Day 5.

I am 5 days deep in Gonal-F. For the unfamiliar this is where I shoot myself up in my belly fat with follicle stimulating hormone for 8 or so days. This is in the hope of getting up to 20 mature ovarian follicles that can be sucked out with a big needle transvaginally (I was going to say up my coochie but goddamn it I am a doctor and we are adults) either this coming Friday or next Monday. Thankfully this big needle will be wielded while I am under sedation, in an operating theatre.

There are a few more stages to get through before the ova are collected, different injections, one of which stops ovulation from occurring prior to harvest, and another which gets the ova in the right spot within the follicle.

I was really worried about the side effects of the IVF, mainly that the drugs would cause hormonal fluctuations that'd make my hormones and mood go cray cray. However, so far, it has been tolerable.

I have had a bit of a headache.

I have felt a bit queasy (alternately feeling hungry sick and wanting to eat all the things, then feeling full-sick and sorry that I have eaten all the things).

I have become aware of the presence of my ovaries. This is not surprising. They go from about the size of a date or just larger, to the size of an orange, thereabouts. There are twinges when this occurs.

I can't go quite as hard as I previously would have at Crossfit. I am still doing Crossfit, though.

I have been taking to bed early and with enthusiasm. I am good in bed!

Not too much in the way of mood lability, thankfully.

So I will know more when I have my stimulation ultrasound tomorrow.

More to the point, for a moment the other evening, I had a moment where, rather than imagining all the things that could go wrong, I was able to imagine that things go well. Maybe the treatment works, I have a healthy baby which I can look after without too much trouble.

I have been under a bit of a cloud - it's hard to allow yourself too much hope after a miscarriage and months of not getting pregnant. It was good to have some hope that things will be ok. It's novel at the moment. Nothing is guaranteed.

I am doing OK, in other words.

Meanwhile, there have been some other good distractions.

I have had a couple of pieces of jewellery commissioned - some earrings and a necklace, by a local jeweller. They are lovely and I feel very special wearing them. They are made from some bits and pieces of diamond jewellery I had but didn't wear. Incorporating the old into the new - very poetic.

I participated in a crossfit competition last weekend. I had a terrific time and hit a personal best lift (47.5kg power clean). I improved my standing from last year's comp - I was somewhere near the bottom last year; this year I am smack bang in the middle. One year older, a lot stronger and fitter.

I have rediscovered my thermomix, in particular making soups and vegetable purees. Cauliflower and potato is a good mix. I am also giving the slow cooker a good workout.

I am loving Masterchef, which is on at present. Am gonna go back to watching that.

Oh Masterchef, come ON! Writing without judgement.

I am watching Masterchef. It has become ridiculous. Getting amateur chefs to make sugar balloons to suspend an icecream (sorry, semifreddo) in thin air. I may sound churlish here but I really don't see the point.

Oh who am I kidding. I would be all over the chocolatey, Icecreamy goodness.

Speaking of which, I had a life-changingly good chocolate gelato at Zero Gradi with a mate last night.

I've been a bit dead on the blog recently. I know. It's all very same-old.

I have just heard of a GP colleague who has won a major literary award, one that launches careers. And I think "good on her". And I think that it is time that I start writing again. Just writing, without worrying that I am not bringing the everyday to life as well as my mates SSG and FF.

Writing without judgement. Maybe some doodling (drawing) without judgement?

My life is the same. Work. A bit of Research. All the crossfit. Nothing particularly interesting. I guess that this is the reason why I have stopped writing.

Nobody will want to hear that I got THREE PBs THE WEEK BEFORE LAST!!
(50kg bench, 45kg CNJ, 32.5kg snatch). My Double-Unders have gone AWOL. I can jump on a 20 inch sinking foam box but I still get scared, my pull-up is edging closer and closer. I can latch my feet and arms around a hanging rope and shimmy up a little bit but not that far. I have a bruise on my inner thigh from attempting this.

Also edging closer is the IVF. Late next month. Next cycle I start getting shot up with hormones like a dodgy dairy cow. I am worried about the effects on my mood - my luteal phase sends me cray cray at the best of times, I worry what the hormonal peaks and troughs will do to my brain. The IVF therapists seem to play this down. There are plenty of other things that are vexing about the process - the attrition of the gametes/conceptus, the waiting, the driving, the ultrasounds. Et Cetera.

Still, I'm strapped in. For one round, anyway.

The embryo will be tested for genetic abnormalities, and frozen awaiting the results. So while the cells are on ice, I am going away. We are heading to Bali (Canggu, it has a Crossfit box) and then I am turning around and going off to Arizona for an update in Cardiology for generalists. Nice surrounds, near the Grand Canyon, I get to fly at the pointy end of the plane, and I don't have to get my juniors to explain all the new fangled tests and interventions to me. A distraction. Then back in to get the winning blastocysts shot in, and fingers crossed one of the winners happily and firmly and healthily and properly embeds itself in my endometrium. But that's another round of uncertainty. I will cross that bridge when I come to it.

It's frustrating, not being able to plan things. Still, I have a good knack for making the best of the uncertain situation, don't you agree? Bali! Arizona! Yeah!

