Sunday, July 31, 2005

Can I Ask A Favour?

End of another week. Time for some housekeeping. Well, what else is there to do at 3.15am?

I've noticed an extraordinary explosion of my traffic over the last week or so. God, you get mentioned once on Manuela's blog and the whole world thinks you're cool! Or maybe word has got out about my cooter...

Regardless of why everyone is now driving by, being the insanely curious person I am I want to know where you people are from.

You dont have to leave comments. You dont have to sign up for a free 30-day home trial. There are no contracts. You can leave at any time.

Please sign my GUESTMAP. Its just over there -------->

Saturday, July 30, 2005

Things I Have Noticed

  • It is physically impossible for my bladder to be holding the amount of fluid that I pee out every half an hour. Where is it coming from?
  • If I try to eat a regular size portion of food, I get the worst indigestion and feel like ralphing afterwards.
  • I have to graze rather than eat meals. This requires a lot of effort on my part since I'm pretty much a One-Meal-A-Day girl from way back.
  • Ginger tablets are wonderful. Stop nausea within half an hour of taking them.
  • When I sneeze lying down in bed, my tummy muscles are rather forceful in telling me they are unappreciative of my actions. Coughing also has the same effect. Do you think it could be because things are getting a little squishelled and moved around in there?
  • If I walk around like a regular person, I get dizzy really quickly. I have to stop frequently, and move slowly.
  • My...nether regions...are...increasingly...sensitive. Enough said.
  • My boobs are filling out at the top now. I was lying in bed last night and noticed boob pain not far from my collar bone. Help me!
  • I get confused, distracted and forgetful very easily.
  • I cannot stand traffic noise. Being in the city just drives me to distraction.
  • I havent had any food cravings, but I do have food aversions. I have no desire for anything sweet, especially chocolate. Cant handle the thought of junk food of any variety. I'm taking this to be a Good Thing. I also cant drink regular milk without wanting to ralph. Back to Soy or Oat milk for me.
One more thing:
  • 6weeks. Still pregnant.

Was It Something I Said?

Holy Shit! The comments for the last post were bloody theses!

Not only that, you guys made me cry! In a good way! I went in to see Monkey Boy to tell him there are some damn fine women in the world. (Thats you guys, btw).

For the record: no-one actually said I was whiney and ungrateful. It was just that I realised that what I was saying may be interpreted that way. I'm also a little quick to overreact to stuff and interpret things in the worst possible light. I do that. Its my thing. I've had almost 36 years of practice at assuming the worst, and assuming I've fucked up.

If I EVER have people actually tell me I'm a whiney and ungrateful wretch who should just shut the fuck up, I'll be sure to send them your way though.

Nice to know my back is covered!

Friday, July 29, 2005

I Am A Bad Bad Panda

It didnt occur to me that when I have been cataloguing my list of fears that this could be interpreted as anything other than just that: my list of things I am absolutely terrified of being told.

It didnt occur to me that this might be interpreted as me being a whiney and ungrateful wretch.

If I had thought past myself for a minute, of course, I would have realised this. I have thought as much to myself on occasion when reading some BB threads: "Quit your fucking bitching and be grateful you can even GET pregnant."

Its the ability for people to read, react and comment that make this forum so much more special than if I were writing in my journal at home. What I write there doesnt affect anyone else . What I write here does. Even though this is my journal, with my thoughts about my life, what I say has an impact on others. Its not just me and the screen. Its me and another person. Many many times over. If I were an author, writing a book and publishing the words I publish here, I would have a far different sort of responsibility to that which I have here. As an author I wouldnt know my audience, their struggles, their pain. Here, I do.

One comment that I received today brought that home to me, and it may just be the lawyer in me, but I have to respond to it.

I dont want anyone to think for one second that I am not absolutely over the moon with joy and excitement knowing that I actually managed to conceive. Its a bloody miracle, and I know this. I know this every.single.minute of There are moments of exquisite pleasure in knowing that I am making another little panda. At the same time, I am scared to death that this miracle is not going to stick around. I've been down that road before and I know the pain that lies at the end of it and I will do anything - anything - to avoid going there again. Until I see a heartbeat, I have nothing to convince me that things are any different this time, not really. We could have conceived with one of the 85million ugly misshapen sperm, and we wont know until I see that heartbeat.

I am so scared, because I want this so badly, and if it fails again I dont know that I have it in me to keep trying.

I'm not going to apologise for anything that I've written here (unless, of course, my mother ever happens to read it) because these are the things that I need to write. This is my therapy, and I cant express how much I look forward to the day when I can share this with my own child, and show them how much they were wanted and loved. To that end, I'm going to keep cataloguing my fears, my paranoid moments, my twinges, my hopes, joys, my disappointments and, if it should come, my heartbreak.

This is a journey towards motherhood. So far its taken so many deviations I dont really know where we are anymore. But I am so grateful to have some rather wonderful people sharing at least part of the journey with me, keeping me sane and keeping me honest. Most importantly, keeping me honest with myself.

The 4am Panic

I'm really really over this waking up in the middle of the night and not being able to get back to sleep thing. It's conditioning, isnt it? Preparing me already for the onslaught that will be no sleep for the next 21 years?

Thank goodness for the wonderful world of blogs. I'd still be staring at that bloody streetlight through my blinds otherwise.

I had a long consult with Dr Google yesterday after I had successfully convinced myself that The End Was Nigh. He assures me that said End is indeed a Long Way Off. My hcg doubling time, which has had me pacing back and forth a little concerned, is within tolerance. The levels are too high to suggest ectopic. Then there's molar pregnancy, but The Good Doctor seems to be suggesting that the levels would be much much higher than they are. That leaves me with nothing in particular to focus my angst on, so I am back to the familiar territory of Non-Specific Morbid Dread.

Calm blue ocean...calm blue ocean...

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Living in the Land of Make-Believe

I sat here at the 'puter last night trying to think of witty things to say, and came up with absolutely nothin. My brain has seemingly lost all the useful - and even trivial - bits of knowledge it previoulsy had. I'm wondering if this is a permanent change? Have I lost the ability to engage in adult conversation already? Did I even have that ability before? Am I waffling?

Told the Olds yesterday. Got the reaction I expected. Dad would have forgotten 2 minutes after I told him, and mum just had to say "I told you so", followed not long after (when I was commenting on my nausea) "Well you wanted to get pregnant!"

What I wanted to say was: "Yes, thats right. You have no idea how much I wanted this. I am not complaining about the nausea, I am merely commenting upon the fact that its really tiring to feel queasy constantly. If only I could throw my guts up and then feel better , that'd be rather nice. I am not for one minute wishing away this sickness. I am so grateful to be experiencing it. It means that for now I am still pregnant."

