EMILY'S POST

The Last Post

2010-08-25T16:31:00.000-07:00

My dear friends, after four years and apparently 281 posts, I have decided to stop blogging.

This blog and the little community of which I have been a part, have been very important to me. They have enabled me to reflect deeply on my life and I have shared joys and struggles with some fine people whose friendship I will always cherish. I could name you, but I think you know who you are.

Actually, I would like to go on, but my life is taking a different turn and most of what preoccupies me now cannot be reflected here.

I will miss blogging, but mostly I will miss you.

Thank you for your friendship. Thank you for sharing your lives with me. Thank you for all the positive suggestions and comments you made, and thank you most of all for the support and love I felt from you.

My love and blessings to you

Emily

Discombobulated

2010-05-30T23:28:00.001-07:00

I expected to plunge into grief after the failure of our last IVF, but actually I just sat around feeling kind of numb.

I was feeling oppressed by a general sense of reproductive disaster, for myself and my friends. Our dead embryos and crap eggs, John and Sapphira's beautiful baby daughter, then the news that young Mary has deteriorated further since she left our house, and has been having several epileptic-style fits per day. At the age of two and a half, she has been diagnosed as having the development of an 18 month old and a suspected autism spectrum disorder.

I was exhausted and sad and broke and sorry for myself and my friends and our children, but I had expected to hurtle into depression, and I didn't. I paused for a while, waited to feel worse, steeled myself for it, but it didn't really happen. I just stayed numb.

Suddenly a job offer came through that I had pretty much given up on. A promotion of sorts, in the form of a little bit of extra pay and quite a lot more responsibility. I must be a rather shallow person, because actually this cheered me up quite a lot.

The truth is that I am secretly more competitive than I generally reveal to other people. I have been quietly mourning for a long time the effect of motherhood and fertility treatment on my career, and I was surprised by the surge of genuine enthusiasm and ambition I felt.

It's been tricky. It's meant I had to go back to work full time and that has been a big adjustment for all of us in the last few weeks. The Little Dude, after years of being so relaxed about my work hours that he barely looked up to wave goodbye on work mornings, was clingy and crying some mornings at first, which was awful.

But on the whole, the new job has been a good thing. It's given me something positive to think about, something to work towards, something that is challenging but is NOT about fertility, children with heartbreaking disabilities, dead babies, mental illness or any of the other depresssing themes of 2010 so far.

I need that. I desperately need that.

As a result, I am actually kind of confused by my own feelings. So much sadness followed by one small cause for satisfaction and pride and I basically feel... discombobulated.

IVF6: Dark and Repulsive

2010-04-06T17:33:00.000-07:00

Well, that sucks.

I didn't have a good feeling when I woke up from pick-up. When I asked what I got, the nurse looked at the sheet and then said the surgeon would need to tell me. When he did, he said they only got the one egg. One of the follicles was empty and the other located in a place that it would have been too dangerous to get to.

But I had a wierd feeling no one was quite looking at me.

Now I know why. Normally, you have to wait a whole day for a fertilisation report. The clinic rang two hours after I got home to say the egg was "unfertilisable".

I rang the embryologist this morning. She said that as soon as she saw it, she could see it was "dark and repulsive" and just not right. When they stripped it back to see what was wrong, it just disintegrated.

I guess I'm lucky it disintegrated, rather than creating a repulsive embryo that might have become a repulsive-looking kid with repulsive things wrong with it.

Yes, I know I'm wrong to dwell on the use of that word. That embryologist is a woman I like very much who has no gift for tact.

But hey, I'm feeling a little dark and repulsive myself.

IVF 6: Living Life Forwards

2010-04-01T03:18:00.000-07:00

Actually, I can't believe I am doing this again.

As you all know, I grieved. I took my experiences so much to heart that I couldn't seem to get over it. Too many losses, one after another - not to mention the unwelcome news that apparently I am getting old.

I waited and waited for an intuitive feeling about whether I should be doing this or not, and it never came. With days to go, even after signing the papers, I still didn't know what I should do.

I've grieved so hard in the past few months that, in some ways, it should have marked the end. The worst is hopefully over and I should be getting on with my life. I'm frightened of plunging myself even further into that kind of grief.

My optimism is not high. I've decided that this IVF cycle will have to be the last one. Aside from anything else, once this one is done, I will be officially broke. Whatever the outcome, I will have to accept it.

But I never want to feel that I didn't do the absolute best I could do.

So I am gritting my teeth and doing this one. A couple of days ago, I refused a high profile job so I would be free to give this cycle the best chance possible.

I lay down for the ultrasound yesterday after a dream the night before that all my eggs had shrivelled. But to my surprise and pleasure, I have two pretty good sized eggs and one other possible, and hormone levels good enough for the clinic to schedule the pickup.

It's entirely possible that I will emerge from this decision with only debt to show for it and a horrible feeling of having made a terrible mistake in plunging myself back into this sucky existence. But at least I will have tried.

I will never know if I have made the right decision. Kierkegaard said, "Life can only be understood backwards, but it has to be lived forwards". So here I am, living life forwards. Trying to create the life I want for myself, my family, and this child I have in my heart and mind.

Grief and Rage: Susanna

2010-02-23T15:44:00.000-08:00

At the end of January, I received a message on my answering machine. The new baby daughter of our dear friends, John and Sapphira, was dead.

Some of you may remember John and Sapphira. I lived with John as part of an intentional community for three years. He worked for years with young men with mental health and drug problems and now supports families struggling with parenthood. He is not only my friend, but my chosen brother. He married Sapphira, who works with people with profound mental and physical disabilities. They are not saints, but they are the best people I know. They are also the Little Dude's godparents, the ones I chose as part of making the first move back towards God.

John and Sapphira stayed with us in early December. Sapphira was very heavily pregnant. Because I wasn't, it was kind of painful at first to see her. I have been struggling emotionally ever since the failure of our IVF cycles. Much more so than I did while I was still trying. But I somehow managed to make myself remember that Sapphira was the only pregnant friend I had with the guts to call me during those failing cycles. After the first few minutes, I realized I realized that I could be jealous of her, but also very glad to see her. I could be sad for myself, but I could be happy for them. And I was.

Those were very happy days. We sat on the verandah and chatted while the kids played in the pool and the Little Dude and their two daughters played endless games of chasey. We laughed and had fun. We exclaimed over the beautiful pictures of Sapphira belly dancing on the beach, her huge belly extending over her skirts and her brightly coloured veils flapping in the breeze. She was beautiful and sexy and utterly maternal. They were okay with my grief over my poor dead embryos. I could be my honest, real self with them, messed up though I was. When the tears ran down my face during a friend's baby's baptismal service, John put his hand on my arm and kept it there. Sapphira emailed to a friend of ours that our fertility issues were heartbreaking to hear about, let alone live it. But that we were doing well in a shitty situation and about as well as anyone could be expected to do.

It's painful to think of now because, while we were all being happy, their little baby girl Susanna, the baby in Sapphira's belly, was actually dying. Her umbilical cord had somehow become restricted and she swallowed meconium for several weeks. Her entire life was three days in the ICU, hooked up to tubes. John and Sapphira didn't even get to hold her until all hope was lost and she died in their arms. The diagnosis was meconium aspiration syndrome.

The funeral was the most moving I ever attended. Sapphira gave the eulogy herself. As she said, she was not going to be able to do much parenting for young Susanna, and this was something she could do for her. If Sapphira had been any more courageous, I couldn't have borne it. Actually, I hardly did bear it. I stared with disbelief at the coffin. I wailed through the funeral like it was my baby. I stood by the graveside, trembling with rage. I could hardly understand why John and Sapphira didn't throw themselves in after her. It just seemed impossible that their baby could die.

Actually, I was kind of out of control. Friends of ours basically had to look after me, which they said they were glad to do since they were unable to do much for John and Sapphira. That evening, John and Sapphira and I and other friends went out for beers and semi-hysteria. I apologised for my whole Mediterranean-style display and John laughed about how I nearly put Sapphira off her eulogy. I told them a funny story about a mutual friend and John laughed so hard he almost wet himself.

But our laughter was so close to tears. Our grief was beyond words.

During her eulogy, Sapphira said something to her daughter that I could fully understand:

I told you that if you lived, we would turn our world upside down to care for you and give you the best life we could. And I told you that if you needed to go to God, we would find a way to be OK. I believe that you did talk to God about it, you made a decision, and then you left us. You called my bluff and you left us, and now I want to take it all back and tell you you have to stay with us because this sorrow is too big, and I can barely breathe. My love for you is too big to be left with nowhere to go, with no baby to hold, with no-one to breastfeed, and with no hope of seeing you grow...I do believe you are with God. But God and I are not on speaking terms at this point, and I doubt things will improve between God and I for some time.

The rest of the funeral had a remarkable number of positive references to God. There was honest, anguished prayer. There were blessings. There were hymns.

But I looked at the tiny coffin and all I could think was, "Fuck you, God. We want our children back".

An Act of God?

2010-01-22T03:07:00.000-08:00

It got worse. The visit was not good. When I say it was not good, I mean that the visit by Pat, Mary and the new baby was a disaster for our family.

In particular, as opposed to the gift from God talked about in our extremely well-meaning and vaguely fortifying Godparents blessing service, young Mary was more like an Act of God. As in a cyclone, a bushfire, an earthquake, a lightening strike. Something that is not exactly anyobody's fault, was not fully predicted, and yet has to be respected and acknowledged as an utterly destructive force.

The kind of event that leaves you surveying the smoking ruins of your family life, your physical and emotional health, your deepest beliefs, and your sense of self. And yet you emerge, feeling traumatised, somewhat bitter, but mostly glad that you are still alive.

I could talk about the constant screaming, or the trail of destruction, or the endless psychodrama. I could talk about the realization that a little two year old girl, however destructive, cannot be the problem - it has to be the wierd chemistry between the little girl and her mentally ill mother than is at the centre of it. I could talk about the fear that began to grip me for the future of this little baby boy and my increasing fears for this family, constantly choked back by politeness and pity.

More close to home, I could talk about the exhaustion of me and my own family by a bottomless well of need. I could talk about the day my Little Dude kicked me when he realized I had done this to his life. I could talk about my Big Dude's pale face and talk of mere "survival" as the aim. I could talk about the day I realized I had done everything that a human being can realistically do for three and a half weeks with no moment of genuine rest and still it would never be enough. That I had made myself ill and I wasn't getting any better.

I could talk about the day I realized that the idea that you can save people from themselves is utterly foolish - fools go where angels fear to tread. I could talk about the moment I realized I had invited this invading army into my home. The moment I realized I might succeed at the attempt to truly help my friend and godchildren, but only at the heavy expense of what I held most dear. I could talk about the day I felt my heart pounding in panic at what I had brought into the heart of my family and the sudden realization of the vulnerability of the people I most love, to whom I owe my first love, first loyalty and first protection. My heart pounded and pounded and it wouldn't stop.

But I won't talk about any of that. I will mention only that, in an attempt to relax late at night, I watched a TV program on Johnny Cash's Folsom Prison album and his attempts to save prisoners from a combination of their harsh and brutal past, their terrible deeds, and the failures of their society. Cash's daughter said, in the midst of all that hagiogaphy about how great and compassionate Johnny Cash was, something about how her father's belief that he could save people was a kind of hubris. The reality was that he was a musical genius, a wonderful man, but also a deeply flawed man.

I am not any kind of genius. I am a well-intended but rather flawed person who thought she could lend a friend $50 to help her out, and suddenly found she was up for $10,000. As the Act of God definition suggests, a certain kind of folly has been committed.

Hubris is my middle name and all I want is my life back.

Christmas 2009: Need to Vent

2009-12-25T20:35:00.001-08:00

A very quick update and venting session in the few minutes I have to myself.

Pat and the kids have arrived here. After what happened last time, gritting my teeth and with many misgivings, I invited Pat to come again after this second birth. Pat is in much better psychological condition than before, following a good home birth in a birthing pool which went smoothly, and the new baby is a sleepy and easy delight, despite apparently needing to be breastfed for about 16 hours of each day (poor Pat).

Unfortunately, my young two year old goddaughter, who I will call Mary, appears to be a little hellion, having screaming, screeching tantrums on a regular basis - initially it seemed to be every 45 minutes or so but she seems to be mellowing to a two-hour cycle, now. It's been very difficult to relax.

Never have I been prouder of my generous, even-tempered and friendly Little Dude who plays with her beautifully. Every so often, when the playing turns to teasing and harrassment of him, he withdraws to his room for a while and plays quietly by himself, but he has been incredibly patient and sweet with her - rather better than me, in fact. In all honesty, young Mary is not an easy child to warm to. I normally like two year olds very much, even naughty and intense ones, but even making many allowances for the difficult family situation, the disruption of the flight here, and her natural jealousy of a new baby, this one is very hard work.

I am doing my very best to be helpful and encouraging rather than make things worse. But the constant racket and disruption in addition to all the childcare and domestic support needed is making me grumpy and irritable.

Attachment parenting, in my humble opinion, is all very well when its slings and breastfeeding for babies and a close, warm relationship with children. But Pat's version of it seems to involve remarkably few behaviour limits for a two year old and none of the semi-regular routines that I think work well for young children. Also no regular bedtime. As a result, this lttle girl is intermittently sweet and funny and brave, but also frequently overtired, overstimulated, and certainly not well slept. She spends a lot of time rampaging around, red-eyed and in a state of virtual hysteria. The resulting behaviour problems are very bad, but also are very, very predictable.

I am feeling quite worn out and the Big Dude is, too. The Big Dude has the mutinous air of a man who is being pushed too far, and I am all too aware that I got us into this one.

I truly feared that Christmas would be a disaster, but miraculously, young Mary fell asleep for a while and, as a result, there was quite a lot of relaxing, playing, eating and listening to the gentle rain fall. There were peaceful moments where all was well.

As we are flat out here with very little time to ourselves, I may not write again for a while. But I wish you all a very happy Christmas and New Year.

What Next?

2009-12-05T01:29:00.001-08:00

Perhaps surprisingly, I seem to be okay. Sad and subdued, but not depressed. I've enjoyed weekends with a house filled with kids and long sessions on hot summer days with a blow-up swimming pool, icecreams and water pistols, and it was quite fun, even for me.

I am already thinking about my Plans B (more career emphasis) and C (some respite volunteering, posssibly as a precursor to fostering).

Yes, I am seriously considering Plan C: Fostering. I don't think of it as a substitute for another biological child. More as a way of making some good come out of this depressing situation. If we had the capacity for a second child, perhaps we have the capacity to give a child who is already alive some love and stability.

Sometimes when I looked around at the clinic and saw the yearning faces on the women, then looked at the posters begging for foster carers with the sad faces of the children, I felt like some connection should be made.

Actually, having all these kids in our house has increased that feeling. It has reminded me that, actually, I never really yearned for a baby, as such. When I think about what I want, it's always an older child running around the house, talking at the dinner table, and playing with the Little Dude. It's almost as if what I really want is a certain level of riotous noise - without it, the house seems too quiet, our lives just a little bit too empty.

But of course, it is not as simple as that. As someone who had a problematic father, I have some sense of what a stable adult can bring to a kid's life, the value of just having another adult to rely on and talk to. When I was a kid, I cultivated my own "auntie" type adults. But I also have an idea of the kind of disruption and probable sadness it would bring, too. If you bring a child into your life, you also bring their parents into your life. Would there be drunken, abusive, mentally ill parents at my door at 3am? Quite possibly. And I could get that from within my own family!

In some ways, what I should do now is Plan B: Work on my career, earn more money. For a start, we are pretty broke thanks to our financially ruinous IVF habit. Plus, it would be building on what I am good at and do naturally. I always find it easy to lose myself in work. I go back to work with a sigh of relief like some people go back to using their dominant right hand after a long period of clumsily trying to use their left following a bad break.

But I feel I need something that feeds my heart. That creates some connection with other people. That gives a purpose to all this spare love that currently has no othe direction, this impulse to rescue, this ability to care for others. It's not my dominant hand, but these years of being a carer, of being a mother, have given me some kind of skill with that left hand that maybe shouldn't be wasted.

The Big Dude is not at all keen. I think he was hoping for a quiet life in front of the telly. But I'm only 38 and I'm not ready for a life in front of the telly.

The Truth Breaks Out

2009-11-20T17:30:00.001-08:00

Children can be so honest, sometimes (when they are not lying their heads off, I mean).

Here I am, faking my way through my social life. People at work ask how I am and I say, "Fine". My face closes up. My manner does not invite further inquiry.

A nice lady at church says hi and asks what we have all been doing. I say, "Oh, you know - the usual".

The Little Dude pipes up and says, "We've been making embryos - in a dish!", he says, as if it's all been quite exciting. "But then my mummy cried when the baby didn't come", he adds mournfully.

I watch the nice leady reel as she confronts this outbreak of inappropriate truth-telling in the polite church environment. She pauses as she wonders whether to pretend he didn't say it and save us the embarrassment, express her sympathy, or simply busy herself with her own child, who is pulling at her skirts. But she is too late to do any of it because, while she thinks about it, I have run off to the bathroom to hide where no one can see my lips trembling and my face collapsing - a private place where no one can see me cry.

But later on I have to start laughing as well. That lady teaches Sunday school. Wait till the Little Dude starts sharing with the other pre-school aged kids what mummy told him about where babies come from. The story is longer and wierder than they can possibly imagine...

IVF 5: Grieving

2009-11-15T13:53:00.000-08:00

I am grieving. I am. I try not to let the world see how sad I am. I am working and busy with my life. I have too much pride and awkwardness to cry in public. But sometimes the tears well up and I just can't prevent them.

I am grieving for my embryos. Not just my latest embryo, which I nicknamed Moja (The Little Dude was known as Mojo when I was pregnant - A private joke, as the Big Dude hadn't contributed sperm, but he was "working his mojo"), but all of them. Five of them in the last two years and one extra in 2004 who accompanied the Little Dude into my uterus but didn't stay.

