Censorship, blood, guts and the effect on blogs in the modern age

It happened again.

Now the part where I have a new bleed every week.

I can constantly smell blood.. but it's not the normal period blood smell it's more metallic, like I've slashed my hand. I have of course, washed my hands a hundred times, but the smell persists. Is it really the scent of blood or is it all in my mind?

Out damn spot, indeed.

It's not like they're ordinary periods either. Normally, I have one or two agonising days with a volatile tide of blood then it's like my body forgets about it and we move on with a few sluggish bleeds before it tapers out. These last few weeks, I've had at least four-five days of full on bleed and extreme agony on each one.

My husband is sympathetic and does what he can. I don't think men can ever really grasp how bad periods can get. It seems like mood swings and chocolate sales are the common idea, but whenever people try to give men an idea about what it's like they inevitably bring it back to a comparison of kicking a man in the balls.

Maybe that is what it's like? I don't have balls, so I don't know. What I do know is that I get a bit more sensitive and depressed, I more often than not have no idea whether it's just cramps, or if I need to crap, fart or vomit - or if it's a bit of all three at the same time mixed in with cramps. I lose energy like a leaky can of V yet find it hard to sleep. I'm constantly hungry but don't want to eat. My heat packs are never far away. I feel as unsexy as dirty old men look. Nothing holds interest for me - my art, my comics, TV and games. Often - I will cancel a day out with friends, even if I really wanted to go - because I'm in too much pain to leave the house.




Side note: This post was from November, after a second IVF round began but failed within a few weeks of the positive result.
You may notice that I haven't posted since this. These words are from April 2019.

Well, I took a break and have been busy with other things. Things, despite my earlier depressed sounding post - are NOT that bad. This is why even though I'm not ready to talk about this event yet, I'm not going to censor myself. The above post is exactly how I felt at that time and it's important to have it out there, so people know it's okay to grieve. That periods suck, regardless. That some days are going to feel like the end of the world, but the world will still continue despite what's happening in your life. Now, that's as comforting as it is concerning, but you get the idea.

I am going to try to post more on the regular. I have been devoting more of my time to another blog but that's starting to get tiring for entirely different reasons. Anyway, till then!

The blog in which I stand under a raining cartoon cloud

Lately I've been getting a little blue again.

I thought I was okay and past it but I guess you can't reason with grief.

I don't think anything in particular set it off, even though the last week or two, well, life seems to be throwing babies at me. Babies I can't have right now.

Overhearing co-workers laugh about some dope getting knocked up. My friend telling me about her other friend announcing her pregnancy. Attending a baby shower for someone I don't even know well. Going out with my sister and her kid.. and the kid finds my shirt more interesting than me. People giving me huge donation bags of baby stuff for me to help them sort and telling me I can take things if I want. Like.. why? I could take all the bags and it wouldn't do me any good right now (although I did keep a pair of dog themed kid's shoes with floppy dogs ears on them because who could get rid of those??)

If these fit me I would friggin' wear them EVERYWHERE

Recently my husband went out to a sporting event with his close friend Jambo, who has also been through the IVF rigmarole but they did get a son out of it. He ended up talking about the miscarriage to him. They were previously unaware of it because we weren't ready to talk. Hubby didn't get a chance to tell me he'd done this as he got back late but the next night I got a similarly late text from Jambo's wife Messi. She said she'd heard about what happened and was there for me if I needed it.

I was initially angry - I didn't want to tell people for exactly this reason. The pity, the sorrow. The huge, aborted elephant in the room covered in blood, stinking of lost dreams and taking up space, like the onesies I'll never be able to put on that child.

So I didn't reply. I felt bad about it but I didn't know what to say. The rational part of me knows that Messi went through a similar thing and we could talk about it. Hell, she has talked to me about it but it was months after the fact and before I could fully comprehend how she must have felt. Even then - after the birth of her current child - she had tears in her eyes and was emotional about it.

Now, my emotional side knows that I would be the same but worse. I would be a mess and wouldn't even be able to choke out the words I want to say. I have always struggled to convey my personal life to others. I especially struggle if I need to say something of importance - I am for the most part, an emotionless stone person with the empathy level of a sociopath but I turn into the biggest sook ever when it's my turn to emote.

Did you get a grass cut? No, I got 'em all cut!

Continuing my little interest into the news and parental/child issues, today I'm going to talk about a news article I read recently about a young boy who got into trouble mowing lawns.

What's that? In trouble for mowing a lawn? I hear you cry. But Lucky, don't we want our kids to get off their screens and go outside and do something wholesome? I don't understand!!
Fear not, my friend. Let's explore this together.

Our story is set in the delicious sounding Maple Heights in Ohio, America. The plucky protagonist is Reggie Fields and his aptly named lawn mowing business Reggie Boyz Lawn Service. This is a business he started in the holiday to raise some of that much needed cash. I think we can all relate to that.

