The Barreness

Amazing how your friends materialise when you really need them.

2010-04-13T21:42:00.001+09:30

Thank you Miss Sarah. You materialised, texts from 2000kms away, in my darkest hour. You, I know, are going through a hard time too. I hope I can be there for you too. x

Today, a poem of hope. Here's looking forward to the day "when the snow-drift is gone and the buttercups bloom in its place." Surely, surely, that day has to come.

I Told You, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

I told you the winter would go, love
I told you the winter would go,
That he’d flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds and trees.

And I told you the snow would melt, love.
In the passionate glance o’ the sun;
And the leaves o’ the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And love, it has all come true.

I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.

I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That ‘twould waken at length in its smile.
Ah, love! Was I not a true prophet?
There’s a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown – the snow-drift is gone
And the buttercups bloom in its place.

On resilience

2010-04-12T20:41:00.004+09:30

I've been in a pretty dark place.

But it occurs to me that, broken heart or not, shattered dreams or not, swollen-cheeks-and-mascara-stained-pillows or not, the sun will still come up tomorrow and you still have to get your arse out of bed and get on with your life.

And maybe resilience is about continuing on, 'head bloodied but unbowed'?

Invictus, by William Ernest Henley.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

And bloody hell Sarah. I had no idea you still checked this. Thanks. I love you xx

An important list.

2010-04-11T14:35:00.009+09:30

So a good friend has announced that she is expecting her second child.

I have been trying to get pregnant since:

She met the guy she is now married to
She married the guy
She discussed with me the merits of private health insurance for having a baby and then took out said insurance
Waited out the year-long 'waiting time' for private health insurance before starting to try
Trying for three months before getting pregnant
Having a miscarriage
Wanting to comisserate with me about how hard 'our lot is' with respect to not being able to have a baby
Getting pregnant and then having a baby
Looking after baby for 15 months
Discussing with me that she is coming off the pill
Announcing today that she is 10 weeks pregnant with second baby

Now I sit in bed at 2pm, swollen face, tracksuit pants, snot on my jumper, a half eaten block of chocolate on the floor and a glass of neat vodka.

I have decided to write an honest list of the things that make my life worth living, in the hope that it will make me feel better:

My cat, who does a running jump from the yard onto my front fence to greet me when she hears my car come down the street
Spooning with my husband every night, although admittedly not at the moment as I have not forgiven him for his antics during an argument last weekend.
Expensive red wine in Riedel glasses
I would like to say my friends but that's not true at the moment as I can't bear to be around their pregnant bellies or their children, or hear any more pregnancy announcements
I would like to say family, but really, don't get me started on my brother (see earlier posts. He is called Narcissus), I hate how my mother looks at my tummy every time I see her to see if it is growing, and, bloody hell, even my grandmother said to me recently that she is thankful that my cousin has six children because it 'makes up for me'
Bubble wrap
The smell of the ocean
Cooking something really good
Making someone smile
Waking up on a Sunday morning and knowing the day is yours
Crispy flatbreat proscuitto, cheese and mushroom toasties from Cibo
Dazzling sunsets in the outback
Getting up early and making tea in a billy while camping
Laughing (not doing much of that lately but I remember it being nice)
Freshly washed sheets
The movie Dan In Real Life
The book The Bronze Horseman
Blueberries
Hope

Email to my besties Pippa and Trina

2009-10-01T20:54:00.001+09:30

Hey my gorgeous friends

Just a quick note to let you know that unfortunately Joey has jumped out of the pouch and I’ve had a miscarriage this week.

I started bleeding heavily on Tuesday and saw my IVF Doc today for a scan. Unfortunately the nurses forgot to tell him that the scan was to diagnose a miscarriage rather than a pregnancy, so he came bounding out of his office asking how the pregnancy was going and if I was enjoying things. I got a bit messy when I explained that much of the pregnancy was down the hall in a hospital toilet.

Anyway, he was actually incredibly sensitive after that and arranged a D&C straight afterwards in the Private Hospital. So I’m home now, being forced to keep my feet up by Cameron who has donned an apron and a nurse’s hat and is busy clucking around me and cooking risotto.

