My Busted Stork

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


A lumpy arse and other joys of FET

Caution: Gloom and doom ahead. Do not proceed if you are easily affected by negativity.

We are half way through our first FET cycle and I have to say that I am not enjoying myself. Not that any of the IF journey is every “enjoyable” but there has been some excitement along the way. This cycle – not so much.

I suppose I am not going into things feeling positive or hopeful or any of the other life-giving, earth mother nonsense that everyone says I should be feeling. I am almost grateful for this. The more “low key” or even gloomy I can keep my expectations the better. There is no “light at the end of the tunnel” but just more pain and heartache and shattered hopes so I just kinda want to get this all done and dusted.

It also turns out that the hormones are more brutal on FET. My Doc explained it as “hormone replacement” rather than “hormone supplement”. I started taking Estropause from CD3 building up from 1 tablet to now 4 per day. This is Estrogen and from what I understand its purpose is to get the uterus lining as thick as possible for implantation. Now that I am on 4 tables the headaches and nausea are not to be sneezed at. Then from CD13 Doc put me onto Gestone injections. Gestone is progesterone in oil and requires you to inject it into the butt muscle on a daily basis. Progesterone helps with maintaining a healthy lining to aid embryo implantation as well as maintain pregnancy after implantation.

Let me just tell you that this idea is directly from the pits of hell. I wouldn’t say I have a high pain threshold but I am not a ninny. Stimming for IVF was a breeze; taking blood when the nurse can’t find my vein is par for the course – I can handle all of this with no drama. But these injections are on another level. W has a needle phobia (bordering on pathetic) but he has had to man-up and give me these injections because there is no way I could give them to myself. They burn like hell during but just when you are relieved it’s over the site starts burning like hell even more and you get a nasty bump in the muscle. This stays for the next few days accompanied by a lovely purple bruise. And then the next day W has to find another site. Look, I have a large arse but after 4 of these injections I am starting to run out of lump free areas to bear this needle abuse.

If I get lucky and fall pregnant then I need to continue with the Gestone injections to help maintain the pregnancy. But in that instance the pain and the purple lumps will seem worth it. I will cherish that blessed time of day when I get to lie down with my bare arse exposed waiting for my husband to anoint me with the needle of hope and glory. But until then I despise it and sometimes just want to punch W in the face for doing this to me.

We are going in tomorrow for the Embryo Transfer (ET). We have 4 embryos frozen – I think they will thaw 2 and if they don’t thaw well they will try the other 2 and then put back to the best 2 of the bunch. I wouldn’t say I am “looking forward” to it rather than looking forward to the day off work. I haven’t forgotten the horrible little tool of pain that Doc uses to wrench open my vagina. But I do want to get those little buggers inside so I can start threatening them with embryo abuse if they decide not to hand around!

Just to carry on with the gloomy note I am not even looking forward to being PUPO (barf) – because I won’t “feel” pregnant, because I don’t know what pregnant feels like anyhow AND I won’t be able to drink wine. I will just wait out the 2 weeks, weather the disappointment of it all and try and look forward to my end of year holiday where I will drink copious amounts of wine.

And here is another little cheery story. I have worked with this guy for 3 years. He is slightly senior to me but not my boss. But he gets all the promotions and the perks and remains with his head firmly entrenched in our bosses arsehole. He is younger than me – about 6 years. He parties HARD, drinks HARD and spews the most offensive, unfunny drivel dripping with sexual innuendo and chauvinism ALL DAY. We are not friends. He recently moved from “player” to “taken” (poor girl) and then a few months later dumped her ass to sow his wild seeds some more. But lo and behold she found out she was 3 months pregnant so he has “done the right thing” and moved in with her. He is going to be a Dad. He bought a pram last week. I actually had a really good laugh when he told me but now I am just bitter and twisted and hating.

Fun times!


Leave a comment

My Dream

These past few days have got me going a little insane. If I read another sad story of miscarriage and infertility I think over the edge I will tip! It’s all good and well to ‘know your stuff’ and also feel the communal support of all those infertiles out there, but man, it can take up a lot of space in the brain. And it also tends to make you feel even more sorry for yourself so I think I need to pace myself a little.

Plus it’s distracting me at work (he he, as I sit and blog)

I work in advertising and yes, pretty much every stereotype that comes to mind is a correct description of the place where I work, except for maybe snorting cocaine off a colleagues belly while lying on the boardroom table – that’s maybe a little far fetched! But the stress, the egos, the deadlines, the pretentious people, the no life – all that is pretty much true. And that is probably a big factor as to why I have not been able to get pregnant (there I go again).

Advertising is something I have always wanted to do. As soon as I matriculated I moved to the big City and my Dad said “OK now what?” and I immediately decided that I wanted to have a career in advertising.  So for the last fifteen years thats what I have been working to and building on. It came as a blow when sometime in the course of last year I finally hit a brick wall where I no longer wanted this for my life. I still don’t know if I am over the shock of that realisation. But I am coming to terms with the fact that it is more of a transition into something new that I need.

So, because this blog is new this is the perfect opportunity for me to write down my dream. I am not into airy, fairy shit. I don’t carry around a stone in my pocket that reminds me of my mantras or my visualisations. But it is human nature to have a dream, it is healthy to have a dream.

My brother is a great designer in London and he is moving back to SA next year. We are going to open up a little design agency. We will service only a few Clients and will only do the work we want to do, bringing in enough money to sustain ourselves. Most importantly we will live in Noordhoek which feels far from the city but isn’t. W will teach at the nearby school. My brother will build a completely sustainable sandbag house on the hills of Noordhoek overlooking the sea. He will have a little studio. W and I will live nearby. Around 9am every morning I will load up my child (this is a dream, OK!) my 2 dogs and drive the 3min to Dan’s house. I will sit and have coffee  with my sister-in-law who will be a yoga instructor at a nearby hippie-like studio. Dan will be finishing up his morning surf and will come home and join in the fun. There will be loads of dogs and babies wondering around – general, delightful chaos. Then Dan and I will hole ourselves up in the studio and get down to some work where we will lovingly craft our client’s brands. There might be a few weekly trips into town to see some clients (and maybe get a massage at the same time) but it will be a good excuse to go shopping and buy some shoes and I will always be home in time to beat the traffic. (sigh)

Here it is in black and white. Right now just a small coin in the wishing well of cyberspace.  For now.