It's kind of refreshing to see a twelve year old kid doing this hard work instead of just vlogging or becoming a wannabe Instagram git. Wow, do I sound old and bitter or what?

Anyway, the story comes to a crux when young Reggie accidentally mows over the border.
Wait, that that makes it sound like he crossed into Mexico - what I mean is that he accidentally trimmed over a boundary and into a neighbour's territory. This neighbour called the police.

There are so many ways to look into this story. The first thing I personally thought of was the ridiculous track record America has for unnecessary police calls. Actually, let's face it a lot of countries apparently have a misunderstanding about what this line is for.

In the News: Landmark rights granted

The Brisbane Supreme Court has been in the news recently because of a landmark decision where a Toowoomba based woman has been granted the right to use the sperm of her deceased partner to make a baby.

Ayla Cresswell had been in a relationship with Joshua Davis for three years and like many couples, they had goals and aspirations about getting married, buying a house and starting a family.
Sadly, Mr Davies took his own life in 2016 without any apparent warning signs.

After speaking to his parents following the incident about how she wished she was pregnant, Mr Davies parents decided to help Ms Cresswell get an urgent court order for removal of sperm, which was approved and removed approximately 48hrs after Mr Davies passed away.




The court had heard about Ms Cresswell having the full blessing and support from both Mr Davies and her own family  for this, as well as the support of a lot of Mr Davie's friends who provided evidence that they were aware of his desire for children.

'Joshua told me that he was very excited at the prospect of being a father, and we often talked about having children, and the effect it would have on our lives,' Ms Cresswell told the court.

In one of my favourite comic books 'Strangers in Paradise' - there's a similar sort of situation in which David is revealed to be dying. He recently got together with Casey - who had been pining after him for years. She is devastated and worried that with him gone, she may forget the sound of his voice. She wants to give him a child who can grow up to learn how wonderful her father was but due to past issues, she's unable to conceive a child. Their mutual friend and protagonist Katchoo readily volunteers for the job so the child will be born out of their mutual love. 

So obviously it's a little different but you get what I mean. This child represents a legacy, and a fulfilment of the life the couple dreamed of together but now can't accomplish side by side. I think it's normal to wish for something like that, especially in the wake of something so tragic. 

Soul Refresher

Last weekend I went to church for the first time in a while.

I wouldn't describe myself as overly religious, but I do try to go every now and then. As I do shift work, that usually makes it harder. I used to go every week as a child, with my family.
It was kind of nice to have a routine like that, a chance to sing, see my grandparents and get out of the house. Sometimes we'd go out for dinner/lunch after.

I still remember someone saying to me after I left school that 'I didn't have to go to church anymore.' and I was like.. if I don't want to go, I won't go. If I do want to go, try and stop me.


That and the kids complaining about religious classes and having to attend mass in school... bro, you enrolled in a Catholic school..what did you expect?
Also, I have little patience for people who get their newborns baptised purely for the photo opportunity and for no other reason.

The church in my local used to be pretty run down and homely but they've spruced it up a little with new seats and a fresh lick of paint. Sometimes if we were travelling, we'd pop in to a different church or occasionally a cathedral. I always felt out of place in the expensive looking ones, preferring the local one.

I was shocked at how few people there were at our session, compared with when I was a kid. It was early in the morning though, so that could be why.

Now, while I have faith and try to be a good Roman Catholic - I also employ common sense.

I'm not going to take a passage from any of the books word for word or extremely literally because I don't think a vast majority of them are super relevant anymore. Bearing in mind that this is a book that's been taken from word of mouth, sometimes several times and then written down and then translated all over the world. Many, many years ago.

What I try to do is take the important bits - for example the ten commandments or any good moral - and live by them or by example of people I look up to, like the kind priests and nuns I grew up with at school and in the parish or family members.

The reason I'm talking about religion is because of all the talk and comforting/confronting posts you see following a miscarriage.

Namely: 'God had a plan for the newborn' or 'if God exists, why does miscarriage exist?'

My So Called Results and other anomalies

Today we got the results of the....  I don't even know what you call it. Would it be considered an autopsy? I'm not sure.

Anyway, we got the results.

Not sure how I feel about it?

Basically my doc said there's good and bad news.

The good news is, it's not any malfunctioning chromosomes. It doesn't look like it's a thyroid issue or anything to do with my hormones.

The bad news is that we don't know why it happened, just that it happened.

Which leaves me like.. well.. okay.

It's great that there's no obvious cause because it means we're healthy and can pass as normal functioning human persons. It sucks because there's nothing we can work on in the meantime?
Obviously we're still trying to get fitter and healthy but still.





I spent the rest of the afternoon sort of in shock after the phone call like.. I think in my mind I was thinking this would give me the answer as to what caused this living nightmare but it didn't. Now I'm just sitting here like a stunned mullet or a pork chop...or the next best food related analogy.