Trina, sorry I won’t be joining you in the bump club at New Years, but I do look forward to meeting You Junior in May.

At least I’ve still got 10 more little Joeys in the freezer and my doctor says that even though I miscarried, the fact that the pregnancy started so well is very encouraging for the future (how’s that for glass-half-full). And it was really nice being pregnant for a joyful seven weeks. Must have been those damn poached eggs. Or, more likely, your dodgy pumpkin soup last week Pip (JOKE!).

Sorry to tell you in an email rather than the phone. But seems that, although I want you both to know, I’m not quite ready for talking yet.

Love you both so, so much. Really, truly. I hope I get to keep you as friends for a very long time.

Xxxxx
Alecia

Why do I do this to myself?

2008-12-14T13:52:00.003+10:30

Due date of my period today. After breakfast with my brother and cousin, their pregnant partners and two children, I thought, why not?

Be optimistic - it could be my turn. So bought a pregnancy test.

Of couse it was negative. What a waste of $8.

And now I have to go visit my pregnant friend for lunch, even delivering them a baby present.

What fun. No wonder I dread weekends.

Agony Aunt

2008-12-12T15:58:00.006+10:30

It is interesting that I have a number of referrals to this site from Google, with people typing in their questions and subsequently finding me.

I am quite a generous soul, so, clueless Google friends, I will, from time to time, answer your questions for you.

Today's question comes from Mrs Dim, in North America:

Q: How do I announce my pregnancy to my friend, who I know has been trying to get pregnant for some time?

(That was seriously what she typed into the search engine!)

A: Well, Mrs Dim. The answer is simple. You are not really this lady's friend, because if you were, you would have done one of two things:

Become infertile yourself, OR, if you were too selfish to manage that, then
Hold off becoming pregnant until your friend becomes pregnant, adopts, otherwise comes to a solution which works for her, moves a very long way away (eg, Antarctica), dies, has a sex-change, or all of the above.

THAT be a friend.

I hope I have been of some assistance.

Yours sincerely

Dr Barreness. MBBS, BSc (majoring in Twitter, and Bisted)

Quickie

2008-12-11T16:39:00.011+10:30

Sitting on the couch yesterday. Minding my own business. Preggers SIL (Aphrodite) sidles up next to me, flips her blonde hair from her face and surrepticiously whips something from her pocket. She slips it to me. Drug deal stylie.

Takes me a while to figure out what it is.

It is one of those pee-on-a-stick ovulation kits.

"Thought you should try this," Aphrodite breathes in a low voice, from the corner of her mouth. Like a secret agent.

I nod. I walk away. Gutted.

What did she think my reaction would be?

"Oooooh, thank you Aphrodite, you fertility goddess, you. Here I am, cradling three years' infertility. Multiple doctors' appointments. Transvaginal ultrasounds. Blood tests. A fucking laparoscopy. The medical opinion of half a dozen experts,

"All that, and husband and I didn't realise you had to have sex at an appropriate time to get pregnant. Silly husband and I, had just been sitting on the porch, cups of tea in hand, every day, for three years, waiting for a fucking stork.

Dr Unpronounceable-ovich and the IVF clinic

2008-12-11T10:25:00.011+10:30

Well, Spineless Barreness did not, in the end, write the amazing and perfectly composed letter to the preggers sister-in-law, like she said she would.

Did not send a letter at all, in fact. Just decided to suck-it-up, pretend nothing-is-up, move on with things.

Shameful. But. Naughty Barreness says, why should I have to go apologising to everyone? People will just have to put up with me.

So, husband and I went to our first IVF clinic appointment last week. Our Doctor is the head of Assisted Reproductive Services at our hospital. He is fortyish, Eastern European. Dr Unpronounceable-ovich. He has a kind face, big eyes, ruddy cheeks, button nose. Mousy, almost. If he was a cartoon character he would have whiskers.

He is the same one who gave an infertility lecture to our med student class eighteen months ago.