I have let go of a few things that are a bit stressful. Taken a step back from people who have that effect on me. Put some work things into perspective and adopted a "que sera, sera" approach. There are stressors that remain, apart from the IVF.

One of my entourage (sounds much better than "my psychiatrist") pointed out that A. I might be lacking a little bit in the close supports department and B. I am also pretty shit at asking for help. It's true that generally I am more comfortable in the caring role than the one being cared for, but now and in the future, I have to see my way to mobilising those supports I do have. I have some gorgeous friends who live close. One of my friends suggested a "safe word" to send out the distress signal. We were eating gelato so we thought that "gelato" might be a good safe word.

I also need to moderate my social media use (I have already unfollowed a few mummies). I need to read good books and see good movies. Nice, funny ones. Not "Bridget Jones' Baby". That shit set me off, big time. Cried all over my dinner.

Any suggestions?

Speaking plainly (of infertility and doubt).

I have just gotten back from a wonderful 9 days in Thailand, a couple of days in Bangkok and then a week in Kamalaya.

Kamalaya was eye-wateringly expensive but I did it as a "treat yoself" thing, and to embrace the childless situation in which I have found myself.

It was worth every penny. It was absolutely magnificent. There, I felt the best I had in about 18 months.

I have a tan, but the post-holiday blues have struck, because one cannot run away from one's problems.

I was trying to think of a nice, nuanced way to write this, with clever analogies, however I have had a day where I will just put it the hell out there.

I wrote a post alluding to all of this, and it was put back into draft mode. Somebody, in a very kind and well intentioned manner, said that they hoped I had a child, as I will love them. I have no doubt that I would love a child, however one is not forthcoming. It is not that simple.

So here it is, simply:

After 2 years of trying for a baby, including a miscarriage and monthly rollercoasters and a few tantalisingly late periods. I have had my hair thin and a thick smattering of acne. I have debilitating PMS which actually meets some criteria for premenstrual dysphoric disorder. I feel so bad a few days before my period that I just want to sleep for 5 days to let it all pass. I am not so alarmed by these feelings anymore, as I know they pass, but they are still bloody unpleasant.

I am tired of it. I realised this during my time in that magnificent place. It is little wonder that I don't feel ready to do IVF.

IVF gives many a lot of hope, but it seems like a war of attrition - stimulate the ovaries (without overstimulating them), get a good crop, then inject a sperm into them, then freeze them and then test them for abnormalities, then thaw them out and stick them up the wazoo and see if they stick. At each point there is a risk of failure. Success is by no means guaranteed. It just takes all the wonder and joy out of things, for me, anyway. It's another roller coaster that I am scared about getting on.

The only narrative that is out there is that the infertile woman goes automatically to IVF. There is no talk of stopping and having a think about things, because the time is a'tickin! There is the narrative about the woman who was desperate for a child and went through dozens of cycles of IVF and then JOY!

I have always had misgivings about doing IVF, and they have not disappeared now the prospect is increasingly real. Rather than push these misgivings to the side, I actually have had a think about them (and dropped a few dollars in the therapist's office).

Mostly, I have had to have a good hard think about why I wanted to have a child. To talk about this in a safe environment. It is hard to talk through things with others, as the response generally is "oh go through with it, you will love having children, or you don't want to regret not having a child". These are undoubtedly well-intentioned but not very helpful for me.

Had the pregnancy proceeded, I would have embraced it without too much thought and been buoyed by lots of lovely happy hormones. However, the requirement to mix up a little human in a test tube, for me, has forced me to consider things. It is not a comfortable process, and, without going into any detail about the thought processes, it is one I am still struggling with. It is hard. I have also started to think about a life without a child, and what that might look like.

Anyway, I just wanted to get that offa my chest.

I have learned from all this a way to respond to people who are having a tough time.

The only way is to say "that's shit. I am really sorry" +/- "want a wine/chocolate/cuddle/diamond ring"

Greyhounds. Ocsober over.

Happy Halloween! I bought chocolates for the kiddies, but alas no kiddies came to our door. Hence lots of little crunchie bars have been eaten. I am taking part in Halloween begrudgingly. It's an American thing, and I think the US needs to have less influence on the world rather than more. But far be it from me to deny the kiddies (or myself) chocolate.

I have been craving a lot more chocolate and sweet things while Ocsober has been on. Perhaps the pleasure centres in my brain need a tickle and if it isn't from wine, it needs to be from chocolate? Perhaps this is something I can work on..... only 13 days till I fly off to my health retreat in Koh Samui.

All of you who read my blog will know of my love for dogs. We have been dog-sitting a greyhound for a friend. Readers, I have fallen in love. Elvis the greyhound has stolen my heart. He started off a bit aloof, but now he takes his spot on the couch in between myself and my fella, usurping Bella. They play in the backyard and are adorable. #teambelvis . He is a handsome boy too, and always gets up to say hello when we wake up. Bella has started doing that with him - usually she only gives us a side-eye from the couch. #teambelvis follow each other around the house. It's too cute. I think we need to consider adopting a greyhound. They are, by all accounts, very good pets.

By way of update, we are going for our counselling appointment for IVF in December. It was delayed because the police check for my fella was delayed - he has a common name and shares a name and date of birth with many criminals....poor foresight from his parents, really.