Thinking about food too much now. 

Exercising the Inner Demons

Today is a bad leg day, but overall I think I'm doing great. My husband and I have started a health regime and we're sticking to it admirably. I've lost nearly 5 kilos in two weeks, something my thyroid would have laughed at if you'd told me I could do this before.

Everyday I've been walking, running, using gym equipment. I keep getting spammed by gyms for membership applications but honestly, I prefer to be by myself mostly when I exercise so I'm ignoring them. Particularly the ones that won't tell me their fees. Suss as all hell.

A voucher for $200 off makes me cringe. I paid less than $200 for a year at my last gym, what the hell is the real price if that's the discount??

Plus when you do shift work, it's hard to make it to the gym regular like.
Especially when assholes keep cancelling the gym classes you like most.

Step and Konga for the win. That's all I'm sayin'.



Normally I take my Ipod with me when we go walking. For one thing, it tracks my steps and things, and for another I find music is a pretty powerful motivator. I have different playlists for whatever I'm doing. At first, hubby found it annoying because he thought I couldn't hear him but when we go walking together I have the tunes turned down and I normally play instrumentals.

I can't tell you how much better most songs sound without their idiotic lyrics.

I don't go walking around my suburb without hubby though, while we have a great time together we have discovered that the people who live around here are weirder than we first thought.
Some are okay, a week ago Friday we were on a more lengthy walk where I tried running but it hurt my legs too much to continue. Then we came across a nice lady who had lost her dog. Moments later, we spotted it so hubby ran to try to catch it or at least get it off the road (thankfully cars had stopped) and I ran about three minutes down the track to catch up to the lady to let her know.

Once I started running full bore, and with a purpose, I couldn't be stopped. Until I stopped, and then I couldn't breathe. The point was, I did it when I didn't think I could and the pain was present but nothing too extreme.

Mmmm....Other's Day.

Cruelly falling on Mother's Day this year, was the one month on from the miscarriage.

So, that right there was fun. I'd unsubscribed from most of the baby-centric emails to save myself some heartache but I got bombarded with emails from every company under the sun pushing pink coloured Mother's Day crap on me.

Seriously, they're all aiming now. Fast food restaurants, clothing stores, pop culture shops, fishing stores, car accessories, the local council, gyms... anyone and everyone was like "Hey! Did you know it's Mother's Day and they're like, the best people in the world? Don't you think you should buy them a dinner pack/a new shawl/a Wolverine statue/a freshly spooled reel/a wrench/ an education about a local government initiative or a gym membership?"

I'd expected it but it felt like it was Christmas again and I was the Grinch - trying to avoid it but ultimately being dragged into the thick of things. And.... maybe a little green.

How did I combat this? Well, hubby and I slept in. Yep. We did nothing productive until about 11am when our stomachs rose up in protest together and suggested brunch before all the rioters passed out.

Panda had a big brekky while I said "Flip the darn table, I'm having waffles and ice-cream! ....and a strawberry smoothie!"
Other tables had choccies on them, and older ladies with flowers. Not sure if you had to book to get the choccies or if they only give them out to mother. I don't know how you know though.

Last year for Father's Day, Panda and my younger brother K-Dog were given gifts, and literally no one asked if they were dads. This time, people seemed happy to ignore Panda and I. I don't blame them, looked like it had been a busy morning for the waitstaff.

A letter for our baby

Coming up to Mother's day and finding myself not fitting into that category, now being more of a mmmmmm.... OTHER is a little difficult.

So, as a way of kind of dealing with it, I decided to write a letter to bub.

Dear Baby,

This week, even though we still feel your loss deeply - we have been feeling more positive about life, and the progression of our family. My parents gave us a commemorative coin set - bought and intended as a gift for you when you were born.

A memento helps.. for you there was no funeral, no mourners apart from those who knew.
Photographs and scans are nice.. a tattoo isn't our style and I don't know how else to honour your memory.

The moment we knew you existed, we were so happy. We'd struggled until this point so when you - our one good egg - became life at first go, we were simply overjoyed. It felt like something was finally going right.

The two week wait was agonising. I sat through an audio track of some perfectly enunciated but bored sounding lady talking me though a cliche riddled meditation/nonsense willingly because I was thinking about you.

When I got the phone call (which involved a lot of phone tag, let me tell you!) confirming you were there, and developing well - and had to sit through the rest of the afternoon trying to concentrate on my work without screaming excitedly non-stop. Your daddy didn't want to hear it over the phone, so when I came home I gave him a baby nappy bag with a panda onesie in it without saying a word. He looked up at me and burst into the biggest smile, then gave us a hug.




Everyday he would kiss my belly, kissing you through me until he could do it in person.