I know they were not babies, those six little embryos. They were just little four-celled creatures. But they were potential babies. They were all created with love and hope. They were all alive when the specialist put them inside me. They were our potential children and my Little Dude's potential brothers and sisters. I am grieving the fact that he didn't get to know them just like I am grieving the fact that I didn't get to know them. They are still a loss, a huge loss to me.

I am grieving for the loss of what I have put into this process. My bank account, so carefully built up and now empty. My body, so laboriously prepared and now fat and slack and exhausted and ill. My relationship with the Big Dude, so hopefully worked on, which has taken so much strain. His health, which has taken too much of a burden and is not good.

But mostly I am grieving for my hopes, which were carefully cultivated to motivate me through this painful, unpleasant, humiliating proceess. My hopes of a second child, for a noisy house with two children playing and fighting, for a life filled with people.

I tried, but I lost. I just have to face the fact that I put everything I had at risk for this, but I lost.

My Little Dude was disappointed, too. I had to tell him some time ago what we were trying to do, because all these visits to the clinic at the hospital, to see the specialist, made him anxious that I was sick. He knows that some people get sick and die and I could see him worrying. When we first saw the specialist, the Little Dude came out of the offices and said, tremendously excited, "Where's the baby? Can I see him now?" It was him who asked for one more try.

He is a smart and sensitive boy and good at empathy. My Big Dude is uncomfortable with grief. He hugged me but then he sat rigid in his chair as I wept and wept. The Big Dude never cries. It's ridiculous, but I felt like I should apologise for crying.

But my Little Dude climbed on my lap, took a tissue and wiped my tears away as they fell. He was disappointed himself, but he gave me little sympathetic kisses through the day and climbed into my bed and stayed with me all night to comfort me.

At least I got one child. One very beautiful child - beautiful inside and out. In my worst moments, I feel like I have ruined my life by trying again. But I don't blame myself for looking at my child and wanting another one. Humans are greedy. We get one kind of happiness and just want more. I don't blame myself for trying for another child, for reaching out for more of this kind of happiness.

I haven't made any final decisions. Our clinic asked me before this one failed if this was our last attempt. I muttered "Probably", but I didn't really have an answer. I still don't and it's too soon to try to have an answer.

It's possible we will try again. Officially, we are booked in for another cycle in February 2010. But the clinic says I have to pause for a while and let my body recover from all these cycles, or it will simply stop responding to the drugs altogether. Of course, after what my specialist said about our lack of time, a break for a few months may make the decision for us, anyway.

Rationally, we can't afford another cycle, especially financially. But if we'd focused on being rational, we probably wouldn't have tried at all.

I tell my friends I am running out of cash and optimism. I think if we had more chance, I would be more optimistic and more willing to keep going. If we had good cycles and were simply not pregnant yet, the obvious answer would be to just do more cycles until we got there. But our cycles are terrible. Out of five cycles, we only got to transfer three times. Specialists say that IVF is a numbers game, and our numbers are very poor. Our chances of getting pregnant are really very low.

But the sad fact is that, in some ways, its the cash that is the main problem. If we had limitless money, I would probably keep going until I had not a single egg left. Then I might even consider donor eggs. It's a step well beyond where I wanted to go, but the whole process is so far beyond anywhere I actually wanted to go that its a moot point. But all of that costs money, a lot of money. We are already badly in debt. I curently have two major loans - one for the Little Dude which is almost paid off and one for the last two years - and I would need take another loan to try again. It seems dangerously foolhardy to take on more debt when I still have my Little Dude to raise.

It's very hard to know when to give up. I read somewhere that infertility patients are second only to cancer patients for what they will put their bodies through. I told myself I would do up to five or six cycles, then see how I felt, and that is where we are now. There are always people you know or hear of who flog their bodies through nine, ten cycles, and are just about ready to give up, then get pregnant on that final cycle. But of course, there are always those people who you never hear of who do their nine or ten cycles, bankrupt their wallets and their bodies and their souls, and have nothing to show for it. I'm more than ready to move on from IVF, but its hard to move on from all possibility of a second child.

But I don't want to keep going just because I don't know how to stop.

Apologies to my readers for the length and incoherence of this post. But, but, but... my thoughts are like one, long, endless sentence, with too many buts. But this is the only place that I can say all this.

Intuitively, I have a feeling it may be time for us to take a break, at least for now. We need a pause to rebuild, and appreciate what we have. The pause may become a permanent stop. It may be time for a different kind of life, a different kind of happiness.

IVF 5: Fuck and Alas

2009-11-11T00:34:00.000-08:00

It's a negative result for us this cycle- confirmed today after a few days delay.

Fuck and alas, indeed. We are screwed, my friends, screwed. Apparently, my uterus is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn't want to stay there.

RIP my brave little embryo... Thanks for trying, and I really mean that. I appreciated the effort. But I would have liked to have known you.

IVF5: Beta Today

2009-11-08T12:26:00.000-08:00

I have my pregnancy test, known as the beta, today.

Sadly, I am feeling quite pessimistic about the outcome of my cycle. I was hopeful a few days ago, especially as I have been more nauseous than usual on progesterone.

Personally, I think it is just a little cruel that IVF patients need to go on progesterone supplements at the end of their cycles. It supports any possible pregnancy, but the list of side effects includes: bloated stomach, fatigue, nausea, sore breasts and mood swings, ie the same "side effects" as being pregnant.

So every time I've felt like throwing up, I've also felt a little hopeful.

A few days ago, I started to feel almost triumphant, because my stomach started to recoil at specific smells and then started to reject the idea of certain foods. I looked at a plate of chicken salad and pushed it away. I was simultaneously grossed out and happy, because chicken was something I couldn't eat when I was pregnant.

But for the last day or so, I have been feeling much more normal. Then, since my beta test was delayed because it fell on a Sunday and my clinic was closed, I yielded to temptation and bought a home pregnancy test. These usually can't detect the very earliest chemical changes of a pregnancy, but some of the "early response" ones can detect an early implantation. There was not even the faintest of faint lines. A blank window greeted my hopeful gaze.

It reminded me very much of an entry from my favourite infertility blog, where the writer and the commenters posted in haikus that reflected their infertility experiences:

Two pink lines or one? Urine ripples, surging wish... One. Fuck and alas.

Another test this morning showed the same.

So its not looking good. But I will take my beta test and try to suck up the result in as dignified a manner as I possibly can without killing anyone.

IVF 5: Quality Over Quantity

2009-10-30T17:41:00.000-07:00

My fertilised egg has continued to develop and become an embryo. Another hurdle cleared and only one more to go.

The transfer this morning was excellent: a kind, friendly group of women all clearly pleased for me and wishing me well. The transfer itself was gentle - while the moment the speculum goes in is never much fun, I couldn't actually feel the rest, which is a good sign.

On our departure, I inquired about our embryo, and was told that it was a top quality, grade one embryo. Embryo quality is the best overall predictor of implantation and pregnancy. This is the best we've done in more than a year.

A grade one embryo and a good transfer are great news. I have just as good a chance of getting pregnant as any woman walking out of the clinic, and probably a better chance that most.

As I walked back to the car this morning, it was almost too much to take in. I could feel my whole body and soul light up with hope. Usually, I try not to hope too much. But dammit, after all that misery and humiliation, I'm going to enjoy this and stay hopeful as long as I can.

Just stay with us, little embryo. Mummy wants you to stay.

IVF 5: It Made It!

2009-10-29T14:53:00.000-07:00

We were supposed to call at 10:30am this morning for our fertilisation report, but our nice embryologist said she would be visiting our egg at 7:50am this morning and I could call then if I wanted.

I did. Our little egg is fertilised and ready to go!

Thank God, thank God, thank God, thank God...

IVF 5: Finally Some Good News

2009-10-28T18:01:00.000-07:00

I just spoke to my embryologist, who said the egg looks quite good. It's too early to assign it a formal grade, but the crucial factor is that it has a polar body, which makes it possible for it to be fertilised. The egg is a little dark, but not too bad at all.

I could tell it was good news, because she sounded excited. In fact, she was too excited to have the tact to not tell me how surprised she was!

I like this embryologist. Not only is she always extremely nice to me but, when she told us last time that neither of our eggs had fertilised, she had obviously been crying. She hardly knew us, but she wept for us. It made me feel less alone. I trust her to do her very best by my little egg during the ICSI process.

I've tried to stay as neutral as possible about this cycle, to keep my expectations low, because it just hurts too much when they are dashed over and over again. And of course, my expectations really are low to be so thrilled to produce one egg that apparently has the potential to be fertilised. It's hard to see how I could set the bar any lower.

But I must admit I feel excited and hopeful for the first time in a long time. I suddenly feel just the teensiest bit younger, knowing that I'm not all dried up just yet. Even if I don't get pregnant, I'm glad to feel this way again.

IVF 5: ICSI

2009-10-28T17:16:00.000-07:00

As usual, my IVF cycle didn't go well. I knew my specialist thought I wasn't a good prospect, and this was confirmed when I saw the recommendations for a massive dose of stimulation drugs followed by ICSI - injecting the sperm into the egg. They were really bringing out the big guns, now!

I started the cycle with four good-looking follicles close together in size and a number of smaller ones. It looked surprisingly promising. But over the space of a sad, humiliating week, three shrivelled up and I was left with only one viable-looking follicle and some much smaller ones unlikely to catch up.

The recommendation was to cancel the cycle as, in most cases, one follicle barely justifies the process.

But I felt that, if I failed to even complete three cycles in a row, let alone get pregnant, it would be hard to justify any future attempts. If I cancelled this cycle, I was unlikely to try again. It would be all over.

With the way my cycles have gone, there was no guarantee that my cycles are going to get any better. It's far more likely that they will get worse, that I am just running out of eggs and it's now or never. So, I heard the advice and decided to go ahead anyway. My specialist said there was a 90 per cent chance there was one egg in that follicle, about a 70 per cent chance of fertilisation, and about a 50 per cent chance of actually getting an embryo to transfer. Even if I don't get pregnant, and just get the one egg, just hearing about the egg quality will give me some idea as to whether we ought to just quit or whether there is still a chance.

Pickup this morning was fine - I was half-expecting no egg from that one follicle, but we do have that one egg. ICSI commences in the next hour.

Now, I am just waiting to hear.

Back to the Sex

2009-09-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

I'm pretty sure my regular readers are wondering what has happened to the sex theme of this blog. The reason I haven't been blogging about it is that the Big Dude and I haven't done particularly well this year, but it hasn't mattered as much as it usually does.

We started well, or at least better than usual. From memory, I think we had sex about once a month right up to April. Once a month is not very much, but it's better than usual is my point. Then it fizzled, probably as the IVF tooks its usual toll.

Actually, I missed it less than you might think. When it seems like almost everybody has had a chance to get close to my vagina lately, lack of sex is less of an issue. Over time, also, the sap sinks. I stop having expectations. I go to bed at night and all I expect is a good long sleep. Actually, it feels like my body is kind of asleep in general.

But we started again this week, and it was good. We made love with surprising enthusiasm and passion, so apparently we still have some kind of sexual connection.

Now the Big Dude wants to share a bedroom. I explained that I was not keen - he is hard to sleep with, due to his sleeping disorder and Vietnam-related nightmares. We simply don't sleep as well when we are in the same bed. I quite like my time alone.

Since he was pressing me, I gave him the real reason: I do not like to sleep with a naked man who I love who is not interested in having sex with me. It hurts. It's painful. It's tantalising. It's impossible to lie there next to him and not wish that things were different. If he wanted me to sleep in the same bed as him, he would have to make a lot more effort in that direction. The idea lapsed.

Now he wants me to move my bed into his room. I said, "You will have to hold up your end of the bargain", and he said, "You just try to keep up".

Promises, promises. I don't believe him. But I will give it a try. And you never know...

IVF 5: One More Try?

2009-09-04T18:54:00.000-07:00

A baby is crying in church and it's mother picks it up. I feel a kind of relief that I don't have a baby any more. They are so demanding, so needy,and the mother gets so tired. I must have been mad, I think, to have wanted another baby.

My thoughts move on. I wonder if I should continue in this fertility journey. Its so arduous, so expensive, so downright frustrating and sad, that it would be a lot smarter to take the kid we have and run. I think about how nice it would be to pay household bills without having to furiously compute how this will affect payment of the next IVF cycle. I think about all the other things we could do with that money. I think about owning a car, travelling, doing all the things other people we know can do.

The reality is that I am starting to give up. I have done four IVF cycles now. The first was almost cancelled due to low response, the third was cancelled due to low response and the fourth wasn't completed. But the egg quality issue is the worst. Because the quality has always been so good, quantity hasn't been as big as issue as it could have been. Only another cycle will tell us if that result was a one-off or if we are looking at a permanent and continuous decline in quality.

But I have a bad feeling about it. I may look young, feel young, be young(ish) - but the eggs don't lie. I will be 38 years old in a couple of weeks.

I am hardening myself to the reality of those cold, hard numbers. A few weeks ago, I put away the Little Dude's old cot into the shed and bought him a new (actually, second hand) racing car bed. Although we had taken the rail down, we were keeping that cot in the bedroom in anticipation of anew baby to put in it. Putting it away meant something to me.

But I'm not quite hardened yet. While all my rational impulses tell me it is time to quit, I am not quite there. As the baby keeps crying, the tears that always seem closer to the surface in church well up. I would have liked, I think, to have known young Jessie Louise, the little girl I hoped for, to be named for the Big Dude's mother and mine. I would have liked to see her little face. It would have fed my heart to watch her skip around and laugh in the sun and play with her brother.

A few nights ago, I told the Little Dude that I wasn't sure we were going to be able to give him a brother or sister. We had tried and tried but weren't having any luck. He looked a little sad, seemed to accept it and then looked me directly in the eye and said, "But one more try, Mummy. One more try".

Okay, one more try. But I think that will be it.

IVF 4: I Like Them Fertilised

2009-08-11T15:54:00.000-07:00

There is an old joke about a man asking a woman at breakfast after sex how she likes her eggs, and she answers, "I like them fertilised". Me, too.

This cycle went unexpectedly well.

The new protocol was a success. On my second ultrasound, I had six follicles, four quite close together in size, which means they are likely to mature at the same time and be able to be harvested. I breathed a huge sigh of relief, when I received the blood test that showed my estrogen was rising well, because that was exactly what didn't happpen last time. By the third ultrasound, one of those follicles had gone, but my estrogen was great and it looked like I might get three eggs from this cycle - a small haul for many women, but a record for me.

The egg pickup was also quite good. Surprisingly little pain. Only two eggs, but, hey, I'm the two-egg girl so it wasn't exactly a surprise.

I was remarkably centred and unstressed though this cycle. It started as just being fatalistic, but in fact I became quite relaxed. I took nothing for granted, I didn't assume that we would even get to pickup, but once we'd done the pickup, I truly thought we would complete the cycle. As the good news accumulated, I started to feel an almost a mystical calm and positivity and even started to assume that we were on a roll and we would get pregnant.

What I didn't see coming was the total non-fertilisation of those eggs.

I have previously had a 100 per cent fertilisation rate, when the normal rate is around 70 per cent. I've always produced two eggs of very good quality. The better the egg quality, the better the embryo quality, and the higher your chance of pregnancy.

This cycle, my fertilisation rate was zero percent. Nothing, nada, zilch.

The embryologist looked like she'd been crying. She said, "I'm so disappointed for you." She explained that the eggs were a little dark, with a thicker layer than usual, which makes it difficult for the sperm to penetrate. She said, "These were not category 1A eggs".

So this one's over, too.

IVF 4: Hope?

2009-06-25T02:52:00.000-07:00

I had a surprise phone call from our IVF specialist, the Wizard of Oz today

The immediate news is good. We can do an IVF cycle with a flare protocol next month and he will keep the drugs at a nice high level.

The rest is less good. He suspects the reason we are getting such a poor result is that I am running out of eggs. Although I am only 37 years old, my results indicate that I may be hurtling towards an early menopause. He added helpfully that the menopause may take 5 years or 1 month - sometimes it's all over incredibly fast.

Have I mentioned that, for the first time in my life, I seem to have skipped a period? Sometimes after an IVF cycle, its a week or so late, but now its almost two weeks and I'm wondering if it is going to turn up at all. A chill went through me when he said it could happen in just one month.

And I still just can't believe it. I look in the mirror and I look so young. My big age-related issue in my normal life is ensuring that people take me seriously - that they realize I am Dr Emily, Serious Career Woman and Scary Management Type, and not a 22 year old student.

But I am plunged into gloom. I still have the bruises on my belly from my last attempt, and now somehow after this chain of events and this conversation I am supposed to go into the next cycle with some kind of hope.

How am I supposed to summon up the hope?

IVF 3: It's Over

2009-05-28T16:56:00.000-07:00

My specialist obviously thought my results were as pathetic as I did. He jacked up the drugs to an unusually high level and ordered another ultrasound, hoping to get a better outcome.

But the blood tests showed very low estrogen and my cycle has now been cancelled.

At some level, I just can't believe it. I waited seven months, had an operation, spent all that time preparing myself mentally and physically for the big event, and it just failed so quickly. Over almost as soon as it began.

The clinic has suggested a flare cycle next - its a different protocol, where they don't shut down my own system so hard and the whole cycle is a lot shorter. It's possible that I am just one of those women who get over-suppressed on the lucrin, with hormone levels pushed down so low they just can't get up again in time.

But there is another possibility which is in my thoughts every day now. In the last year, I've had four (possible) follicles, two follicles, and now one. The drugs don't make a difference to the number of follicles available to be stimulated, they only stop some of them from dropping out of maturing to produce a viable egg.

