It's a girl!

Quick update..... Wattie the horse gave birth to a healthy foal on Saturday morning, 26th September! Black with a white star. She is beautiful and both Wattie and the foal are doing well. Is this a sign? If I was a tree-hugging, mother-Earth loving, spiritual hippy, I would say YES! Yes it is!

Six of one..half a dozen of the other.

I love this term. The first time I heard my mother say it was when we were driving somewhere and I asked which way I should go: Route A or Route B? I made her repeat her response a few times before I understood it (half of a dozen is 6- yikes! I'm slow sometimes.) Route A and B were basically the same and would both get us where we wanted to go in the same amount of time.

This little anecdote, aside from being interesting (it WAS interesting wasn't it??), leads in nicely to another little anecdote I would like to share that made me smile.

I have a friend who is horse crazy. A lot of us have a friend like this, or at least know of one. You know the type - really horse crazy! They have pictures of their horses on the wall, go to all the horse shows, own about 100 horses, have about a zillion ribbons and trophies, breed them and know enough about horse anatomy, disease and reproduction to be specialised horse vets. Bless them! It takes a lot of love to get up in the morning in the middle of Winter, de-rug the horses, feed them and put them out in the paddock...especially when you have a million of them!

I also have another friend (Yes, TWO friends!), who I would like to refer to as my Bling Bling friend. She has immaculate nails, knows how to shop and has LOADS of bling! She is gorgeous(and the bling really does suit her!)

Recently, my horsey friend has been attending daily to one of her horses, Wattie, who is currently waiting to foal. Wattie hasn't had much luck in the past. She has lost all her foals pre-term and one not long after birth.

One particular day, Wattie required her usual drug regime to help her with the pregnancy (PIO shots - progesterone in oil - just like us humans). Bling Bling friend was visiting. Horsey friend was telling Bling Bling friend about how much it is costing her in drugs everyday. Bling Bling friend was amazed and asked WHY Wattie needed all of this stuff. Horsey friend was about to attempt a lengthy, horse-vet style explanation, but instead replied, "Well...(pause), Wattie's like Tiffany."

"Oh," Replied Bling Bling friend. No further explanation was required.

Yes, you see, Wattie is my fertility sister. We are both reproductively challenged. She's a horse. I'm a human. But in the end, it's six of one, half a dozen of the other! We both need a little bit of help: but if Wattie can do it - then so can I!

Oh Look! You Have Your Foot Stuck In Your Mouth...

This post is dedicated to all those "well-meaning", but highly insensitive people out there who always seem to say the WRONG thing when I tell them I can't have a baby. You know who you are... You're the ones that say anything, because you feel like you should say something and in the end you say the wrong thing. I know it's not your fault. But I'm here to help educate you with this little online crash course: "Top Ten Things NOT to Say to an Infertile".

I always receive these comments in such a way that it makes the giver feel that they have consoled me in some way. This is usually done with a gentle smile, a nod of the head and an "I know, I know" comment. What I am really thinking has been included in these educative notes to help you understand things from my viewpoint.

1. Can you just adopt?

I guess, but what makes you think I am so ready to give up on having my own child so quickly? I have put this comment as number one because it always amazes me that people, in general, believe it is so easy to "just" adopt. A few statistics to help you out on this one (don't forget to take notes!)

In Queensland, a couple must be married for two years before they can apply to be assessed for adoption. So that means my husband and I would still have to wait another 4 months before we could even register.

In 2006-07 there were eight infants placed under the General Children’s Adoption
Program and six infants placed under the Special Needs Children’s Adoption Program. I'm sure you can add up - that's only 14. In that same year, there were over 300 expressions of interest from couples to adopt. Again, I'm sure you can add up. That does not equal one child for each couple that wants one. I have been told that the waiting period for adoption of an infant in Queensland can be up to ten years.