I said nothing, of course.

Cant be rude when she's just agreed to let us have the money she was giving us for the IVF anyway so we can actually finish our bathroom, and get the current study re-floored so we have somewhere to put her grandchild.

Assuming such a thing actually appears, of course. We've started looking through the baby names books again, and part of me thinks this is a good idea and the other feels like its all just pretend. I am continually checking to see if I'm bleeding yet. When my shoulder hurts (from poor mouse-arm positioning) I immediatley think its shoulder tip pain. When I get a crampy pain I think I'm miscarrying. When I get a stabbing ovulation type pain over my right ovary I think I have an ectopic pregnancy. When I think about how quickly the HCG level increased, I think I have a molar pregnancy. Every morning, I wake up, check I'm not covered in blood, and say to the Monkey "Guess what? Still pregnant!"

In order to alleviate further increases to my anxiety levels, I am going to request a 6week scan when we see our GP next Tuesday. And possibly another HCG. There is no way on this earth that I am going to stay sane if I have to wait another two weeks before they check anything.

For now, though, we get to keep pretending like we're going to have a baby in 8 months. We're going on a hospital tour tomorrow morning, to see if I'm willing to let this mob anywhere near my body when another human is trying to make its way out. I want a home birth but apparently thats not such a good idea when you live 45km from the nearest hospital. With my track record, its not like I can just assume that nothing will go wrong either.

There you have it: oscillating between happy and terrified. No wonder my brain not work so good.

Whaddaya think I am, some sort of Floosie?

Monkey Boy warned me no-one would believe they're not mine. In a vain attempt to prove a point, here is the page I stole the photo from.

Again...NOT mine!

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Mwahahahahaha! My work here is done!

I received the following message from someone I know the other day. I am so proud.

Panda - just wanted to say that I get this error message when i try and read your blog at work ...

The requested document,, will not be shown.

Reason: DDR score = 322. This page will not be displayed because it contains prohibited words or it has exceeded its tolerance of questionable words.

So to continue with the theme of my intolerable questionableness (and to shut Manuela up about my tits):

Obviously, these are not MY tits, but they are a fairly accurate representation of...ummm...developments over the last week. Holy hell!

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

If I Turn Into My Mother, Please Kill Me

Today is the first day back at uni this semester for Monkey Boy. Its a full day and he wont get home until 6pm. Its also the first day that we have been apart since we found out about being Knocked Up.

So here I am, the pregnant and currently barefoot wife, with nothing to do all day but wait patiently for her husband to get home at dinner time.

I feel like Samantha Stevens, without the cool powers and incredibly clean house. I bet she never had dessicated pumpkins in her cupboard.

Not Drowning, Waving

I'm not sure where this post will go, but I've just realised something.

I dont know how to write as a freaking out and scared pregnant woman. I only know how to write as a bitter and twisted infertile woman. I certainly dont have the first clue as to how to combine the two. Because, really, I'm still the bitter and twisted infertile. I just happen to have another human being inside me at the moment and, believe me, I am painfully conscious of the fact that it is for the moment.

Before we got the second HCG results, I couldnt let myself think about this as actually happening. I mean, obviously, I was pregnant, but would it last? I didnt - couldnt - believe the numbers would come back in our favour. I had to protect myself from that crushing and devastating blow. Now? Well, there's some hope, see? Just a little.

A line from the great Australian movie Strictly Ballroom came to me this morning: "A life lived in fear is a life half lived." I could continue to keep that protective disbelief, that emotional distance, from this pregnancy, this life inside me. But what would that achieve? Would it really protect me from the pain that may be to come should history repeat? I want to believe that it would, but I know it wouldnt. I know that I would grieve just as much as if I had embraced this experience.

I dont want my life to be half lived. I can live out the next 8 months trying to stay detatched from my own child, or I can embrace the life within me.

I choose to rejoice in this miracle that has occured, and find happiness within the moment. I dont know what the future will bring, but I do know that right now I have a life inside me that needs me completely.

So I will be completely here.

Monday, July 25, 2005

My Powers of Deduction are Staggering

When I woke up this morning, I had this feeling. I couldnt really be sure what it was. It was a strange sensation that I'd never really experienced before, except for when I met Monkey Boy.

It was the feeling that everything was going to be all right.

Vampira stabbed me at 8.45am. We went to the T-Bar for breakfast. We walked around the markets, in a vain attempt at distracting ourselves until our doctors appointment. Then I started feeling a little worse for wear. Shaky, low blood-sugar kinda feeling. Dizzy. Felt like I was going to faint. I decided that if I was going to faint the best place to do so was at the doctors, so we went there.

Felt like barfing my guts up by the time we got to see our wonderful GP. Results werent in yet, so she rang through for them. I guess a QUADRUPLING of my HCG might be the cause of why I felt so shit. I was expecting the number to be around 500. Not bloody 955.

Being the panic merchant that I am, I have now convinced myself we are having twins. Feel free to talk me out of this delusion.

We were told to go away, visit a couple of the hospitals and make our decision this week, and see her again next week for a referral for my first ante-natal visit.

Ante-natal visit. That's something that pregnant women do. That's something that I will be doing, ergo: I must actually be pregnant. Holy fucking cow!!!!!!

So we have officially told people now. Not family yet, that will come in the next week. It just doesnt seem real, and I am completely freaked out.

We have got past the point where we failed last time. This is uncharted territory, and I am afraid that beyond here there be monsters.

How D'You Like Them Apples?


More later...

P.S. I think I'm pregnant.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Anyone? Anyone?

Look, I know its Sunday and as such I should be putting a new Poll up for the coming week, but my brain has really gone into shutdown mode. I cant think of a single interesting thing to ask you people.

So, I'm looking for suggestions.*

*"Have a frontal lobotomy", while probably a good idea, is not the kind of suggestion we're looking for here.

Me and My Big Mouth

Well, I went and did it, didnt I?

I accidentally used the p-word.

We went to a party last night, and someone I hadnt seen for about 9 years asked me if we had kids.

It just popped out. P-word. There you go. Bold as brass. "We've just found out I'm pregnant."

We've done nothing of the sort! We've found out I have a sudden propensity for making pink lines appear and my breasts have suddenly started to develop at long last. What a ludicrous claim to be making.


Saturday, July 23, 2005

Crimes Against Vegetables

Really, folks. This has been sitting in my cupboard for the last year. It was a lovely pumpkin. I made it all by myself. It could have been so tasty in Pumpkin Gnocci with Sage and Garlic Butter. It could have added that final touch to Fantastic Roast Pork. But no. I had to let it sit there, dessicating. I had a responsibility towards this pumpkin, and I failed.