At the time of the lecture I was still very much in denial about my infertility. Husband and I had not seen a doctor yet. We just thought that somehow our timing was out, or we weren't trying hard enough.

The lecture was torture. I was a mature-age student, in a class full of early-twenty-something pretty-young-things. The lecture was purely academic to them. Endometriosis this, azoospermia that. My class scribbled notes attentively. I sat stiffly and wrote nothing. Glued. Terrified.

"I must leave you vith some important advice, ladiezz," Dr Unpronounceable-ovich said, summing up his lecture.

"Vomen like you are over-reprezzzented in my clinics. Highly educated, professional vomen. You marry later, zink of children later. Do not delay seeking treatment for infertility. It only gets more difficult to treat."

"Time is of ze essence," he said.

After the lecture, the pretty-young-things began the inevitable babble.

"Just imagine," they began, "how awful" it would be if you found out you were infertile.

"Just terrible. I would, like, totally hate that."

"I don't believe in IVF," another said. "If you can't have kids you shouldn't have kids. Natural selection."

And on it went. I tried to hold it together and hoped no-one would ask me what I think, lest I burst into tears.

It was that day, eighteen months ago, that I finally made an appointment with my GP to discuss my infertility (THAT's another story altogether) and it was nearly another 12 months (thanks to Australian public hospital waiting lists) that I finally had a laparoscopy that diagnosed my endometriosis.

Anyway, back to the clinic appointment last week with Dr Unpronounceable-ovich.

He knows I have a medical background and, as such, talks in un-necessarily complicated medical language so as not to talk down to me. Husband has not the faintest clue what we are talking about. Neither do I.

Dr Unpronounceable-ovich, as far as I can gather, agrees that IVF is the best way forward for me. He does not see the point in any unnecessary hormone treatments or other therapies. But, due to the Christmas break, I have to wait until March for my 'consenting' appointment, until April for my 'signing the consent' appointment, and then some time in June to start treatment.

No wonder they ask you to present early for your infertility. It takes literally YEARS to work through the system.

I thought time was of ze essence?

Pen-on-paper, stamp'n'send forgiveness

2008-11-30T17:10:00.003+10:30

My sister-in-law is here at the moment.

The SIL who, selfishly, son-of-a-bitch-ishly, is pregnant again.

Same SIL whom I have not looked in the eye since I found out. I have been rude, bitchy and generally given her the cold shoulder.

It is not me to behave like that and it has been tearing me apart.

Anyway, she is here as my husband (an architect) is designing her a new house for her growing family. She looks green with morning sickness and visibly gagged when I put down a coffee for my husband near her. I nearly asked her if she wanted a plate of sardines but I restrained myself.

When she looks at me she looks wounded, as though she expects me to say something short and gruff. And I know she dares not complain about her morning sickness or fatigue to me.

How has this happened? I am a doctor! I am supposed to have (and thought I had) a calling to help, nurture and heal. To protect and support. And yet, not only am I not empathising and caring for a member of my own family who needs my help, I have been outright mean to her.

So I have decided to write her a letter, a proper pen-on-paper, stamp'n'send deal to apologise and explain.

I hope she will forgive me.

Waxed, washed, worthy.

2008-11-29T21:25:00.006+10:30

I've had a comparatively good day today.

Because I've been working from home the last couple of weeks, I've allowed my bruised and battered self to let things slide. A lot.

There were at least two full days last week that I did not get dressed properly or wear a bra. Or even clean my teeth.

I worked only in short spurts, punctuated by languishing sessions watching crap on Fox.tel and having little pity parties reading your blogs, empathising and feeling sorry for myself. I developed quite a taste for soft-boiled eggs with buttered soldiers. And I did not make the bed.

What a sorry sight!

But today I decided I really needed to climb out of my own pit. I refuse to let my infertility take over my life. I have so much to be happy for! I've got a wonderful husband whom I adore, I've just graduated as a doctor and I'm about to move into a new house by the beach. I'm healthy. I have great friends (even though, some of the bastards ARE pregnant).