The conversation inevitably turns to overseas adoption if I explain these statistics to anyone who is bothered to listen. Adopting from overseas is just as difficult and lengthy a process as it is in Australia - unless you are mega rich or Angelina Jolie. Which I am not. I am not even close.

2. Maybe You Should Go on a Holiday?

Why??? Do my ovaries need a holiday to start working properly? And where would they like to go do you think? Somewhere where they sell estrogen and FSH shots at the bar during happy hour perhaps?

3. I knew this couple who were on IVF and..... blah, blah, blah, blah.

Uh huh....Listen carefully: "I DON"T CARE!" Telling me some story about a couple I don't know, who did IVF twice and then naturally fell pregnant is not helping me. There is nothing worse than hearing the pregnancy news of others. It makes me feel even more defeated. It is a reminder of what I am unable to achieve. Hearing about other couples achieving success with IVF is even more depressing because I can't even have a baby with help from a highly qualified medical team! (But others can)

4. It will happen when the time is right.

Ok. So exactly when is the right time? Clearly, the time hasn't been right for a very long time. I painted my nursery, I bought the baby clothes, I'm on the right diet, I've read all the right books.... what more do I have to do for it to be the "right" time. Come on! This is just a hippy, Earth-muffin, tree-hugging cliche. Please don't say it. It makes me cringe.


5. If you can't have children then you're just going to have to accept that this is the way things were meant to be.

This comment always comes from someone who has children. I gave up being nice about this comment as for some reason it always seems to be delivered in such a pious tone. My stock standard reply now is, "If ______(insert name of child) died in a car accident, would you accept it and tell yourself that was the way things were meant to be?"

6. You just need to relax and stop thinking about it and it will happen.

This is one of those 'easier said than done' comments. How do I stop thinking about it when I have to inject myself with up to three needles a day for weeks on end? How do I stop thinking about it when I have to have blood tests every morning to monitor my hormone levels and HOW do I relax and not think about it when I have to have an internal ultrasound up to three times a week to check my follicle growth and endometrium? If any one has any tips, I'll gladly take them on board.

The other thing I find so insulting about this statement is how ludicrous is sounds. If someone told you they had cancer or diabetes would you tell them to relax and stop thinking about it? I don't think so. Relaxing and not thinking about it is not going to stop my body from going into early menopause. I'm all for the power of positive thinking/doing but it has its limits!

7. Oh god! I just have to look at my husband and I fall pregnant.

Congratulations. Here's your Mickey Mouse badge. Now F*ck off!

I have a sneaking suspicion these woman KNOW how hurtful this comment is and they just don't care because in some sick way, they get off on it. Either that, or they are suffering from affective flattening.


8. Oh I know! My husband and I had so much trouble the first time. It took us 10 months to have little _______ (insert natural conception's name).

If you conceived naturally, you DID NOT have trouble falling pregnant. Trust me.


9. At least you get to have lots of fun trying!

I assume people are referring to BMS (baby making sex) when they come out with this statement. Let me assure you that having timed intercourse every month for over two years, is not FUN.

I also feel like these people need some help understanding what IVF actually is. Like I said though, I'm here to help you.

In Vitro: meaning in an artificial environment outside the living organism (Read: we don't get to make babies like other people do). We make babies with speculums, test tubes, needle aspirations, general anaesthetics and lots and lots of drugs.

10. Have you tried accupuncture/meditation/"the baby diet"/talking to a medium/blah, blah.

What do you think Einstein? Of course I bloody have! I would eat the eyeballs of a monkey if I thought it would get me pregnant. Duh. If it comes up on a google search - I know about it and I've tried it, but thanks anyway.

No one understands what it is like to be infertile unless they have been dragged kicking and screaming down the dirty and lonely road of IVF. When my sister was first diagnosed with premature ovarian failure and commenced her IVF treatment I felt very sad for her. I was worried for her and wanted to do anything I could to help her.