I can't be allowed to have kids.

Pee On Stick #2

In the interests of keeping my panic attacks under control, I peed on another stick this morning. I figured that if the hcg doubled in the last 48 hours, that pink line would appear quicker than it did the other day.

On Thursday it took 3 minutes for a faint hint of "maybe thats a line, no you're making this up, oh shit, get fucked". Today...1 MINUTE!!!!!!

Rekshun that's doubling?

Made the cardinal mistake of working out the due date. I dont know why. Its not like I'm actually... No, lets not go there. Well, a couple of people online asked. So I looked up the calculator thingy.

Not going to mention it here. Not yet.

Made another cardinal mistake. We went out for a lovely long drive in the countryside yesterday, and just happened (as we are wont to do) to find an Op Shop. I found an absolutely faaaabulous black fake fur jacket for $7 but they wouldnt let me put it through on plastic unless we spent more than $10. I found this cute little baby jumpsuit thingy with little bunny heads attached to the front. And I bought it.

What was I thinking?????

Friday, July 22, 2005

How I Got Knocked Up

Following the theme of my Top Ten lists, here's my list of things that helped me get Up The Duff.

1. Buying bulk pack of Tampax.
2. Being given a Fertility Cooter.
3. Being told we couldnt get Up The Duff without IVF.
4. Losing all hope in ever getting Up The Duff, even with IVF.
5. Seriously considering adoption.
6. More stress than I've had in a long time (and thats A LOT).
7. Using sperm-killing Baby Oil.
8. Poor nutrition.
9. Alcohol.
10. Sex...apparently.


Corrr! You should check out my knockers!!! Settle down, I'm not actually going to post a picture for y'all, unlike Molly.

What the hell is going on???? How can they possibly get so big so quickly???? Why couldnt they have done this when I was 15?????

Its cruel, that's what it is. All it does is kinda, sorta, maybe gives me a teensy weensy little bit of hope that the HCG levels are actually going up.

But really, we all know my period is going to turn up any day and this is just an elaborate hoax and my blood was mixed up in the lab and I got the only false positive pee test known to man.

I'd also like to figure out what I ate that has made me feel queasy on and off all day.

Nothing like a healthy dose of paranoia

So, its 5:30am and the whole sleeping thing isnt going so well.

Twice I've woken up during the night. First, I had quite a bad twinge over my left ovary.* Panic. Check to see if bleeding. Go back to sleep. Wake up again, generally paranoid. Check to see if bleeding. Decide sleep is a pointless endeavour.

Wake up Monkey Boy. Decide that lying in bed in the dark also pointless. Get up and check blog and email.

Realise that other people now know I' know... Noticed there was some wanton bandying about of the p-word.

There will be none of that language around here thanks! Because, I'm not, you know... p-word. I just have two lines. Two lines and a 130.5. Two lines and a number. Not p-word.

* Unfortunately, I cant google "twinge near ovary pregnant" because I'd just get myself.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

So, you want to know about the pee thing?

Look, I know I've posted heaps of photos recently, and at the risk of turning this into a photoblog, please allow me to post just one more.









Colour me seven shades of purple, but that looked rather like a line to me. At 3 minutes in the pee cup something vague started appearing on the stick, so I yelled "GET FUCKED" at the stick and stomped out of the bathroom. I stood outside the door for another 2 minutes, watching the clock and repeating over and over, "Its not a line, dont be bloody stupid, it cant be a line, of course its not a line, fuck off its not a line."

I went back into the bedroom and said to Monkey Boy, "Look, I know we've had this conversation before, but could you have a look at this?" He thought it was a line. I asked the kitties. They also thought it was a line.

Emergency appointment with GP at 10am. (We had 10 minutes to get dressed and get out the house). Much laughter from her. Pee on another stick. Get jabbed in the arm. Bleed everywhwere because stupid vampira punctured right through the vein. Distract ourselves with pretties at the Zoo.

Go back to GP at 2:00.

Beta HCG at 19DPO is 130.5.




Last time, at 19DPO it was only 71. This is much better, right? Its a good sign, right?




Another Beta on Monday morning to check doubling etc.



How is this even possible?

Okay, I know "how it happened", but HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?????

This wasnt supposed to happen. We were told categorically this couldnt happen. We had sex ONCE this month. ONCE. 13% normal morphology.

I wont believe it until we get the 2nd Beta.


Look At All The Pretties

So, it was a lovely day for another trip to the Zoo today. Look at all the pretties we saw!

This one is an Eclectus Parrot. He lives in the same aviary as Spiny Norman.

Wouldnt you be happy to live here if you were a birdy?

These Macaws are let out every day for a fly around the Zoo.

It seems it was a lovely day to be a
Pygmy Hippo having a snooze too.

Yup. Nice day.

I Told You!

Genuine Kangaroo Skin Purse.

Genuine Kangaroo Scrotum Coin Purse.

Wednesday, July 20, 2005


Just to bring things back to topic for a moment, it's the end of CD31, I'm about 17 days past ovulation. Big, sore boobs. No period.

I also have a bulk pack of Tampax AND a Fertility Cooter in the house.

I'm just sayin', is all...

My desire to Pee On A Stick has re-appeared. First thing. I will report, of course, either way.

Yeh, right.


Spiny Norman

In an effort to feel like normal people with normal lives, Monkey Boy and I went to the Zoo yesterday. We're members, so we get in free every time. We go there lots.

This visit, we went and checked out the huge walk-through aviary. Its gorgeous - like a jungle, with Satin Bower Birds, Eclectus Parrots, Finches, Wonga Pigeons, Ibis, Spoonbills, Lorikeets, etc. The newest and most unexpected addition to this aviary greeted us immediately we entered.

It was an echidna. Free-ranging. I'd never seen one in the wild until a couple of weeks ago when we nearly ran over one as it was crossing the road near the forest. This little guy in the aviary wanted to be FRIENDS! Serious.friends. I knelt down to get a photo and it came up to me and tried to dig its way into my coat, then bury itself in my ample butt. I think we're married now.

If you make your way over to Castpost, you can have a look at some video of the little guy. If you have trouble getting it to work, please let me know.

My Cooter

Desperate Googlers are about to be sadly disappointed!

The lovely K-K recently came home from a jaunt across the globe. I asked her to find a fertility doll for me in South America. This is what she brought back...

Yes, people, I have a Fertility Cooter.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

The one about my crazed hormones, or Why I Like Prozac

A few people know this. Most dont. I dont think anyone apart from Adam and my wonderful GP understand it.

I'm going to write about hormones. Specifically, my hormones, why they dont like me and I dont like them.

