Yet more things I never thought I’d have to think about

ORGALUTRON sounds like a space age kitchen appliance to me but apparently it’s what I’ll be injecting in my next cycle should I choose to accept it. It’s a short cycle drug. My doctor is suggesting we try a short cycle because, well, basically the other one didn’t work. Apparently some people who don’t get good eggs on long cycles get good eggs on shorter cycles. Between you and me I think my eggs are fried and no drug is going to change that.  Again I’m faced with the fundamental problem I have always had with IVF which is that if my eggs are not in great shape, and it seems clear that they’re not, then more drugs is just going to push out more dodgy eggs. Therefore, IVF is never going to work. If the ORGALUTRON was a time travel machine in which I could go back and retrieve some eggs from my twenties when my life purpose was to avoid getting pregnant, then that would be worth it. I mean I only have my cynicism and a dwindling bank account to guide me here, but I’m really wondering if there is any point in another cycle.

Minutes after I posted my last entry my doctor rang to talk about the failure. She was all about “next time” as I mentioned previously. She talks a lot and I’ve learned I just have to butt in if I want my questions answered. I did so, and it was clear that there’s nothing in IVF land that addresses the idea of trying to actually improve egg quality before you go in with more stimulation drugs. But she did mention DHEA. She’s a total scientist and made it very clear that she couldn’t advise me about the efficacy of the reports “coming out of the United States” about IVF successes in women with depleted egg reserves who were given high doses of DHEA prior to their cycles… But she did suggest I google it. Which I did. It’s interesting and I’ll post more on it as I find out more. I’m still swinging back and forth between “okay forget about it” and “give it another try”. In the meantime I might take on a research project about vitamin supplements.

By the way I’m still really pissed off. My cousin is about to give birth. Every woman in my family has bred like a rabbit. Why did I have to get the fucking failing ovaries?

Is there such as thing as “psychological infertilty”?

My therapist put something interesting to me the other day which was really hard to hear, but I know it’s true. And that is, I operate on a pretty “masculine” level most of the time. I’m not a gender separatist, but I do believe that it makes sense to basically divide certain characteristics into masculine and feminine. Importantly, I also believe that both men and women carry both kinds of characteristics and ideally should be able to draw on them appropriately depending on what the situation requires.

So, my “masculinity” shows in my extreme need to analyse and make sense of things logically. To organise information systematically. To hold onto my feelings tightly and to remain in control. None of these things are problems in themselves; my therapist’s point was that I’m unbalanced. I don’t allow myself to be chaotic, I punish myself for not achieving, and I don’t nurture myself when I feel bad. Masculine, feminine, whatever; the point is I’m out of touch with myself and it’s stopping me from moving forward in my life. It’s hard to explain, but it was one of those moments where I knew I was touching on something true about myself.

The reason I’m putting it down here is because I am starting to wonder if and where this might fit into my infertility. It’s hard to summarise a life of feelings, but; the simple truth is I have never been very self accepting, certainly never felt good about my body, never really seen myself as a “real” woman; empowered and sexually confident. The more I think about it the more I realise that it many ways, especially regarding my sexuality – my womanliness and all that entails; I’ve felt… incomplete, disconnected…not ready.

Whether this has anything to do with having babies, I can’t really say. The question in the back of my mind is, of course, do I have time to find out?

Ambivalence about IVF

As I’ve been working myself up to start posting again I’ve been trawling through other blogs about infertility and IVF. Somehow it was reassuring to see that other people too have vanished from blog-land at various points along the journey. Some of them return months later, some not. Some with happy news, some with just as much pain and frustration as when they left. And of course others not at all. I can relate to that. It turned out to be exactly a year since my last post when I found myself back on my blog last week. I’m not sure why I returned. Perhaps because I feel there is no-one in my world who really understands what I’m going through, unlike the many articulate, smart and funny women whose work I’ve been reading who I feel sure would relate to me and not say things like “just think positive”…

So I’m here again. Mostly because I love to write. And I want to be part of a community. Because it’s been so lonely sometimes.

This time last year I was on a health kick; no coffee, taking Spirulina, doing Yoga , oh I was going to be the picture of new-age natural fertility. Well bollocks to that basically, and the guilt that was driving it. The Spirulina is still in the fridge door, we moved house and I didn’t find any local yoga classes, and until 3 weeks ago I was drinking coffee like it was going out of style.

But after spending the last year coasting along, not really dealing with anything on the baby front (but not making any either, obviously), we’ve now decided to do IVF. And in some sort of gesture towards giving it a chance I have suddenly been able to survive without the caffeine. Of all the things I’m doing in my life that probably aren’t ideal for reproducing I’ve latched on to caffeine as the thing that might ruin everything. I don’t want to be sitting in the clinic with a negative result thinking “If only I’d stopped drinking coffee”.