But I also wondered why she kept putting herself through so much grief and pain in the pursuit of having her own baby. I thought if she wanted a baby so badly that she would just adopt or use donor eggs/embryos. Three years later, I'm walking in her shoes and it is only now that I am gaining a full respect and understanding of her driving forces and will to go on. We lost our mother when we were in our early twenties. Giving up on having her biological grandchild and re-establishing a mother/child bond with a baby that is genetically ours has just not been an option for us. Not yet. Not until we exhaust every other possible avenue of having our own child.

My sister hasn't just had an "IVF journey". It has been a battle of epic proportions. When I am at my lowest of lows I phone her and she never says the wrong thing to me. She is my hero.

Aunt Flo Is A Bitch

Stage 1

When I was 11 years old, I came home one afternoon to find a book sitting on my bed entitled, "Have You Got It Yet?". This wasn't the first book that had been left on my bed as a gift. I still have The Wind in The Willows and a few others that my Mum randomly bought for me as gifts and left on my bed as a surprise. I was shocked and appalled though, to discover the content of this particular text. Yep, that's right, "it" was a visit from Aunt Flo. I tore into my mother's room yelling at her for buying me this book. She took it all in her stride and said she thought I might want some information about "it" and I could talk to her or ask her questions any time I needed to. I declined the offer.
Instead of being appreciative of a mother who was so open I got even more angry with her and told her I didn't want to see the book again. Poor me. I was in denial. A little Emu with my head buried in the sand.
Stage 2
The book wasn't mentioned again and I never went to my mother for information or answers to my questions. I did however, sneak into her room and secretly read the book from front to back on a regular basis. Life carried on.
When I was in my first year of high school, most conversations with my girlfriends centred around which teachers we hated, which boys we liked and whether or not we had 'got it' yet. By the time we were half way through the year most of us had had some quality time with Flo. Except for me. So I did what any sensible teenager does when placed in this situation...I lied. I told everyone that I had 'got it' and it was no big deal. My secret readings of Mum's book had paid off and I came across as an expert.

Stage 3
Picture the pages of a calendar ripping off on their own and blowing away in the wind, as it was many months before Flo decided to finally pay me a visit. And being the bold and fearless expert on all things menstrual....I felt terrified. I went to my mother in tears. She was brilliant. Calm, loving, sensitive and informative.
I didn't have some irrational fear that I was going to die or that I was cursed. I simply had an overwhelming realisation that I was saying goodbye to my childhood and entering another realm. I'm not sure I ever really got over that transition.
Stage 4

At eighteen I was diagnosed with endometriosis. Up until that point I had assumed that every other woman had a similarly harrowing and painful experience as I did each month when Flo popped by. Apparently not. Apparently I was a bit 'special needs' in this department. Imagine my joy when I discovered I could take the pill and skip those visits from Flo. I felt empowered. I controlled her now!
Stage 5
I entered my early twenties and I gave away the pill during some Earth-muffin, "my body is a temple and I don't want to interfere with it's natural flow" phase. Two laparoscopies to remove scar tissue and cysts ensued.
Stage 6
Mid twenties and I was enjoying life. As much as I hated her, if Flo was even one day late for her scheduled visit I was sent into a mild panic and didn't relax or sleep properly until she did arrive. I am amazed at the number of times I worried that I may have accidentally fallen pregnant, especially with what I now know about the human race and the very, very short window of opportunity we actually have to fall pregnant each month. And even then, so many things need to work and go right in that short time frame. In fact, with what I know about human fertility, I am constantly amazed that we have managed to so successfully overpopulate the world.

