Danish throne on demand. I am incapable of doing that. I don't know how to feel but since finding out her good news I must be the unhappiest Australian in Australia who don't really feel like celebrating or finding out the exact dimensions of her son. I don't see why we need to send her a gift of a pair of Tasmanian Devils because Drew here can't even fucking ovulate like the majority of the Australian population.

Just to show how agitated I am, and how sick, and fucking tired I am trying to conceive like normal people, I choose to rebel and not listen to the clinic. Am sticking with my low dose Puregon (instead of the instructed double dose) until Thursday's blood test. If they tell me nothing is happening, then I will pack up, go home and get ready for Christmas.

I just want to be happy. I am tired of fighting with my ovaries.

A Little Conversation Between Me and My Ovary(s)

This morning....

Me: Ouch, that hurts.
Dianna: Ha. Fuck you for jabbing yourself with fertility drugs.
Me: Well you hurt like hell last month and we didn't ovulate did we? I thought we were going to because you seemed to be doing so much work ...
Dianna: Well you can't have everything. You got Deirdre back last month and she thinks you're a bitch for cutting her off.
Me: WELL I don't want HER back do I?
Deirdre: Fuck you - and can you feel that? That's me jabbing you on your lower back.
Me: Can I please... I beg of you two....your highness....to ovulate for me this month. I just need a little estrogen rise to get a cycle going. Please? I pray to you?? Anyone of you?? My stomach is black and blue because some bitch jabbed it real hard last week and it's getting pretty sore. I really hate Puregon, you know that. Can we please? ...
Dianna: Fuck you.
Deirdre: Yeah fuck you.

And here I am.

Life Is What Happens To You When You're....

Yeah yeah. As the song goes - whilst you are busy making other plans, grieving, hoopla-ing about night sweats and hot flashes, being thumped in the head at regular fifteen minute intervals by non-human-male boss who is more worried about gas dispersion problems in a remote mine-site in the middle of whoop whoop than your life-long fertility quest.

I just realise I haven't been doing my temperatures for the last three weeks.

It was almost a three year non-breakable habit. First thing first, if Apeman wants a hug/sex in the the morning, it's a definite NO until I take my body temperature. I don't want his body heat (or body on heat) to contaminate my basal body temperature. Nooo siree. Temperature first.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeep.
Ooh. 36.9°C. What does that mean? Hormonal fluctuation? Egg release? Possible cystation occuring in the bottom half of right ovary?

And then I will obsess about this stupid little number for the duration of my car ride to work.

Well thank fucking goodness that I have temporarily abandoned this habit of mine. Because it really is making me insane.

Since grandpa's sickness and untimely death, (sigh...he was meant to be around when I present him with his great-grandchild), I have gone easy on my fertility quest. It's like I am not thinking about getting pregnant ALL THE TIME. I actually focused momentarily on other things in life, such as grandmama's happiness, Apeman's eating habits, my dog's skin problem, and to plan a nice holiday during christmas so me and Apeman can run free and relax - enjoy life like normal people.

Not sure if this is a good thing. Maybe it's a sign from Grandpa, maybe this is his way of telling me there are other things in life to worry about apart from having a baby. I just wish the rest of the world (ie. Apeman's relatives) understands that too.

And on that note. This week's New Idea once again glorifies my favourite tennis couple - please throw in your four bucks and look inside for this week's exclusive story on Bec and Lleyton's secret baby heartache! I didn't even border to stop and check out the magazine. It is likely to be something daft like - oh my god they are not getting the baby girl they have always (the 8 months they have known each other?) dreamed of - they are, and we know that for a fact because it is an exlcusive, getting a boy who is going to grow up to look and play tennis just like daddy! Hurray!

Or

Oh my god Bec gained a humanly possible 4 pounds as a result of the pregnancy and is going to be named Australia's fattest ex-soap-actress! Tragedy!!!!

Am sure nothing is tragically wrong with her pregnancy and baby. And even if so, I don't want to read about it either.

I'm Back

I actually wrote another really angry post the other day, but thankfully the computer crashed on me because I was trying to run a 54MB simulation at the same time.