Without going into too much detail, with the waits and delays for IVF, I seem to have lost my nerve regarding having a baby. My brain is stuck between the anticipation of the rigours of IVF and the anticipation of the rigours of parenting, hence I am led to wonder why I am bothering with any of it at all. It's an uncomfortable place, mentally. I have always imagined myself as a mum, and now I am, largely out of fear, questioning it.

I read somewhere (in a Fairfax publication, therefore true) that infertility was about as stressful as death of a loved one. I am not sure about that, but it certainly lends some validation to the mental discomfort I am feeling now. I am off to speak to my therapist about this. It's prudent.

And that is enough about that.

The things I can control, I am doing a reasonable job of doing. I have not developed a drinking problem, nor an eating problem. I am doing my exercise and doing my job well. I have discovered makeup primer and apply it diligently, as well as bronzer, because, even if I am not feeling bright I can look it. I am doing ok.
 
I love the dogs being around, they are legit the best.

The other thing I have done is sign up for a 10km fun run, the first I will have done in a couple of years. I want to get a PB (personal best time). My PB was set 5.5 years ago. I am 5.5 years older but I have accumulated a lot of mental toughness in that time. Time to unleash the beast. It's good for me to have a goal like this.

Take-home messages

Whenever I go to a lecture or conference or anything where I have to learn, I very rarely write down anything.

Instead, I take one or two "take-home" points. Things that were salient and that I will remember. Otherwise it's bits of paper which I will never look at again.

I went to see the IVF doctor again, the review visit.

My IVF doctor is a specialist handpicked by me. He is one of Australia's most experienced IVF specialists and is well into his 70s. He is Scottish and he has a dry, irreverent sense of humour and kindly grandfatherly type nature. He also took the government to court so that single women or women in same sex relationships could access IVF. He won.

I had all the tests. They were fine. My pelvis is in good configuration. My partner and I are pumping out gametes like champions. I could literally have had tens of biochemical pregnancies, plus one I actually knew about.

However, my kindly Scottish specialist told me something very sobering today, nothing that is particularly emphasised in any of the lay literature, and nothing that rings a bell from what I was taught back at uni.

He said that, at my age, on average, about 90% of my ova are aneuploid, compared with maybe 40 or 50% (or maybe 30? I can't remember what he said) at age 25. That means that, as a result of my age, I am pumping out faulty eggs with abnormal chromosomes. They are not worth the paper they are written on. I don't mean that in a perjorative way, it's just the way it is. They are doomed to fail and not result in a take home bundle of joy. There are plenty of women over 35 who have babies, but there is a mix of luck and maybe having a few more "good eggs".

I wondered, with all my bits and his bits being good, what IVF would actually circumvent, and make a baby more likely? After all, IVF is invasive, expensive and potentially risky.

Essentially, what they would do in the process would be to check the embryos, and implant only the good ones that had the best shot of sticking and resulting in a pink squalling bundle after 38 weeks. It's a bit more complex than that, and I've done more than a cursory search of google scholar and medline to gain some idea of the ins and outs, but that's basically it.

This discussion put everything into clear relief. All other things being equal (ie no major medical illness or diseases of the reproductive tract), egg quality is the determining factor. The determining factor of this is maternal age. People say that all the time, but it really hit home today.

Would it have been better if I had the baby with my Ex at 31, when my eggs would have been happier? No. It's not helpful to think of the "what ifs". A good relationship needs to come before the baby, I have always firmly believed that.

Applying the retrospectoscope, if I had the clearheadedness in the setting of the dissolution of a marriage, I would have had my eggs frozen. There is a bit of a push for this by the IVF people, but I feel probably not enough. But for me, it's a moot point.

What would I say to a professional female in their late 20s or early 30s who is single but might like to have children sometime in the future? Freeze yo' eggs. It's expensive but probably less expensive than repeated cycles of IVF with aged eggs, and the resulting mindfuck that can ensue.

So I have a plan. It's onward with the IVF. We have to go through the counselling, police checks, parting with cash, et cetera. It's just a case of when. Soon.

I am really keen to see a friend in Costa Rica and doing some ziplining and some surfing and looking into the crater of a volcano. Also some Crossfit WODs (she is my Crossfit friend who was doing a PhD in Melbourne and went to my Xfit box). The desire to go to CR is mostly reflecting a desire to escape some stressors.

Costa Rica is not really a place I want to go while undergoing IVF. My last hurrah pre IVF perhaps? The other take-home I got from the consult today was that, if IVF will be successful, it is most likely to occur within the first three goes. So hopefully the rigours of IVF will be short before the rigours of pregnancy supervene. I had my head around laying the groundwork later this year, and  getting the hormone shots rolling in the new year.

In other news:

• am meant to be doing a healthy eating clean living challenge with my gym. It's really hard. A bit of comfort eating may have done the trick when I was climbing the walls last night. Not all comfort eating is bad.
• I have a better idea of what I want to do when I grow up (ie career goals). 
• I think, more than ever before, I am appreciating having siblings. They warm my heart, increasingly.

 Sooo....IVF.....Costa Rica..... comfort eating..... a true miscellany.

Hangin' tough.

For your delectation, a 1990s earworm. Any lapsed NKOTB fans out there?

