My Busted Stork

The travails of an infertile…and no, I won’t just relax!


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A salute to my TTC journey

It’s been almost 2 years since I posted last. I had to approve a recent comment so came back for a little visit and reading my posts have done so much for me.

When I was TTCing I read a lot of blogs and one of my pet peeves (gees, did I have a few!) was following a blog that I really identified with, and then the person went and finally got pregnant and became a mom (continued to blog) and I no longer identified with them at all. They just became another person of which my life is filled – mommies. I was very clear that this blog was about the travails of infertility so what would I have to write about when I came to the end of my journey? I loved the small amount of blogging that I did do but I didn’t think it was fair on anyone reading that I just write about being a mommy. Eeugh!

But in reading my story again yesterday I felt that I hadn’t quite ‘closed the loop’. And I also hadn’t acknowledged how my battle with infertility has been part of my story and a part of who I am today.

So this post is about doing just that. However, I will allow myself one sentence of gushing (here goes). Isaac (AKA Zac) is one year old and is the chubbiest, happiest, cutest baby boy ever known to man and I am one ecstatic, fulfilled and completely smitten girl. There.

While reading this post yesterday it struck me that although I do my fair share of bitching and moaning about sleepless nights and snot in my hair it never leaves me that this is what I so badly yearned for and it is everything I hoped and more. I stare into Zac’s cot and watch him sleep – I actually risk waking him up by going in to see him because I miss him. I don’t think I would quite appreciate him in this way if I hadn’t have gone through the journey I did. I am not for a moment saying that other Moms don’t appreciate their offspring in the same way. But in my personal journey it gives me a perspective that I don’t think I would have without having gone through that kind of pain.

I lost my Mom a month ago. In a cruel twist of fate she was diagnosed with an aggressive form of Cancer a few months after moving down to Cape Town to finally be the Granny she always wanted to be. She died 4 months later as a thin, frail shell of her former self. Yes, I know I must be grateful that she at least got to meet Zac. But to be honest I am still pissed off that after all her prayer and sacrifice (like this) she wasn’t able to be Granny at all. Zac will never know the awesome lady that could have been his Granny all through his childhood. She was the one and only person who gave a damn about every small tiny detail. We argued about what to feed him, when to change him, when to stop breastfeeding, what time he should sleep. She wanted to be part of all of it and now she can’t be. But in all that anger there is gratitude. As she lay dying I whispered to her that I am so thankful that God blessed me with Zac before she died because it meant that I could understand her as a Mom. I could understand her love for me in a way I never could before. I could understand that her love for me caused her physical pain and that she wished and prayed for my happiness above her own. To have missed out on this understanding would have been so much harder to bear.

On a lighter note I have become all that I detested! Yes, that is sad to all those reading that are still TTCing. I know I would have said – “can’t one of you smug mommies just hold on to one iota of strength and bitterness and not buckle under the pressure to be gooey about your offspring?” Well, I wish I could but we are not built for it and I am not going to profess to be stronger than my emotions. I talk about poo, I don’t sleep well, I boast about Zac’s genius, I band together with other moms for support. I am my own worst nightmare and I love it.

But I am also aware of the thorn in my side. That ugly little devil is not dead yet.  Now all my mommy friends are going on for number 2 or 3 and I sit quietly calculating how I am going to have to cash in a policy or sell my house to go for number 2. After the horror of that FET cycle I was the happiest, most excited pregnant woman on earth and I have to, need to, have that one more time.

So until round 2 strikes, good luck to all of you out there and please keep in touch.

(I leave you with a picture, I’m sorry, I physically couldn’t resist!)

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Unreal

Life has turned itself upside down. It’s like I have woken up in someone else’s life and am pretending to be her. Pretending to be…pregnant.

Last Thursday evening we were smacked upside the head with our first ever BFP!

I know this is gross but most of you will be quite familiar with these!

We stared at those 2 (still wet, gross) pee sticks for hours on end swinging from giggles to absolute silent terror. My mind started going into overdrive that night and I hardly slept a wink. I knew that if the pee stick was positive the bloods would be positive but that it’s not like we are exactly in the clear yet. But for the first time in…years maybe?…I allowed myself to start thinking. To start planning, working out dates, day dreaming of what it would be like to hold a baby that is ours.

The next day I went for the blood test and Doc called with the news of a definite positive and a beta of 117. I tried to focus on work for the rest of the day but the news was sitting inside me like a big bubbling mass trying to seep out of my pores. I had to share with my family and one or 2 friends but I felt possessive over my secret and wanted to keep the news mine for a while.

W on the other hand was a happy mess. I always say that he isn’t in touch with his feelings and this is true when he is going through a tough time but when the news is good he turns to goo. He was tearful and emotional – which meant that any women he came into contact with (including the odd guy) was also bawling and hallaluja-ing along with him. Where I have been quiet he has started telling the world which I am not too happy about.

Over the weekend he turned into ‘husband of the universe’. I know I am always quick to bitch when it comes to my Darling Husband but when expectation is low he has the power to amaze me – doing the shopping and all sorts of chores, bringing me tea and pampering with me with affection. But then on Sunday night his own crazies took over. He started obsessing about our second beta, reading up on all the stories of chemical pregnancies, ectopics and other nightmares. He was petrified and by the time the Doc called the next day he was ready to crumble into a heap. But the second beta was strong – coming in at 676. The Doc was happy and Warren was once again a happy mess.

We go for our first scan in 2 weeks and that does fill me with dread as I am aware of the many things that can go wrong. But optimism has finally gotten the best of me. Things are still a bit unreal to me but I am happy. W commented on how I seemed like the world had lifted off my shoulders – I think he used the word “blossomed”. I suppose that makes me realise that before this even though I was functioning my ‘normal’ was burdened under a heavy weight of negativity, failure and heartache. I am now allowing myself to slowly fill up with hope.

And along with that hope and happiness comes excessive saliva, cramping and nausea – BRING IT ON!


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I’m Back! Locked and loaded

I am thinking that maybe the 4 or 5 people who might have read some of my posts in the past were wondering where I went and I suppose the obvious conclusion would be “Another one bites the dust” as in – she must have fallen pregnant and got over being so bitter and twisted. Well, actually, not so much!

In actual fact, life got really miserable and I ended up seeing a therapist who advised against all infertility based digital activity for a while. I suppose it was that life was all a bit unmanageable and I had to cut myself some slack from the IF journey so that I could make it through some other rough stuff. So I put everything on hold, well as much as I could. That Ugly Little Devil kept me on my toes alright. But I had to get through my Dad getting sick again, this time with heart disease, W losing his job (yes, lovely) and just general shit being thrown at the proverbial fan.

Cut to September 2012 and I am PUPO! I just learnt what that actually means today which is Pregnant Until Proven Otherwise. I am very hesitant to use that term because it seems on the perkier side of optimistic, and I wouldn’t say I am perky. But this last Saturday the Doc did happen to transfer 2 lovely little blastocysts into my uterus and so until I do the dreaded POAS (Pee On a Stick) I suppose I am PUPO!

(I don’t know why us infertiles need to speak in so much code all the time. I suppose it’s like being part of a secret club or something but sometimes it gets pretty lame.)

So in the next few posts I will back track a little and take you through my journey to this point. I think it would be really useful for anyone who is about to embark on IVF to know what might be in store for them. Or just laugh and point at my misfortune/fortune – whatever floats your boat.