Am fine, after my hissy fit, I got my period next day.

Last few days been really numb that's all, I really miss my Grandpa.

Had a blood test in hope for some answers regarding to the night sweats and hot flashes only to be told I am `normal'. Hormones are at base line and we are okay to start another cycle. FSH levels are fine, in fact they are pretty okay. So looks like I still have a decent reserve of eggs and not menapausal as per my ramblings last time. I do believe those crazy hormones and behaviour earlier on this week were the result of PMS. I was severely PMS - and together with the loss of Grandpa probably sent me off the edge.

Am okay now. Only just. Had headache all day yesterday and was a little cranky.

Oh I also got a letter from the ultrasound dude, it was in the form of a letter, results are loosely like this:

Drew had a history of endometriosis. (Derr!)
Ultrasound indicated there are two ovaries (It's a miracle Doc, a miracle.) , the left one is significantly smaller than the right, possibliy a remnant as a result of previous surgery, measured at 17mm x 15mm. Right ovary is slightly dense (slightly dense???) and appeared enlarged with no other indications of PCOS. (So is it or is it not PCOS? I thought you said it was?)
HSG was conducted without difficulty (well I had some difficulty holding the pose without screaming rape or civilian torture), fluid was seen passing through the right fallopian tube without difficulty. No fluid passes through the left tube. (What left tube?)
Uterine thickness 9mm, uterine cavity appeared normal with no pathological symptoms.

So there. Another normal report with no real explanation as to why I am still the walking contraceptive I claimed to be.

No Mood For A Decent Title Today

So I had the same old hot sweats last night. And then throughout today, the occasional hot flashes (ie. sudden rush of body heat, I felt really hot and suddenly want to remove all items of clothing).

The so called period stopped this afternoon. It wasn't really a period, just heavy spotting. I spent all day sitting on an empty pad - (well, not one, but two, I changed midday due to hygiene reasons).

How do I feel?

Well, I feel crap in general. Feels like I was dragged all over a bowl of white batter, then left to drain off, then put into hot oil for frying. I then come out all crispy and burnt. I felt used, tired and extremely, extremely agitated. And on top of that some creepy old bastard I work with who occasionally and `accidentally' calls me by his `ex-girlfriend's' name - keeps walking past my desk today and giving me a creepy sneer. I really want to say fuck off you old bastard and go pay someone so you can get laid but I couldn't really. I would like to keep this job.

If this hormone thing gets me heated enough I will surely report him to the manager. I'd say I don't like the way he looks at me, and I don't like to be called the same name his ex-girlfriend has. I have had enough.

I feel like shit and wanted to go home and have a cry. I miss my grandpa and grandma.

I want to call my surgeon up and ask him to please kindly remove all reproductive organs within myself, all imaginary parts, all real parts, and all parts that grow back despite previous removal. So I won't have to live through this life of mine, month after month, wondering both silently and aloud if I have ovulated and if it was a good ovulation, and if I didn't ovulate what actually happened and what is my FSH today and was the problem due to PCOS, endometriosis, pituary disfunction, cysts, adhesions, progesterone deficiency, early menopause, divine intervention or something much more scarier.

Five years.

I spent my twenties fucking around with (or being fucked by) fertility clinics and doctors and fertility related websites.

I am just tired today. Also I read the MSN news that Nicolas Cage's 19 year old Korean waitress wife he married last year has just given birth to a baby boy, he named the baby after a superman character.

In the mean time, I am going to try and hold on to my marbles, sit tight and wait for tomorrow's blood test at the clinic to see if the `period' I had to today is a real period. I would like to start another cycle straight away before this pathetic fertility ship of mine starts to sink.

And fuck you Nicolas Cage for calling your baby Kal-el Cage. Hollywood should prevent knobheads like him from reproducing if they are going to keep giving their children stupid names so they can be made fun of when they go to high school.

A Bleed Is As Good As Anything

Didn't sleep well last night for obvious reasons (grandpa's passing, thinking about poor grandma and how she's coping).

Woke up around 2pm and went for a pee. And realised, Shock! Horror! I am having night sweats. My PJ's were soaked.