It's been a tough day.

Very challenging work morning.

A lunch break at the local shopping centre. It was pregnant woman and little baby hour at the food court. They were errrrrywhere. I ate my lunch staring at a shop sign.

I went to my PM session. The dramas of the morning wiggled their way via phone and email into my afternoon work.

The infertility (I use that word legitimately now, it's been over 12 months) is taking its toll. Work has unique challenges. Many many sighs are sighed. Tears prick my eyes but are often bit back.

My saviours are my partner, my dog and crossfit. And my crossfit ladies. And youse. And Offspring. And Offspring debriefs with my cuzzy on facebook. And the Bachelor and debriefs in real time on facebook with the funny ladies who follow blogger Far Kew.

Actually that's quite a lot of things to smile about.


Yes, I am watching the Bachelor. I know. I blame my fragile state and soft brain.

My tribe. The shred

There are a lot of things that are changing about me as I get older. I am more confident. I care less about what people think.... generally. I am far less inclined to tolerate things that cause me grief. These are good things.

My take on friendships has changed accordingly.

I used to chase friendships. I would often spend a lot more time and effort pursuing a friendship than the other party, and feel frustrated and resentful afterwards. I questioned my own value. I would constantly fear saying the wrong thing, and if a friend disagreed with me I would feel anxious about losing their friendship, and over-compensate.

When somebody continually says "oh we must catch up", but complains of how very busy they are, and rejects reasonable attempts at making a date, I will state "Ok, I will leave it with you", and quietly walk away. I appreciate things can get busy, but when there are no meaningful interactions, there can be no meaningful relationship. I don't burn the bridge, but walk away from the creek, toward other things.

Similarly, I have learned that good relationships are generally the ones that enrich you. Bring forth your best.

I have friendships that mainly exist via text messages that brighten my day.

I have a bunch of girlfriends that I see every couple of years. They are school friends. I grew up with them and knew them since I was four. Every time I see them, I feel no time as passed. We make very crude jokes, and laugh till we wet ourselves.

I have my tribe at the Crossfit box. I get along well with most people there and have a good chat. There is a small bunch of girls that I sweat with, then go for coffee with, and sometimes we go for dinner. Seeing this bunch has been very important to me recently, with various stressors.

I have a male friend who I met on RSVP back in the day. The romantic chemistry was not there but we became firm friends. We have seen each other through dating and relationship fails.

I feel good with these people. Un-self-conscious. Invigorated. Useful.