But what I really wanted to talk about is feeling ambivalent about doing IVF. This post from years ago (thank goodness for people who start blogs and actually stick around!) at http://julia.typepad.com/julia/2004/12/ivf2.html really helped me. I figured I can’t be alone in feeling a bit numb about the whole thing, but it’s not what I expected. Maybe I’m in denial..? Maybe the stakes are so high that I can’t even bear to think about it. But either way, sometime this week I’ll start injecting myself with hormones and then maybe a couple of weeks after that we’ll be talking about eggs and… who knows… after that. Doesn’t seem real. That’s what it is; I still haven’t taken in we’re actually going to do IVF.

Bringing babies into a dangerous world.

As you can see from this post that I wrote last year, I have had serious doubts about whether what I’m about to do is right. The only reason I’m trying to have a child is because I want one. Notwithstanding situations in which choice is removed by factors such as poverty and/ or violence, it seems to me that the only reason people have children is because they want to. I might have great hopes for any child I create and believe that they will make a positive contribution to the world but basically it’s about me and what I want. And I’m not sure, with the world in the state that it’s in, that I have the right to just do what I want. As far as I can tell, there are too many of us already. What gives me the right to add to the problem?

49 reasons not to get pregnant

So I’ve been on an acupuncturist/ traditional chinese medicine (TCM) practitioner induced diet which, as previously mentioned, involves not drinking coffee. It also involves not eating cheese, not eating anything too spicy or anything that tastes of anything really. It’s very dull and I find it difficult to organise and kind of sad. But I’ve been doing it. Mostly. It’s Sunday morning which means I have allowed myself a home made espresso, which makes me happy. And I figure if it actually makes me feel happy, how bad can it be…? Anyway, my diet has changed and I’ve hugely reduced my fat intake; no yoghurt, no cheese, no butter etc. (no chocolate). And I’ve lost weight. I didn’t weigh that much to begin with; I’ve been about 52 kilos for most of my adult life. And that’s not because I starve myself. I used to do that – I had a serious brush with eating disorders in my teens – but these days I love my food.

Ironically, I can recall that at the age of 16 I thought 49 kilos sounded perfect. As a 35 year old watching her chances of parenthood go down the toilet every month it sounds kind of tragic.

So I’m bringing back butter; it tastes so much better on my vegemite toast. And I’m going to have to think about protein. Maybe even eat some beef. (Cringe). Today I’m going to the health food store to buy some fish oil and some spirulina. And I’m going to investigate cake recipes with rice flour instead of wheat.

We are about to start another month of “trying”. (I am still menstruating at least). It seems like every month there is somthing working against us; either the Big H is out of the country or we’re both too tired and stressed to have sex, or I’ve dropped down to the weight of a pre-pubescent anorexic.

How did all the simple things in life like eating and making babies get so complicated?

Not a real mother

Did you know that all mothers have shoulder length blonde hair? That was what I learned in the waiting room of my audition yesterday. I’m quite sure I won’t be getting this job; being short and dark of hair, flat of chest, as well as compromised of ovary.

I didn’t get any questions about my reproductive acheivements which was a huge relief and a credit to the casting director – who was only interested in what I was doing in front of the camera. In the waiting room though a flustered dad approached me with his registration form in one hand and his tv starlet six year old in the other and said

“Excuse me, are you a real mother?”

He simply wanted to know where he should be waiting; with the actual parents of the children auditioning for kids roles, or with the actors waiting to pretend to be mothers. I told him I was a fake and sent him down the hall.

They paired me with a long blonde haired 9 year old girl and a swaggering, toothy 7 year old boy. Which means I started having kids when I was 26. Which, as we all know, I probably should have. We did our thing and got out of there.

All in all it wasn’t too traumatic actually. My defenses are pretty good so far in the professional context. I did however lose it last night as I finished reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy. Now there’s a child to trigger the parental instict I fear will never be fulfilled.

oh, the irony

I have an audition for a TV advertisement today. Guess what the role is? “Young mother”. I have had about 10 auditions in the last few months and every single one of them has been for the role of “the young mother”. I know that’s the age group I’m in now. In TV land once you’re over 30 it’s either mother or prostitute. Come to think of it, that pretty much sums up most of the roles I’ve ever played…

I haven’t thought much about it previously, but this morning it’s getting me down. I feel like a fraud and that I just won’t be able to smile sweetly at the camera when they ask me “So, do you have kids?”. “Not yet! Ha ha!” is the correct reply; heaven forbid you give a genuine response, this is the world of advertising after all.