What if I am just ageing faster that I predicted? What if it's all one follicle from here on out? Or maybe soon no follicles?

Statistically, fertility does start to drop sharply from around 37 years old (actually, it declines from your mid-20s), but its very individual. My friend Pat is pregnant again at 44 years old and she has conceived every time she has tried. I am only just 37 years old and I look unusually young for my age. My face is smooth and plump with only one tiny and very light wrinkle where I keep frowning when I write and think. My hair is shiny. I move with energy and dynamism. I'm cheerful and optimistic. People often think I'm only in my late 20s, and even I know that I look that way.

But maybe its all an illusion. My mother has just told me she entered menopause quite young, at 40 years old. Physically, I am very like my mother, including having the exact same pattern of my natural cycle.

What if I just blew seven months of my last fertile year because of a stupid operation I turned out not to need? What if not just this cycle, but this chance, is over before it really began?

IVF 3: Disaster

2009-05-26T04:28:00.000-07:00

Today, I had my first ultrasound and blood test for this IVF cycle.

I have been feeling quite optimistic. Having gotten generally fitter and healthier, done the laparoscopy in April and on a nice high dose of the drugs, surely the prospects for this cycle are the best they've ever been. I have been almost looking forward to my ultrasound this morning.

But this morning, after rummaging around for ages, the technician could detect virtually no response at all. My early results are never great, but this is the worst yet. I managed to hold it together while in the clinic, but couldn't help the tears in my eyes, which I tried to disguise.

Then I went to the local shopping centre and tried to cheer myself up. I tried on (and lay-byed)some new clothes. I bought myself a nice lunch and included a semi-forbidden glass of red wine. I even filled up a shopping trolley with groceries for a local charity, which was asking for donations for poor families who would struggle to get through winter. This usually provides not only a nice warm inner glow but a good sense of perspective on who really has problems in this world.

But nothing takes this feeling away. Nothing.

IVF 3: Weight

2009-05-19T17:07:00.000-07:00

I am two weeks into this cycle and already my body is starting to expand. Using my usual hole on my belt is starting to feel uncomfortable and my trousers seem just that little bit tighter around the thighs.

Damn. Unfortunately, both the drugs they use for IVF cause weight gain, so it is practically inevitable. Some of the gain is just more retained fluid from all the hormonal disruption, but some of it will ultimately be more fat. I also have bad headaches but, for some reason, it's the weight gain that really hurts.

I've lost quite a lot of weight in the last two years. All the baby weight and some more as well - around 23 kgs or over 40 pounds. I've been eating a lot better, and also eating less, but I've also been swimming and going to the gymn.

Strangely, and unlike most women, I didn't always mind being heavier. There is something actually quite comforting about letting yourself get plumper and settling into the sofa. But when I was heavier, I always had this moment of unfamiliarity, of disorientation, when I looked in the mirror. The self I was in my head didn't match with the one in the mirror. Somehow, this matched what I felt about my life. Nothing was what I imagined it would be, including myself.

Now, I'm oddly familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. I can't actually quite see that I look better at this weight. People tell me I do. They comment a lot. But actually, I have a similar feeling of disorientation when I look in the mirror. To myself, I look longer rather than skinnier, more as if I've grown a few inches upwards rather than lost a few around the middle. But I can see that I look more like I did as a girl - a younger, almost teenaged Emily looks back at me and I remember that person.

So losing weight hasn't been the overwhelmingly positive thing I hav always thought it would be. But now that at least some of that effort is at risk, I find that I do mind. The skinnier Emily has more energy and feels younger, somehow. I move differently at this weight. I don't think I realized how much more energy it takes to keep a bigger body moving around in the world. The day ends and, instead of feeling completely exhausted, I still have a reserve.

Also, it's completely illogical, but somehow at this weight I feel more in touch with the girl I was - as if the world has more possibilities.

I don't want that feeling to be taken away from me.

Angry Anzac Day

2009-05-03T17:48:00.000-07:00

I spent Anzac Day this year feeling angry.

The reason I was so pissed off was that I watched a TV special about the psychological problems returned servicemen from Afghanistan and Iraq are having.

TONY GILCHRIST, FORMER CAPTAIN, AUST. DEFENCE FORCE: There’s people crying, screaming, there's people calling out for help, deceased people laying there, body parts laying around... it’s the smell of the explosives that have been used, the burning wreckages around you plus the smell of burning bodies... You've got the constant thoughts of what you’ve seen and been involved in. You still wake up with the, it’s like you’ve still been there that night. You can just about taste the smoke and you can smell it in your nose still.

GAYLE GILCHRIST, TONY GILCHRIST’S WIFE: I guess the second night and he wakes up not being able to breathe and he has to, he’s gasping for breath in our bed because he can’t breathe and he has to run to the toilet and vomit and vomit and vomit until he can get his breath back and I said to him oh you know, naive me, "Are you alright, are you sick?" and he goes "I’ve got this smell in my mouth and my nose and I just can’t get rid of it."

That poor bastard. His poor wife. His poor kids. Their lives are ruined. And for what? Their supposedly grateful country apparently isn't willing to pay for someone to meet them at the airport when they get home, debrief them properly, and give them psychological support and treatment.

Imagine smelling dead bodies night after night, for years after the war is over.

My Big Dude has been through it. My little family and I have been through it. The Big Dude and his friends spent years working for better awareness and treatment of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and all the other war-related problems that veterans need help with. Now we hear of veterans left homeless while waiting for help, and of family members who commit suicide.

I'm just so disgusted that our society doesn't seem to learn that when it sends people off to war, it actually owes them something when they come back.

Disgusted and angry.

IVF 3: Preparations

2009-04-14T22:22:00.000-07:00

Today, I am sick and ruthlessly letting my colleague do the work I would normally be doing.

I'm normally almost crazily stupid about putting work first. During my last IVF cycle, I was up working until 1am the night before surgery for egg pickup. I was exhausted and stressed out and it was because I was organising an international conference we were hosting.

Now we're hosting another conference next week and I should be at work, making it happen. Even though yesterday, I was dizzy and confused and vomiting, I still intended to go to work today. Partly because I have a genuine liking and respect for the colleague who is currently helping me and I dont' like to land him with it.

But today, I realized that if I couldn't walk to the bus stop, I probably shouldn't be at work. I should in fact be putting my health first and making sure I'm completely better before we start IVF against next week.

Work, which tends to sneak into priority 1 even when I try not to let it, basically has to come last now.

This is just one aspect of the strange mental shift that has to happen to do an IVF cycle.

I have to put my own health first, but in a wierdly impersonal way - it's not me who matters, but my body. My body is a resource that is about to be forced into a hard regime. Like a soldier, I am about to throw it over the top of the trench, and it has to be able to make it.

I've spent the last five months working hard to lose weight for this process. I've lost around 21 kgs (over 40 pounds) all together, but the drugs will make me gain weight and make it very hard to exercise for some weeks - I feel sad about it, but I accept that that's just too bad. That's going over the top, too.

Also, finances. I spend most of the year saving money and fighting debt. The week before an IVF cycle, I sign up for thousands more dollars in debt and I really don't care all that much. Another one for the top.

But most of all, it's me who is going over the top - my heart, my mind, my soul, my emotions. Strangest of all, it's me who blows the whistle, too. I'm the one doing this to myself.

Bored

2009-03-30T17:29:00.000-07:00

I had a great time last week. I had to go to another beautiful tropical island for an international meeting for work. All the preparation was hard work but, once we got there, we all raced through the agenda so we could spend more time at the beach. After the business part was over, we swam, we snorkeled, we talked and laughed. We tried different kinds of wine and beer. I had my first ever try at karaoke and several encores were demanded. I could get used to that kind of flattery and attention.

The only problem was that it highlighted the fact that I don't usually have that much fun or excitement or new experiences. Since I came home, I have had to admit something to myself - I'm bored. I'm bored with my life.

With my Big Dude sick most of the time, with no car, and with the Little Dude to watch, we hardly ever go out. We spend almost every evening of our lives just staying home and watching TV. It's cosy. It's comfortable. But sometimes I can feel my life just going by while we sit in front of the TV.

It's particularly bad at the moment. The Big Dude is in a bad slump and he doesn't want to do anything and he hardly speaks. When he does speak, it's mostly some kind of complaint. There is a kind of flatness in the room that depresses me. He hardly seems to notice that I'm there.

Actually, I'm even kind of bored with the fact that we have no sex life. I'm bored by the lack of desire, passion, romance and sex. I'm also bored with discussing it and with attempts to try to improve things.

The Big Dude and I are both intelligent, articulate, interesting people with plenty to say and lots of interests. So why do I feel like I am being bored out of my mind?

Niceness

2009-03-15T00:49:00.000-07:00

There was almost a row in our church today. Our minister was talking about Jesus running riot in the temple. He talked about anger and rage and how they can create the energy for change. Then he made a few political comments. One of the women I am friendly with took exception to something he said and stood up and corrected him in public. I felt quite uneasy, as I like that woman but I thought she was wrong. I also thought she was brave. The whole episode worried me.

Later, though, I thought maybe the confrontation and the passion of the exchange was good. Because, when I was growing up in a church, there was a lot of emphasis on being "nice". Being good. Not swearing or drinking or having sex. Not looking as if you might ever swear or drink or have sex. We were obedient. We thought challenging the pastor was like challenging God. People cared about each other, but everyone was very polite. They ate a lot of quiche and made small talk.

The niceness factor was actually one of the things that made it hard for me to feel like I could belong to a church again. Somehow, it made it seem like those people lived on a different planet to me. Their planet was nice all the time and so were the people. It was hard to connect with from my own messy, emotional, semi-pissed off planet.

Sometimes I wonder where that stuff comes from. Jesus, after all, regularly got angry. He confronted people. He chucked furniture. He never hesitated to speak out against hypocrisy and smugness. He wasted very little energy on trying to please people.

I quite liked the prayer on the front of the church leaflet today:

Jesus, who wept at the death of a friend and overturned tables in anger at wrong, let us not be frightened by the depth of passion. Rather, let us learn the love and anger and wild expanses of soul within us that are true expressions of your grace and wisdom.

And assure us again that, in becoming more like you, we come closer to our true selves, made in the image of outpouring Love, born of the free eternal wind.

To this prayer, I can say truly say amen.

Advice

2009-03-03T15:23:00.000-08:00

This week, a friend of mine confided in me. He is in his mid-20s and got married 18 months ago. He hinted that he is not happy and things are not going well between them. When I sounded him out about why, he said his wife had stopped having sex with him.

She just didn't seem interested any more. He had suggested a few remedies and she hadn't tried any of them. He was so upset by this that, only 18 months into the marriage, he was wondering if they should separate. They had been talking very excitedly about having children in the near future, but now he wondered if they should. A friend of his had become very ill recently and it had struck him that life is very short.

He asked me what I thought. I said that sex was very important in a relationship and he needed to make that very clear. I said that he shouldn't allow the situation to just drift, that they should talk about it, and that he should make sure they went beyond just talk - he would need to see some progress to feel more confident about their relationship.

I felt that was all I could say. After all, in real life, I try not to give too much advice because I am prone to that. I also don't want to be the one who prompts the breaking up of such a new marriage.

But if I had said what I really thought, what it was in my heart to say, I would have said something more like this:

You and your wife are young and healthy and have been married for about five minutes. If she is already losing sexual interest after such a short time, then, in my experience, the chances are that this is about who she is - things aren't going to improve much, if at all. You could spend decades working and trying patiently for your sex life to improve and sometimes it might - for a while. Mostly, it will just lapse back into sexless habits and you are likely to be very unhappy.

It's difficult, really difficult, for a healthy adult person to live without sex or to live with sex doled out grudgingly by someone who just isn't interested. To live without feeling wanted, desired, appreciated for your sexuality. To feel lonely and rejected. It can leave you with a feeling of melancholy that never quite leaves you and an open wound at the core of your relationship, even if you truly love your partner. You are young and you have your whole life ahead of you. You have no children to be affected by a breakup. So why would you do that to yourself?

Maybe I should have said it because, actually, I do care about him.

But if that's what I really think, what am I doing here?

IVF Cycle 3: The Things I Do

2009-02-19T22:57:00.001-08:00

As you know, I have done two IVF cycles now and got nowhere.

Our specialist recommended a whole lot of blood tests to see if there is anything wrong, which showed no problems, to my great relief.

This week, I had surgery, too. The laparoscopy involved making two holes in my stomach, filling my abdomen with gas so they could see better, and then inserting a small telescope that enabled the specialist to see my uterus, fallopian tubes and ovaries very clearly. They looked for any problems like scar tissue, endometriosis and fibroid tumors. Wierdly, one of these holes was made through my belly button, which is now a big mess.

The hysterosalpingogram meant having dye flushed through the uterus, vagina and cervix and then through the fallopian tubes, making sure there are no blockages.

Finally, a lovely D&C was performed to scrape out the lining of my uterus.

The good news is that there is nothing at all wrong with me. The bad news is that there is nothing to fix and so only more IVF will get me pregnant.

I am feeling very sore and quite sorry for myself.

Apparently, some people actually get pregnant by having sex. How lucky are those people?!

Bushfires

2009-02-12T01:05:00.000-08:00

Australia has been hit by the worst bushfires in its history. After incredibly hot days over 40 degrees and high winds, there was always a risk, but this is like hellfire. At least 181 people are now known to have died, but many more are missing and the toll is expected to reach 300 people.

Canberra, where I live, suffered bushfires in 2003. They were very, very frightening. The fires had been burning around the edges of our territory for most of the week, but we were assured by authorities that they were under control. On the Saturday morning, the Big Dude and I had gone to see the Lord of the Rings movie, which ended with the final battle for Middle Earth. We emerged, blinking in the sunlight, to find the skies turned an apocolyptic, furious orange-red. My head was still half in Middle Earth and, for a moment, it seemed like the end of the world. Hot black ash fell from the skies onto our faces. It just seemed unbelievable that bushfires could enter the suburbs of Canberra, including the suburb we had just moved into that week.

But those fires were caused by lightening strikes. These fires seem to have been at least partly caused by arsonists.

I have been avoiding the news. I just find the constant coverage and continually rising death toll too sad, too macabre. Yesterday, I finally read the newspaper. I wish I hadn't. The stories of the old couple arguing over whether to stay and defend their house or run for their lives, until the wife left her husband sitting obstinately on his verandah and never saw him again. The stories of the 000 emergency hotline operators listening to people dying over the phone and the firefighters tripping over the bodies of people killed as they fled in cars and on foot. And ever since I read the description of a little five year old boy, with intense blue eyes, staring up at the sky, lying dead near the bodies of his mother and brother, the image is haunting me.

Those poor, poor people. What a horrible way to die.

PlaySchool

2009-02-08T18:09:00.000-08:00

My Little Dude started PlaySchool this week.

The tears welling up behind my eyes were ridiculous. It is only one morning per week and it's definitely time. He is increasingly keen on playing with other kids and learning new things, and I can see that our life at home was becoming too small for him.

It must be said that he loved it. He used to be quite reserved when he was younger, but that's all over now. He raced straight to the playhouse there and showed absolutely no reluctance or nerves. He played with the other children happily and chatted confidently to the workers.

I was proud of him, actually. Some parents seem to go on and one about their children, who apparently are budding geniuses. My Little Dude is a bright kid, but what I like about him has nothing to do with who he will be or future success. It's all about who he is. He plays and climbs and explores with huge energy and commitment. He seems to have more fun, to enter into things more fully, than most people. He has a very joyful, uninhibited laugh. I wish I still laughed like that.

Adults comment on his lovely manners - he says "please" and "thank you" very nicely - but what I really like is his open heart. If other kids come over when he is playing with his cars, he doesn't hunch over the cars and try to keep the competition at bay. He smiles in a very friendly way and says, "Want to play?" and hands them a car. When one of them falls over and cries, he looks distressed and tries to comfort them, saying "It's alright, it's okay", and strokes their hair gently.

But he is out in the world, now, my little open-hearted boy. The big, bad, hard-hearted world. He has to go, I want him to go, but I wonder what it will do to him.

Somehow, the outsized backpack he proudly chose for himself, the symbol of his new independence, makes him look very small.

Inauguration

2009-01-20T14:32:00.000-08:00

Even in Australia, the inauguration of Barak Obama is saturating the media and conversation. It's exciting. It feels like the whole world has been waiting for this change.

Australian political life is different. Our politics are very centrist. We don't damn each other so hard and we don't get as hopeful, either. We like our politicians to be a bit geeky and boring. Our Prime Minister looks like Tin-Tin and talks like a bureaucrat. We just don't really do handsome, charismatic leaders who actually give inspiring speeches.

So watching the inauguration is quite fun and also genuinely hopeful.

At the same time, I'm uneasy, too. There is something wierdly messianic about the coverage. All those pictures of a lit-up Obama smiling compassionately - they remind me of the pictures of Jessus from my Sunday school. I hate to say this, but it's actually a little bit... creepy.

People want to have hope, and I want them to have hope. But hope in what? In the miraculous powers of one man? People want change, but one man can't change things alone. Real change is very, very hard to do. Barak Obama is the most inexperienced President so far, facing far worse circumstances than most, and the expectations seem stratospheric. How can he not end up being a disappointment?

This morning, as the Big Dude ranted about the new era before us, I made the mistake of saying, "You know he's a politician, right?"

It did not go over well. It was made very clear to me that I am a killjoy.

I must admit that I'm a little cranky in the mornings, ever since the Little Dude has taken to coming into my bed at night. I just can't sleep properly with him jumping around and kicking me in the face. So maybe I should just keep my crankiness to myself.

Performance

2009-01-08T13:28:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about this flatness issue - how, even when life is actually going quite well, I feel flat. Not exactly unhappy - more like "nothing", not depressed but not excited about anything. I don't hate or love my life, I kind of "nothing" my life.