I know that, with various changes in circumstances, people will come in and out of my life. I hope that, with each major life event, and the social situation that entails, I will find my tribe.

~~~~~~~~~

I have been really looking after my health, going for my "pre-baby body". At the age of >35, all the ducks have to be in line, physically. I have been doing a bit of a "shred" (I hate the word diet). I won't go into detail about what I have been doing, but rest assured, it's been safe. I have a break over the weekends, eat what I like, within reason. It has been boring at times, but it has been working. I have found that a motivator like this, as opposed to say the size of my jeans, has been a powerful one.

IVF and a new world order.

Howdy.

Some of you will have watched 4 Corners on Aunty last night. It was an "expose" on the "IVF industry".

Something that was of interest to me.

I am nearly a year down the track from my Miscarriage. My assumption was that, given that I got pregnant quickly and without trying too hard, I would get pregnant quickly without trying too hard again.

Unfortunately this was not to be, and I am heading to the doctor tomorrow to follow through on the conception plan b. It's with a bit of a tail between my legs. I feel a bit like I have failed. I had put quite a lot of stock on getting pregnant the old fashioned way. IVF scares me and it has taken some time to get my head around it - the being pumped full of hormones, the ovaries swelling, the freezing of embryos. A potential for long-term effects to myself and my offspring.

I don't like the idea, really. I want a baby but I am scared of having IVF. I am growing a pair and getting thee to a doc, and I will see what they say, and what happens. I am trying, despite my fears, to keep an open mind and my eyes on the positives.

Back to the program. It was one-sided, and focussed on the negatives associated with IVF. It bought in experts who were instrumental in the development of IVF, who now disassociate themselves from current IVF practices, which they feel are corporatised and focussed on profit rather than using the technology in a prudent manner. They featured a head of an IVF company, who was bumbling. The program suggested that IVF practices were predatory towards vulnerable women, continuing with IVF cycles when the chances of success were infinitesimally small.

It featured Gab Kovacs, who is a prominent IVF doctor. He has been on record previously saying that women need to just settle down, not be so picky, and get pregnant earlier. On the program, he said that "embryos are like mud, you throw enough of them and one will stick". He also said that he could not refuse a woman IVF if she wanted it.

Putting the doctor hat on, I object to that analogy of mud being flung at the wall - it's not nearly as simple as that. IVF is medical treatment, and the law states that people cannot demand medical treatment that is futile or unduly burdensome.

Melinda Tankard Reist was also on, and though I don't like the woman, I agreed with some of the points she made.

There are plenty of very desperate women and couples out there - some of this desperation is being taken advantage of.

The only thing that the program will change for me is that I will go in and ask for an honest appraisal of what my chances are, and how they might dwindle with increasing numbers of  cycles. I would also prefer to see a female IVF specialist. Just because. I have had a good chat with my fella about the issues the show raised.

The program gave me some more general pause for thought. It occurred to me that I could have stayed in my previous marriage, and my chances of having a baby would have been much higher. I don't regret leaving, not for one second. I am happy, in retrospect, to have worn that risk.

There is a lot of pressure on women to "settle", with the "tick tock". Yet, for a professional woman, having a baby is done at a financial cost, mainly to the woman, in terms of career and superannuation. Many women are happy to make that compromise, yet increasing numbers are not. They do not necessarily stay in relationships to have babies, just like me.

These women are demonised as being selfish, and are warned about having sad, lonely, unfulfilling lives, but the research states quite the opposite. The real consequence is to society - birth rates are going down. It will lead to demographic consequences, with fewer future taxpayers being born.

Hence, for all Tony Abbott's gaffes, his one about helping women of calibre have babies has some merit. Unless women are encouraged to have children at a time when it is safest for them and baby (ie under 35) without their finances or career being compromised, birth rates will not increase. In this way, we as women have the power.

I want a baby, I really do. So does my partner. It is, by all accounts, a beautiful experience, perhaps made even more beautiful when your eyes are wide open, and the changes are accepted in advance.

It's also freeing that, if it all proves too hard, and it is not to be, I, and we, will be ok.

Wins.

Happy hump day folks.

As I have alluded to, I have been angling for some extra sessions at work. There is a job that went out, and has been a bit slow to come to fruition (ie interviews etc). The reason for this is that there has been some upheaval in the unit, and they have not been able to delineate the roles.

Anyway, long story short, I told the team that I was going away for 2 weeks, and did they want to interview me before I left. They did, and applauded my persistence. They offered me the job, and I said yes. This was yesterday.

I hope I don't have to push them to get my paperwork done..the thing I am most looking forward to is the pay!

Yesterday, I also gave a lecture to a health sciences school at a different university. The seminar was full, lots of bums on seats; even the Dean attended. I don't know whether it will come to anything but good to have it done and dusted, and that it went off successfully and was enjoyed.

I am nearly finished a second draft of my paper. I am culling words like a skilled surgeon. 

Warning Crossfit things ahead! 

Every week, our Box releases a WOD (workout of the day) as a spotlight of one member. On Monday, I had my member spotlight. Here it is. So exciting. It was enjoyed (cursed) by many.

It's been 1RM (one rep-max) week at crossfit. A one-rep max is the heaviest weight of a particular lift you can perform once. Unfortunately for the lifts I have done, I have not been able to meet my previous PB (personal best). I think it is because I have been training pretty hard, and am potentially a bit tired. Though I am hoping to exceed 82.5kg for my deadlift this week.

In box jump news, that is progressing. I am better at jumping over rather than jumping on. Today I put a PVC bar on top of a 20 inch box, so the end was hanging off. Hence if I missed I would just knock over a very light bar. I am now glad to say that my jump is over 20 inches (21.5 including the bar). I am getting springy, people!

Ok Crossfit stuff over.