I felt so happy that you were there, I kept talking to you like you could hear me, I would sing and amend lyrics, my hand kept straying to my belly to hold you. I looked forward to doctor's appointments and check ups because they proved you were real, and they just made me more excited to meet you.

Errrr...... ER Disaster?

I don't normally do this but yeah, here's a trigger warning if you've ever had a horrific experience with your lady parts and a stern medical practitioner wielding a speculum inaccurately and don't fancy reliving it via my nightmarish story.




So, here we are in the waiting room. "Check in" was easy, Danio gave us a phone charger but as it turned out there was a bunch stuck in the wall anyway. I thought that was a really good idea for a hospital.

Obviously we didn't expect to be coming here so neither of us had a jacket or any reading material. By now, it was about 6pm. There were some number of people in there, some Russian dude and his wife sat across from us bitching about Australia. Well, I think so. He certainly wasn't happy, and Australia was the only word I could understand. They were replaced by a Chinese man and his mother, who looked very unwell and had language barrier issues. Some poor man was yelling at staff about how "she's dead, what's the point?!" and I felt sorry for him.. although he really shouldn't be yelling at the hospital staff.

I think it was about 7:30 or 8pm when I got called in. I had been doodling on the back of a hospital information sheet and playing 1010! on Panda's phone. We followed First Nurse Nick into what appeared to be a weirdly shaped broom closet. He was like.. Um, just wait here and I'll try to find a bed. Here, wear yet another muu-muu!

He returned with a bed and then had to sheet it. The room was absolutely freezing. Nick poked around, checking what hurt and what happened. He even poked my toes, which was incredibly brave of him seeing as how my white socks looked absolutely filthy. They weren't, it was just the floor I'd been walking on.We had the same thing in a rental home when I was a kid - the floor had even been cleaned that day, it's just the kind of tiles they are.

During this time, Terse Tomas - the doctor attending to me arrived. Only he didn't bother to introduce himself, just basically said 'what do you want.' And I get it, this is the emergency section, obviously he has to get to the point and quickly. I explained what happened - he kept talking over me, didn't seem to read the file and then told me to speak up while he continued to talk over me.

He then dropped the bombshell that he thought the GP was stupid for sending us here because their ultrasound machine was powered down for the night. I don't make a habit of going to the ER - in fact, I'm pretty sure this is the only time I've been there for myself. This didn't sound right though, why would an ER shut down anything? I don't know.

Tomas poked me a lot - Panda recalled later that the doctor saw me wincing in abstract pain but the way he keep jabbing me made Panda think that Tomas thought we were faking it or wanted pain drugs. He relented to performing a handheld ultrasound down my legs and showed me that it couldn't be clots and that it would be the wrong area for clots to form, especially in both legs.

That was fine, I obviously didn't know that so that was one thing off my mind. The pain level I gave when they asked was 8/10, and Tomas offered panadol. I said I don't think that's going to do anything because the painkillers haven't so far. He just said that they would give that medicine to me and they would check on me in half an hour.

In the meantime, First Nurse Nick was replaced by Peppy Phil - a tall, sweet man who saw me sitting upright on the hospital bed (I couldn't lie down for the pain) and immediately said that he would fix the bed for me so I had some back support and got me a warmed up blanket. He also advised that he would ask for something stronger for me to combat the pain - I initially wasn't bothered but I thought if I could get the pain to leave, then we might still be able to make dinner. I wasn't all that fussed on pain killers to be honest, what I really wanted was an idea of WHY I was in so much pain with my legs so swollen and not having much if any feeling two weeks later from surgery.

How I spent my holidays running around GP's and other medical places.

Our holiday was coming to an end fast. One of the days I had a call from a nurse in my private health scheme, she was following up on my earlier call with regards to the pain in my legs.. I'd actually had a great night's sleep the first night we arrived, even though it was only on a couch bed. Mind you, I was on pain killers and sleeping tablets.. either way it was a reasonably comfy bed.

My legs were still very swollen, tender, hot to the touch but otherwise numb to any feeling apart from pain. I tested this by holding a beer straight out of the fridge (and my husband's hand) and while I felt the icy, biting cold on my hand, my leg felt nothing.

When I lay down was when it was most painful - it was just sharp shooting pain down the side of my thighs and if hubby rolled over and even touched me in the slightest way I would be writing in pain. Except, it hurt to writhe and move so I had to either lie there with teeth clenched waiting for it to subside as much as it could or I had to get up and walk it off.

The mattress sort of dipped a bit too, so I'd normally wake up finding I'd rolled into hubby or vice versa and it was an awkward stalemate of pain - trying to figure out how I could get out of this mess with the least amount of pain.

Walking wasn't too bad - it felt like I had bowling balls sitting where my thigh muscles were but it wasn't as painful as the week before where it was burning, constant numbness and pain. At least twice on holiday I slept on the relly's recliner. I don't think they noticed. If they did, they didn't mention it. I struggled to put enough force in my legs without hurting them to close the reclining part but found sitting up somewhat helped with the pain.