So I got up early, did the washing, scrubbed the bathroom, tidied the house, found my sexiest set of knickers and picked out a pretty dress for the day. (I must say, I do have a smokin' waist: suffer in your jocks, pregnant ladies). I went and got a bikini and leg wax and got my eyebrows tidied up. I made myself feel pretty, organised, and, most importantly, worthy.

Finally I've decided to do my best to put all those horrible emotions behind me. I'm going to get out there with my chin up, smile, actually BE happy for the pregnant people around me, and enjoy my life. With or without the babies.

Remembering hope

2008-11-28T08:51:00.001+10:30

Five days until the first IVF clinic appointment.

I hope then the fog will lift and I will start to discover hope again.

B

A horrendous crime of being born

2008-11-27T17:00:00.001+10:30

It is dark, lonely and hateful down here at the bottom of this infertility pit. The only thing that I despise more than my barren useless uterus (or 'uselesserus') is myself.

Not only am I mistreating my sister-in-law for her unforgivable, insensitive crime of getting herself pregnant, I am angry and resentful of my three-year-old niece for her horrendous crime of managing to get herself born in the first place.

Over recent weeks, Iris and I have been the best of mates. Since I have finished med school and am on holidays, Iris and I have been spending lots of time together.

Over the weeks we would cook together, read together, make up silly songs and dance. Swim. Giggle. Munch on fruit salad. Pretend the front lawn is the ocean and we are dolphins. Or sharks. Or dolphins swimming away from sharks. On one occassion we were Mummy and Daddy crabs and we sought out and adopted all the rest of the imaginary crabs in the ocean and taught them how to make lasagne.

But this week, to my shame, I can barely look her in the eye. I am so envious and jealous, angry and sad. She represents all that I want but cannot have. I can't bare to play games with her. I lie to her and tell her I am working. I am a bad person. And (worse) a bad aunty.

Disposed

2008-11-26T16:57:00.000+10:30

The malevolent little jar of folic acid tablets in my bathroom drawer mocked me again this morning when I was looking for my toothbrush.

I have been taking the tablets, religiously, pointlessly, daily for three years.

"Enough," I rage.

I pitch them into the bathroom bin so hard that I break the jar.

Up yours, folic acid. I give up.

SOS from the Qantas Club

2008-11-25T21:30:00.004+10:30

I sit at the bank of computers in the Sydney Qantas Club lounge, throw back a full glass of champagne and focus on the screen. I hope that the civilised people around me don't notice the tears welling in my eyes.

I open my webmail. As it loads I head back to the bar for a refill, walking the back way to avoid my brother Narcissus and his family, who are sitting across the room. It has been a nightmare of a weekend with them and my sanity, previously tacked together with flimsy thread, is rapidly unravelling.

Sitting back at the computer terminal I write an SOS to my best friend in Perth:

>Help. In own private hell. Losing it.
>Self-medicating. Three glasses of champagne. Irony.
>Aphrodite pregnant. I am supposed to be happy for. Three years of trying to get pregnant f**ks with one's head.
>It is supposed to be my turn.

It hurts to see the words on the screen. I rush to the Ladies', lock the door, curl up on the toilet seat and cry.

It is my second episode of uncontrollable tears this weekend.

The other episode happened yesterday.

Sandwiched between a child seat and the window in the back seat of a hire car heading back towards Sydney, my brother takes me by surprise. I am nursing my niece's books, her bag of 'princess stuff', a pink water bottle, a packet of peanut M&Ms and a large hangover from the beach party the night before.

My brother Narcissus is driving, Aphrodite is beside him, and my niece and I are crammed into the back seat with the luggage.

"I am sure you are pregnant Aphrodite," Narcissus announces.

"You are off caffiene and your skin is funny, just the way it was the last time, with Iris."

The unexpectected pregnancy talk grabs me. An icy shiver runs through me and I hold my breath. I hope Narcissus will stop.

But he does not. He launches into a little monologue. Aphrodite beams.

The hire car presses in on me, and my niece's sleeping breath is hot on my neck. I shift uncomfortably in my seat. It is stuffy. I look out the window.