Stage 7
I pushed along into my late twenties, fell in love, got married and my biological clock started ticking. Everytime I held someone's baby I would get a warm rush and an inexplicable yearning or aching inside. My husband and I stopped using any form of contraception and each time Flo visited it was a reminder of my ability to create and nurture life. Flo reminded me every month that I would be responsible for another human being. My body would give nourishment to a baby. My body would deliver this child and continue to provide nourishment. Amazing. Instead of mild panic when Flo didn't arrive on time, it was mild excitement. I willed her to stay away. Seems she didn't know when she wasn't welcome because she kept showing up.
Stage 8
I'm thirty years old now. In the last 12 months I have been diagnosed with diminished ovarian reserve and have been told I am peri-menopausal. (Perhaps those warm rushes I had were actually the beginning of hot flushes) In the last 12 months, my husband and I have gone through three failed IVF/ICSI cycles and another cycle that was cancelled before egg pick up. Now when Aunt Flo arrives it is like being punched in the guts. She is a monthly reminder of what my body is supposed to be able to do, but doesn't. She reminds me every month that other women can do this - but I can't.
I still will her to stay away each month. I have become very good at convincing myself that I have somehow miraculously fallen pregnant naturally. I have even experienced nausea, heightened sense of smell and implantation cramps. I like to call this experience "symptoms of the faux pregnancy".
Aunt Flo and I have been acquainted for many years now and our relationship, like most, has had many ups and downs (mostly downs unfortunately). But when Flo arrived two weeks after having two embryos transferred it was one of the worst nights of my life. Not only had my embryos decided not to stick around but Flo gave me an extra hard time. She threw everything she had at me that night. Vomiting and cramps so bad I was sweating. My all time low was looking down and wondering at what point did I flush my "babies" down the toilet?
There's certainly a variety of terms used to refer to a woman’s monthly menstruation. Some of them, such as the monthlies and that time of the month, make sense. Others are downright bizarre like “one’s friend”. What exactly is so friendly about it? “The Curse” is by far my favourite as its sounds so appropriately evil but the one that really gets me is good ol’ “Aunt Flo”.

When I think of someone’s Aunt Flo, I picture a gentle, elderly lady sitting in a floral dress crocheting doilies and listening to Australia Talks on Radio National. In reality though, I tend to think that the Aunt Flo we're all talking about is some sort of hardcore, middle-aged, nose-stud wearing, man-hating, biker chick who listens to punk rock.
Either way, my Aunt Flo is a real bitch.

What Do You Really Want?