And I have a feeling that thinking like the post below may be part of the problem. It's an outline of what I hoped to achieve last year and how I did.

I have been reading a remarkable book: Marcus Borg's Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time. It is, quite honestly, the best and most helpful religious book I have read for a long time and possibly the most helpful I've ever read. A book which acknowledges modern theology and biblical criticism yet shows a deep faith and sense of relationship with God is surprisingly rare. Most Christian books, in my humble opinion, are either too naive about the Bible (taking the content and interpretations too much for granted) or rapidly become a dry-as-dust textual analysis. This one is truly unusual.

One of the points he makes is that Jesus' parables were generally subversive of both the common wisdom of his day and the common wisdom of our own day. Human beings are inclined to live according to a kind of "performance principle". Our culture values certain things - especially achievement, money and appearance. We base our self-worth and our satisfaction with life on how we measure up. Have I accomplished as much as other people of similar talent and background? Do I earn as much? Do I have a nice house? Am I considered attractive and sexy?

It's a world of endless comparisons. If I am not the prettiest girl in the room, but I am prettier than some, then I am "okay". I judge myself to be acceptable. Am I a good mother? Well, I'm not an alpha-mother who rules the playgroup, but I'm definitely not the worst - not that like that bad mother over there. Am I successful? Well, I'm not curing cancer or anything, but I'm not a failure, either.

Actually, I am quite hung up on the achievement thing. One of the reasons I hate doing IVF is that it fails the majority of the time and the reward is kind of random. It's not just the pain of infertilty and the sadness of lost embryos - it also feels demeaning to keep trying and failing. Like everyone else's body works great and mine is failing me.

Even faith can go this way. I can see God as someone whose requirements I must satisfy. I can ask myself if I believe enough, or correctly, and get all anxious and preoccupied about whether I am getting it right. God can become, instead of a liberator, a new kind of tyranny.

This life I live feels like a performance. Have I done enough? Have I achieved enough? I try very hard, but the results are often not what I hoped. I feel confronted by my own mediocrity. I judge myself harshly. And yet, when I do succeed, the whole thing is usually much less exciting ande fulfilling than I thought it would be. So much anxious striving, often for not much satisfaction.

Somehow, I need to break free of this performance thing. What I need is, not to accomplish more, but a kind of reorientation.

I would like to enjoy my life more. I have been thinking hard about this and,somehow, I feel like the answer lies in getting away from the performance - in focusing on enjoying the days as they unwind, appreciating the little things, the sunshine on my face, the cool breeze, the company of people I love.

I kind of get in my own way. For instance - my faith is so plagued by a feeling that I ought to be working harder at it. I know that what I really need is to view the whole thing as, not about believing or being good, but about a deepening relationship with God. Seeking and knowing God and allowing myself to be transformed by that relationship. But I just seem to go round and round. I wanted to be part of a church community, but I get hung up on what they think of me instead of taking the time involved in really listening to them and appreciating them as they are. I ask myself if I am a "good" mother, when actually I should just focus on enjoying my time with my son.

I need to stop trying so hard and being so obsessed with myself and start really listening to people. To slow down, not bustle around to accomplish things, but live mindfully, fully, knowing that all flesh is as grass.

Very little that I do or achieve will survive this short life of mine, but I can make the days I have more real to me. I can feel more alive - alive to God, alive to myself, and alive to other people.

So, where do I start?

Assessment

2008-12-25T18:43:00.000-08:00

I have been thinking about this year and what I have achieved.

My main aim this last year was to get pregnant and also try to limit the financial damage of the process. Needless to say, I am not pregnant. We just saw our specialist and have a lot of testing to do to find out why. More delay, more waiting, more life in suspended animation. We have managed to actually pay for the cycles, which is an achievement in itself, but I have mentally consigned our finances to oblivion.

Sometimes, I wonder if I actually want a child this much. There is no doubt in my mind that what I went through to have our Little Dude was worth it. But about a second child, I am less sure. A second child is more joy. But a second child is also more of the unending work of being a mother. I dread it (almost?) as much as I hope for it.

I also started a new job in a very new field. I have made a decent success of it. I was very competent in my old field and much less sure of this one. I really feared humiliation and failure. I'm glad to finish the year knowing that I have done well.

But the truth is, I don't have a great sense of passion and purpose about this job. It's the only job I have picked solely as a career move. For the actual content, the meaning of the job, I feel very little. My work is interesting and enjoyable, but something is missing.

I started the year with a serious intention to join my church as a real community. I must honestly admit that this has not gone as I hoped. I go most weeks. I've volunteered for the cooking. I like the people, they seem to like me, but I still feel that I hardly know anyone. What I want is a sense of seeking God, knowing God, but also truly knowing other people, and the fact is that I don't have it. I would like to think that this is because of the church, but it's quite possible that this is because of me - because of my natural reserve, a suspicion that they might not approve of me, a reluctance to truly join.

One great success has been having my mother move in and build a flat in our backyard. I left home at eighteen and was worried about what it would all mean to have my mother so close. Would she and the Big Dude get along? Would she try to interfere in our relationship? Would we all commit our money, our time, our finances, and have to confess a big mistake? To my relief, the answer to that is no. It's really been a great success. We get along very well, we all maintain our privacy, but we also support each other. Perhaps only another mother of a young child will understand what it means to be able to send my Little Dude over to his grandma for an hour or two and just have that little bit of time to myself.

One other success is that I really have succeeded in addressing my health, my fitness and weight. Fertility cycles are a major challenge to all those things, with weight gain and other problems a standard side-effect. But I have managed to lose around 10kgs (a little over 20 pounds) in the past few months and more over the past two years. I am finally lighter than I was before I had my baby. More importantly, I am fitter and stronger than I have been for a long time. I feel younger, not so weighed down. I am really proud and pleased about the results of the effort I have put in.

All in all, a decent year. Not much fun to do, but at least I feel like I accomplished something.

But one of these days, I will ask myself seriously why I don't enjoy my life more. Why does it seem so...flat?

How I Am

2008-12-10T18:40:00.001-08:00

A little guilty about how rarely I blog nowadays, actually. But aside from that...

Our holiday was great. Just a week by the beach - we played in the surf, built sandcastles, cruised second hand bookshops and rose dodgem cars. Simple but good.

I really needed that holdiday. Things have been a bit tough here:

(1) My mother lost her disability pension under a new governnment policy. I was dismayed by how badly it affected her. Basically, she has been an exceptionally hard working medical professional all her life. Then a work-related injury ruined her career. After ten years of continual attempts to retrain and/or rehabilitate, she finally retired on a pension and moved to life next to us.

It hurt me to watch her deflate so pitifully as she read the letters from the government cancelling her pension. She has always been a positive and resilient person, and she suddenly seemed... smaller. She literally shrank before my eyes, as the tears ran down her face and she told me about the endless series of humiliations she experienced at work, knowing she had just become a liability to her workplace. Somehow she couldn't seem to take in the details of how to appeal, how to respond. She didn't have any energy to fight it. Since the Little Dude was born, we have all called her "grandma" and teased her about her age, but she suddenly really looked old.

It's taken hours of my time, but I finally managed to get her a decent lawyer for her appeal process and a lower level of pension has been re-granted to her. But the whole process has been exhausting - physically, mentally, emotionally. Most of all, her lack of resilience and general air of giving up really worry me.

(2) I work in an area that relates to foreign policy and overseas aid. One of our overseas staff was accused of corruption and we had to investigate it. This created a diplomatic incident that it has taken months to half-resolve. I think this one is finally almost over, but really, it has taken quite a lot of the shine off my new job. I was, frankly, pissed by the general lack of support from other countries for resolving the issue, their frequent criticisms of my country's "insensitivity" in pursuing the investigation, and the general air of entitlement they had about Australia's continuing support for them via taxpayers' money and aid. I think some of these people are about to get a big shock as support for overseas aid dries up as the economy declines here.

(3) The Big Dude is in a big health slump. It started in September and just never seems to end. No sex since August and no prospect of any, either.

(4) My friend Pat is doing fertility treatment to have another baby. In my honest opinion, a woman still suffering so badly from post-natal depression and trauma, and living alone with a baby who is only one year old, who she can't support financially and who she can only look after with help, should not be even considering another baby. As her friend, I feel I should basically try to listen and support her and not give her advice, support her in the decisions she takes, but, truly, I am worried about her and about the welfare of the daughter she already has. I just don't know what I should say to her.

(5)I still don't know if my dad is even alive. I worry about him, but I'm afraid of re-establishing contact with him. Generally with him, no news is good news. Maybe one parent to take care of is enough?

(6) This is my last month of freedom before starting IVF again. Almost every woman in my fertility support group is actually pregnant now, except me. That's very, very irritating. I'm NOT looking forward to the next cycle.

But wierdly, none of this seems to be getting me down too much. In the last few months, I have improved my fitness and eating habits and I'm surprised by how much difference this has made to my state of mind and general wellbeing. I feel stronger. I can feel the extra reserve of energy. I feel younger and healthier and more optimistic.

So, I'm basically okay. And how about you?

Summer Holiday

2008-11-28T14:27:00.000-08:00

Were all going on a summer holiday.

No more working for a week or two.

Fun and laughter on a summer holiday.

No more worries for me and you.

For a week or two.

We're off to the beach. See you in mid-December.

US Election

2008-11-05T02:52:00.000-08:00

Wow. Just... wow.

And I say that with respect and admiration for a truly great country. Forty-five years from segregation to a black President. Remarkable.

I wonder if Americans realize what a difference this is going to make to the whole world's attitude towards them and their nation...

Horny

2008-10-26T03:01:00.000-07:00

I've been taking good care of myself, lately. I've been eating well and exercising a lot. As a result, I'm feeling positive, energetic and kind of younger, somehow. Less tired. More focused.

I feel good in my body. And as a result I also feel... horny.

The Big Dude is, of course, oblivious. We haven't had sex since mid-August sometime, but I don't think he has even noticed.

Good News (Sort Of)

2008-10-16T23:39:00.000-07:00

I had been worrying about the fact that we only had one remaining chance to have a second baby, due to restrictions on access to our sperm donor. There is such a shortage of sperm donors now that they ration the number of attempts. We had already had two failed cycles, so only one cycle to go - do or die. Crikey, the pressure!

But we've had some good news. The clinic apparently still has a decent amount of sperm left from our donor and there haven't been any inquiries about him for some time. They've decided to let us have three more attempts instead of just one. I can't believe my luck.

The lack of enquiries is crazy. You should see our boy - beautiful, clever, chatty, and such a cheerful, sweet nature. If other IVF/sperm donor patients saw our kid, they would be queueing up around the block to get access to our donor. We're definitely planning to keep the news about him to ourselves.

I guess extra "opportunities" to do more IVF is not everyone's idea of good news, but I think I'm okay with it. At least it takes some of the pressure off the next cycle.

I'm smiling just thinking about the chance to have another child like my boy.

And something else makes me smile, too. Of course, the only way to truly reserve the supply for three more tries was to pay for it and I cheerfully dug out my credit card, but - I wonder what they will put on my credit card statement?!

My Father Called

2008-10-04T20:55:00.000-07:00

I mentioned that my father called in the midst of IVF cycle and work dramas.

The message looked innnocent enough: "New phone number X - call if you like". But of course, things are never quite the way they seem with him. I didn't call, but he found me anyway. The news in August was almost okay but now he is, of course, in trouble again. The real difficulty is figuring out what kind of trouble. He says the trouble is that he is out of money to buy medicine. But is it true or is it just that he knows that I am always on the verge of cutting off contact entirely and says what he thinks will reel me in again?

That sounds harsh, I know. But my experience of dad is that he lies. Or at least that he is extremely economical with the truth. And that story about the medicine is, in a way, just a little too perfect, just a little too poignant.

As I've noted before, I've hardened my heart, painfully, deliberately. It took me years to get to that point, but I haven't responded to these requests for a long time. The consequences have been averted by the fact that my sister has kept helping him. But he has exhausted her patience.

I am almost shocked by what my sister said. The last time I spoke to her about him, she said, "I don't care how he is. I don't care if he hangs himself off the nearest bridge. I just want to be free of him." She said that, last year, our foreign affairs department advised her he had died. It turned out to be a mistake but she said that, at the time, all she felt was relief. My sister is one of the kindest women you could ever meet. She spends most of her scarce free time rescuing wounded wildlife. But two decades of dad's chronic irresponsibility and manipulation have brought her to this.

I told dad that we couldn't help him and advised him to ask the embassy for assistance to return to Australia and throw himself on the mercy of our (fairly generous) welfare system. This would have the, to me, secondary benefit of his incurring a debt to the government that would prevent him from travelling overseas again until it's paid. What would be never. Problem solved, possibly forever. Dad doesn't get into this kind of trouble when he stays in Australia.

I also told him that she was utterly sick of these requests, year after year, and the way things never changed. That she felt he was abusing her and abusing the relationship, which was true. It was a hard thing to write. But I felt totally exasperated and also felt he needed to know that there was not going to be a daughterly rescue this time so that he could plan realistically. Total silence greeted that email.

But now that I am out of my own latest drama, I haven't heard from him and am worried about him. I don't know what to do.

The fact is that I don't know my father very well. He left when I was sixteen and I didn't see him again until I was thirty. I've only actually seen him three times since then. But for a person who is such a small part of my life, he looms very large in my mind. In a way, he looms so large that I don't seem to see him clearly. He is abusive, manipulative and insensitive. He is also vulnerable and probably not entirely sane. I can't decide in my own mind if he is just such a dangerous person - for me - that I should avoid all contact with him, and certainly avoid giving him any opportunity to exploit me again, or if he is ultimately a person who should be pitied and tolerated and helped.

It doesn't help that I found out a few months ago that my father used to hit my mother who I love and am close to. I always wondered, but I never saw anything and she never said. Now I know. My heart closed just that little bit more. It also doesn't help that I don't judge him as harshly as I used to. I know how hard it is to be an adult now - to deal with the monotony of everyday life, the marriage that isn't what was hoped for, the demands of kids, the lure of alcohol, the desire to run away. I have more understanding and more compassion than I used to.

But neither the closing heart or the understanding or the compassion actually help me to know what to do. Some kind of love remains. Even today, I almost called that phone number to find out how he is. Even though I know the only reward for that call would be an immediate crisis to deal with and the transfer of those annual requests to me. After all, what if he really is very sick and doesn't have money for medicine? He is diabetic, due to years of heavy drinking. What if he dies? How could I live with that

This morning, in church, I felt ashamed of myself. How could I have turned into the kind of woman who doesn't want to help her own father. I don't turn away from strangers in the street, but I turn away from this man who gave me my life. But what can I do? What should I do?

IVF Cycle 2: I'm Okay

2008-09-25T21:50:00.000-07:00

I had a realization today, standing at the bus stop: I'm okay.

This happened last time, too. There were a few hours when it didn't feel too bad. That was because I hadn't really taken in the news, yet. Then a feeling of despair and disgust that I could put body and soul through so much and come out with nothing.

The little embryos were not really babies yet. It's not like having a miscarriage. I guess some would say it's more like a project gone wrong than anything else. But they were potential babies. They were almost babies, almost our children, almost my son's brother or sister. If they'd implanted, that's what they would have been. They are a huge loss and I mourn them.

But today, I was walking along to the bus stop, heading off for my swim. Spring has only just arrived in Canberra. The bush outside our house was green, the little yellow daisies I love were scattered through the grass, the sun shone on my face, and I felt the beginnings of a kind of sprightliness and energy returning to my body as the effect of all the IVF drugs wears off. And I suddenly thought, I'm okay. Surprisingly, I am okay.

I'm not old enough to give up, yet. I'm healthy. I can try again. And meanwhile, I am alive and my life suddenly seems precious to me.

IVF Cyle 2: Sadness

2008-09-20T22:31:00.000-07:00

My embryos didn't stay. They just melted away.

My Little Dude turned three this week. He was such a happy, laughing boy at his birthday party. He was jumping and dancing with excitement, as if he had so much life and joy in him that he just couldn't keep still.

I have been thinking hopeful thoughts about two other little people laughing and wriggling in my arms.

Now I am thinking morbid thoughts about my body as a virtual graveyard for embryos.

And I feel such sadness that those little ones will never get to live.

IVF Cycle 2: Transfer with the Wizard of Oz

2008-09-10T18:15:00.000-07:00

The transfer seemed to go okay. It was actually done by our specialist, which was a surprise to me.

Our specialist is probably the best in Canberra and one of the best in Australia. When I did this last time, in 2004, he was quite accessible. Nowadays, with so many women my age trying to have children in their mid-late 30s, he is a very, very busy man.

Doing an IVF cycle with him now is like being Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. There are rumours that he is the best person to help you, there are lots of flashing lights and impressive sound effects, you set off on your journey and do exactly what he tells you, despite all the wierd and scary experiences, but you never actually get to see him. You just have to assume that he is back there behind the screen somewhere, making it all happen.

It's been a very frustrating experience to go through this whole thing and not actually see him until now, but he got me pregnant last time. And after a total of six cycles of fertility treatment (three insemination cycles and one IVF in 2004 to get the Little Dude and two IVFs this year), its hard to see how any other specialist could know more about my body than he does.

The embryo transfer is incredibly important, as any carelessness can pretty much doom the cycle. Those vulnerable little embryos have to be placed in exactly the right spot with as little trauma and manipulation as possible.

This transfer actually felt a little rough to me, but as I am quite badly bruised from the egg pickup (it wasn't easy for the specialist to find two little eggs), it's hard to tell. The Wizard of Oz pronounced it had gone very well.

Now, I just have to wait to see if the embryos implant. IVF patients call this phase the dreaded Two Week Wait and think it's the worst part of the whole thing. The optimists among us claim to be PUPO: Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise. Personally, I find the combination of having to simultaneously be confident and optimistic while quietly preparing myself for possible failure pretty impossible. I try to be positive, but mostly I try not to think about it too much.