Narcissus' joy spouts forth. He is very excited. He has been desperate to have a second baby. He hopes for a boy. It is just how he planned. He can't wait to have another baby and he will be so tremendously happy.

I tremble. I focus all my energy into doing whatever I can to distract myself from what he is saying.

I look at and label all the cars driving past.

Blue car, yellow van, red 4WD.

C'mon, don't cry.

I look at all the signs and spell them backwards. S-D-L-A-N-O-D-C-M.

C'mon, don't cry.

Narcissus does not notice my quiet distress and continues. He talks about the toys he will buy, the things he will teach the new child. The games they will play. Oh, how wonderful! What fun!

I know I cannot continue to hold it together and eventually decide to have a very hurried 'sleep' where I lean my head towards the window and cover my face with my hands. I cannot stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. I hope the others don't notice. We are still over a hundred kilometres from Sydney.

Normally when people announce pregnancies it is over dinner or cups of tea or some other time-limited social occassion. I can keep myself together enough to be happy for them for a short time, but then mercifully I can run home afterwards, fall apart, process the news, come to terms with it and move on.

But to be stuck in the middle of it for hours on a claustrophobic road-trip was just too painful. I feel both angry and betrayed by Narcissus and Aphrodite for getting pregnant again: it is MY turn, it is my long term dream. Why do they get given the pregnancy I deserve and have wanted so badly?

The problem with infertility is that it is a process of grief and loss, where over years you are forced to grieve the loss of the family you always felt you were going to have, the baby you want so much. It is a grief from which you cannot heal, because with infertility, every month you have a small hope that pregnancy will happen. It is like having a giant festering wound that just gets ripped open again and again.

Watching friends and family get pregnant, have children and then have them grow into little people during the time you are trying to get pregnant is just torture. You feel jealous and hateful and then even worse because - what sort of monster can't be happy for family and friends during such a special time?

Back at the Qantas Club I have dried my eyes. I return to the computer station and am relieved to see that my best friend has emailed me back.

>Oh love. I'm so sorry. I'll call you when you get home. I love you.
>Keep self-medicating. If you're flying, at least you can keep asking for refills.

Deep breaths. Still another half an hour till we board. I log onto facebook to try to keep my mind off things. Narcissus' new status, uploaded from his laptop gets top billing.

"Narcissus is even happier than before."

The humiliation of the barreness, episode 1

2008-11-25T18:52:00.000+10:30

I perch on the last seat of a row of vinyl waiting room chairs. I focus on Judge Judy on the little TV set suspended from the ceiling in an attempt to ignore the hurtful scene around me.

The pregnant woman next to me reeks of smoke. Her Peter Jacksons poke from the top of her handbag and her tuckshop lady's arms reveal tattoos peeking from the bottom of her cheap big-girl's tshirt.

'It's so silly,' giggles a twenty-something blonde to the nurse at the desk in the centre of the waiting room. 'You should have told me you wanted me to pee in a cup earlier. I just went to the loo. I need to pee all the time now I'm pregnant you know.'

'Come on now, love,' laughs the nurse conspiratorially. 'You know it's all part of the torture of pregnancy."

I ignore the blonde, the tuckshop lady and the blamange of pregnant bellies crammed into the waiting room and I focus harder on the television.

I bat back tears as Judge Judy passes judgement and punishment to the bad and the recalcitrant and wonder whose sensitive idea it was to schedule the infertile women into the pregnancy clinic.

We, the infertile, are the bad and the recalcitrant women too, I guess. And we take our punishment with quiet desperation.

barren: infertile; unproductive; dull; stupid; destitute

2008-11-25T18:19:00.000+10:30

This is what an infertile woman means to dictionary.com:

1. not producing or incapable of producing offspring; sterile: a barren woman.
2. unproductive; unfruitful: barren land.
3.without capacity to interest or attract

4. mentally unproductive; dull; stupid.
5. not producing results; fruitless: a barren effort.
6. destitute; bereft; lacking (usually fol. by of): barren of tender feelings.

Thanks. That's what we infertile women need. More insults! Bring it on: we deserve it!