I went on the Pill when I was a tender young spud of 19. I tied a few different types out, and after being unbearable bitchy on the biphasic and triphasic ones, I found a monophasic pill with a high dose of progesterone that suited me just right. I stayed on this for about ten years, I guess. I stopped bleeding as the progesterone dose was so high, but big deal, right? So I just kept taking the active pills constantly.

Then we decided to have a bash at this babymaking caper. I came off the Pill. I figured it would take ages before the Crimson Bitch would return but it only took 5 weeks. Groovy. Yeh, until the first proper cycle got underway. I'm a bit thick really. It took me 6 months to figure out what the hell was going on. But here it is.

Around 5-7 days after ovulation, I went absolutely psycho. I screamed, I threw things, I threw things AT THE MONKEY. I wanted a divorce. I said terrible things. Unforgivable, horrid, vile things. I would start an all-out-war over there not being any cordial in the house, one that would last for 3 days. Cordial, people! I cried like I had never cried before: those gut-wrenching cries that make you feel like you're going to cry out your internal organs. I screamed like I had never screamed before, imagining that causing myself physical pain would be preferable to the emotional pain that I was feeling. Then, about 5 days later, calm would descend again on the Panda, and everything would be okay.

Except, of course, everything wasnt okay. Monkey Boy was distraught at the things I had said and done, and was scared to do anything that might set me off again. I know he still carries the scars. I know he's scared of it happening again.

Things came to a head after the miscarriage. With both of us suffering depression, our ability to cope with my psychotic moments was ZERO. Thank jeebus, I had found a leaflet at our local doctor's office about Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder. I read it, and saw myself described on the page. I showed Monkey. He agreed. Time to talk to the doctor.

So we had a diagnosis. It turned out that I'm not a horrible heartless evil wretch. My hormones are fucked. My brain chemistry is fucked. Oestrogen drops, Panda becomes a Psycho Bitch-From-Hell with an out if she's ever charged with murder! It wasnt until I had this diagnosis and an understanding of what my body was actually doing that I realised I have had this since I hit puberty. It was poorly controlled with some of the varieties of the Pill that I tried, and completely controlled with the one I finally settled on. So all of a sudden I had an explanation for what I had always thought of as a nervous breakdown. I wasn't nuts, as my father would have me believe. I wasnt possessed by the devil, as my mother would have me believe (I kid you not), and I wasnt a useless failure as my brother would have me believe. I was just a kid, with bad brain chemistry and really fucked hormones.

Interesting aside: this was how I knew I was pregnant - the weeks after ovulation I didnt go psycho.

Despite the fact that we were trying to get knocked-up, I went on Prozac, which is NOT, as most people think, an anti-depressant. Its an anti-anxiety drug. In low doses it is extremely effective in controlling PMDD. I didnt want to be on drugs, but nor did I want to feel like killing myself every 28 days, nor ruin my marriage. So I took the Prozac.

Best thing I ever did. Within two weeks I felt like I was functioning as a normal person. Not once have those psychotic episodes returned. Sure, I've got grumpy, sometimes I've even over-reacted to minor stuff. But I havent screamed, I havent threatened divorce, and I havent wanted to die. Unlike anti-depressants, I can still feel the highs and the lows of life, though there aren't so many highs around as I'd like, but ya get that with this whole "cant seem to get knocked-up thing".

Prozac: this girl's best friend.

I Am Pathetic

No, really, I am.

87% abnormal morphology, rejected for IUI, told IVF is the only way...and yet I still poke my boobs and ask Monkey Boy if they're bigger, get a little excited about the fact that they are, and are sore too, and get a little antsy about the fact that the Crimson Bitch is now late. Why? Why do I do this to myself????

I am not pregnant. I am not going to be pregnant without a serious amount of help. Why am I still analysing every.single.twinge????

Why am I disappointed the second it feels like the cramping is starting, then have hope creep back in when it stops?

I need new parameters within which to function, and I dont have them. I dont know what they are or how to find them. Alls I know is that if I keep functioning in the old TTC paradigm I will go insane. We're not TTC. We're waiting for the technology train to leave the station.

We are not trying to conceive. We are not trying to conceive.

Sing it with me kids.

You love me! You really, really love me!

Now there's a sight I never expected to see...

Look down there, at the bottom of the side bar. I just made it over the 1000 hits mark!

I'm so excited!

I'm so lame!

What d'yall want to read these neurotic outpourings for, anyhoo?

Monday, July 18, 2005

Bad Hair Day

One grumpy Panda with crap hair



Ahhh...that's better.

This is a Community Service Announcement

Thank you for your attention.

All In The Name Of Science

Statistics. You can tell so much from them. I'm going to build a demographic profile of my readers solely based on the results of my Weekly Poll.

This week I want to know about your musical tastes.

Its an interesting way to age people. I think we are absolutely products of the decade in which we were teenagers. Just look at the Baby their 50s and still not considering the consequences of their actions!

P.S. Dont forget to put yourself on the GUESTMAP!

Skippy a friend ever true....

Okay, okay, enough with the bagging of our wildlife before I send a Redback Spider over in the post! These we really DO have. Now, since there seems to be a whole conversation going on in the comments around Skippy, I thought I would share the following:

  • Skippy is a brand of peanut butter here too, which really pisses people off because they buy it thinking it must be Australian Made with a name like that, and then discover its made in China or somewhere. Dodgy.
  • Skippy was also the name of a very kitsch tv show in the 70's about a National Parks Ranger, his family, and their pet kangaroo called...Myrtle. No, really, it was called Skippy. His son, creatively called Sonny, was best friends with Skippy and would whistle on a gum leaf to call Skip to him. Skippy had a remarkable talent for finding little kids down wells and such. He was the Lassie of the marsupial world.
  • Skippy tastes delicious. The kangaroo, not the peanut butter. It has a slightly gamey flavour, and must be cooked medium rare at most. It melts in your mouth like this but if you cook it too much its like old boots. Best with a red wine sauce or somesuch. I cant believe they dont deem it fit for human consumption in Canadadia. Stupid hoosers, eh.
  • Despite claims by animal rights activists in other countries, we are not culling our kangaroo population to extinction, nor are they killed inhumanely. Indeed, compare the kangaroo industry to the beef industry and then talk to me about inhumanity towards animals. We have a massive population of roos, and in some areas they will completely destroy their own habitat by overgrazing. In others they pose a threat to graziers by eating all the stock feed. (Yes, I realise the irony of this situation.) In these areas they are culled by licensed roo shooters, quickly.
  • I used to own a coin purse in the shape of a Koala's head (complete with ears, eyes and a big nose) that was made from kangaroo fur. These days you can buy coin purses made from roo balls. I kid you not.
There will be a test later.