I'd also had a bit of bleeding - light at the start of the week but towards the end of the week it got significantly heavier. My tummy was a bit crampy so I assumed it was my period, because the Ob/Gyn warned me it would probably happen in 2/3 weeks.

Anyway, the point I was getting to was, that like my husband and I - the nurse was a bit concerned as to why I had the swelling/pain still. I had done everything I could think of - I had seen a GP, gone to the physio (it had felt like a worse version of some nerve pain I'd had before) contacted the private health fund nurse and spoken to the ob/gyn about it. I was wearing the DET stockings post surgery, and resting but also moving around like the hospital nurses told me to.

I had been a bit concerned that I could be at a higher risk of DVT but more than that.. painkillers normally work great on me because I hardly use them, only once when I had my wisdom teeth and occasionally for a terrible migraine or exceptionally painful period. These ones did seemingly nothing but dull it a tiny bit.

Flights, Fancies, Fears and Fluff

So - after a week of shunning work in favour of generally curling up into a little ball and feeling sorry for myself, and feeling even sorrier on account of being unable to curl into said ball due to extreme post surgery leg pain - it was time for a holiday!

Now this interstate holiday was meant to be just that - a relaxing time for us.

We did all the touristy things last time, this time we just wanted to see family and do nothing productive.

We had hoped to be able to take family out to dinner and tell them in person that we were starting our own tiny clan.. but, well, so much for that.






The day we left, we had to cram in a 2 year old's birthday party. I bought the kid a talking Hey Duggee! plush a) because the kid loves it and b) because the dad hates that show.

Can't figure out why..

We couldn't stay long because of our flight but we didn't want to stay too long either.
There were a million kids there (I counted, really!) due to a nearby 1st birthday party and Lucky Panda and I were just waiting for someone to do the routine "when are you going to have kids!?" thing that we just.. love... to hear.. over.. and over.... again...

It's like; we see you once a year, random person. Usually at a birthday or kid's event. Why the funkadelic monkey would I tell you about my downstairs mix-up and it's associated issues? You don't care about us becoming parents, you barely know us! You just want to validate yourself and your lifestyle but you can't think of anything else to say to us.

Fortunately, being so.. "unattached" has its benefits. Mainly meaning I can wander off and raid the buffet before someone tries to trap me in a fierce debate with another mother about how many micro-minutes someone's newborn sleeps or how much poop they've done so far.
I don't even feel rude about leaving. I'm here for a party, stop talking to me about literal shit.

Only one person spoke to us about what we were doing for the rest of the day and when we told them she said that she always found that kids prefer hanging out with childless adults anyway so we should be fine with seeing our nephews and nieces.

She didn't mean it in a mean way, and I understand what she was getting at but it still annoyed me.
I mean, 'childless adults'? She doesn't think our relatives would like hanging out with us if we HAD kids? Kids are keen on anyone who's not going to tell them to do their homework or brush their teeth but will play kids game with them and hang out/take them places.

I mean, family comes to visit? It should be a good, exciting thing! I know these kids act the same with any relative or friend of their parents, even if said relly/friend has their own kids.

I liked hanging out with my aunts and uncles as a child - they didn't cast me aside in favour of their own child (unless something urgent happened) and only one ever did that thing where an adult is shown something awesome the kid made and says 'oh, that's nice' without really looking.
I may or may not be holding a grudge over that. I had glow in the dark crayons, damnit!

*Cough* anyway, I personally was a bit apprehensive about going to see the relly's. I didn't want to be asked about babies but thought I would be and was a bit worried that if I was asked I'd either snark out something mean or start bawling my eyes out. Knowing me, I'd try something cool and mean but then start crying halfway through the sentence. I kinda suck that way.

Coping (or not so much) after the loss

I had been given Monday following the surgery off. The next day, Panda had to return to work and I was meant to. I did not. I had not been able to sleep the night before, I was still in agony with my legs but more than that - I couldn't face the idea of going into the workplace. Besides that I just couldn't stop crying.

I had a panic attack of sorts - stressed that I would break down in tears if someone asked how I was or even breaking down for no reason at all. I was petrified that - not being in the right state of mind - I might say something inappropriate to a customer that could affect my job, especially if a customer got aggressive or angry about something that in the end.. doesn't matter.

I managed to call work to let them know I wouldn't be in - hoping I wouldn't get any of the bitchy ones. Hoping worked - I got the 'mother hen' of the work leaders. She'd dealt with me before when i had an adverse reaction at work to some fertility medication, although she didn't know or pry for the root cause.

Managing to drag myself to the doctor's for a medical certificate was an experience. The opposing wall to where the waiting room is has an opaque tint to try to block out the intense sun. It doesn't really work, so no one gave me side eye when I was sitting there with sunnies on.