OH MY GOD.

My new and improved lifestyle in honour of Grandpa will probably think this is nothing. Just nightsweats as a result of a very stressful day. Pffft.

My old pessimistic self is screaming OH HOLY FUCK I AM GOING INTO EARLY MENOPAUSE!!!!

I am going to treat it as nothing, will see if it happens again tonight. Am stressing but also trying to stay calm.

Woke up this morning and felt like my right ovary is about to explode. It really is PCOS. It feels really lumpy and painful. And the new ovary on the left is definitely stuck high up my lower back. Fucking Deirdre.

Then halfway through the day I see blood on my knickers. Today is Day 30 and I haven't even ovulated yet according to the ultrasound last wednesday.

Again, my new and improved lifestyle in honour of Grandpa will think it is probably my period - hack, it's been 30 days hasn't it? So yeah you should have a period right about now. So there you go. TAKE THAT Libra Fluer.

Or

My old pessimistic self is screaming (*in a high pitched girlie voice*) oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck - it's mid-cycle spotting, I am spotting again. Oh all the surgeries, all the ovary cutting, all the cathether inserting, all the learning how to walk again amounts to nothing. I am back to old self. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

Let's just hope that I only broke into a sweat last night because I was having bad dreams, and I am about to have a period so that's why I am spotting today.

Pretty please?

Goodbye Grandpa

After a week spent lying in a hospital - and exactly one week since he was given two days to live - my grandpa passed on this morning in the presence of his immediate family.

Cancer took him away. I'd never imagine the power and frightfulness of cancer, but I see it for myself for the first time.

It came, it conquered, and it took my grandpa with him in a matter of weeks. But my grandpa died a happy man - he was able to talk to each and everyone of us before he looses consciousness, the cancer impaired his speech but he managed to held on to my grandma really tight a couple of days ago, telling her he will miss her the most. Then he lapsed into semi-consciousness, then to deep sleep, then death came this morning.

I cannot imagine a better way to go -warm in a bed surrounded by loved ones.

I hope today, will be the last day I view life as a pessimist. I am going to face life as it is and take each day as it comes. Because if there is one thing I take with me today as a result of my grandpa's passing, is to live for today and worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. That's his favourite line.

Oh and I sure will have a glass of whisky in his honour this week to celebrate his life.

Bad Times

Spent most of last night crying over Grandpa. He is still hanging on by the way. He has lost all ability to speak and move and is in a semi-comatose state, however I was told today that he was able to nod in the morning when grandma came in to say hi, that was his way of acknowledging her presence. Poor grandma, she spent the entire night watching over grandpa. She is finding it really difficult to let go of her lover of 60 years.

I told Apeman when I'm old (and possibly senile), please don't send me to the old folks home. I want to stay at home with you. He said nah I am sending you there because you will probably still be waffling on about IVF and infertility, plus I want to set up home with my other girlfriends. I said well that's it, next time when I am getting a trigger injection you are going to get one too. We go down together.

Nothing much to report today, except since I discovered part of my ovary has grown back I suddenly realise I have back pain - the same ones I used to get before my ovary-removal surgery. My ovary has always been stuck to my back, which I am almost 100% sure that the `new ovary' is stuck in the same place. And because I have PCOS (how fucked is that? You get away with one disease and suddenly you are lumped with another - can somebody untie me from this noose?), everytime I go to the loo its a struggle. The uterus and the ovary is so bloated it makes weeing painful.

Plus,

I still haven't worked out my situation yet (the situation about the discovery of a new (and not necessarily improved) ovary, PCOS, not ovulating this month, and now that I have PCOS, it is going to make it difficult for me to absorb Puregon for my next cycle because my body is going to resist it).

Another obstacle. More thinking to be done.

Drove up north on Wednesday for work, and managed to take some pictures. This one is my favourite, a field full of sheeps. I wanted to run amongst them and be happy. My workmates said I really need to go out more.



If only life is as easy as running amongst green fields, humping the opposite sex when the opportunity arises, and eat grass (or whatever sheep eats).