I’ll give it a go. With a bit of luck they won’t ask the question. With a bit of luck they will have the sense to know that as a trained actor I’m actually able to inhabit roles that I have not necessarily experienced in my real life. That’s the whole idea.

Ill let you know how it goes and whether I had to punch anyone.

Oh good; more guilt

My last appointment

So I’m sitting in the acupuncturist’s office – he’s a boy, he’s younger than me, he doesn’t have a family – and he’s telling me what a great record he has with infertility and how “easy” it is. Part of me wants to wring his pretty neck and tell him what an insensitive, naive twerp he is but part of me is so sick of being angry so I decide to smile and surrender my disbelief. It’s just a matter of cleansing my liver and building up my blood energy. And learning to relax, and being happier in my life and letting go of all the thoughts and feelings that don’t serve me anymore yadda yadda yadda. I can do that.

As I’m leaving he asks when I think I’ll be settled into the new apartment. “Hopefully in the next few days” I answer, feeling a little flattened by the image of the bathroom floor that still needs scrubbing in the old place, and the explosion of unmethodically packed and overflowing boxes in the new one. “Right” he says thoughtfully… “because when you think of a soul up there who’s thinking of coming down, and looking for potential parents; they’re probably not going to choose someone who’s living situation isn’t stable and organised, where it’s kind of messy….”

“Yeah…” I say as I pull on my boot and the grief and the guilt swells in my throat. “Thanks. See you next time.”

My next appointment… is with a therapist

So my life’s a mess. I’m messy. My house is messy. I know for a fact that messy people can have children. I’ve seen it done. I am the child of a messy person. But now I’m starting to wonder if I’m doing something in my head that is stopping me from getting pregnant. Is there something about the way I approach my life that is just not conducive to having a baby? Am I just too messed up?

Fessing up

I decided I should admit why I’m in such a bad mood. Not that it’s really out of the ordinary, let’s face it, but I can’t help noticing that I’ve been a bit more antsy in the last few days since I, well, gave up the coffee. I say that with great hesitation because I’m sure relapse is imminent, but I haven’t had any for several days now. And the other part of this confession is that the reason I’m torturing myself in this perverse fashion is that I went to see an acupuncturist who feels that he can help with the fertility thing and among the many non-negotiable changes I have to make is cutting out the caffeine. So there it is. Husband has to do it too, but being that he’s STILL away, he doesn’t know it yet. Ha ha.

I honestly went to see this guy about my headaches, but after a long consultation he had diagnosed me as a run-down, stressed-out woman who needs to deal with some long term issues like anxiety, poor digestion and a compromised liver. That all made sense to me, and when I said “yeah and I can’t seem to get pregnant” he said “I’m not surprised”.

So as dangerous as it may seem I’m allowing myself a modicum of hope and going on the horrible diet. And meditating. And doing Yoga. One week down. God only knows how many to go.

20/20 Hindsight

Feeling bitter

I don’t think I can bear IVF. I don’t think I can do it. Having dragged our sorry, inadequate reproductive organs off to a specialist; female, our age – presumably as appealling as self-satisfied, over-charging IVF doctors can be – I remain unconvinced. If I end up a sad, childless old witch it may well be due to stubborness, because I still can’t accept that I need some “expert” to make my body do what everybody else’s seems to do all the time… when they don’t want it, when they don’t deserve it, all the bloody time. Babies bloody everywhere.

I wish I’d been a bad girl and got knocked up when I was “too young”, when I probably still had eggs and when I was naive and hopeful enough to just go with it and not analyse every possible choice and every possible outcome to the point of complete paralysis. I’d have a ten year old by now, and the hard bit would be over. Well one of the hard bits anyway. But now I have to choose whether to do this thing that is supposed to just happen; I have to think about whether it’s really the right thing to do. For me, and for the planet. God knows the world doesn’t need any more people and maybe I’ll have a better time drinking, travelling and buying shoes than changing nappies and generally being responsible for a whole other life. My God, I’m a cliche: The selfish modern woman who left it too late and now has to go running to the doctor to be rescued.

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There is a God – he’s not just an expletive. I just found half a packet of Tim Tams in the fridge. I’ll be allright in a minute…

Bleeding obvious

Yay! It’s my favourite time of the month! For the next few days I will allow myself pain killers and alcohol to celebrate the arrival of cramps and the accompanying grief brought on by another month of childlessness. I didn’t expect any miracles considering we had a total of two nights together this month, but I am cursed by a strange and uncharacteristic capacity for hope when it comes to the baby thing. As the day approaches I know the irrefutable evidence will arrive and yet I allow myself to think “maybe this time…”.

Maybe next time.