Sunday was a bit of an off day. Long time readers might know about the epic PMS I suffer.
We were out to brekky on Sunday morning, at a cafe. I was feeling a bit fragile (might've been some red wine I drank). We were sat out the front with the dog.

Two Audi 4WDs, one black, one white, rolled up and parked. From out of the black Audi a young woman and her man emerge. They pluck a little baby from his carseat out the back, and a bugaboo or other prestige stroller from the boot. They greet the couple from the white Audi. The mum strokes the pregnant belly of White Audi lady, whose hair is long and groomed in hair-straightener curls.

I promptly silently burst into tears, and dripped snot and tears into my breakfast eggs, rendering them inedible. I was not that hungry anyway. I was in a funk for the rest of the day. I have had enough emotionally shitty days to know that it's often just a day, and it's about muddling through. So even though I felt shit, I got shit done. I did stuff up until it was time to go to bed.

Happy rest of the week, folks.

Allow me to speak freely...

I am usually on quite an even keel. Yesterday evening, though, I felt this quite pervasive anxiety. Existential "I am not doing enough" and "I am not enough" anxiety. Anxiety which normally gets the better of me when I have been taken off my happy pills.

I thought back to the last time I felt that way. 29 days ago.

For a couple of days every month, with the drop in mood-protecting lady hormones, my usually well controlled depression can break through the effects of the SSRIs. Or, in English, epic PMS.

Normally I would just shut myself in my room and read. The only way is to let it pass.

The thing was, with all the sun, sand, surf and snuggles of the last month, I had hoped that maybe I might not have to go through PMS again - ie that the relaxing vibe of Byron would have helped along the fertility gods.

It sounds a bit foolish, but I really did think that way. It's not going to be, though.

All of the feels I usually keep at bay at other times came tumbling out last night.

The duality of time. So long a wait for the little egg to drop. The months are short, but the years go quick. I am approaching a birthday. I am getting old, and my partner even older. Are we too old for this?

The "what am I doing with my life" feeling intensified. Normally I am quite satisfied that I live my life to the full, but last night I was bereft of that.

That people get pregnant ON THE PILL! It's like the princess and the pea of conception. I am off the pill, and have suffered acne, hair fall and mood swings. No baby though.

The feeling that some friendships are slipping away. Phone calls cut short by a gaggle of toddlers. Promises to catch up never materialise. The chasm between my stage of life and theirs is widening. I know it's natural for friends to come and go, but still.

And even if I do get there, will I be any good a mum? The parenting horror stories frighten the hell out of me.

All these thoughts I usually keep in check and in perspective, all came down on me in the last 24 hours. I had my monthly good old cry. Perhaps next month I need to anticipate it.

One little mental shift I made last night was regarding the potential for IVF. I don't like the idea of being stuffed full of hormones. I had been putting pressure on myself  "hurry up and get pregnant so you don't need IVF!" I realised though that it will likely work if the old fashioned way doesn't. I found that comforting.

That was last night. Today I am a bit better.

I wasn't angry, until......

People had said that it was normal after a miscarriage to feel angry, jealous and resentful of other fecund women.

I really hadn't!

I survived trips to the local shops at mother/bubba in pram peak hour. Though on balance I would have preferred not to see them, I did not dissolve into tears, and I even mustered a smile at some of them.

On that front, I was fine. I am putting some finishing touches on my chapters.I went to get some lunch.

I stopped and had a look at the magazines, and saw the botoxed mug of this person

SHE is fucking pregnant.

As you were.....

Hello, am OK.

I am back on my feet after yesterday's procedure. Not as strong or robust as I would've like to have been, or felt I was this morning, but on my feet nonetheless.

Fairly minor sort of procedure - done as a day case, general anaesthetic. The Ob/Gyn was a friend of a friend (it's a small world), and was lovely. She knew I was planning on flying off to Barcelona on Sunday, and said I could, short of any complications. During/after the procedure, she was a little concerned (possibly paranoid, as Murphy's law tends to apply to doctors as patients) that a complication may have occurred. She was completely upfront, and has been ringing me to check that I am ok, and put me on some antibiotic horse-pills.

To both of our relief, I have recovered well, physically, making the complication she was concerned about unlikely. I am able to be up and about, with minimal discomfort today. I even wrestled with walked the dog. I went into work to tie up some loose ends.

Getting out of the house was harder than I appreciated. At work I shut myself in my office, played music on Rdio and had a little cry. But I got some shit done. I have more shit I want to do, but not tonight. If ever there was a time I could procrastinate, it is now.

Apart from the tangible loss of the pregnancy, I am feeling a less tangible loss. I was surprised and quite delighted by how, in it's early stages at least, pregnancy agreed with me. I had a twinkle in my eye, and an easy, wide smile. I am normally a fairly cheerful person, but I felt ebullient. I am noticing the difference now.

I mentioned the other day that I was trying not to fall down the rabbit hole of wondering what I have done wrong. The other potential rabbit hole I am now trying to avoid is that regarding the next pregnancy, the "what if it happens again" question. It does not help to think too far into the future; not about that anyway.

Still, the plans I had, we had, have necessarily shifted. It is my habit to try to find the potential for good in any situation. We adapt as we need to.

And, having already made my peace with minimal vino and no jamon in Barcelona, now I can make the most of all the culinary offerings "EAT ALL THE THINGS". I am nothing if not glass-half full, especially if said glass contains a nice wine.

If one must cry, it helps to do it into a glass of Veuve Clicquot, am I right?

Seriously though, I am letting myself feel this. In my own way. There are worse places to grieve, though, than the sunny streets of Barcelona. In my sadness and disappointment, I am well aware of my blessings.

I am not one to gush in this forum, but I have to say, the care I received in the hospital was magnificent,  as have been my family and friends.

My dear partner has been so, so wonderful (I tear up as I type this). I have told him this, repeatedly.

And tomorrow is another day.

Your comments on my last post helped me enormously, so thank all of you xxx. For me, it is easier to talk about things like this in this forum than face to face, if that makes any sense. I feel a bit more able to express myself in an authentic way.