As usual, I couldn't see my usual doctor because you have to pre-plan and book your sickness weeks in advance apparently which is a bit messed up to me. So I went to see a doctor I hadn't used before but Panda had. He'd told me this doctor was good and actually listened to him. The last doctor we had there that really gave a crap left a few months ago so I was sold.

And he was good, he listened, he gave me time which is normally harder to get out of a doctor than blood from a stone and when some nurse barged in he politely excused himself to deal with that as well as keeping them out of the room and came back apologising even though it wasn't his fault people don't know how to knock. He was really kind to me.

I told him what I wrote here, that I didn't think I could cope with work and I was in so much emotional and physical pain. He told me to take the week off work, and to let him know if that wasn't enough and also offered me pain killers for my legs.

Afterwards I sat in my car for a little bit while I sorted myself out then I told myself I needed to do this right so I headed to work. I was booked in for a flu shot anyway, so instead of cancelling it I turned up and got that. Last year we had a total rude cow doing the jabs but this time we had this lovely lady who asked how my day was going and I had to be that one person saying "lady, don't even ask" while holding back tears.

Babysitter's club, say hello to your SCREAMING NIECE OH GOSH WHYYY

Now the day after my surgery we were scheduled to baby sit our new niece, RNK. In hospital the previous night - my parents told us to not go ahead with this if we didn't feel up to it. They would have gladly done it but they had a prior engagement. It was only for a sporting event but I know how much that sport meant to my sister - frankly I'm surprised she lasted the entire pregnancy without kicking a soccer ball.

So we agreed to do it. It started off okay, Laalaa was on time, RNK was cheerful and smiling. Laalaa told us she hadn't had a nap (we suspect she planned this so she'd fall asleep for us) but was otherwise sorted for feeds and what not.

Then Laalaa left.

All was peaceful on the south-eastern front until...

Five minutes later.....

She realised we were NOT THE MAMA.

For those not aware, impersonation of 'the mama' is a screamable offence. 

We didn't know better, we were just the temporary care takers (let's face it, this kid has no ball kicking skills and lets the soccer team down constantly. They're trying again next season) and didn't mean any offence. 

We tried the traditional calming rituals of "ooh, what's this teddy bear doing here" or "let me hold you and wobble you around while we walk" but this had no effect. Then we attempted the "hey, is that a rattle? I think it is!" and "lying on a sweet pirate rug" before the "putting you back in the stroller and rocking you back and forth, as words from the ancestors foretold this would work sufficiently". 

Miscarriage of Justice Pt 2 - The surgery

Shortly after leaving the specialist, we walked across to the hospital. Luckily, we were the only two people there. Last time there was a roomful of waiting people. I spoke to the receptionist-person and she advised me that my surgery had been moved to about half an hour away, instead of the two hour wait we had anticipated. I confirmed that all the paperwork was pretty much sorted, but I still had to sign some things. During this, the lady - who was otherwise very nice - made the fatal error of trying to make small talk.

Nothing wrong with small talk but what she said was 'So, got anything planned after this?' like I had just popped in for a spot of tea and I would walk out of here soon like my life was fine, unchanged. That was it. I had some silent, lonely tears before but now the flood gates opened, and the little guards that were supposed to be keeping them shut were like 'Not my problem! See ya!' before abandoning the metaphorical ship and heading to the life rafts.

I think the lady realised the mistake and I'm not going to hold it against her because I know she didn't mean to upset me. I just took the tissue box she offered me and blindly stumbled across the room to where hubby was sitting. He took one look at my face and dropped everything - holding me in his strong, warm arms.

We didn't get much time to ourselves before a kindly nurse came to take us to prepare. I forgot her name immediately and couldn't even make out her name badge. First of all they weighed me.. on this little helipad looking thing where I discovered I'd lost two kilos since yesterday.
Then they ushered us into this little joint room where there was a lady in the far corner. We didn't talk to her. The nurse came back, did some blood pressure tests and then took me out of that room and into a private room.

I got to put on the attractive muu-muu gown and the indecipherable surgery underpants - was there a front? Was that supposed to be the back? Are these multi-sex? Are these the same material they make the hospital booties out of? Technically this was for a hospital booty, I guess...Everything I'm going through and the hardest part of my day is figuring out friggin' underpants - which honestly, I thought was a bit redundant because I knew I wouldn't be wearing them for long.


Maybe they were for the staff's benefit because they sure as hell weren't making me comfortable.






I had to get help with the stupid hospital stockings. Hubby did a good job, but the nurse told us we didn't quite do it right (not in a mean way, she blamed the ambiguous socks too) and helped us out. We made a bit of harmless small talk about how she could probably do this job in her sleep.
She agreed, telling us she helps put the stockings on someone at least five times during a shift.