Life Not Getting Any Better

Grandpa's condition has turned to worst - last night I bid my goodbye to him and told him what I need to say as he was slowly loosing his consiousness, and is starting to talk gibberish. He was however, able to tell me to `behave', and it is a pity that he didn't get to see my children. I cried and told him I will try harder and I too am sorry that he didn't get to see my kids because I am afterall, his favourite grandchild. The upside of this situation is that at least my grandpa is no longer in pain, the cancer has completely filled his body and he is unable to feel any of it. They stopped feeding him morphine as of last night. This morning he is in similar condition.

And after a detailed ultrasound/tube traffic testing yesterday, life just keep getting more bizarre and once again me and Apeman are in discussion regarding adoption. Maybe it is time to stop trying.

The tube on the remaining ovary is open. Yes. So the traffic is open. However -
The ovary is in fact mildly PCOS, and it didn't ovulate this month. So that LH surge detected a week ago was in fact a hormonal imbalance surge. My hormones are fucking around again thanks to last month's puregon ride. It looked a little lumpy but otherwise healthy looking. No cysts or anything like that.
Uterine surface nice and smooth, no problems with implantation there. Yes.

And get this. We found an ovary on the other side. It is only 1/3 of its normal size, but as I was assured that my left ovary was supposingly removed during a rather painful operation in March this year, I was under the impression that I have nothing there. But the last few months I definitely felt SOMETHING on that side, which I brushed it off as `phantom pains'.

But apparently things like these happens occasionally - often when surgeons take out an ovary - they may not be able to completely remove it. It has happened to a friend of mine but what she got was only a tiny dot of ovary left, not a massive mass of ovary like I do. And with mine, it probably `grew' as a result of using Puregon.

I may rejoice over this little discovery, but given my history of endometriosis, that's not exactly good news. It means that fucking disease is still alive and well in me. And that's a kick in the teeth. So, Deirdre is back. She went to Maldives and decided it sucks there, so she came back after loosing lots of weight (and probably tanned, the bitch).

I only want one baby. Becky Cartwright can do it. Cousins who have sex with each other can do it. Why couldn't I?

So maybe there is another hidden message there, maybe I am supposed to keep trying. Maybe the messenger is telling me I am supposed to be fertile - so here's your ovary back. Take that.

Am not thinking straight due to grandpa so I will worry about this later.

Sadness (and Becky Cartwright)

Before I launch into a huge whinge about babyhood/infertility grounds/general retardness in the reproductive area - I must bring up my favourite topic regarding Becky Cartwright.

Basically the day Becky decided to become a regular contributor to my favourite goss magazine (to discuss motherhood, pregnant-hood and Leyton), I stopped buying it.

Then this appeared on the newstand (plus TV advertisements at 15 minute intervals thus inducing moments of non-HCG related nausea).











Major issues (for me) with regard to this magazine spread:

1. Becky, you got knocked up only weeks after meeting your beau. Prior to that you were probably more worried about getting ready for the Logies, what to wear, who to get your dresses from, your ex (some H&A guy which you only broke up with weeks ago), your lines for Home and Away, talent scouts from the US showing up at the H&A set, movie-deals, how to be a normal 20 year old under the lime-light of the jaded TV business. So the `I can't wait to be a mom' line is a little dramatic. But okay, I give you that. You must be excited. And probably Woman's Day, being the womanly mag that it is, needs to provide a politically correct title for the recently married new mom.

2. Becky looks skinny whilst pregnant. Is this normal or was the photo graphically enhanced to make a beautiful girl look even more beautiful with bump??

3. Fucking hell Becky, think of all the infertile women in Australia, and around the world. The last thing I need to see today, (after my outburst last night), is a content Becky held by Leyton in full pregnant glory. Not only are you guys totally rich, totally young, totally successful and probably Becky was given a waterfront mansion in Sydney to live in, and she probably has an interior designer for the nursery and was sponsered by Morrissey or Wayne Cooper for pregnancy-wear. But you are also, goddammit, beautifully and undeniably pregnant.

I now sulk in silence.

Now I forget what I was supposed to fucking write about today.