What I Did On My Weekend

Good grief, I disappear for two days and have a life that doesnt involve typing and y'all start freaking out!

Really, its nice to be missed. At last! At long last! I'm popular!

We had the glorious K & V girls come and stay with us for the weekend after a bit o girly drinking action on Friday night. It was the first time I'd a) been out on my own drinking with my buddies for about 3 years and b) been out at all to have fun in about 2 months and c) seen the incorrigible yet somewhat lovable F for 18 months.

One of the things that I really love about my relationship with these people is that it doesnt matter how long its been since we've seen each other, we pick up where we left off just as if it were a week or two. Its a bit special really, and I'm a very lucky girl.

One of the highlights of the weekend (for me, anyways) was watching the Live Aid 20th Anniversary DVD (thanks mum). I was in England at the time this happened, just about to turn 16, and stayed glued to the teevee set until 3am. I probably even licked the screen when Spandau Ballet came on. Watching it now is surreal. I simulatenously felt 16 and about 50. Not helped, of course, by having to explain to the LUDDITES who certain people were, and putting up with their ridicule over my fashion faux pas admissions. Kids these days.... Really, what was wrong with fishnet gloves and floral leggings???? (And yes, mum, if Madonna had jumped off a building of course I would have done that too!)

An all-round fabulous weekend, really. Thanks kids!

Friday, July 15, 2005

Infertility is the new black*

Its not just me, I know its not. The world really has gone infertility mad.

Every time I turn the teevee on there's either a plot line about an infertile couple who now "have to" adopt or about miscarriage or neonatal death. There are stories on the news about how infertile couples are being ripped off by the IVF clinics charging too much (they highlighted our clinic, btw), or about how much harder it is for mere mortals to adopt from overseas, unlike for Angelina (who obviously just turned up one day and said "I'll have THAT one. Put it on my Visa." (joke!)

Then there's the latest offering from NBC (those doyens of sensitivity and taste). Be careful with this - you may burst a pfuffer valve.

Now, I'm sure I do not have to waste wordage in telling you that of these entertainment-worthy items was factually wrong.

Without even realising it, we've just become the Next Big Topic. Well, good. If they want to make entertainment out of the heartache and pain that we suffer, then I'll give them something to talk about.

When I get mad, I get really really mad, (though less so now, thanks to our NBF, Prozac). Then I start writing letters. Really good letters.

I'm starting to get mad, people....

* Monkey Boy, personal communication, July 14 2005

Misty mornings

In lieu of anything interesting to say, I thought I would share the view that greeted me as I looked out the bedroom window this morning.

Its perdy, huh.

I can see I have to educate you people.

Firstly, a Drop Bear is a ferocious bear that lives in trees in the Australian bush and falls on unsuspecting passers-by, devouring their flesh. The Koala is the larval stage of the Drop Bear.

We also have Hoop Snakes. Very cunning critters, these. They tuck their tales in their mouths, form a hoop and roll downhill to catch you. If you ever see one, run UPHILL.

Then of course, there's Boing Spiders, which hide under leaves and jump up in your face and then eat you.

Secondly, to Jacqueline - Manuela and I show our affection for each other with abuse. So when I, say, call her a Ho, its really a love letter.

Thirdly, yes, I love that you've all hijacked my blog. 9 comments - that's the most on one post ever!

Finally, Manuela, kangaroo meat is SO CHEAP here. Can I post some over for you? It seems such a shame to feed it just to your Dog, it's so yummy. Mmmmm...Skippy....

Here endeth the lesson.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005


This is directed at that one person who answered the Poll and claimed that sex is always fun:

You're a guy, right?

Meow meow meow Missy Missy meow meow!

3 people will get the title joke. I dont care. Its funny to me.

Yes, its that time of the month where I'm pissed off with everything and yell at the TV even more than usual. My lack of cheeriness is not helped by the fact that it has been below 10 degrees (C) for the last week and will continue to be so for the forseeable forever. Its raining so I cant even go outside. Poopy poopersons.

Sidebar: You Northern Hemisphere poopheads can kindly refrain from telling me how much crapper and colder your winters are. I know this. That is why I choose to stay here. Where it is SUPPOSED to be WARM.

This is the view out of my study window.

Wetness. Barrenness. How fitting.

Its my birthday in 22 days (I had to check the ticker) and alls I'll be doing is...hmmm...watching Australian Idol probably. No birthday presents for me since Barren Bitches Clinic will be the recipients of every single cent we have for the rest of my "reproductive" years. No dinner out. Meh. Not that I'm a huge birthday person anyway, but, y'know, it would be nice to do something, um, nice.

My brother arrives in town that day, which my mother announced to me saying "I knew you'd be pleased." Unfortunately, she did not say it with sarcasm dripping from every pore, as was necessary for this to be an accurate statement of my emotional condition at hearing this news.

Said brother is a lot older than me. Said brother is a Born Again Christian. And a cop. As would be apparent from previous posts, I'm not. (A BAC, not cop. Well, I'm not a cop either. I've spent a lot of time trying to avoid them.) Said brother makes it very clear (whether intentionally or not, I've yet to work out) that he thinks I have always been and will always be a failure. Comments like "tarred with the same brush" when talking about me and his 22 year old (also deemed failure) daughter have not helped cement our relationship. Monkey Boy wants to smuck him with The Fish. I want to let him.

Given all the crap that has happened with Daddy-O recently, I'm going to have to go down and see this brother of mine. You know, have the conversation about how to keep the Olds in line, etc. In this same week, The Monkey FINALLY gets to see someone about having an MRI done on his buggered shoulder, we have our first proper IVF appointment, Daddy-O has his first assessment with a Geriatician and Monkey starts 2nd semester at Uni.

Not a lot of time for happy birthdays.

Oh yeh, and last birthday...I conceived.

Just a thought: If a Geriatician is an Old Dudes doctor, would a Geriatrician be a doctor who helps old people die?

Good grief I'm a whiney morose poophead today.

ooooh, look! A pretty thing:

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Gratuitous Image of the Hour

Yeh baby, I'll sit on the couch widchoo.

Other Ways In Which I Rock

Okay, in the style of a true narcissist, a list of why I am cool (mostly to keep reminding myself)...