Hello

My blog posts of late were all a mish mash of the grind of the final throes of thesis writing, and my excitement regarding going overseas, and some brags about my crossfit exploits.

They were hiding something more important, more exciting.

About 6 weeks ago, when I was thinking of what I would do with my pimply skin, and considering some definitive treatment, I had to have a pregnancy test.

It was positive.

Shock gave way to joy. Joy like I had never felt before. I walked around with a big dopey smile on my face. I was excited about having a baby close to my sister (she is having a little girl, squeeee)

I was so well. Full of energy. No nausea to speak of. Food tasted good. I didn't even miss wine that much. My mood was good, no doubt the pregnancy hormones agreed with me. I was enjoying it.

The only thing that was annoying was the fact that I had to go piddle every two seconds. I still did my running and jumping, being careful to empty my bladder before. I reveled in my wellness.

Among the joy of it, I felt vulnerable in a way that I never had before. Aware of how open to twists of fate I was. I felt sometimes a bit like a precious, breakable vessel, an unfamiliar feeling. The love within my heart expanded to a tenderly heartbreaking level, and I felt acutely grateful for the people I had around me, especially my partner.

As a break from my thesis, I would trawl the literature on pregnancy. There are a lot of beliefs about what is bad in pregnancy, and I was trying to get a feel for the facts. I became well appraised of what the risks of coffee, wine, cheese and diet soft drinks. I had also started to look at stretchy garments. I had been a conscientious objector to Jeggings, but had overcome this because by Gosh, they are comfy.

A week and a bit ago, we went to see the obstetrician. We had the viability scan. A small, healthy little blob with a heartbeat. Miscarriage rate down to 10% or less at that point.

The little blob with the heartbeat had a lot of hopes and dreams attached to it. It's natural.

I spent all weekend working on my thesis, so going back to work this morning was almost a break.
I had been feeling a bit dizzy, nothing out of the ordinary, and a twinge in my lower abdomen. Happens.

At work this morning, I had some bleeding. I told my co-workers and burst into tears.

An ultrasound was arranged. The secretary at the ultrasound centre, sensitive to the situation, offered to sit me in the quiet room. I declined, tough. I sat and read old magazines.

The scan showed an outline similar to what I understood from the "what to expect" websites. Except this time it was amorphous. There was no heartbeat, and I was informed that the fetus had stopped growing.  The obstetrician came in and confirmed that I had miscarried.

There is no anger, just sadness. Gratitude and hope too. Efforts not to fall down the rabbit hole of how I could've done something to avoid this, knowing intellectually there was something beyond my control.

I just have to feel the feels, and let the tears come as they need to. The only way out is through. We will get there.

On losing one's shit, and pulling it back together.

Thankyou, friends, for your lovely comments on my last post. One big hurdle over. Now to write the thesis...

I didn't know how to write this post, or even whether to write it. We are not at our best bloggy selves when we feel very over it. Yet today I have managed to find a some inner peace and some perspective.

Friends, it has been a bit of a trying week here. Please click away if you don't like swearing. Though I suspect if you found swearing very objectionable, you would have stopped reading this blog long ago.

There have been a lot of sighs, and a lot of "I just literally can't even..."

It started last Sunday with the lofty goal of a 15.5km run, the annual Run for the Kids. I wanted to have one last crack at this event, having done it a few times.

Unfortunately, at 6.5km, just as I was getting into it, I sustained this. (I gracefully went A over T just before the Bolte Bridge). I rolled my ankle and grazed my knee.

And the ankle looked like this a couple of days later

And the week at work was spent hobbling around, muttering under my breath "ow....fuck" every time there was an uneven surface.

One only realises how fast they go when they are forced to slow down. And I have not taken well to it, with the demands of work being the same, if not a little more this week.

And one only realises the equilibrating effects of exercise when exercise is restricted. Still, I did a yoga and a crossfit session, with modifications.

Those two little lines on the ovulation piddle stick did not translate into two little lines on the pregnancy piddle stick this week. With the ball not having been shot through the hoop (so to speak), the later week brought with it the usual ugly hormotionality (thankyou SSG for that turn of phrase).

Friday was my mum's 60th birthday. I organised the celebrations, the cake. The only thing I could not do was find a "0" candle, hence she blew a "6" candle out. Oh, to be 6 again...

The night was wrapping up. Though we were sitting across the table from each other, my sister sent me a text. Essentially it was along the lines of "hi this was very unexpected but I am 9 weeks pregnant".

I practiced my usual social conditioning of smiling, saying "congratulations, that is wonderful, how exciting". On the inside, I was crumpling. A little like this.

And a few minutes later, as my sister's boyfriend was bragging about his super powerful sperm, my brother looked at me and said "are you ok?".

At that point I excused myself. I calmly walked out of the restaurant. Once safely out on the street I burst into tears, and hailed a cab.


I remembered that episode on Offspring where Nina tells Billie she got accidentally pregnant. Billie falls to bits. At the time I thought Billie could've been a bit more supportive.

Now I get it. I hear you Billie.

I was in a big hot mess, friends. I threw myself onto my bed and howled. Yes, this was despite it being my mum's birthday, and with my auntie and uncle staying. My fella held the fort, and fortunately they didn't really notice (my auntie has a bit of the dementia).

My brother and his girlfriend, bless them, drove from the other side of town to see that I was ok, at 11pm. We had a chat. His girlfriend said "you did well. I would've been throwing shit if I were you". I repeat, bless them.

The next morning, I felt better. I called my sister to congratulate her again, and tell her what a wonderful mum she will be.

She had chosen to let mum know of the impending grandparenthood through her birthday card, with instructions to "not smother her". Mum hadn't read it. So I let her know that morning. Mum looked surprised, then pulled a face. A month or so ago, my sister had told my mum not to expect any grandchildren out of her.

We spent that day taking my mum, Auntie and Uncle around. We smiled and nodded as auntie repeated the same four or five things 60 times.