Oh, I had a total face-off with Apeman last night over a family hug-meet scheduled for tonight. His relatives are here again from overseas, and we have to do dinner. Last time during a similar meet, I was told by an aunty that I should look into having a baby right now (hint hint nudge nudge) because the government give you a $3000 baby bonus. Fuck the baby bonus. I am having troubles paying off the IVF bills. Pfft, $3000.

I reasoned with Apeman that I don't want to go because I feel so exposed to baby questions - it makes me want to vomit/torture small animals/cry. I am afraid I will totally snap one day and tell everybody to fuck off and leave me alone. I will scream `Leave me alone I am infertile so what can I do about it??', probably followed by 5 years of non-stop gossiping amongst the family-hood.

He told me you cannot continue to live like this, you are shutting everybody out and you cannot live like a hermit all the time. I said I will do whatever I like because it makes me happier that way and I am merely protecting myself - because no matter how strong I am, sometimes words that come out of ignorant people's mouth still hurts, and your family are so fucking fertile they keep falling pregnant so it is really difficult for me to deal with. One of them even told me blatantly that everybody is talking about me and wondering why we are not pregnant yet. He said well I really had enough of you in that case - because you are making things difficult for me. I said well fine then you can divorce me and you won't be miserable anymore and I will shit in peace. He said nothing.

Then three hours later we held hands watching TV in bed. He gave me a hug in the morning, as if he understood.

And I feel better - until I saw Becky Cartwright's pregnant form during lunch time.

Grandpa

My idol - my grandpa was admitted to hospital early Saturday. He battled bladder cancer a few years ago, came out of a marathon 13 hour surgery and survived - and continued a lifestyle of `live for today, worry about tomorrow - tomorrow'. Grandma nursed him back to health, and gradually he gained pound by pound and was given a life-extension of a few more years. He was incredibly lucky.

As of Saturday, the retarded doctors, who gave grandpa the all-clear only a month ago after a fuck-loads of blood tests and scans, told my poor grandma this weekend that grandpa only has a day or so to live - his cancer has suddenly caught on and spread throughout his body including almost all nymph-nodes and has completely shut down his kidney function.

All in a span of a month?

So far grandpa seems to be doing okay, stablised with drips and morphine (for the pain in his lower back due to the cancer). He was offered life-saving surgery on Sunday - with the possibility of savaging his `fake bladder' and kidney, but was told it will be incredibly painful and they cannot guarantee he will come out of the surgery okay. Grandpa - the trooper that he is - flatly turned down the doctors and requested them to turn up the painkillers and let him be. He want to pass in peace and not in pain.

And here, I promise I will live as spectacularly as I can for you Grandpa. You inspire me and I love you.

Part of the Statistics....

Apeman came home yesterday. Exactly 24-fucking-hours late for miracle ovulation. Double fuck.

Plus my IVF journey has hit a new low last night.

Got a call late in the evening from Apeman's brother - the word was his grandma is gravely ill and is near death. I may sound very detached about this - it's all because I really dislike that family of his because they are so fucking nosey about my personal affairs (apart from asking me about when we are going to have children because we have been married for five years already, I also get the occasional `How much do you earn a month' questions from the nosey aunty or nephew). Anyway I still need to pay my respects because grandma is old and I need to do the dance every now and then.

So we went over - and to be honest, grandma looked fine for somebody who is near-death (I'm a bitch). She lost her appetite but she still craves for certain type of food and told Apeman about it. She kept saying I'm going to die, I'm going to die. I held her hand and told her you'll be fine grandma (she couldn't remember my name). She was particularly chatty last night and talked about her large extended family and how proud she is of them all.

Then cringingly, grandma asked Apeman (not me) when are we going to have children - it will be her last (dying) wish - and she wants so much to see our children. Grandma could not remember if she had eaten her dinner last night, but somehow she knows Apeman has been married for five years already and still no children, and the fact that she has a clan of 47 (going on 48 as there is one on the way in Houston). Grandma wants to know if we are trying for a baby or not.

I pretended to be captivated by a stupid show on TV (appropriately named for the occasion - `The Mole' on Channel 7) - whilst this baby conversation went on for 15 minutes - with my mother in law sitting there next to grandma - hiding her eyes from her son and myself. It was a sombre moment.