1. I ALWAYS know which way is North.
2. I can usually guess the time to within 15 minutes.
3. I am 5 degrees separated from Kevin Bacon (see this post for my other famous connections)
4. I have just discovered a talent for writing in Haiku.
5. I gave up smoking 3 years ago and havent had a puff since.
6. I also gave up a lot of other things that I havent since touched in the last 3 years.
7. I can touch the tip of my nose with my tongue.
8. I went back to school when I was 21, starting with Year 10 science & math and finished high school 6 years later with an almost perfect score.
9. I ran 100m in 12pointsomething seconds when I was in Grade 7.
10. I'm quite a good photographer, actually.
11. I can sew. I just choose not to.
12. I can fix cars. I just choose not to.
13. I'm REALLY good at law. Dont piss me off. You wont win.
14. My first impression of people is always the correct one.
15. I'm usually right about what is wrong with my own body, so I don't know why doctors don't listen to me in the first place.
16. I independantly invented the internal combustion engine. I was very disappointed when I was told it had already been done.
17. I'm REALLY good at Philosophical arguments. See 13 above.
18. I have been adopted by 17 kitties in my life so far.
19. I'm accepting of people's foibles. To a point.
20. I'm a really good cook. I just dont do the baking thing.

Well, 20 things is a good start. I hope to be able to add to this list...*scratches head* day.

Monday, July 11, 2005

Where are they now?

These thoughts have been going around in my head for a long time. They sear through my body and make every cell scream. I cant articulate them verbally. I feel physically ill when I think about it. There is no way that I can make these words come out of my mouth.

Only now, almost twelve months after I conceived, can I write them.

I wrote the following as a comment on Thin Pink Line after reading Manuela's emotional story of her miscarriage. With her permission, I publish them here.


When a woman has a stillbirth or a late term miscarriage, or a neonatal
death, there is a body. A physical presence, a person that they can hold, and
love, and grieve over and have a funeral/memorial service for, and bury. They
know where their child is.

Where are our children? I cant bear to think about it. I hate to think
that to others they're merely "products of conception". Goddamn it, no they
aren't. I cant bear to think about you having to place your child in the
waste bin. I cant bear to think of mine being placed down the toilet
like a goldfish.

I wish that there were some ritual that we could perform after a miscarriage,
that acknowledges the grief, the love, the importance of that child in
our lives.

I wish we knew where our babies are.


Sunday, July 10, 2005

Who said penguins cant fly?

Lets face it, we dont spend enough time on the internet.

So in the interests of saving spouses, doctors, recalcitrant nurses, etc from physical harm, I encourage you to go and take it out on a penguin.

Click to get the penguin to jump and then another well-timed click will send that penguin flying.

Am I a sicko because I get great enjoyment from this? No, dont answer that.

Oh for crying out loud

My ovaries hurt. Like, they REALLY hurt. I reckon I've ovulated twice, considering the appearance of the EWCM on not one but two distinct occasions. Now I'm getting mid-pelvic cramping pain starting CD19 which is just like it was when the last Clomid cycle went a bit wobbly.

So of course, just when I'm trying to get my head around the concept of not being able to get up the duff without technology, my brain calculates that this crampy thing is happening about implantation time.

Somebody please stop me!

Okay, now a question:

Should I cancel the hysteroscopy I'm on the waiting list for? Is there any point in doing it? I was wondering about the endometrial biopsy and whether that would shed (ha!) any light on anything minorly important like the miscarriage. Barren Bitches Clinic says no point in doing it as it wont change our treatment, but I dont know....

The one without a snazzy title

Due to the overwhelming response (4 votes) to the last Poll, the Mini Poll will remain.

Dont complain to me about you're damned pop-ups though. Get Mozilla and quit your bitching.

This weeks question is sure to get a larger response. Off you go.

What? You're waiting for another enticement? God you lot are demanding.

Oh alright.

I have a thing about pirates, okay!

Saturday, July 09, 2005

Renovation Rescue

Seriously, I need to get a life. I spend all of my spare time (and at the moment, thats A LOT) on this damned computer, much to the chagrin of Monkey Boy. There are things I should be doing. Surely.

Late last year we started Renovations Round #2 on our charming cottage (or in another, more accurate sense, our termite-infested collapsing hovel). We made a start on the bathroom. Then we needed incessant trips to the specialist so there went our bathroom fund.

Okay, so it's better than it was:

But after 5 months, I'm really getting sick to death of this being the room I am supposed to wash away my cares in:

The only difference between today and this photo is that the paint has been partially scraped off the walls, and the bathtub drainpipe rusted away completely so the tub leaks all over the floor. We have to put the plug in when we shower and then let the water drain out v.e.r.y. s.l.o.w.l.y.

I hate my bathroom.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Porn star

Okay, I've figured it out. Pandas, on the whole, have difficulty breeding. They just dont seem to know what they're supposed to do. Pandas, in order to breed successfully, require panda porn. If only I'd realised this earlier!

I dont have any panda-specific porn (I sent it all to Tertia). All donations will be greatly appreciated.

In the meantime, I will wistfully look at panda babies.

The drugs dont work

Remember when you were a youngun, and you'd wake up one morning with an overwhelming desire to fake a stomach ache/fever/broken limb/anything to get out of going to school.

That's how I felt this morning. It was Dirt School day. Now, normally this would not be a problem. I like Dirt School. I get to dig. In dirt. Since this is what I like doing, this is a Good Thing. I quit Law School because this is what I really wanted to do. But this morning, I would have stuck the thermometer on the light bulb and put talc on my face just like the old days if I'd thought it would've helped me stay home.

In the end all I had to do was say to the Monkey "I cant face going today". Why wasnt it that easy at school?

And its not because its horrible or the big kids dont like me or...anything, really. Its just that the thought of having to go and act like a normal person, of having to put on a resonably happy face and not act like my world has taken a rather large tumble in the last 3 weeks, well it fills me with dread. I just cant do it.

I feel stupid and weak and like I'm letting myself and Monkey Boy down. I should be strong enough to go play in the goddamn dirt for 6 hours. Other women manage to deal with shit worse than i'm going through, and still go to work. Whats wrong with me that I cant make it out of bed and into the real world?

I dont think the Prozac is enough anymore.

Well I'll be googled

I'm impressed. I've had my first hit from a bizarre google search. It appears that if you google "twing near ovary pregnancy" you get me.

Is this a sign? An omen? I have a very very large twing near ovary right now.

Does Dr Google know something I dont?

Thursday, July 07, 2005

All out of ideas

I feel like I should have something profound to say today for some reason. But I dont.

(OOOH Monkey Boy will hate me for starting a sentence with "but")

We watched The Clinic's informative DVD on IVF. I knew it all anyway. I also know that they lie when they say it wont hurt. Monkey Boy got all freaked out and quiet. I just think that if that's what we have to do, then lets get on with it.

In lieu of anything else to say, something perdy to look at....

And then I thought you might like this one better...