But I am hopeful. Just say it with me, little embryos, "There's no place like home. There's no place like home..."

So stay with us, okay?

IVF Cycle 2: Three Times Lucky

2008-09-08T22:01:00.001-07:00

Both eggs fertilised! Not only does that give us two embryos, but the quality should be good.

And I've stopped bleeding, so we'll do the transfer tomorrow. I am suddenly feeling much more relaxed and optimistic.

All your thoughts and prayers much appreciated.

IVF Cycle 2: Two Egg Girl

2008-09-08T03:14:00.000-07:00

I went into the egg pickup this morning, not knowing what I would get. I was still holding out hope for the maximum of four eggs, but equally, after the last few days, genuinely worried I would get nothing.

I got two eggs. I cried for a while, then I was curiously resigned. After all, I always get two eggs. The first cycle, I had nine follicles and got two eggs. The second time, I had two follicles and got two eggs. This time, Ihad four follicles and got two eggs. Two eggs is apparently what my body does, regardless of all the things that are supposed to affect the number of eggs, like drug doseage, number of follicles, personal circumstances, and my state of mind.

So it ain't great, but then, it might be fine. I got pregnant in 2004 with only ttwo eggs, so maybe I should consider two to be my lucky number.

My little eggs will be in a dish tonight, getting aquainted with sperm from a man I have never met. Hopefully, something is happening. Usually, around 70 per cent of eggs fertilise. My personal fertilisation rate so far has been 100 per cent. Can I be that lucky a third time? Pretty please?

IVF Cyle 2: Roller Coaster

2008-09-05T16:53:00.000-07:00

Wednesday morning ultrasound and my four follicles are growing beautifully. This is finally going well. I am filled with hope.

Friday morning, I wake up and I am bleeding. This is not a good sign. I go to the clinic, my heart plummeting because not only is the cycle probably over, but there must be something really wrong. I am just a little bit frightened by what all these drugs must be doing to my body. Some studies find heightened risk of breast and ovarian cancer, but some don't. No one really knows. But I am surprisingly calm. I even manage to read the newspaper cover to cover and feel involved in the stories.

The clinic finally tells me I simply have a large cyst left over from the last cycle and it is simply draining as it should do. The follicles are fine and growing nicely. I now have six, although only four really in with a chance. Everything is going so well that they will do the egg pickup (when they take the eggs out for fertilisation) the following Monday: earlier than I was expecting. My unearthly calm cracks and I cry with relief. I just can't stop crying.

I wake up this morning and I'm still bleeding. Really, quite a lot of blood. I probably shouldn't still be bleeding by now. I call the clinic. No one really knows whether I should still be bleeding at all by now or how much. There are a lot of calls back and forth.

Another call: The most likely scenario is that we will do the pickup but not the transfer, as the bleeding would interfere with it. They should be able to freeze any resulting embryos and then I can do some lighter, easier cycles with them. Most IVF patients call these embryos "frosties". I prefer the term "bubsicles", myself.

This is a total roller coaster. Its up to the heights of hope and exhilaration one day and down to despair and grief the next. I am starting to accept that I can't control any of it. All I can do is try to take care of myself and breathe through it. I can feel a kind of fatalistic calm coming over me. This roller coaster is moving and all I can do is hang on tightly.

Have I mentioned that, during all this, an international conference I have been helping another country to hold almost collapsed (internal political issues of their own) and I have cheerfully rescheduled to hold it in Australia next week? These conferences usually take months to organise and I will be making it happen within a week. I've worked until midnight the last three nights.

Also, my father called yesterday, and we all know what that means!

IVF Cyle 2: Ambiguous

2008-09-02T03:48:00.000-07:00

I have been semi-assuming this IVF cycle will be cancelled due to the pathetic results of the first scan.

There has been a kind of relief in the idea of just cancelling this one, giving it up as a bad joke, and getting on with the rest of my life until next time. My specialist increased the dose of stimulation drugs, but I really have been thinking it is too late to save this cycle.

I steeled myself to expect very little when I lay down in the stirrups yesterday.

But in fact, the result was kind of ambiguous. Four follicles this time, and reasonably close together in size, which means they are more likely to mature around the same time.

It's possible that we might get four mature eggs, which would achieve exactly what I originally wanted: two for the cycle and two to freeze for another attempt later, which would give us more chances. The thought makes the whole horrible experience seem worthwhile.

Of course, its also possible that the two smaller follicles won't catch up, giving us only two eggs at most. I genuinely don't know what I will do if that's the case. It sounds okay to say cancel and wait for a better result, but, at almost 37 years old, a better result can't be counted on.

All I can do now is wait, and even waiting won't necessarily tell me the right thing to do.

IVF Cycle 2: Shocker

2008-08-27T18:00:00.001-07:00

I went into my clinic today to get the early results of the stimulation drugs.

I seem to be what is known as a "low responder". The point of IVF is to get a decent number of follicles as not every follicle contains an egg and not every egg fertilises. Other women I know can get around 20 follicles or more on the same doseage of the stimulation drugs as me.

My first IVF cycle, when I got pregnant, I got nine follicles and only two eggs, which is a very low response and I was extremely lucky to get pregnant. Last cycle, I got four follicles initially, which went down to two, and the cycle was nearly cancelled. No miracle pregnancy that time.

It's been a worry to me because we are only allowed three tries with our original donor and we are already one down.

My specialist prefers a cautious approach to the drugs, which can have some pretty bad side effects, but he agreed to raise my doseage of stimulation drugs from 150 to 200, which is just a little above average dose. I tried to argue him up even higher, but he wouldn't agree.

Despite my fears, I have been feeling positive and was optimistic that we would get a good result this morning, but it was a shocker.

My response was so low that it took them ages and two ultrasound nurses to even find any response at all. I can't tell you how humiliating it is to lie there with a camera up your clacker while nurses dig around for what seems like forever until they finally find two tiny follicles.

It was devastating. I hate to cry, but I had to go hide in the bathroom and sit there weeping and hyperventilating. Then I cried in the clinic, all the way back on the bus (extra humiliation of concerned strangers) and tears are starting even now, three hours later.

I had almost forgotten how much I hate this. What a horrible, miserable experience it is to feel like such a failure.

And now I have to go off to work and pretend everything is fine.

IVF Cycle 2

2008-08-20T22:06:00.000-07:00

We have started our second IVF cycle and already it sucks.

Synarel is a very evil drug. It's one of a number of drugs the clinic can use to shut down the patient's normal cycle before they start resurrecting it and putting it into overdrive to produce multiple eggs. Side effects include: hot flushes, headaches, mood changes (including depression), muscle and joint pain, tiredness, insomnia and changes in blood pressure and weight. It's like pre-menstrual tension multiplied by 1,000.

Basically, I am a very tired, sleepless, grumpy woman with a continuous bad headache experiencing huge emotional lows, even aside from the fact that I have just thrown my life into turmoil and paid big money for this experience. I am more than happy to have someone to take all this out on.

So you will appreciate just what a bad idea it was for the Big Dude to completely forget to call the clinic this Saturday to get my initial results. He did this at the worst possible time - right when when I was expecting to take the stimulation drugs the next day and had no one to call to find out if I should take them or not because the clinic promptly closed for the weekend.

IVF is a very sensitive process. You have to do exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. So this was not a small error. This was putting the entire cycle in jeopardy after I have already been through three weeks of this. Also, it would be our fault it failed, so potentially no refund.

The fact is, the man just hasn't been focusing on what we're doing here. His head is so full of the Olympics and other things he is more interested in, that he really just hasn't registered how important this is or how much crap I am going through with very little support from him.

I would like to say that I feel bad about yelling at him, because that would make me a nicer person. Actually, I am not at all sorry. I yell at the Big Dude about once every three years and at least it gets his damn attention.

One of these days, some woman's husband is going to get killed for forgetting to make clinic calls when his wife is on Synarel. No jury of that woman's (very grumpy) peers would convict her.

He's Gone

2008-08-13T00:14:00.000-07:00

I had one of those emails from my dad a few weeks ago: one of those send-money-immediately e-mails.

My heart sank. Regular readers will know that this has happened before - in fact, over and over again. The first stage of these dramas with dad is always a request for some money. The second stage is a request for even more money. The third stage is the news that he is stuck in jail somewhere in Asia and it will take thousands of dollars and endless running around to get him out.

My dad is now so hopelessly grandiose and demanding that he doesn't even have the sense to keep people who are trying to help him on his side. He went to the Australian Embassy for help. When he didn't get what he wanted right away, he demanded to see the consul. When the consul came down, genuinely attempting to investigate his case, dad punched him in the face and had to be escorted off the premises by security.

But also, he has finally alienated my sister, who is the one person who has stuck by him all these years and kept saving him from himself. They had a huge argument after the last time this happened and she is barely speaking to him.

Previously, my sister has rescued dad every time, even when she has said she won't. This time, she did finally succeed in drawing a line. She refused to give him any of her own money and simply sent him a card by which he could access the amount he'd asked for (but no more) from his own bank account in Australia. She also told him there would be no more.

I have been quietly worrying about him since then. I have told myself over and over again that I can't allow him to manipulate me any more, and that I need to support my sister in taking a stand, but its been difficult, wondering if he is safe. Until today, the last I'd heard was that he was sleeping rough outside the local police station for his own safety.

And the latest news is only partly good. The embassy says that dad has accessed his money and also his pension and appears to be in no further trouble. Stages 2 and 3 have not (yet) been reached. He has also told them that he plans to live in Cambodia permanently.

I should be pleased. He is safe and apparently okay and out of my hair. I don't have that problem to deal with any more. Now that he knows there is no money coming from us, I suspect that he won't even bother to stay in contact. My dad is not the type to hang around just for emotional conversations.

But instead, I just feel very sad. He's gone. He's gone for good. I will probably never fully reconcile with him now and never resolve those jumbled feelings of love and rage, guilt and frustration.

He's gone.

I Love You

2008-08-03T19:52:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was a red-letter day in my life.

My Little Dude and I were playing contentedly with his trains and he suddenly looked over at me with a quiet, solemn gaze and said, "Mummy, I love you". It was the first time ever.

My boy loves me! And, at two and a half years old, he can say so!

Recently, during some unusual work-related training, I was asked what I would do if I was told I had only six months to live.

Now, previously I would have assumed that what I would want to do if I knew my time was limited would be to travel the world, enjoy the kind of passionate, sweaty, energetic sex I can't get at home, and throw myself into all kinds of adventures I haven't had. After all, my life is kind of boring, right? Kind of unsatisfactory on a number of fronts.

Actually, I found out that, if that was the case, what I would want to do was spend the next six months making sure my Dudes knew how much I loved them. I wouldn't leave them to go have adventures somewhere else, away from them. All I could picture myself doing was writing letters, making videos of messages, for all the birthdays and christmases that I would miss, all saying the same thing: I love you. I'm thinking of you. Even if I am dead, my love for you is not dead. It will last forever.

I love my Dudes and I am loved in return. I am a very lucky woman.

Feeling Good

2008-08-01T21:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I lied about July. Not lied, exactly - just failed to fulfil my good intentions.

In the meantime, I've travelled for work, I've actually managed to chase up some (face to face) friends, I've looked after my Dudes and I've had house guests.

But it's early August and I'm back, baby!

And kindly giving me something to write about, my Big Dude interrupted our evening this week to tell me not to make other plans because we would be "busy" later.

It'd been a while. I'm not sure how long, exactly, but it might have been as much as three months since we were busy in that particular way.

And oh, it was nice. Very nice. There was deep kissing. There was holding and caressing and grabbing. There was enthusiasm and affection and intimacy. There were three orgasms - one for him and two for me.

So, despite the fact that I have just come back from the clinic where I signed up for another gruelling, expensive and probably heart-rending IVF cycle, I'm feeling good. Very good.

How about you?

On Hold

2008-06-22T22:26:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to get the time to work on this blog at the moment, so it will have to go on hold until July.

The fact is, my life is on hold. While I wait for the next round of IVF, and with the Big Dude not very well, it's hard to take on anything else. I can't apply for a promotion at work. I can't plan our finances when I don't know how many thousands of dollars or even how much time this might take. There's not even much point in making new friendships or taking up new hobbies when I won't be able to sustain them in a few weeks time.

Basically, my life is in a state of suspended animation and so is this blog.

See you again in July.

Scratch That

2008-06-05T23:12:00.000-07:00

Scratch all that "I feel good" stuff.

I've had a nasty virus all week - starting with stomach problems, followed by a very bad cold and a chest infection. I'm only just starting to recover and now the Little Dude has the same virus. He frightened me yesterday by refusing to eat or drink and burning up a high temperature. Apparently, he now also has a middle ear infection.

I spend almost all my time with the Little Dude lying on my lap, very listless, and refusing even to let me get up to have a shower or make a meal. I feel crap, the Little Dude feels crap, and the house looks like crap, too.

And now the Big Dude, who has soldiered on heroically for more than a week, tells me he feels a crash in health coming on...

Getting My Life Back

2008-05-28T16:55:00.000-07:00

I have been buried deep in work and post-IVF indulgence. I tend to be fairly self-indulgent in times of crisis. Got an IVF cycle in two months time? Definitely have that coffee, those glasses of wine, that takeaway, that break from the exercise routine now, while I still can.

It sounds okay, but in reality it tends to prolong the sense of crisis when the crisis itself is actually over. If I am still swilling coffee and wine and not getting any exercise weeks after an IVF cycle, then it feels like I am still somehow stuck in that failed cycle. If I am still working extra hours when the peak of that high workload is over, then I am still stuck in the habits of a phase that I should be moving on from.

In rare, quiet moments I have had this thought in the back of my mind: "I want my life back. I want to be catching the bus to work again, instead of taking the car. I want to be eating well and not drinking too much. I want to be walking in the sun instead of holed up in an office. I want to spend time with my Dudes instead of working late."

So here I am, taking a couple of flex days off work and enjoying watching my boy ride around in the winter sunlight. I'm eating better food, not buying more wine and swiming and walking again. The Big Dude and I even had sex again, and it was good.

I feel good. I feel like I am getting my life back.

Frustration

2008-05-19T21:29:00.000-07:00

Okay, I'm frustrated.

1. I just spent thousands of dollars on an IVF cycle that didn't work and now I'm told that I can't try again until July.

2. We are in the midst of a seemingly endless death march at work. As a part-timer, I am supposed to be working around 20 hours per week. I've actually worked that plus an additional 55 hours in the past three weeks. I'm supposed to be able to take time off in lieu when this happens, but of course we are still too busy. I'm also told that I can't be paid out. This week, I was just starting to get the sense that the pressure might be winding down and I might get my life back, when a colleague announced that she was taking two weeks holiday and dumped me with her work.

3. The Big Dude and I have scheduled three sex dates in the past two weeks and none of them have worked out.

I'm tired, I'm fed up and I'm very, very frustrated.

The Pain

2008-05-07T21:53:00.000-07:00

As you have probably guessed, I have been quietly brooding about the failure of the IVF cycle and not feeling very talkative. But actually, an hour or so of real physical pain has helped put emotional pain in some perspective.

I went to the dentist this afternoon for the first time in (wait for it) 21 years. Yes, that's two decades of zero dental care, aside from brushing my teeth.

I have been quietly aware of the fact that I ought to go some time, but have always managed to put it off. I only went today because I feared I had chipped a tooth. The news, in fact, was good. The dentist seemed quite surprised (and mildly reproachful) that my teeth were actually okay with so little attention. All I needed was a tooth cleaning and a (completely different) wisdom tooth removed.

But now I know exactly why I put off going for so long. Crikey, the pain! I cursed and swore. And that was just paying the bill!

IVF Cyle 1: RIP Embryos

2008-04-27T23:01:00.000-07:00

I'm not pregnant.

I wonder how long my poor little embryos lived.

IVF Cycle 1: Opposites Attract

2008-04-27T20:23:00.000-07:00

In 40 minutes time, I will find out if I am pregnant or not.

I like to think that I am a cautious optimistic - a positive person who sees opportunities and the bright side of things, while also being realistic. But really, I am more accurately described as a cautious pessimist.

"Okay", I say to myself. "Everything has gone almost exactly like last time, and I got pregnant last time. I have nausea, I have sore boobs and I am spending half my life emptying my bladder. But that doesn't mean anything at all. It's just the drugs. Don't get your hopes up. You can't possibly get pregnant this easily." Cautious pessimism prevails.

As a white, mostly middle-class Australian born in the 1970s, my life has been very privileged, if you compare it to the majority of the world, with only moderate effort on my part. But I still have a deep belief that the universe hates me.

If I am pregnant, I will secretly assume that I am liable to miscarry at any moment. If I'm not pregnant, I'll assume that I am in for multiple unsuccessful cycles that will leave me physically, emotionally and financially exhausted. For some reason, this makes me feel safe. As if assuming the worst, mentally and emotionally preparing for it, provides a kind of safety net. If something good happens, that's great. If it doesn't, well, I predicted it all along and at least I have the tiny satisfaction of being right.

The Big Dude, on the other hand, with his extensive experience of suffering and serious trauma, is a Pollyanna-style optimist. He is always certain that every aspect of our lives is going well and is sure to improve any moment. Despite more than 15 years of poor health, he goes to bed every morning fully expecting to be well again when he wakes up. He is convinced that the universe is plotting for us. He is sure that we are already pregnant, that everything will go well and that parenting two children will be a delightful experience.

Of course, we are driving each other mad. He can't understand why I am always so bloody negative. I am irritated by his sunny confidence and refusal to join me in seeing the universe as the cruel, brutal place that it really is. It's lonely, being right about everything.

Why do opposites attract? Is it just to torment us?