It pains me that I can't remember her name - I think it was Carly. There was a Carly and a Sam assigned to help me, and I can't remember which one she was exactly.

So that done, I hop into the bed, after quickly stuffing some tissues into my hand. Hubby gives me a cuddle before they wheel me out - this comical hospital bed that barely fits through the friggin' doors - and I overhear the gurney guy (don't even know his name) tell hubby that they'll look after me.
This, I don't doubt. This is probably the best hospital I've ever been in, all the staff honestly give a shit and the amenities are good, like free parking and stuff.

But I'd rather not have to be here at all being treated kindly or not. I would prefer to be still going about my life with a live baby.

Miscarriage of justice Pt 1

We had thought everything was going well. We'd been told our one egg first try miracle was going strong. For my 11 week ultra sound, I was able to schedule it at a time where my husband could be present as well. I was so excited. Last time, we couldn't hear the heartbeat very well on the machine but the OG said it was normally that way with tummy ultrasounds.

This time, we did the belly scan.. nothing. Silence from the doctor. Trying to keep a positive mental state. OG says it wasn't what he wanted to see, so we did a vaginal scan as well which revealed that our baby had stopped developing.. probably around two weeks prior. It was pale, small, and no longer had a heartbeat.

The words no one wants to hear followed by 'I'm sorry.'

We were left alone in the room for a moment to grieve and get our heads together (and in my place, put my pants back on) before going back to discuss it. I was either trying to be strong and rational or perhaps I was in shock because the tears didn't come straight away. The sight of my devastated husband was what did it for me. He had come here to hear a heartbeat and see a baby sized human, not to have a nightmare come true.

I was glad he was there with me, I don't know what I would have done if I was alone.

OG said that he didn't want to go through anything in depth with us, to go home, get some rest and he would call us tomorrow. He gave us both the next two days off work. Hubby didn't want me driving but I insisted I would be fine - who hasn't driven while crying their eyes out before, right? Besides, it was something to do and I didn't want to leave my car overnight in the city.

So off we went, hubby following me, stopping only to refuel my car (because awful timing will always be present) and buy depression chocolate.

Heartbeat of our lives

This week I went to the Fetal Medicine Unit for an ultrasound.

They used to be right next door to my ob/gyn but since the ob/gyn moved (across the road) I just parked there and walked over because there's a Macca's in the other carpark so it's always hectic.

I got there early, but then got distracted and ended up having to rush up a flight of stairs to be on time. Wasn't really sure what to expect, so sitting in the waiting room for longer than I thought I'd be made me nervous. The receptionists were all very nice. So was the doctor.

He actually made conversation with me that wasn't entirely to do with medical stuff, including a little know fact about a famous namesake of mine. He was delighted that I already knew it, but I didn't tell him that I'd actually read it in a book no more than three days prior to my visit.

The doctor seemed a little too polite? Like... at this point everyone else is like OK pants off time, let me close the door for a few seconds but this guy draws the curtains, leaves the room and tells me he'll knock before he comes in. It's kind of amusing.

So I undress and get up on this little stand to reach the bed height - sort of. I'm expecting a hard surface, so I jump onto it intending to use my cat-like reflexes to grasp the sides and stabilise myself but it's actually squishy as hell, so I almost bounce right off the other end!

Started on the mattress now we on the floor

I manage to extract myself from the ten million pillows there and get into position. The doctor comes back and says I'm better off inserting the trans-vaginal probe for comfort and he averts his eyes. Not sure if not entirely comfortable with vaginas or if he's just trying to make me feel comfortable.

Anyway, the whole point was to check fetal viability and it seemed pretty good. The doctor was happy with everything. He points out what's what, tells me it looks great and healthy in there and then..... something I didn't/hadn't known to expect.

The trans-vaginal stick is secretly a microphone and I can hear baby's heartbeat!

Eggcellent skills

Well I was post poning this.... post, wow that sounded weird but anyway I didn't want to write anything for fear of jinxing something but... we're past our two week wait and things are looking... POSITIVE!

I'm also going to be buying a lot of things that look like these.

And hubby and I are totally doing this....

While thinking about this....

The egg implantation wasn't too scary either. This one was done at the fertility clinic with no anaesthetic, just a comfy chair and dimmed lights. Hubby was nagging me about wearing my daggy slip on shoes - which, yeah, they are a bit daggy but I didn't want to be farting around with laces or fiddly shoes. Besides, no one's there to critique my footwear. 

I stayed classy just now and didn't make the fur slipper joke but you're gong to think it now, aren't you?

Waiting room adventures and the hunger of a lifetime

After going through our cycle and this time going to egg collection, I just wanted to note down what happened from my point of view.

The day I was scheduled in for surgery, I had slept pretty well the previous night, considering.
I had had my trigger shot at 8pm on Sunday night, spent the whole of Monday at work being fretfully calm and then Tuesday I was raring to go.