After all the no-sex-please-we're-over-it comments I read at Ms Prufrock yesterday, I figured there was a need for something to get the blood pumping again.

Is anybody that I actually know out there?

I've been through all the comments I've received and it has come to my attention that only ONE of my friends (y'know, the ones I see in the flesh occasionally) has left a comment.

Why is this?

Is it because she is the only person who reads this nonsense? Is it because I've scared off everyone I actually know with my rants about insensitive comments and things not to say to me? Is it because I've offended them all and they hate me now? Is it because no-one cares?

Just wondering.

Or maybe, in the words of one (who knows exactly who he is) they cant be bothered and to be honest just dont need to know that much about their friends.

I'd like to know. But I probably wont get any comments on this either.


Very pleased to see a couple more pins on the Guestmap. Hello all you happy people!

Guestbook seems much happier now. All he needed was a little reassurance. Thanks, on his behalf.

Now, if you wouldnt mind scrolling down the page a little ways, you'll see a BRIGHT GREEN BOX. Perhaps the fact that I have to request you to go here and answer one tiny little question answers the question in itself. box. Answer question. I'll wait.

As a reward for your co-operation:

Please do not lick the screen.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Your call is important to us

See over there ---------->>

Where it says Guestbook?

That's a very lonely little guestbook. He just wants to say hello. Go on, pop over and visit. He wont bite.

I'm getting a little worried actually. He's been starting to say stuff about running away from home.

The one in which I rise through the ranks

Its late. I should be in bed, beside my glorious Monkey Boy. But there is no way this little Panda is going to sleep tonight.

Upshot of the Repromed visit:

1. Day 5 blood tests all came back fine. Normal. First time for everything. Day 5 scan - fine.
2. Monkey Boy's semen analysis - lots of swimmers, good technique, ugly as hell. Only 13% normal morphology.

With those rates, they wont even consider us for IUI.

So now, I join the ranks of the Cool Kids at the Back of the School Bus. Next stop, IVF.

My mother, O she of the ridiculous platitudes and "let nature take its course" doctrine agreed in an instant to float us the money to pay for it. As I said to M, complain all you like about how fucked up they are, but my parents are going to buy us a child. Well, in theory, anyways.

So, how do I feel? Well, I'm glad you asked.

Numb. Absolutely numb. Except for that feeling in the pit of my stomach, which I kinda recognise. I think its dread.

No, wait, I'm going to throw up.

I certainly did not expect to be told today that we had very little chance of achieving a pregnancy on our own. I dont know what I did expect to be told, but it wasnt that. I also didnt expect to be told that it wasnt all my fault. I think I expected something to show up on my test results and be given some more medication and blammo! Yes, blammo! Baby! Or at least to be told we need more tests.

So here we are. The beginning of the end of the road. The stats: in the 36-39 age group, which I join in 29 days, 37% pregnancy rate, 16% ongoing pregnancy rate. With a thawed embryo, 27% and 19% respectively.

So AT BEST, we have a 19% chance of getting a baby out of this.

Thats an 81% failure rate.

And as my brain is wont to do, I've automatically started thinking about adoption.

And I keep thinking, what about the pregnancy last year. How did we manage that? Was it a fluke? Was it an ugly sperm that fertilised an egg and then it went wrong, or was it a beautiful sperm that made it through somehow and I wasnt able to carry the pregnancy? Is it a combination of both of us, and even with IVF I'm still going to lose our babies?

It also crosses my mind that we will:

1. not be present when our children are conceived.
2. have many children held "on ice" and have to decide what to do with the extras
3. get to see our embryos before they are transferred.

Now, I get attached to day old ducklings, for chrissake. How the hell am I going to cope with seeing our babies and then losing them? Its too horrible to contemplate, but contemplate it I must.

I dont want to do this.

I want to be told - as I have expected to be all along - that I'm overreacting and making a big deal out of nothing and there's nothing wrong with either of us.

Could someone please wake me up from this and say those words.

I dont want to do this and lose our babies. Its one thing to keep trying and not achieve conception. Its another entirely to know that you have conceived (even if it was in a lab dish), that you are carrying a child, and then lose it.

I dont want to do this, but I want a child. I want a child that looks like Monkey Boy. I want to see his eyelashes and ridiculous curly hair on a baby that has my green eyes. I want to see if it will be as hyperactive as Monkey or as quiet as me (I hear the gasps - yes, I'm quiet!). Will it love the water or the soil?

Because this desire is so strong, so overwhelming, I will do this. I will do whatever it takes.

But I'm scared.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005


In the interests of maintaining an editorial balance, and not pissing off my husband too much by wanton displays of so-called "girl-porn", here's one for the boys who like girls and girls who like girls.

Personally, I think home-wrecking ho, but that's just me.

Official Tonking Fish

As alluded to earlier.

Fits nicely in the hand. Good weight. Will leave a nasty bruise.

Nice all-rounder.

6 degrees of separation

Since I have absolutely nothing to report on the reproductivity side of things, I thought I would share an email I sent out to my peeps a while ago. All in the name of narcissism, of course.

The other morning, when I had nothing better to do with my brain, I worked out exactly how many degrees of separation there are between me and Kevin Bacon.

It's 5, actually. Here's the connection tree:

My friend Whitby (1 degree) has schmoozed at the AFI awards with Rove McMannus (2), who's interviewed Nicole Kidman (3), who was married to that wacko Scientologist dude (4) who worked with Kevin Bacon (5) on A Few Good Men.

Which makes all of you 6 degrees from Kevin Bacon. I'm sure you're as thrilled as I am.

Now the really scary thing is that I'm convinced that I am actually at most 6 degrees separated from everyone on the planet.

I've met Corinne Grant (1) has also worked with Wil Anderson (2), who hosted the show with the Dalai Lama (3). Now that's cool!

Rove McMannus (2 degrees) has interviewed Andrew Denton (3) who has interviewed Lisa-Marie Presley (4), so I'm 5 degrees from Elvis Presley.

I've met Princess Di, who has met Bill Clinton (2) and he's met a whole hell of a lot of people (3 degrees), such as Monica Lewinsky, George W., (ewww), Gorbachev (rock!). But the best connection from Di (1) is she's danced with John Travolta!!!! (2)

Nicole Kidman has been interviewed by Oprah (4 degrees) connection which makes me 5 degrees from anyone who's ever been on her show, like Nelson Mandela, or Dr Phil, or everyone who's anyone really.

I've also met Molly Meldrum, so I'm 2 degrees from anyone who's ever been on Countdown, INCLUDING ABBA, which is my personal favourite! But that also means I'm 3 degrees (through Molly who interviewed Madonna) from Britney Spears (puke).