Whilst Apeman gently calm grandma down, and my mother in law's face gradually became ashen and looked like she was about to cry, I kept thinking to myself, FUCKING 47 family members!!! Isn't there enough children/grandchildren for one family? You can't even fit 47 people in a fucking bus! I must be really unlucky - to be married into a freakishly fertile family who knows nothing about IVF and babies are created the `normal' way. I've read somewhere before - that 1 in 4 women experience infertility. So in a family of 47 people, there must be at least 11 family member who is infertile. Well from the way things are heading - looks like I am the only one out of the 47. That's really fucking unlucky.

So there, somebody's gotta be a part of this infertility statistic and I am the chosen one. Without the likes of me and Apeman - the world will be too perfect and that's `abnormal'. So they better not fuck with me because the more I think about this, the more fucking angry I am. I am not going to bring out the violin and start crying `Why me? Poor little me' - I am much more than that. However, sometimes I just wish people accept the fact that not having children, and not being able to have children, is perfectly normal and should not be given the extra pressure.

I can hear my hormones loud and clear today.

The Good Old Days

Was severely jet-lagged yesterday after waiting 4 hours in the Hong Kong airport for my flight, and then strapped to a seat for another 8 hours on a plane with the airbus toilets constantly occupied. Was also constantly woken up by fake-smiling air-hostesses, that I need to put on my seat belt properly (define properly???). Felt like shit this morning as I poured myself into the car and drove to work. Now feeling a bit better after having my Ribena fix.

So finally after much piss-farting around the house and washing of 2 weeks worth of dirty laundry - I sat down and tried to watch some TV.

Then my favourite ad came on. It was the new McDonald ad with all these white collared people walking around in their offices. Then suddenly they came to a halt and their bellies open up - a little minature of themselves climbed out. The little kiddies (some wearing oh-so-cute adult glasses) all went to McDonalds for a well deserved break on behalf of their`adult bodies'. After their `play time' at Maccas, they got some takeaways (burgers), returned to their adult bodies and placed the burgers in their hands and climbed back `inside'. The adult bodies came to their senses, and realise somebody conveniently put a Macca burger in their hands so they too took a break themselves and ate away. Everybody lived happily ever after.

Despite being such a daft ad - especially since it was for Maccas - I actually became teary watching it. The good old days of being a child, who values playtime more than anything. I wish I can be six again and not having to worry about IVF and other reproductively challenged issues.

Apeman is held up with business overseas so he is not coming home until thursday night. Which is just as well because my ovary was particularly twingy last night and I kept wetting my pants (not pee but the other fluid) so I did a quick ovulation test and of course I HAD to see two lines. I am ovulating as we speak and I don't have Apeman here to inseminate me.

Fucking stupid stork.

Holiday Pause

Right now, I am sitting in an internet cafe right in the centre of Hong Kong party central Tsim Sha Tsui - blogging away.

I did forget about babies and IVF and fucking large needles that draw blood - for maybe a day or so.

But then of course my beady little eyes began to search for babies and pregnant women - even when I am supposed to be on holiday. And oh my god - there are so many young mothers in Hong Kong. Half of them half my age - and I am only 31. I saw 19 year old moms lugging their little girl to childcare before work. I saw `older moms' in their late twenties lugging three kiddies to the local fast food joint for a `quality' lunch. I saw almost angelic looking pregnant women with their massive bellies struggling to get into a crowded train on her way to work. It is such a fast pace city I cannot imagine going through IVF here - let alone bringing up a young life.

It makes me more determined to return home next week and give IVF another bash. It's worth it. I want a baby so much. I think this trip is a fantastic idea - I feel much better and all that shopping and touring has rejuvenated me.

I just hope my wee frozen ones (three more left) are ready for ME when I return.

In the mean time - its relaxation time - I didn't even bother to do my temperatures in the morning.

Ironic

Was packing for our trip last night, and came across a stash of condoms. These condoms are a real collector's item - they are at least 7 years old and pretty much dried up. Everytime we moved houses Apeman must have `saved' them - thinking we may need to use it one day. (Eeek!)