IVF Cycle 1: A Little Bit Pregnant

2008-04-22T02:37:00.000-07:00

Well, here I am, with two healthy little embryos sloshing around inside me, but probably not implanted yet. Pregnancy isn't complete until at least one of the embryos has cast off its outer shell and implanted in the womb and the beta count starts doubling. We won't know the result until late this week.

Who would have thought that it was possible to have embryos in your womb and still not actually be pregnant. Or maybe the old saying is wrong, and I am actually a little bit pregnant.

Because the fact is that I feel pregnant. I have nausea. I have strange reactions to smells. My stomach is so distended that it's hard to fit into my normal clothes. But the kicker is that, even if it was working, I wouldn't have those symptoms yet so early in the pregnancy. It's just the drugs.

Also, I am behaving strangely. When I was pregnant, I used to chat dreamily to the Little Dude and sing him songs, even when it was too early for him to hear me. I have spent a lot of the last few days chatting to my embryos, basically encouraging them to hang around. "Stay here with mummy", I say. "We have a nice big house and a lovely mum and dad and grandma and a big brother who will love you, so I think you should stay. And have I mentioned we have a sandpit?"

I told you I'm behaving strangely.

Yesterday morning, I was convinced that it hadn't worked and my little embryos were already on their way to the dustbin of history . Then in the evening, I was sure I was pregnant. I was even furiously calculating how we would manage twins. Now, I'm not so sure. I try to be optimistic without hoping so much that it's crushing if it doesn't happen. It's hard to do. No wonder I'm behaving strangely.

Being just a little bit pregnant, but not completely pregnant, will do that to a person.

IVF Cycle 1: Transfer

2008-04-18T16:33:00.000-07:00

The transfer seemed to go well. Actually, it was a very nice environment of friendly, warm, chatty women and not painful. One of the doctors had just assisted at a birth, a caesarean, and was in a very positive and happy mood. It just seemed to make the whole process more normal and less icky.

The technician said the embryos looked really good and she was amazed that, during the fertilisation, the eggs had started changing within about 20 minutes. That's a good sign.

Actually, everything has gone almost eerily like last time I did this, which was a success. The apparently low response to the drugs, the two eggs (which last time I regarded as a disaster and this time I regarded as success), the rapid fertilisation and the high quality of the embryos.

The Big Dude says that, since everything seems to have gone much as last time, I had better be all gloomy and pessimistic and certain it hasn't worked, just like I was last time. But actually, I am cautiously optimistic. I know the stats, and hopefully am prepared either way, but I just have a good feeling.

So go, embryos, go!!!

IVF Cycle 1: Freakery

2008-04-17T18:52:00.000-07:00

I made the Big Dude call the clinic this morning. I just couldn't handle picking up the phone, with my hands trembling and my voice shaking.

So I sat in the loungeroom and read my Little Dude a story. Three minutes to go, and we were half way through the story.

Then I heard him say, "Yes, yes, that's good - tomorrow morning, then", and I knew that at least one egg had made it. I dropped the story book and couldn't finish it.

Actually, both eggs have fertilised. Can I just say that again, because I actually can't quite take it in. Both eggs have fertilised. I have two little embryos, doing well so far.

Two days ago, I thought I was going to get nothing. Then I got two eggs. Then both eggs fertilised. I am a statistical freak twice over. This is now a completely viable cycle.

Transfer tomorrow at 8am.

If it's a successful transfer, our chances of a pregnancy are around 30 per cent. Please, God, let me be a statistical freak three times over.

IVF Cycle 1: Waiting

2008-04-17T16:12:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting here at 9:26am waiting for 10:30am so that we can call and find out if our eggs fertilised.

I'm very sore from the egg pickup operation, so I'm basically loafing around on the sofa. I'm reading, I'm staring into space, I'm watching TV, I probably look fairly relaxed, like I am having a nice lie-in. But I'm not relaxed at all. I'm waiting to find out if the process I've been thinking about and working towards for the last year is getting anywhere at all.

With all the information about the procedures they give you, nobody ever mentions the waiting.

You wait for the appointment with the specialist, which is booked weeks and months in advance. Then you wait to hear if you can go ahead. Then you wait for your cycle to start. Then you take the first lot of drugs and wait to find out if anything is happening. Then you take the second lot of drugs and wait to hear if your follicles are developing. If they are, you wait until they mature. Then you wait to have your trigger injection. Then you wait for the egg pickup operation. Then you wait to hear whether the eggs have fertilised. Then you wait another day or two for the transfer. Then you wait around for two weeks to find out if you are pregnant. Really, the whole thing is about 90% waiting and only about 10% treatment.

All this time, I am doing things. Working and looking after the Little Dude and the Big Dude and doing housework and volunteering for an emergency service. It looks like I am quite busy. But what I am actually doing in my head is waiting. My whole life feels like it is in a kind of suspended animation with bits of treatment only occasionally interrupting things. Sometimes the waiting kind of weighs in on me and my nerve starts to crack.

My Big Dude says that's what the war was like. Hours of boredom punctuated by moments of sheer terror.

But at least I am waiting to hear if we are creating life and not death.

IVF Cycle 1: Hooray!

2008-04-16T17:43:00.000-07:00

It's been a rough few days. I told a friend of mine about my decision and, although she carefully wished us luck, I could tell from her guarded words that she thought I was crazy to go through with it. She also got two eggs from nine follicles previously, so her expectations for me weren't high.

I felt totally deflated this morning, thinking I might have made a big mistake and I was going to wake up from the operation with nothing.

But I just got back from the clinic, and we got two eggs from two follicles. That's totally beyond rational expectation. I am a statistical freak.

Hooray! You bloody ripper!

IVF Cycle 1: Worth a Shot?

2008-04-15T02:15:00.000-07:00

It was a difficult morning. At this late stage in the cycle, I only have two viable-looking follicles, which is pretty pathetic.

A trigger injection is required to make the eggs finally mature without me actually ovulating, then a pickup operation to collect the eggs. We were scheduled for the trigger tonight, and the pickup operation on Thursday, but it all looks a bit doubtful, now.

The clinic rang today at 10am and said it looked like I needed to be on a higher dose of the stimulation drugs in future. Our specialist said that he would leave it up to us to decide whether to go through with the trigger and pickup operation this week. The chances weren't good, but he was willing to try it if we were. We needed to decide by midday.

I spent most of this morning agonising. Last time I did IVF, I had nine follicles and got two eggs, so who knows if there is anything at all in just two follicles. It seemed like a lot of money and drama to go through for so little chance. If we cancelled at this point, apparently, we would also get a lot of our initial deposit back, as well as avoiding the further expense of a possibly pointless operation.

So I made the rational decision to cancel the cycle.

But with minutes to spare, I found I hesitated to put the call through. I had this small intuitive feeling that I should trust my body, having put it through so much already. I also wondered if I was putting too much emphasis on the money and trouble, and not enough on the opportunity. After all, there may well be one egg and, if it fertilises (the fertilisation rate is about 65% on average), then there is still a small chance for this cycle.

So we are going to go through with the trigger in 30 minutes time. It's worth a shot, anyway.

IVF Cycle 1: Glamour, Glamour, Glamour

2008-04-06T22:07:00.000-07:00

Nothing could be more glamorous than my life at the moment.

This week, I started the stimulation drugs. By day 3, my stomach was swelling out of my clothes, I was throwing up in the shower in the mornings, and I had to leave work early in case I started throwing up on my colleagues.

Then last night, the Little Dude had a stomach bug. He threw up tumultuously approximately every 25 minutes for around 7 hours straight. As I clutched my naked, sobbing little boy to me in the bath tub (sometimes it's easier to stay in there, as there is less clean up), he threw up all over me - in my hair, down my bra, trickling into my belly-button, everywhere.

Vomit is a big feature of our family life at the moment.

I reckon I got about two hours sleep maximum, last night. The Little Dude seems to be fully recovered, but that's more than I can say for me. I am too old for this kind of thing. I'm so exhausted, my body feels like a carcass.

And it apparently responds like a carcass, too. Day 7 of stimulation drugs and I have a grand total of six follicles. Last time, I started with nine follicles and only wound up with two viable eggs. God only knows what we will get down to if we start at six. So I will be climbing wearily into the stirrups later this week, with a sense of the vanity of all human effort.

I think I need to get into my old pregnancy track pants and curl up on the sofa with some chocolate. Gin would be better.

Glamour, glamour, glamour.

IVF Cycle 1: Rolling the Dice

2008-03-31T01:56:00.000-07:00

I told my sister the other day that I am terrified of doing IVF again. She seemed puzzled. After all, I got one child from it - one more would be a bonus but, if it doesn't work, I still have the one I've got, right?

There is so much that can fail to go according to plan even if a pregnancy is achieved. I watched a truly excellent movie this weekend: The Black Balloon. It's about a 16 year old guy whose brother is autistic and his struggles to accept his brother as he is. It's clever, it's funny, it's tragic and it's inspiring. But I kept looking at the mother. She was warm and loving and patient. I don't know if I could be like her in that situation. Looking after one person with illnesses and disabilities is hard enough. Trying to look after two as well as my Little Dude would be tough, tough, tough.

I look at my friend Pat, and how hard her struggle has been to deal with becoming a mother. What if I have another bad birth myself and get PTSD and post-natal depression? How would we manage?

I think about my friend Tara and the physical health issues she has had since she had her son. She's a doctor with two other degrees and she hasn't been able to work for the last five years. What will happen to my family if I can't work?

To tell you the truth, this all worries me, and that's assuming I actually get pregnant.

I drop in from time to time on an IVF bulletin board. There is a lot of trading of ideas to increase chances. Lots of talk about quitting all coffee, eating organic food, staying positive, etc. It all assumes that this whole process is somewhat rational and somewhat fair. That doing all the right things is rewarded.

I can't seem to bring myself to ruin the vibe by saying that in my experience, doing IVF is more like gambling. We all put down our money, but who wins and who loses seems pretty arbitrary, really. Forty-somethings who keep drinking and smoking and making cynical wisecracks through the treatment can get pregnant, while twenty-somethings who eat all their organic vegetables and think totally positive at all times miss out. An awful lot is down to luck.

It really is like gambling. The odds are against you. You have to know that when you turn up to the tables. But you can't win if you don't play.

I am nervous because, with my Little Dude now two and a half, I feel like I have achieved a kind of tenuous well-being. I was over the fertility treatment/pregnancy/early motherhood phase of my life. My body was recovered. My mind was recovered. My finances were improving. I had a little time and space to myself again.

Now, I'm taking that tenuous little bit of well-being back to the tables, gritting my teeth and rolling the dice again...

IVF Cycle 1: Counting the Cost

2008-03-21T22:47:00.000-07:00

This morning, as the Big Dude pushed a needle full of Lucrin into my stomach, he said, "Remember, I'm doing this for love".

In all honestly, I'm not feeling very loving.

Last night, I dreamed that the Big Dude told me he'd found someone else. He'd met some woman in a cafe three weeks before, had been sleeping with her for a fortnight, and was going to leave me. I woke up crying. But within minutes, I was thinking about how much simpler my life would be without him.

It's true. After spending most of the last 16 years together, I'm still not sure whether my relationship with the Big Dude has been the greatest blessing or the worst mistake of my life.

I am feeling quite sorry for myself today. I look at my Big Dude, and I'm happy to be with him. Such a familiar, warm, comforting presence. But I look at my life and I'm a whole lot less satisfied. Because I chose him, I will probably never have: (a) a house of our own, (b) a satisfying sex life, (c) a time when I am not looking after him or (d) children conceived in a normal way.

The price of this relationship is pretty high. Sometimes it looks too high.

IVF Cycle 1: Preparations

2008-03-14T21:15:00.000-07:00

I start IVF on Monday. When my period started, I had this moment of excitment - almost euphoria. But now that the treatment is imminent, a lot about the process is coming back to me, and I can't say that I am looking forward to it.

For the last few weeks, I have been concentrating on enjoying myself. We had a great holiday. I've been swimming and enjoying spas afterwards. I've relaxed the pace at work. I've lain around reading books and taken up meditation. What I've been trying to do is enjoy being me, enjoy being in my body, as much as I can, before it all starts.

Because the truth is that, while an IVF cycle is on, it's hard to feel like your life, your body are your own.

IVF is really an amazing technology. Essentially, they shut your own natural system down. Then they rev it up with fertility drugs so that your body, which normally produces only one egg, produces many more. Then they take the eggs out through a minor surgery called "egg pickup", fertilise them in a dish, and produce embryos that they they put back into your womb. Then, basically, you all just hope like hell that one of them sticks. A decent explanation, with some cool pictures, can be found here.

But the explanations and the pictures don't show what it's like. This week, when they start shutting my system down with a drug called Lucrin, I will experience a teeth-gritting exposure tour of an intensified menopause, complete with mood swings, hot flushes and depression. What I really remember of the last time I was on it is that absence of joy and pleasure. You can have a great day, truly good things can happen to you, and all you feel is that terrible, flat, joylessness. It's so horrible that the fertility drugs flooding into your system come as an incredible relief.

They also don't tell you what it's like to pay for IVF. Have I mentioned that, this week, I will also be handing over a very large cheque? We are still paying off the debt from having our Little Dude. If I get pregnant this cycle (chances are about 25-30% each cycle for a woman my age), we will be in debt for another four years. If not, well, we are pretty much talking indentured servitude to pay for more cycles.

I looked at my Little Dude this morning: His clear, intelligent gaze, the little freckles on his nose, his sturdy little body which wriggles with joy and excitement. He is the best thing I have ever done, my life's work, and I don't regret him for a second.

But it's hard to face up to doing it again. IVF can make beautiful children. But it doesn't make for a beautiful life.

Cross your fingers for us.

Beach Holiday

2008-03-04T23:56:00.000-08:00

Emily and family have gone on a pre-IVF holiday.

Sun, sand and surf for us, before needles, mood swings and debt...

Back soon!

Small People

2008-02-24T17:16:00.000-08:00

I saw those two women last week. Both of them, a few days apart. Women who made my life hell a few years ago.

You know how there are times in your life that are very vivid in your memory, that seem to stay with you almost as if they happened yesterday? That you find yourself thinking about when you are alone, even if it was years ago and you have supposedly moved on?

I was a young, new public servant doing exactly the kind of work I had trained to do. I loved it. I left home every morning to go to work, a bounce in my step, looking forward to being there. I loved the people I worked with. I was good at my job and I worked hard, sometimes not getting home until the early hours. It was work so challenging that it consumed all of me. But even though I was tired, I hummed like a machine on song.

Then the new boss, Leslie, arrived. She rapidly took a dislike to me. Not to my work. She loved my work. It was me she hated. She was rude, she was bullying, she was barely civil. And because I was young and earnest and inexperienced in the ways of bullies, I thought maybe the problem was me. I thought hard about what I might be doing wrong and how I might be failing. I tried hard to make her like me more. I realize now that that was utterly the wrong approach to take. Bullies respect strength. Give them an inch and they take a mile.

I was, in fact, quite good friends with my boss's boss, Julie. We got along very well. We were often the only two left in the office late at night and we had a kind of intellectual chemistry. We had a lot of good ideas, which we promptly put in place. I looked up to her. I admired her. In a way, I loved her. She was tough, but there was a vulnerability there that touched me. She treated me like a combination of daughter and whiz kid. I loved that, too.

Things rapidly went from bad to worse, as Leslie became more and more extreme in her behaviour. For some reason, it had been bearable as long as she was only being horrible to me. I used to focus on not showing her how much she affected me. We laughed among ourselves about the BQFH - The Bitch Queen from Hell. But when my colleagues began crying at work, it got too much for me. Then one woman, who had been majorly stressed and sobbing at her desk every morning, had a miscarriage. The Bitch Queen from Hell wouldn't even let her take any leave to recover.

I tried to discuss it with Julie, very tentatively. Her eyes, which had always warmed at my approach, went cold and dark. Suddenly, oddly, she looked like a snake.

The next day, I found out that my scheduled promotion had been withdrawn and my leave cancelled. My supposed friend never said a word to me again. I found another job, but she wouldn't release me for four long miserable months. We were seriously worried about our colleague, and so three of us put in a formal complaint, documenting everything that had happened. We didn't really believe that anything much would be done, but we thought we could at least get her released and she was. Although part of our complaint was actually about Julie, she was given the investigation to run.

I'm glad now that I told her then exactly what I thought of her behaviour. She cried unrestrainedly through the interview. We were sort of reconciled. We shook hands, in a wary kind of way, at the end of that interview. But I found out later that she rang all of our prospective new bosses and warned that we were trouble makers. She tried to trash my career, just for trying to tell her the truth.

I was sick for quite a long time afterwards. Probably partly because of the hours I had worked. But really, I was sick at heart. Even after I physically recovered, I didn't recover mentally. For a long time afterwards, I was obsessed with what had happened. With the betrayal I had experienced.

It's clearer to me now why I was so affected. The truth is that what I was suffering was not a trivial work problem, but a broken heart. People often think that it's only in the area of intimate relationships that hearts get broken, but it's not true. I had given my whole heart and soul and mind and body to that work, and I had been royally fucked over.

That was five years ago. Although it's stupid, the whole thing has continued to loom very large in my mind. I hate bullies. It's one thing I truly hate. I have seen the Bitch Queen from Hell from time to time and we studiously ignore each other. If she walks into our work cafe, I walk out. I just hate being around her. But I often think about her, and my supposed friend. I shouldn't, but I do. They take up mental space that I shouldn't give them. Somehow they have seemed larger than they really are.

I saw Leslie the other day, in the lift. And instead of staring at my feet and pretending not to see her, I said, "Hi, Leslie". We had a civil conversation. I know she didn't want to talk to me, to acknowledge my existence, but I made her. After the conversation, I somehow felt better, stronger, for being assertive with her.

And yesterday, I saw Julie, for the first time in years, in a shopping centre. She looked ordinary, utterly ordinary. Just another tired middle aged woman. She looked small.