And then there's my mate Graeme, who worked with Bert Newton (2 degrees) on the Wizard of Oz. (unfortuantely, that means he also worked with Nicky Webster, but if I'm only 2 degrees from her, its close enugh to kill her). So I'm 3 degrees from anyone at the Logies Nights for the last 25 years! (For you international peeps, the Logies are like the Emmy Awards, but daggier.)

In-your-face, Ms Prufrock!

More Motherisms

Scenario: Doctors waiting room, with the old folks. Across the room is a cute baby on the floor. She looks at me and tentatively claps her hands. I join her in the exciting world of banging hands together. She's cute enough to eat and we engage in smiling and laughing at each other.

Mother: "Oooh, someone's getting clucky."

Ya think? No, actually, I'm just going through all this infertility treatment for something to do on my days off.

I think she needs bitch slapping with this....

***well, thanks for nothing Blogger. Stupiddumbgayblogger wont let me show you the lovely photo I have of our Official Tonking Fish.****

Well. Its a fish. Its been in my freezer for about 3 1/2 years. Now its the Official Tonking Fish we cant get rid of it. It'll be a family heirloom.

Monday, July 04, 2005

Diversionary tactics

For everyone who is waiting to ovulate, waiting to test, waiting for appointments, just to take your mind off things.

Its a community service.

(Honest, o darling husband of mine.)

For all you Seppos....

A Happy Fourth of July.

What is it again? National "cremate sausages and blow up fireworks day"?

Well anyways, have a good one.

Sunday, July 03, 2005

Gratuitous image of the week

Yes, I rather like him just the way he is.

Do you think they get it?

The sweet sweet irony, that is, of the largest global event ever staged, to bring attention and an end to world poverty, being broadcast ONLY on pay-tv in this country?

Somehow, I doubt it.

Saturday, July 02, 2005

A quick update

And just to bring things back on topic for a moment...

Despite my claims yesterday about not wanting any, I still got some. Damn that Monkey for being so spunky.

And I'm ovulating today. Not that this has meant anything in the past, but, well, gotta be in it to win it I guess.

Why I blog

I've been keeping a journal on and off since I hit puberty. I still have every journal I've ever kept. Those early teenage angst-filled volumes are safely squirelled away in my time capsule box, I'm sure for someone to have a right old laugh over when I'm dead and gone.

I made the mistake once of writing stuff that I didnt want ANYONE to read. My mother being the person that she is (and, at the time, the menopausal witch that she was) took it upon herself to read said journal entries. Learnt my lesson the hard way. Do not write stuff down that you do not want anyone to read. Ever. Even if you think that no-one will ever find it, or your partner would never read your journal, eventually they will.

That is what makes this blogging thing really weird. After the miscarraige I started keeping a regular journal. Still am. But the stuff that I was writing in that now gets published for anyone to read. And this leads me to a new dilemma. How much do I share with the world, and how much do I keep hidden? Do I censor myself in order to maintain a level of privacy, or to protect the guilty? Should I worry whether my friends will be offended by things I write? Should I worry that my doctor and my therapist know I have a blog? (Hi girls!)

The point of publishing my experience, thoughts, fears and fundamental failings as a human being is done both as personal therapy and as some sort of help to others. Not that I think that I am some shining light and that I above all others will be able to help anyone who is also going through this, but I think that it is the intimate personal stories that are the most interesting, and the most deserving of being told.

As I am forever yelling at the teevee, the personal is the political. The personal heartaches of thousands of couples going through infertility is an extremely important topic to shine the spotlight on. I want to draw attention not to me (although, you know, its nice to have some attention) but to the issue of infertility. I thought that there werent really any taboos left in our society anymore. Even paedophilia gets a nightly mention on the news. In the last 12 months, though, I have discovered how wrong I was. I've discovered that infertility is possibly the last taboo.

No-one wants to talk about it, no-one wants to acknowledge the pain that it causes, no-one wants to acknowledge that perhaps the feminist movement of the 1970's has been partially responsible for the heartache of the thousands of women now discovering that they cant have it all. Society wants to blame us and hold our infertility up as our own fault for selfishly choosing a career over children. No-one wants to accept that this is not a problem arising from selfishness anymore than cancer is a problem arising from selfishness.

I did not choose my infertility. I did not choose a career over children. I did not choose my endometriosis. I did not choose polycystic ovaries. I did not choose to have a miscarriage. I never wanted children until I met the man I instantly knew I was going to marry. It was my bad luck that I was already in my mid-thirties when he came along. None of us going through this choose the various medical problems we have.

Yet time and time again we are made to feel as though we are selfish, impatient, asking too much, and have brought this on ourselves. We were selfish for not having kids as soon as we left school and we are selfish now because we want them.

This is why I blog. I refuse to be silent. I refuse to let other people feel comfortable about infertility. I refuse to be labeled a selfish career woman (I never had a career and couldnt care less about having one). I refuse to have this intensely powerful desire to have a child be minimised. I refuse to have my grief at being unable to have said child trivialised.

This is my story. I will not censor it to make others comfortable. I will tell it like it is. I hope those of you who have not experienced infertility directly are uncomfortable.

I hope you are so uncomfortable that you change your position.

Live 8

Back in the day, 20 years ago now, I remember being on holiday in the UK with my mum when Live Aid happened. I spent all day/night watching the broadcast on teevee, jumping around my Aunt's loungeroom to such wonders of the music industry as Spandau Ballet (swoon) and the Boomtown Rats. It was absolutely awesome. It was history in the making and everyone new it.

Today, another history-making event will take place across the globe, this time to bring an end to global poverty.

This time, however, I dont get to experience watching these concerts unfold live on my teevee. The powers-that-be obviously think that we're such a bunch of ill-educated, selfish and racist hicks in this country now that we dont care about such things. Or perhaps our ultra-right-wing government doesnt want to have us exposed to too much left-wing anti-poverty propaganda.

NOT ONE network is showing Live 8 live. We get a 2 hour "package" tomorrow night of what Channel Nine thinks are the best bits. Doubt they will include A-Ha in that.


Friday, July 01, 2005

Oh yeah, and...

Pinch and a punch for the first day of the month no returns.

Me fail English? That's unpossible!

Like, I know that at some point, in order to get up the duff, it may help to have sex, but, really...

Could we not and just say we did.

Dont want to. Not interested. It wont work anyway. Have come to conclusion that this is not going to happen without intervention.

Still in my bathrobe at 12.20pm. About to watch the end of Dr Phil. Bunked off Dirt School for another mental health day. Don't want to do anything.

Don't even want to write in proper sentences.

Really shouldn't have kids if can't write in proper sentences.
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