Then suddenly a thought crossed my mind.

`Did you know that I am a walking human contraceptive?'
`What you mean?'
`Well we have been having sex for 9 years now, and 6 of them are unprotected, and they keep putting healthy embryos into me and I am still not pregnant, so aren't I qualified enough for that name?'
`Yeah whatever.'

I just found out the sad (happy?) news that a fresh graduate in this office who is only half year out of university got knocked up, and since she is well into her three months worth she is therefore keeping the baby - and the catch is the relationship was casual (some heard it was a one-night stand because there was never a boyfriend mentioned). Workmates here are saying isn't it weird that you survived high school and university, with all those drunken keg parties and hormonally charged uni students - she managed to get by okay, but she got knocked up only months into her first job and was supposed to be going on an offshore trip soon?

I don't envy her - but of course I feel shitty about it. People are getting knocked up by having one night stands around me, whilst we have steady sex for years and years and I am still Libra Fluer's biggest customer. Fuck that's really messed up.

Homecoming - A Relief to `Have' My Body Back

The heavy period has come and is almost gone - with some luck - tomorrow I may even be able to down-grade to a panty liner instead of the pillow I am sitting on at the moment.

With the HCG hormones now gone - my boobs returned to their normal shape, they don't hurt anymore, even the ovary seems to have calmed down and be less painful - so it seems like I am back to normal (I hope).

Apeman always gets really horny when I have my period - it is just so annoying - I just don't feel sexual when I am still leaking blood and my butt and back is sore from adhesions.

"Can we have sex tonight? I really want to have sex with you."
"No."
"Can we have sex on Monday night then? I really want to have sex with you Monday night."
"Errr...maybe - it depends if I am still..."
"But I really want to have sex with you."
"Oh whatever. Sod off for now because you're in my way." More channel flicking followed.

He recently tabulated the number of times we had sex the past year - it works out to be roughly two to three times a month. Yes. No shit. My reasoning for this alarmingly low number is because I am only fertile when I ovulate, and you are supposed to have sex when you are fertile - so when I make egg, we have sex a few days before ovulation, then wait one day so he can `conserve' his sperm, then we have sex again a day later closer to ovulation, and then maybe once more after ovulation to make sure we have put in enough `reserves' for my egg. And then definitely no sex during the luteal phase because I read somewhere that you shouldn't really in case you really are pregnant. (And that article alone basically fucks up our sex life entirely).

Plus - who needs sex when I can have IVF. IVF dampens your sex and love life so much that it is almost ironic to undergo it - especially after a few attempts.

I think I am back to my old self - Saturday was rather miserable and I was a bit teary. I blurted my sorrows out to a friend who didn't know I was undergoing my 8th attempt (she was there for the 5th and the 7th attempts) - she offered sympathy and valium in case I need it. I thanked her but passed. I am strong enough to cope with IVF - no drugs needed.

Sportsgirl vs Lamaze Classes

Since I cannot have a baby this month - once again I returned to my mothership for some much needed time off and solitude - I went shopping.

I didn't want to go, I don't need anything really. I've got everything I need at home, I've got shoes for every occasion, tops for work and play, jeans in a variety of styles and colours, and the last thing I need is more shoes. Even Ape-man looks like a fucking christmas tree when he goes out - I dress him well because I have so much time on my hands to make sure he does.

Plus I feel empty. I don't feel lonely. I just feel terribly empty and incompetent.

What I really needed last night was to go somewhere to remind myself that I am young, fit, and healthy and even if I am not allowed to have a baby, at least I pull my purse out and buy something I desire. Anything.

So I did just that.

And of course, by going shopping alone also means I have to put myself out there to meet real people. And on thursday late night shopping - you meet all kinds of people (and all kinds of YOUNG people in various stages of undress - low-hung jeans bearing arse-cracks and skanky G-strings seems to be still in).

After buying my 213th, 214th and 215th pair of knickers from Myers, I staggered through the crowds and made my way to Sportsgirl - the fashion house for the brave, the colourful and the hip. Oh I think that's me.