Bullies are small people.

More, Please

2008-02-17T20:09:00.000-08:00

The other day, as I complained about feeling crap from lack of caffeine and alcohol, my Big Dude said, "I will have to have sex with you. To live with an Emily who is doing without caffeine, alcohol and sex is unthinkable."

So last night, after three months of no sex, we did it. Four orgasms later, I was feeling much better, and he seemed to enjoy it, too.

I can't claim to be fully satisfied. Frankly, after a three month break, the only thing that would make me feel completely satisfied would be a 48 hour bonk-a-thon and the promise of sex three times a week without fail for the rest of my life.

But, for what it was, it was good.

The only problem now is that all I can think of is... more please.

Sorry

2008-02-12T11:55:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, I met a woman with a gentle face named Donna. She was cooling her feet in the lake at parliament house and we talked for a while.

She had been taken from her parents, along with her six brothers and sisters. She had been adopted by a kind and loving white couple, but her brothers had been sent to a home and suffered unimaginable abuse.

I wanted to say sorry to her personally, but in all honesty, I was too shy for such grandiose gestures.

But this is the apology that will be made today.

Today we honour the Indigenous peoples of this land, the oldest continuing cultures in human history.

We reflect on their past mistreatment.

We reflect in particular on the mistreatment of those who were Stolen Generations – this blemished chapter in our nation’s history.

The time has now come for the nation to turn a new page in Australia’s history by righting the wrongs of the past and so moving forward with confidence to the future.

We apologise for the laws and policies of successive Parliaments and governments that have inflicted profound grief, suffering and loss on these our fellow Australians.

We apologise especially for the removal of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander children from their families, their communities and their country.

For the pain, suffering and hurt of these Stolen Generations, their descendants and for their families left behind, we say sorry.

To the mothers and fathers, the brothers and sisters, for the breaking up of families and communities, we say sorry.

And for the indignity and degradation thus inflicted on a proud people and a proud culture, we say sorry.

We the Parliament of Australia respectfully request that this apology be received in the spirit in which it is offered as part of the healing of the nation.

For the future we take heart; resolving that this new page in the history of our great continent can now be written.
p>We today take this first step by acknowledging the past and laying claim to a future that embraces all Australians.

A future where this Parliament resolves that the injustices of the past must never, never happen again.

A future where we harness the determination of all Australians, Indigenous and non-Indigenous, to close the gap that lies between us in life expectancy, educational achievement and economic opportunity.

A future where we embrace the possibility of new solutions to enduring problems where old approaches have changed.

A future based on mutual respect, mutual resolve and mutual responsibility.

A future where all Australians, whatever their origins, are truly equal partners, with equal opportunities and with an equal stake in shaping the next chapter in the history of this great country.

I have experienced 36 Australia Days and 36 Anzac Days, and yet I can't remember when I have felt such pride and hope in my country.

Back in Black

2008-02-08T18:36:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I am back from my tropical island. It was a great success. Things well well, I actually had fun, and the Little Dude was a little subdued but basically fine.

And I have come home to great news! The new Australian government is making its first order of business an apology to what we call the Stolen Generations. And the opposition, totally opposed in John Howard's day, is going to support it. Bipartisan support. A truly national event.

A fact that is not widely known about Australia is that, in the decades between about 1910 and 1970, thousands of Aboriginal children were taken from their parents. In some cases, this was genuinely because of neglect, abuse or concerns that mixed race children would be better off being included in white society.

But overwhelmingly, the main reason was part of the policy of assimilation. We genuinely (and very conveniently) believed that white races were superior, that Australia's Indigenous people were gradually dying out and that mixed race children, in particular, should be "rescued" from their parents and adopted into white society. It was part of a much wider policy in which Aboriginal people were not full citizens and many were under the control of protectors, marriages were supposedly controlled to gradually "breed out the colour" and that taking children from their parents was, essentially, being cruel to be kind. Somewhere between one in ten and one in three children were taken from their parents, many to homes where they were beaten and abused and prepared for a lifetime of menial labour.

There has been over a decade of argument about this in Australia. The Stolen Generations report in 1997 brought it all out in the open and called for a national apology. John Howard and his Coalition government argued that it had not been on racial grounds, that in many cases the children were taken for good reason and that, in any case, contemporary Australians should not take responsiblity for the actions of the "past" (even thought the 1960s is well within the lifetime of many Australians).

Outsiders might be surprised about how "stuck" Australia has been on this issue. We have gone around and around in circles for over a decade. And somehow, I feel like all the debate missed the point. Quibbling about how many were taken, in which exact circumstances, the exact extent of the impact is a trivial and pathetic approach. Like a drunk arguing about exactly how many drinks we've had on any one occasion, we have been defensive and shambling and only hurting ourselves. Just as we can be proud of our own and our ancestor's achievements, we can be ashamed and sorry for their and our failings.

The reality is that white society did a terrible, monstrous wrong to those children and their parents and their whole culture. We were wrong. We owe them an apology at the very least. And we finally have a government, and an opposition who admits it. We are going to apologise on 13 February.

My heart is very light. I am going to take the morning off work and go to parliament house. If my Indigenous brothers and sisters are willing to hear an apology, I will make them one and it will be heartfelt. And then we will dance on the lawns of parliament house.

Suggestions Please

2008-02-01T01:22:00.000-08:00

Exhausted. Working 10 hours a day, coming home to be sympathetic and understanding to Pat, then crashing. My best times with the Little Dude are when the Big Dude brings him in to work to have lunch with me.

Although I did teach him to do somersaults this week. He was very excited.

Has anyone else noticed that, when the career is going well, the home life unravels, and when you finally have the Mummy act down well, your career is turning to crap?

I am guilt and worry-wracked about leaving him for three whole days next week. We have never been separated for more than a day before. I have always been home for dinner and story time.

By big worry is that he won't understand, as the days wear on, that I am still coming home and haven't left him. Apparently today, as the afternoon wore on, he said confidently, "Mummy home soon". But does a two year old understand that a Mummy who doesn't come home for three afternoons in a row is still definitely coming home to him?

I'm thinking about ways to make it clear that I'm coming home. Phone calls, obviously. Perhaps a calendar, marking off the days till I return?

These are the times when my inexperience as a parent really shows. Suggestions, please.

Another Quickie

2008-01-25T17:09:00.000-08:00

Pat has finally booked her plane ticket home. Oh, the relief!

It's not that I don't love her. And she has actually been a pretty good house guest - picking up after herself most of the time (which is a big effort for her, because her own place is always cluttered), helping with the dishes and the cooking and the laundry. And although she's depressed, she is very much in survival mode and preoccupied with practical things, rather than the weepy mess I thought she might be.

But, to be honest, I am so over this. I'm exhausted. Work hasn't let up, the Big Dude is stressed out and sick (his shrink is not impressed by our current household situation), and having to be friendly and polite and supportive all the time instead of just slumping into the sofa at night is wearing me out. People keep telling me I look tired and I am.

To top it off, I am trying to lose weight and bring my coffee and alcohol consumption down, preferably to nil, before our fertility treatment. With the caffeine headaches and the end of my regular Friday night takeaway and wine catharsis, I feel crap. Also, we are broke, following Christmas and supporting house guests and then preparing for huge IVF bills. We had a fright this week with the stockmarket crash, as it looked like our IVF fund was about to melt into the ether.

I think, to be realistic, I am going to have to postpone the IVF to March. I'm just too tired and stressed out to embark on fertility treatment the moment I get back from overseas. Not to mention that it would be good to have some time alone with the Big Dude before going into all that. Have I mentioned that we haven't had sex since November?

But the other day, Pat finally came home with a plane ticket, booked for the first week of February. And yesterday, I drooled over the descriptions of the place I will be staying at during my work trip. A lovely hotel with a huge pool, beautiful white beaches and the emerald-green sea across the road, nice restaurants...although I will be working, surely there will be a few moments to enjoy my trip to a tropical island!

Quickie Post: Motherhood Sucks II

2008-01-16T19:13:00.000-08:00

It is flat out at our house. Between looking after my Little Dude, dealing with the Big Dude's annual health slump (he is always particularly bad in January) and now Pat and the baby, I hardly have any time to myself. So I won't be posting often, but I suddenly have a spare hour to unload.

My friend Pat is not in a good way. Superficially, she seems okay. She takes excellent care of the baby, who is a sweet little thing. She makes conversation. She even manages to help with the cooking and laundry.

But it's pretty much a facade. At first, I thought she was just somewhat depressed and her apparent obsession with the birth was a symptom of that. But she has now been diagnosed with Birth Trauma, which is a variant of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Now that we know what is going on, we can see she had just about every risk factor for this around, including previous sexual abuse, a bad birth with high medical intervention, the baby's stay in intensive care and a long previous history of depression.

Poor girl. I truly feel for her. Even though it is driving me crazy having such long-term house guests (I've never had anyone staying with me for more than a week, let alone a severely depressed woman and her baby for weeks on end), I truly want to help her.

The trouble is that there are serious limits to what I can do. I've listened to her sympathetically, for hours at a time. I've encouraged her to get help and gone to great effort to find her a decent therapist (there are not many specialists in this particular field). We cook good meals and go for plenty of exercise. We go out to have fun and have a bit of a social life. I take the baby when she needs a rest.

I think she is better off with us. She manages better at a day to day level and she says the baby seems a lot happier with more people around and more stimulation than she can provide.

But the bottom line is that Pat is at the bottom of a very dark hole and all my efforts are happening somewhere at ground level.

The question is: What can you really do for a traumatised person? I know from previous experience from my Big Dude that PTSD doesn't really go away. You can get therapy, it can be managed, you can work around it, you can reduce its impact on your life, but nothing really heals that fundamental loss of trust in the universe. You are changed forever, transformed. It's a deep wound at the centre of your soul. It's not really "fixable" in any permanent way.

And the truly distressing part is that Pat is struggling to feel anything much for her daughter. Litle Mary is a most beautiful child. Very pretty and sociable and cheerful. The fact that I think she is gorgeous has almost nothing to do with the fact that she is my goddaughter. But Pat, for all her very dedicated care for her, apparently feels almost nothing for her. She meets all the baby's needs, she plays with her, sings to her, and no one just from looking at her would guess she that she finds it easiest to relate to Mary when she imagines that Mary is not her baby at all but an orphan who has been left in her care.

Isn't that sad?

Back in February

2008-01-10T12:14:00.000-08:00

With Pat and the baby here, my sister and brother in law visiting and imminent travel for work, I just have no chance to be alone to blog at the moment. So I will have to take a break.

Expecting to be back in February.

I will still be reading you all, so keep writing!

New Year 2008

2008-01-01T19:36:00.000-08:00

We had a lovely New Year's church service this year, including some very moving (to me) references to people who are carers. It was particularly meaningful to me because, in a way, I am a carer twice over at the moment, looking after Pat and her baby as well as the Big and Little Dudes.

It ended with a blessing that I particularly liked, and I hope you will, too:

May your eyes be opened to the wonder of the daily miracles around you and your sense of mystery be deepened.
May you be aware of the light that shines in the darkness
and that the darkness can never put it out.
May you be blessed with companions on the journey
who will listen to you and encourage you with their presence.
May you learn to live with what is unsolved in your heart,
daring to face the questions and holding them until,
one day, you find the answers.
May you find the still, quiet place within yourself
where you can know and experience
the peace the passes all understanding.
May love flow in you and through you
to those who need your care.
May you continue to dream dreams and to reach out into the future
with a deeper understanding of God's way for you.
- Linda Wright

Christmas Thoughts

2007-12-22T18:48:00.000-08:00

We are gearing up for Christmas here, and I'm enjoying it. I actually love Christmas. Right at the point where most people are feeling kind of over it, exhausted from the shopping and sick of the family thing, I start to tune into the whole thing, humming carols, preparing the food, and thinking about the year.

My old friend Pat, the single mother I mentioned below, is coming with her baby to stay with us for a few weeks. She is really struggling and desperately needs some company and support. She says it all feels like a living hell and like there is no light at the end of the tunnel, so she is coming to us. It's going to be tough, as she is very depressed and we will be quite overcrowded. I was half dreading it, but now that the time approaches, I find I'm starting to look forward to it.

I like the idea of having a baby in the house at Christmas. After all, if it's not about a baby, then what is Christmas really for?

One of my commenters below noted that Pat's experience just shows that some women should not have children, especially with fertility treatment. I kind of know what he/she means, but I don't feel that way. I find that I am thinking a lot about Jesus' mother Mary this Christmas. We Protestants don't make much of Mary. But I am thinking about the courage she showed in having a child in those circumstances, such a huge commitment of love and faith, in the face of suspicion and disapproval.

Some of us just don't get to have our children in the circumstances we would have chosen. But that doesn't mean that we shouldn't have done it, or that God won't bring good out of the situation.

Long time readers will know that I was quite depressed myself last year. This time last year, I was in a very dark place. And yet, I have recovered. At some deep level, much of it only half consciously, I seem to have healed. I am truly grateful for all that God has done for me.

Our church has a theme for Christmas this year: "Giving birth to hope". Mary did give birth to hope, with God's help. And Pat and I gave birth to hope, with a little help from God and from science.

And I am still hopeful. I hope that Pat, with some company and help with the baby and a bit of fun, as well as professional help, will start to find a way forward. That somehow my own healing can be a part of God's healing for her.

Taking a Sickie

2007-12-19T15:06:00.000-08:00

Emily, the Little Dude and the Big Dude all have colds and chest infections. How this could happen in the middle of summer, we don't know.

So we are taking a sickie until we are better.

Motherhood Sucks

2007-12-08T20:04:00.000-08:00

Long time readers may remember that I have an old friend named Pat who I knew at university. At the age of 42 years old, it was clear that she was never going to find the right man, and she went to a sperm donor clinic and got pregnant by herself. At the time, we were thinking that she might come to stay with us for the birth, but she decided to stay at home and have help from her mother instead.

My one fear with all of this was that Pat is inclined to depression. She has struggled for years with the sexual abuse she experienced as a child and other issues. I was worried that having a baby alone would put her at risk of another bout of depression.

Unfortunately, this has turned out to be true. She had a very bad birth, followed by the baby having to be in intensive care after it was born. But when she seemed okay for the first few weeks, I thought it was a false alarm. But, a couple of months to brood about it all, of isolation and a baby on her own, and she is sinking fast. It is so bad that she is not sure a therapist can help and is thinking of checking herself into a psychiatric ward. Post-natal depression and/or psychosis, here we come.

There is so litle I can really do from here. It's so frustrating, because we ought to be enjoying our babies together, happy as clams to have triumphed over circumstances, and instead she is having a shitty time.

But also, it really makes me wonder why motherhood is so hard. I love my Little Dude, but I still remember how bad it was in the beginning. I am mostly a boringly sensible person, but to be honest, I think I went a bit mad. I had the most ridiculous, psychotic thoughts - that the baby would die (I was surprised every morning when he was still alive), that everyone in the supermarket was staring at me because I was so ugly (I was barely coping with the effect on my body), and even that the devil (who I don't really believe in) would try to possess him. I actually knew the whole time at some level that none of things were true, but I was so out of my head with sleeplessness and worry and hormones that I had these crazy, intrusive thoughts. I don't think I really felt normal until I stopped breastfeeding.

Somehow, the whole process seems kind of flawed. The babies with such huge heads that mothers are at risk during the birth, such a long period of dependence that they are incredibly vulnerable to abandonment and neglect, the high rate of failure with breastfeeding. No wonder so many babies used to die.

Quite honestly, I think everything about motherhood sucks except the actual child.

Hard Hearted

2007-12-02T17:12:00.000-08:00

I was chatting to an old friend on the phone a few nights ago, and realized something.

Somehow, somewhere, I have lost a talent I used to have for friendship.

Ever since I got to Canberra, I have been lamenting a lack of close friends. I made some good friends almost immediately, and Judy in particular. But over time, they have moved away. Canberra is like that. It's very transient. Most people stay for a few years and then move on. It's hard to hold on to people.

Now, having made more effort, I basically have a few people who are friends, but it's pretty casual. We do stuff together. We have lunch. We go to each other's houses. We see each other at work. But that feeling of "clicking", of understanding each other's heart that I have had with other friends, of feeling strong loyalty and love for them, seems to be missing - for them and for me.

Now, some of this is the stage of life. We are all working and raising small children. It's tiring. It's hard to fit each other into our schedules. Even with old friends, it's hard to have a proper conversation without our kids interrupting.

But some of it, I have to admit, is me. I used to treasure my friendships. I used to feel much more for my friends. Now, a lot of the time, it's as much of a nuisance as a pleasure to see them, and when they leave, it really doesn't bother me as much as it used to.

What is this? Why do I seem so... half-hearted? Actually, kind of hard-hearted?

Election

2007-11-26T02:11:00.000-08:00

It was only last week that I truly began to allow myself to believe that John Howard's government would lose the election. The polls had said so all year, but somehow I just couldn't believe it. The economy was strong. Paranoia about national security still prevailed. John Howard, while never exactly popular, was widely respected.

But it was more than that. People were tired of the government, but there wasn't that wierd build up of energy you normally get when a government is thrown out - as if the nation is preparing, not so much to vote, as to collectively vomit something up. I thought the government would just fall over the line and be re-elected.

But last week, I could truly begin to feel that change in the air. My heart, schooled to sticking with political logic rather than hope, began to sing.

And oh, the joy of watching the vote count. I had actually forgotten how truly gratifying it is to watch the defeat of political enemies. I was surprised by my own malicious pleasure as the familiar faces were crossed off as they lost their seats. Smite them, O Lord. So perish all my enemies!

It's only a year or so since the government looked completely invincible. I still cannot quite believe that John Howard has not only lost the election, but also apparently his own seat. It's the biggest rejection of a PM since 1929. Actually, I didn't take much pleasure in that part. There is something rather horrible about how ruthless politics is - and the way he suddenly looked so old.