I think the worst part of it was the fasting from midnight Monday. I know, first world problems and all.. but when someone tells you you can't eat... suddenly that's all you wanna do. Especially when you're a bit nervous. As it turns out, my operation was delayed due to a Cesarean and the waiting room kept playing ads for bacon.

Hubby was sitting with me in the waiting room until he had to go drop a load at the fertility clinic, then I had to go and see some nurses. They were all very nice, the main one Erin - kept up a light, witty banter. The only part I didn't like was the chat about the newest Kardashian-Jenner... personally I find them boring as hell and not worth keeping up with but I gave a chuckle or two when the nurse said she had put a bet on the new kid's name being either something generic like Jane or something ridiculous like Asparagus.

This nurse seems alarmed by how... hmm, vanilla I am?
I don't want to say boring, but she's like ok no allergies, no major prior surgery, no complications, no intricate vaginal piercings...
I'm sitting there like, Yup. You just wasted a lot of paper.

I kept getting called into tiny rooms for small consultations. One for the initial paper work run through, one to get changed (was surprised I didn't get a hair net or socks?) one to meet the anaesthetist and then one to go into the prep room. 

I also got to meet my fertility technician again - he was the one who did the lab tour with us and I recall quite liking him. Very happy, pleasant dude. I have forgotten his name though. Oops.

Tiny nurse Tina was also very nice, Gurney pushing Greg was hilarious - I felt weird being pushed around several wards when I was perfectly able to walk so it was nice to crack jokes about how many blue marks were on the otherwise pristine white roof. I also thanked him for bringing the bed down to my height otherwise I'd have no idea how I was gonna get up there. He said he wouldn't do that to me - very sweet.

I keep on hoping.. for cake, by the kitchen counter....

Another post, another celebratory day.

I'm not happy.

I should be, we just had an epic Australia Day BBQ at our house that a lot of our friends came to, the food was great, music was good, atmosphere was 10/10.. it was a great day.

And now at the end of the night it's like.. what happened?

My husband is annoyed people went home fairly early (I don't see it as a problem because we intending on staggering the guests through-out the day), personally I didn't expect anyone to stay super late because of this and the fact that it was a very hot day. People are exhausted just being outside. He wanted to have a few drinks with friends later in the evening, and I get it. I do.

Now he's wasted and ranting about everything, he even dropped a freakin' cake because he tried to pick it up single-handedly (it was a very large cake). Luckily, I was on hand with a giant spatula to pancake-flip most of it back onto the platter and clean the rest of it up quick smart.

We had talked about this - I told him I didn't want him getting super drunk because we're mid cycle and I need his sperm to not be hungover. Obviously this didn't sink in and I feel like my usually pretty perfect husband kinda flipped me the bird here. He's then gone on to discuss our IVF situation with a friend of ours (a good friend, mind) which isn't the end of the world but I thought we were discussing together who we were going to tell before just doing it. This happened before with another friend, recently as well.

That, and whenever anyone asked if I was drinking he'd sorta say 'oh, she can't.' It seemed like he was kinda daring them to ask why. Again, I can understand this because it's frustrating. I would love to talk about this to more people so I don't feel so alone.. I would shout it from the rooftops!
But the more people that know about it... I feel like there's more pressure on me to perform. I feel like there's going to be the sympathetic tongue clucking when I don't or can't perform. I feel like I can't deal with that, and it's stressing me out more than ever.

Yew Near, Yew Nou

I will have you know that I was absolutely wrecked on New Years Eve.

No, I don't drink. I'd just come off a few days in a row of work (doing ten or more hours per day) so when I finished work that day and we had to go straight to our mate's party......

I tried to socialise.. I really did. In the end, the crowds, the noise, the horrible cigarette smoke and almost tripping over their dog constantly (If anyone is familiar with Mr. Tiddles from Discworld's Going Postal? Basically an elderly cat so set in it's way that if someone put an obstacle in his path he wouldn't go around it, he would just stop and wait for it to move. At certain times of the day, post office staff had to open the door so Mr. Tiddles could walk through it.) just got to me.

Escaping quietly to the adjacent lounge room inside.. I sat there, looked at memes, designed a dope tattoo flash and ate my meal quietly. I contemplated my life. I thought about the coming year. I longingly thought about sleep. I toyed with the idea of putting my Ipod on even though the stereo seemed to have speakers in every room of the house.

People walked past, occasionally noticing me and asking if I was okay or cracking some joke about how I'd found the good spot.
Everyone there was so nice, and the good thing about being 'the quiet one' is that you can bugger off every now and then and people usually respect that you need your space and leave you alone for a bit. I tried not to be rude, but I was feeling so hollow and lacking in energy that it was very hard not to appear as a total ass face.