I don't think anybody noticed this happy family standing outside of Sportsgirl - they are not that noticable, but through my infertile little eyes - they stood out like three amigoes in Shanghai. It was just a young looking guy, holding a little man in his arms (probably 2 - 3 years old), the wife kissed him goodbye and said I will just pop into Sportsgirl and be back in 10 minutes. Love you honey.

Nothing out of the oridinary - but then I thought I saw a baby bump on her stomach. She was incredibly trendy, she's got the full trendy gear on. If you don't look closely you probably thought she just had a big lunch. And since I am an infertile, and had been for some time, it makes me a little mental and I am ashamed to admit that I followed her around the shop to check if she is really pregnant. And she was. Probably about 3 to 4 months worth.

How can she go in there? Isn't sportsgirl for the young and the hip? For the free spirited? For the `I can go places and do anything I want'? Shouldn't she shop in places like `Mother & Me' or `Pregnancy Chic'? I walk past maternity shops all the time - I work near one - those are the places which will always be denied to me like a hip nightclub with a bad-ass bouncer. So why is she messing with my Sportsgirl?

And then after this outburst (in my head) I felt ashamed.

And then I felt sad.

Because I am not normal - watching her gate-crashing my Sportsgirl is like me gate-crashing her Lamaze class sans pregnancy bump.

You see - I am so mental that I even dedicated this entire blog to a pregnant woman walking into Sportsgirl hoping to find something stretchy to fit her growing belly.

I need to find a new hobby.

Can't Grieve

A nosy little busybody dropped by my workstation just then to `say hi'. If you want to know who farted in the room just now, or who has a penile erectus problem recently, go ask her. She knows everything and everybody in this office. And I work in a pretty big office.

When she dropped by I was heads down, I finally got my concentration back after weeks of IVF stress. At least I didn't do retarded things today like I did last week.

`Are you okay Drew?'
`Oh hi T!' Perky perky - perky is the word with busybody because she can sniff a dead rat from miles away.
`You just look...a bit tired'
`Oh really? Oh it must be the flu or something' Cough cough.
`You sure? You look a little sick'
`No I'm fine T'.

My period finally broke free. I am feeling like shit because I got my period and had a negative pregnancy test yesterday. The little valley of hope I built up since the end of last month (well, maybe try FIVE FUCKING YEARS AGO) had just crumpled and now I am trying to seek some solace by submerging myself, once again, in my work and pretend everything is normal and hunky dory. So yeah, if I looked a little sickly is because I FUCKING AM.

Last night, after the reality of the pregnancy test sank in - I returned home with bags of shopping. Once again I am the Martha Stewart cross Bill Gates character. At work I am supposed to be a gun engineer, at home I am the brilliant homemaker who looks after my husband to perfection - I cooked, I cleaned, I vacuumed, I scrubbed, I baked a fucking excellent chicken pie from scratch, I served dessert (didn't make it don't know how to either), I entertained the dog, I ironed, I washed, I mopped. Then when I was starting to feel exhausted, I found more washing to do and I did the whole washing/drying/ironing thing again.

And then I sat on the dunny and tried to force myself to cry. But I couldn't. I don't know how to.

Since the 5th/6th IVF cycle I have suddenly lost the ability to let go - to grieve so to speak.

I mean, I did cry a little the other day, but not as much as I used to. Yesterday on the phone, my new clinic was so gentle when they were trying to break the news to me. I was like, oh I'm perky, oh I'm fine, don't worry I already know. Thanks. Oh don't worry about it. I hope the next one is it too. Thanks so much and you have a lovely day yourself. It's like I was cancelling an order for a pizza.

I don't know if this behaviour of mine is normal or not. But I find it easier to cope this way. I am not letting the negative result affect me or my quality of life.

Apeman is planning a mini holiday - I hope to leave by late next week. I have declined to start another FET straight away (as suggested by the clinic as an option) because I don't feel comfortable with it. My body is so fucked at the moment with hormones - I have adhesions running all the way down my back and my bladder hurts when I pee.

It is a difficult time for my body - so I will give it time to grief too.