They left at 4 in the afternoon. We both let out a huge sigh, and reflected.

My sister and I love each other, but we are chalk and cheese. She does not like people getting too close. The text across the table thing is the way she rolls.

I do think she will make a great mum. Her partner has two boys, she is wonderful with them. Yet she works casually as a waitress, and he scrapes by on a couple of jobs. They live about 100 kilometres away. I think she prefers that distance. I don't really know how much she will want us, her mother and sister, around.

I worry about the situation for them, and don't like to think of my sister walking around a restaurant with a heavy tummy.

However, we grew up on far less, and with only one parent. We survived.

Today, I came to really understand that the whole rigour with which I approach the other areas in my life does not really apply in this situation. These things do not progress in an orderly queue, and that is ok. I had known this intellectually, but now really get it.

Somebody once said that the ease with which a couple get pregnant is inversely proportional to how much they are prepared for it. I get that, too.

Sometimes, in difficult times, we force ourselves to remember our blessings.

I remembered my blessings today, not in a forced way, in a natural way, with faith that things will work out as they are meant to. Balance has been restored, at least for now.

And in the spirit of gratitude, I sent my brother and his girlfriend this text

On baby planning and brain overheating.

2 posts in 2 days. That is a lot, for me.

I went to a posh baby shower on the weekend, in a super posh suburb.
It was full of rich educated women. Strictly speaking I am one of them. I looked like most of them (nicely dressed, groomed, accessorised, sporting precious stones etc).
Underneath it all, I am a bogan from wezza. The privilege sticks out to me, and I feel different. I am fine with that.
It makes for interesting people watching, being the bogan posing as a rich white woman.

Dainty quantities of posh food were taken. Some sipped a glass of champagne (only one thankyou) and some wanted soda water. No sugary drinks. Private schools and renovations to houses in posh suburbs were discussed.

It was very different to a non-posh baby shower.

The presence of "all things baby" is ubiquitous as oxygen and food. It's everywhere. It can cloud my consciousness.

The process of "trying for baby", try as I might to be patient and not worry about it too much, takes up a lot of my consciousness too.

For the latter half of every cycle, I am second-guessing every glass of vino I have. Wondering whether that carb craving or those sore boosies are related to a pregnancy or a non-pregnancy (pms). That takes up a lot of brain space.

Making two parallel sets of plans for the year. Trying to be ok with both of them. Alternatively trying not to look past the first six months of the year, and PhD completion. Trying to be ok with some uncertainty regarding my work that might occur after that. Trying to tell myself that things will work out for the best.

My brain is a bit overheated at the moment.

How do you  guys deal with uncertainty? Anyone care to share?

Less meh, more vegies. Adult acne.

Hi All.

My Meh of last week has settled and I am feeling a bit more raring to go.
I have started project "optimum health for hopefully getting up the duff (and also for me)".

I do 3 by group training sessions a week, but have started doing a couple of other 0.5-1 hour workouts per week as well. Hence my exercise is very good.

Eating optimally (and drinking wine judiciously) is a bit more of a challenge. I thought "I know what to do" but I went and picked the brain of a dietitian at work. She showed me the Australian Guide to Healthy Eating. She also encouraged the cut right back on wine thing, and finally, I have.

Here is what one should be eating.

And Here are the serving sizes - I draw your attention to a serve of cooked pasta being half a cup!

The most challenging thing, and the thing I have been concentrating on, is getting the five serves of vegetables in! The thing with eating more veg is that it is completely non-controversial - there is lots of quibbling about other diet related things but just about everyone in the know agrees on this!

If those 5 serves were all potatoes, I would have no problem, I think.

It is quite sobering to think of how our usual dietary patterns deviate from this, even if we think we eat reasonably well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I am clearly going through my awkward phase from 12-45. I have experienced a surge in what can only be described as zits.

I had pretty bad acne which was at its worst around age 17. It kept potentially interested boy-folk away so that I could study. A blessing in disguise. I have always been glass half full.

Much of the more effective vitamin A based stuff is off limits for me. My skin gets a bit oily but is still very sensitive, and that benzoyl peroxide based stuff just about burns my face off.

I saw an infomercial about this, so I went and got a starter kit from Woolies. It retails for 30 bux.

Image via Terry White Chemists.

It is based on salicylic and glycolic acids. It is a wee bit drying, but less so than other acne treatments. If my skin gets a bit dry I skip straight from the cleanser to the repair cream. My skin looks a bit glowy after I put it all on.

So far, so good.

Sundee night, big week ahead.

So tell me....
Do you have the worst case scenario of wrinkles and zits or are you blessed with baby skin?
What skin products do you swear by?
How well does your dietary intake match with the official recommendations? (Fess up, no judgement here)

Not making dreams my master.

Howdy!

So I have gone from light, shopping related posts to an introspective one here.
One never knows what I might come out with.

It must be that time of the year where I hear every few days that somebody is pregnant. A close girlfriend of mine is about 14 weeks.

I am thrilled and excited for these people, but part of me gets a little jealous. Exactly the same as in this post.

I have a bad case of preggy-envy.

Now that the...ahem...trying..is going on, there are certain other things that are occuring within me.

I think about babies quite a lot. It's not a mournful thing. I just have to catch myself.

I am making plans based on being pregnant within a certain period of time.

I catch myself deferring things "in case" I get pregnant.

That is not the path I want to go down.

I came to thinking about this stanza from my favourite poem, If.

If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;


I must continue to live my life unashamedly. The path to mumma may well be long or beset with trouble. I can't make dreams my master. As somebody clever once told me, I have to trust in the process.


So I will submit that abstract to present in Boston next year.
And I have registered for the 10km fun run in December with the aim of improving my time.
And I will continue to try and build my private practice.


And I will just try and be patient, and live fully.