A number of weeks ago I went to visit a homeopath/naturopath/counsellor/witch doctor who had been highly recommended to me.
I drove out to Ipswich on a particularly cold afternoon to meet with this lady in her home. On the way there I was full of optimism, feeling fuzzy and carefree. I was sure this lady held the secret key to solving all my infertility problems. (Picture Tom Cruise driving along singing "Cause I'm Freeeeeeeee! Free Falling!")
Obviously, I look nothing like Tom Cruise (not that I would want to) and my life is nothing like a movie - as I soon realised. Seems all that free falling had me come crashing down to Earth with a great big f-ing thud in no time flat.
We sat down and started chatting and she seemed to know alot about the adrenal and pituatary glands. Things were looking promising. I was ready for her to tell me what whacky potions I was going to have to start brewing and taking and I was all for it. Bring it on!
Then she said she wanted to ask me a question. Following is a transcript of the rest of the conversation. I will refer to the counsellor as NJ (for nut job).
NJ: What do you really want Tiffany?
T: A family
NJ: Come on, what do you really want?
T: Ok, well I guess I shouldn't be greedy. I would be really happy with one healthy child.
NJ: You seem like a smart girl, tell me what it is you really, really want.
T: I really, really want a baby (said with alot of passion, a nod of the head and a convincing smile).
NJ: Do you see what I'm getting at? There are actually five questions here Tiffany.
T: ??
NJ: WHAT do you really want?
What DO you really want?
What do YOU really want?
What do you REALLY want?
What do you really WANT?
T: Ah....I really want a baby. Really. I do.
NJ: (almost shouting now) Give me more than that! Dig deep! Expand on that. What do you really want? Come on!
At this point I scanned the room with my eyes to double check that I hadn't missed some sign that informed me that this woman was either hearing impaired or intellectually disabled.
NJ: Tiffany. What. Do. You. Really. Want?
T: Um, World Peace???
She could see that this little exercise wasn't working out. she asked how much time I had available and I said I was free all afternoon. We kept talking. She drew me pictures, showed me things written in books and pointed at posters that didn't make sense to me. She asked me little "pop quiz" questions to make sure I was listening and tsk, tsked the fact that my RE hadn't done more tests. I mostly gave her stunned rabbit-in-the-headlights looks.
FINALLY, she said that she was going to show me what I could do to get rid of excess adrenalin because stress was really bad for fertility. (Whoot! Here comes the crazy potion stuff! Eye of a monkey, some dragon's blood perhaps?)
Alas, it was not to be. She pulled out some junk mail catalogues from a box on the floor and told me to rip them up. Yes. I am 110% serious. A demonstration of what I should do ensued. She had loads of fun ripping them up and chanting "I'm angry that I can't have a baby. And I'm angry that my mum died. I'm angry that I feel this way. I'm angry that my medication makes me feel sick." The catalogue she handed me was sitting limp and lifeless in my lap. This combined with the rabbit looks were obviously a clear indication that I was not responding to treatment as expected. She asked if I was comfortable with the paper ripping. "No. Not really," was my response.
I started to give her the wrap up. It felt like I had been there for hours and I wanted to get out. I politely said I wouldn't make another appointment until I had had some more blood tests done. That was fine. She handed me the bill as I walked out. $360.00. THREE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DOLLARS!? Turns out I had been there for hours. Three hours.
She closed the door after me and as I walked down her driveway I had an epiphany. I realised I was absolutely and unreservedly, totally comfortable with ripping up paper.
I ripped up the bill. And left it on her driveway. Man, that lady sure knows her stuff! Ripping up that bill made me feel soooooooooo good!

Tick Tock

No. I'm not talking about my biological clock ticking (because it's not really - more like the batteries in my clock are going flat and they're not the rechargeable type).

No, I'm talking about real time. Before I found out I was infertile time was, well, just time. Irrelevant. Just ask my friends and family. I had no concept of time. My sister used to refer to events or appointments in two terms. Normal time and "Tiffany time". I'm never on time for anything and I always misjudge how long things will take me. This seems to happen most often when pressing the snooze button. I somehow convince myself that I can keep sleeping and will be able to shower, eat breakfast, get ready for work and arrive there all in the space of 30 minutes. It all seems perfectly reasonable when lying in the comfort of my warm bed with a furry friend or two purring agreement in my ear.

However, I digress. (Distractable AND poor time management skills. Oh dear.)

Tomorrow is the 1st of September. Not only is it the first day of a new month, it's the first day of a new season. Spring. My favourite season. Tiffany prior to infertility would leave it at that and choof along merrily enjoying the sunshine and being late for everything.

Tiffany post infertility sees things in a different light altogether. Days, weeks, months go by but no day is just an arbitrary date in time anymore. Tomorrow is the 1st September. Tomorrow marks three years since my husband and I started trying to have a baby. Tomorrow is 4 weeks since we found out that our two embryos decided not to stick around. Tomorrow is 7 days since I ovulated (did I miraculously fall pregnant naturally this month?) Tomorrow is the first day of my new "top quality embryo making regime" (TQEMR?? - still working on an acronym that will roll off the tongue for that one). Tomorrow is 7 days till my period is due. Tomorrow is 3 months till I start my next IVF cycle. And each day that passes after that is another day closer to my already dimished ovarian reserve drying out completely.

Time doesn't hold the same meaning as it used to. It's so easy now to get out of bed at 5am in the middle of Winter when it's dark. I get to go see my doctor, and hopefully I'm one month, one week or one day closer to having my baby. I will be a mother one day. It's just taking a little more time than I had expected.