But I must say, it is a relief. Part of the relief is specific things like knowing that we will finally be out of Iraq and making some kind of genuine effort on climate change. But a lot of it is finally feeling like we are somehow getting back to thinking about someone other than ourselves. For the past few years, Australian politics has been mostly alternating appeals to our immediate greed and whipping up of our worst fears and prejudices. It's been mostly boring, preoccupied with the most incredibly short-term and parochial suburban concerns, and when it hasn't been boring, it's really felt kind of disgusting. And it just hasn't felt like the Australia I know and love.

After feeling so disconnected for so long, I finally feel a bit hopeful again. Kevin Rudd is not exactly a messiah. He's a geeky, boring kind of guy who talks in soundbites. But I am finally hearing a long term plan for this country that isn't all about buying huge houses, cluttering up the roads with SUVs and bugger the next generation.

Could it be that I will actually enjoy politics again?

Better Than I Would Have Thought

2007-11-19T01:16:00.000-08:00

I can't remember when I have ever felt less inspired about the idea of sex than last night. I was tired, I was fed up from clearing out our shed, and I was kind of pissed at my Big Dude for reasons I can't remember right now.

But he showered my neck and shoulders with kisses. Then the kissing was good - tender and passionate and intimate. Then the sex was great- three lovely orgasms for me, the last one simultaneously with him.

Sometimes an evening works out a whole lot better than you think it will.

I Spoke Too Soon

2007-11-10T19:40:00.000-08:00

I spoke too soon when I mentioned a well-laid woman. That is one thing I am not this week.

We had plans, but they weren't fulfilled - and neither was I!

Subtlety

2007-11-05T18:09:00.000-08:00

All this week, I have been cooking. My Big Dude loves it. Thai chicken noodle soup with coriander, Chicken curry with fresh ginger, corn fritters... all his favourites have been there.

I even returned to cooking for the local church's emergency help. They maintain a large freezer for meals for the hungry, and I contributed 15 meals to their supply.

My Big Dude was exulting over my sudden activity in the kitchen. I said, "A well laid woman is much more inclined to cook".

Subtle, huh?

Sex Date

2007-10-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

You know, when I said below that we seemed to have resolved a lot of our relationship and sexual difficulties, I didn't mean that we have actually been having sex.

In fact, it's been a few weeks - four, five, possibly more. Maybe it is an example of how far we have come (ha!) that I don't know exactly how long it's been.

What I meant was some combination of the Big Dude generally seeming to keep track of how we are going and showing some commitment to our actually having a sex life, even if it's pretty low key. Also of me being more patient and having a little more faith.

But I gotta tell ya, after this long, I'm more than ready! So I'm happy we made a sex date for tonight.

Also, I've just been looking through my old fertility books and remembering how little sex we actually had during our fertility cycles. For one thing, the drugs make you feel like crap. Sex is truly the furtherest thing from your mind. After injections in the stomach, completely rewired hormones creating an imitation of early menopause and regular penetration by dildo-cam, all you want is for your vagina and yourself to be left alone together, no one else allowed! Then some clinics actually forbid you to have sex after the embry has been put in, and in the early weeks of pregnancy. Ours didn't, but I was far too paranoid and I probably would be again.

All of which means it's not exactly going to be a sexual feast around here. I'd better get it while I can!

New Phase

2007-10-19T05:30:00.000-07:00

Quite a few good things happened this week.

I started my new job. So far, it's okay. It's hard to tell if it's going to be really "me". My expertise in the past has been about social/domestic policy. This is more international and closely linked to foreign policy and security issues. I felt very confident and relaxed in my old role and it feels quite disorienting to be in an area where I hardly know anyone and I don't know who to call when issues come up. But it's kind of stimulating at the same time. I think it was the right decision - at least for now.

Then, we had a few days of uncertainty about whether the loan for our fertility treatment would come through. I had been so focused on whether we were emotionally ready for a second baby or not that I was shocked to discover that I had almost forgotten about the money side of it. For a moment there, things looked bad, and I had to face the possibility that the whole thing might come unstuck purely on financial grounds. You wouldn't believe how much it costs, not to have the actual baby, but even to try for one. But yesterday, the loan was approved. On the same day, we received a large cheque in the mail. Suddenly, we went from complete uncertainty to rolling in cash. It felt like the planets were aligning to make this happen.

It has struck me today that this is starting to feel like the start of a whole new phase. We seem to be finally past some of the relationship and sexual problems we've had for years. I have at least partially resolved some spiritual and other issues I've had since my late teens. I am virtually changing careers after around a decade in the same or related field. We finally have a nice house to live in. We have one beautiful and much loved child and a real chance of having another.

I am happy. But more than that, life keeps moving on and I am rolling with it. A whole new phase of our lives is coming - bring it on!

Maybe Baby II

2007-10-08T22:32:00.000-07:00

Alert readers may have noticed the reference below to an increased possibility of trying for a second baby.

Every since I made the appointment to see our specialist, I have felt my attitude slowly changing. As the days pass, my feelings about trying again seem to be becoming more positive. I think about having two little kids playing together, squabbling, and doing those sibling things - somehow, two kids seems more like a real family.

I passed our fertility clinic on the bus yesterday. I never liked that place. I always associated it with not wanting to be there, with anxiety, with the occasional stuff-up, and generally with bad news. During my treatment cycles, I increasingly got my Big Dude to make the calls. Somehow, I just didn't like dealing with them. When I brought my Little Dude in to say hello a few weeks after he was born, it felt like some kind of wiping out of bad memories. But still, when I've passed that office, I've kind of flinched a bit.

Yesterday, when I saw that familiar frontage, I felt different. I may even have smiled. Suddenly, they seemed less like somewhere I had to be when I didn't want to than like an ally - someone who might help me to get to where I want to go.

I think the odds of a Little Dude II (or Dudette I) are improving!

Food for Thought

2007-10-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

Some of you may have noticed that I have adopted some better habits this year. But I am still a little heavier and a whole lot tireder than I was before I had my Little Dude and this is something that needs to be addressed.

For a start, this is the sixth day in a row that it has seemed like a good idea to try again for a second baby. And if there is a real possibility that I am going to be going through IVF, pregnancy and childbirth again, I need to be in the best possible health.

I hate dieting. It's not that I am not good at it. Actually, my mildly anal, compulsive side means that I am very good at dieting. I lose the weight okay. I'm usually one of the most successful "losers" in the group. But I don't seem to keep it off. As soon as I am off the diet, it all creeps back on. Also, I don't much like my mental state when I am dieting. It all starts off okay, but over time I get more and more compulsive about it until it becomes unhealthily obsessive.

So I am doing a program called Food for Thought at my local health centre. It's a non-diet approach to healthier eating. It promotes a lot of positive, self-nurturing things like:

*Freedom to listen to and nourish our bodies by eating when hungry, stopping when satisfied and choosing foods because we want to give our bodies the goodness they deserve

*Healthy attitudes to food and our bodies for long-term weight management

*Physical activity we enjoy

*Acknowledging that we are all individuals and that different things work for different people

*Making successful change and recognising that this is a process that takes time

*Taking the emphasis off weight as it is not the only measure of success

So, do you think this will work? Or is it all just dieting in disguise?

Hooray for Me III

2007-09-23T22:44:00.000-07:00

Well, the decision is made. I have taken that first job I applied for.

Even this morning, I had major doubts. Suddenly, my current job looked very desirable, very safe and secure, and I wondered if I was crazy to be putting it at risk.

But my meeting with them this morning was very positive. Not only were they offering me truly interesting work at reasonable hours, but there was one aspect of it that was especially suited to my skills. Where previously I wondered why they were so interested in a part-timer with only limited background in their area, I could now see why they were so keen. And I feel like I could really make a contribution there.

When I sat down at lunch to ponder it all, I couldn't help noticing that I suddenly had a sense of my career, even my life, opening up again. Lately, I have been feeling kind of stuck, in a rut, as if the possibilities are closing down and my life is just going to be the same, day after day. It's as if I have been walking through a hallway that keeps getting narrower and narrower and have just spotted a small door that opens out into the big wide world. It's scary, but its exciting!

I could really get used to that feeling. I got up and sent an email to my current boss before I lost my nerve!

He wrote me a very generous note back, congratulating me on a great opportunity and with only a fleeting reference to the problem it creates for him. So it looks as if this is really happening. Please, God, don't let this be a disaster!

Hooray for Me II

2007-09-20T22:21:00.000-07:00

Guess what?

You may remember that, when I applied for the job below, I also did a quick edit of the application and applied for a second job I saw that morning.

Well, I received an email today offering me the second job. Two offers in three days! A 100 per cent strike rate!

I have a genuine dilemma now, which I was secretly hoping not to have because of my tendency to agonise. But I am feeling quite perky to be in so much demand.

I have been assuming that no one really wants a part-time executive and it would be too hard to move away from my current position, which is boring the pants off me. But apparently, I was wrong!

Hooray for Me!

2007-09-19T02:27:00.000-07:00

I received an unexpected call today.

As you know, I recently applied for two potential new jobs, including one with a former boss of mine who I like very much and would be happy to work for again. But since more than a month had passed since then, and I'd heard nothing, I was unsure if the vacancy was even going ahead. It is not unusual in the public service for these processes to take months and even to be cancelled altogether.

On the weekend, I heard from a friend that it was going ahead but also that they had been inundated with applicants. As the job was not formally open for a part-timer, I mentally placed myself well down their list of desirable applicants.

But today, I received a call offering me the job and at the same hours I do now!

I will be meeting with the woman in charge on Monday to clarify a few questions and doubts I have about this offer. But it's certainly a boost to be wanted - hooray for me!

Birthday Thoughts

2007-09-12T04:28:00.000-07:00

My Little Dude turns two years old tomorrow.

Tonight, when I put him to bed, there was none of his usual protest and demand for distraction from the hideous reality of bedtime. He put his little cars into his cot himself and, when I said, for the final time, "Goodnight, my little one year old boy, I love you", he said "Night-night!" in a surprisingly calm and business-like way and looked set to roll straight over and go to sleep. There was just something so mature about it.

He is growing up, my Little Dude. Having hardly thought about his birthday today, I am now sitting here with tears pricking behind my eyes, remembering the night he was born and thinking about how lucky I am.

By coincidence, a dear friend of mine is due to have her baby any moment. Some of you may remember that we offered to have her stay at our place to have the baby. We planned the whole thing, but she ultimately decided to have the baby in her own home town with the support of her family. We have stayed in touch through the pregnancy, she was due some days ago, and now when I call, I am only getting her answering machine. Tonight may just be the night!

I am thinking of her very much. To give birth to a child is a privilege, yes, but also such a lonely and arduous task. Superficially, it seems like there is so much support - the hospital, the partner, etc - but at the same time, you are ultimately alone in it, with only your strength and your courage to sustain you. Tonight, I really, really wish that I was with her.

But back to the Little Dude - I think I will always think of this year as the Year of Trucks. At Christmas, I bought him his first ever truck and he just fell in love with it. He exclaimed, he laughed, he exulted as if he simply couldn't believe there could be such a fascinating object in this world, and since then, he has been obsessed with buses, cars, anything with wheels, but especially trucks.

It has also been the Year of Talking. My Little Dude is a bright little presence, but not especially advanced with his talking. I must admit to having had my moments of counting up the words he's said and comparing them with other kids I know. But lately, he had made a lot of progress. Almost every day, he has new words. I would have thought that a child would use words to communicate things he wants (eg, "milk" or "biscuit"), but there is something really sweet about the way he just uses them to share his enthusiasms ("Blue car!" "Big truck!") or even to name what we are doing and seem to think is important ("Coffee!")

But it has also been the Year of Fun. A baby is very beautiful, but they don't really do very much. My Little Dude as a toddler is such a clever, funny little person. In the mornings, lately, he pounds on my bedroom door until I let him in, hops into bed with me, then puts his head on the pillow and pulls up the quilt and pretends to snore. He sounds exactly like the Big Dude, who could snore for Australia, and is clearly imitating him. His other favourite activity lately is putting his feet into my shoes and clumping all around the house- often naked except for the huge shoes and sometimes a big cloth shopping bag over his head!

I was at a kid's birthday party the other day and a woman from our original childbirth class, a woman much more high-powered on the career front than me, asked if the Little Dude was in childcare yet. She added, with a slightly withering expression, "Or do you think he's not ready yet?" It was pretty clear that she thought I was soft and indulgent and not fully taking account of the excellent social and other skills kids learn in childcare.

Actually, it's me who's not ready yet. Career, be damned! This kid is so much fun, and there is so much joy to be had just from being with him. I am far too selfish to hand him over to someone else to enjoy!

Training Day (Week)

2007-09-07T01:26:00.000-07:00

I have to go on a week's executive training for my job. All day today, I was looking forward to it - all that time away from everyday work problems and a chance to think about my (ahem) career.

But just getting out of the office today seemed to take forever. I was more than two hours late and my poor Big Dude had our Little Dude almost all day and looked knackered when I got home. How will he cope for all that time? And I feel faint just thinking about all the laundry piling up...

I swear, I just don't know how mothers that work full time do it. They must have nerves of steel.

Note to self: Show great respect to all working mothers and ask them how they do it.

Maybe Baby

2007-08-30T22:02:00.000-07:00

The Big Dude and I are talking about having another baby.

I always intended to have another baby. In the last few weeks of my pregnancy, I spent a lot of time feverishly plotting how we could have a second child - when we would do it, how we would get the money for the fertility treatment, at what point I could take more leave, and would my Big Dude's health hold up.

When we inquired about our original sperm donor last year, the news was not good. The terms under which our fertility clinic now accepted sperm had changed and the donor hadn't yet replied to a letter asking him to donate under the new conditions. I was very uneasy about using a different donor for a second child and decided to wait.

Now, it seems like all systems are go. Our original donor is now available. My working conditions (especially if I can bring myself to stay in my current job) are flexible enough to accommodate firstly fertility treatment and then a pregnancy and maternity leave and more part-time work. Our Little Dude is old enough to need just that little bit less care that makes a baby more of a possibility. We could get a loan for the money. My mother will soon be living next door and has said she'll help with the babysitting.

Everything looks right. We have booked in for an appointment with our specialist in a couple of months time.

But as I stand here on the very brink, I'm not sure if it feels right. I should be really excited that things are coming together so well, and yet somehow I'm not. I'm a bit stunned by my own absence of excitement.

I think about having another little baby to hold and I melt inside. But I am also thinking about how tired I am and about having to trudge to the clinic at the crack of dawn for the injections every morning. I am thinking about how unbelievably crap it feels when a cycle fails. I am thinking about the impact on my body. I am thinking about how distant my Big Dude seemed to be when I was pregnant. I am thinking about the pain of the birth. I am thinking about lack of sleep, a baby crying and that utter dismay I felt when I truly realized just how hard having a baby is and that I was going to have to do it all day after day after day.

I love my Little Dude so much. He seems more beautiful every day. Everything I went through to have him I would do again fifty times over rather than have missed out on having him.

But can I really face going through it all again?

About Last Night

2007-08-21T22:44:00.000-07:00

Last night, the only indication that my Big Dude was planning to follow up on our regular sex date (we skipped last week because he was sick) was that he suddenly carried his pillows into my room.

But we had a pretty good time. Although he was still unwell, he was quite enthusiastic and we had gentle penetrative sex with me on top. Three lovely orgasms from penetration for me, and one from long, slow oral sex for him, just the way he likes it.

I honestly think my Big Dude prefers to come from oral sex. He has a bad back from Vietnam, so penetrative sex tends to hurt after a while, even though he likes it. But with oral sex, knowing he has satisfied me already, he can just lie back and enjoy.

Also, I quietly pride myself on my oral sex technique. I like to kiss my way down his body, building up the anticipation so that he is quivering by the time I get down there. Then I gently lick my way up the shaft, working my way slowly to the tip and back again. When I take him into my mouth, I start to swirl my tongue around, up and back, up and back, along the shaft. Once I think he is ready, I establish a good sucking rhythm, taking in as much of him as I can and making sure my tongue continues to swirl around until the very end. I think actively using my hands and my tongue, as well as my lips, is very important.

He loves it and I love doing it. I like to make sure he is groaning and helpless in my arms before I make him come. He is a strong man with a powerful personality, and I enjoy having him completely at my mercy!

So we are both happy today.

Although I probably won't mention to him the very hot fantasy I was having at the time about sex with two men at once...

Vote For Me!

2007-08-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

Can I just say how much I am enjoying Digger's new meme?

I am truly honoured by Trueself's nomination of me as the blogger she would vote for in an election.

Of course, my political career would come to an untimely end once I was exposed as simultaneously running for political office and hanging out in Digger's hot tub!

Wish Me Luck

2007-08-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

Guess what?

That job I was interested in has finally been advertised. I spent lots of the weekend doing up an application, only to discover when I got back into work that their original statement that it could be done part-time had not been included. I put in the application anyway, but felt kind of despondent. It's very difficult to find jobs at my level with part-time hours and it felt like a rare opportunity had been waved in front of me and then just vanished.

Then, while I was printing out some other work, I saw an advertisement for a second job in an area I have always vaguely intended to go to - and it specifically noted that part-time availability was okay. The selection criteria were quite similar to the first job, so I hurriedly shifted a few paragraphs around and sent in an application for that one, too.

Half an hour later I had a call from the boss in the first area asking if she could show my resume to her own boss and noting that she had a part-time vacancy. Suddenly, things were looking good!

So, will I be offered the first job or the second job, and which will I take? Surely I couldn't possibly be rejected for both... Of course, my tiny efforts don't begin to compare with dedicated job hunters like 2am Somewhere, who has now considered 103 separate opportunities!

Wish me luck!