And believe me, I'm thrilled about it.
I was feeling a bit squiffy on Monday, but just put that down to PMT. Ha! Haha! Wouldn't that have been nice?
But, no. It turns out that there is a wicked stomach flu doing the rounds in Gizzy Vegas, and I apparently absorbed every bad germ in the place bar about two which Al got (lucky sod has only thrown up once! And, as explosive as it was ...it doesn't even come close to my nine hours of revisiting everything I've eaten since I was born), because by Tuesday night, it had all gone very, very pear shaped.
For those of you who know me well, you'll get an idea of just how bad it is when I say that I have actually rung in sick for work tomorrow. And it's end of month.
Hopefully my gamble that I wasn't pregnant when I took enough drugs to topple several horses in order to get me home today wasn't a bad one ...
Still, the pre-deathly illness part of the holiday was great, and we have a new bathroom which is gorgeous, so watch this space and I'll fill you in next week ...by which time I'll hopefully be seeing only one screen in front of me, not two. Gotta love a good tummy bug! Bleurg.
Thursday 29 March 2007
Friday 23 March 2007
See you in a week!
As of this afternoon, Al and I are heading away on a much needed holiday for a week.
I won't be posting during the week, because, well, that would sort of defeat the purpose of getting away from it all wouldn't it?
But I'll be back on deck next Friday, so I'll see you then!
Take care! xoxo
I won't be posting during the week, because, well, that would sort of defeat the purpose of getting away from it all wouldn't it?
But I'll be back on deck next Friday, so I'll see you then!
Take care! xoxo
Celebrating immaturity
There is no avoiding it. When a fertility issue arises in a couple, the bloke will come under scrutiny. Checking his fertility usually comes first as (a) it's easy (b) it eliminates him from the equation, meaning focus can then be on the female and (c) if the bloke is the problem, it saves the woman from invasive investigation such as ultrasounds, or a laproscopic looksee ...that sort of thing. They're not nice at the best of times, so if they're unnecessary, why do them?
When we started looking into our fertility issues, a fertility test for Al was the first thing that was ordered by the specialist (this is the endo specialist I'm talking about). Although she believed I had endo, she wanted to eliminate him for the purposes of any further investigation if (a) clearing the endo didn't work or (b) I didn't have it when they opened me up. The only way to diagnose endo is by laproscopy. Anything short of that and it is just 'suspected' endo.
The other thing is that a minor fertility thing in either partner might not be such a problem eg. mild endo usually doesn't make you infertile, and a minor problem with sperm is the same - but add the two together, and the problem multiplies exponentially.
Al, bless him, takes most things in his rather large stride and did what was asked of him, no questions, no complaints ...just perhaps a little nervousness about his boys going under the microscope, and a lot of hope that he wouldn't get stuck in traffic between our place and the lab (our place is South Auckland, the lab is Central), as the sample had to be to the lab within the half hour or it was no good for testing.
That analysis checked motility (sperm movement), morphology (what they looked like - the head, middle, and tail of the sperm - and therefore the overall percentage of normal sperm), and count (how many of the little wrigglers there actually were).
There are so many things to factor in with male fertility it seems - for example, our fertility specialist told us that depending on sperm count, they may consider anything up to 95% abormal sperm to be 'normal'. Confusing? Yes. It's not going to get any clearer either, I don't think, when I try to explain it. I suck at explaining things!
Basically, if you've got a low sperm count (say 10 mill per ml) with 90% abnormal, you'd be dead in the water (yes, yes, it's still possible to get pregnant, bla bla ...but you've got issues. Trust me), but with a better sperm count (say 50 mill per ml) it's not all tears before bedtime. You're probably just partially dead in the water.
But, you know, even then, it's all good. Just so long as you relax and forget about things, it'll be fine! (Yes, that was a cheap shot and I'm a bad person. Bite me. I can't believe people are still saying this to me.)
From the initial test, Al had 70% abnormal, but a good count (91 mill per ml ...they look for 20 mill per ml so even with 70% abnormal swimmers, he's still out in front of 20 million guy), so everything looks good with him. I guess it comes down to ...it only takes 1!
The specialist at Fertility Associates has ordered a re-do of Al's test though. He wants more extensive testing and he is of the opinion that the technicians at the lab we went to wouldn't know a healthy sperm if one jumped up and boxed them on the ears (that paints a bit of a picture, doesn't it?). So, he wants the test run through the Fertility Associates lab, because those techs are looking at sperm constantly. Plus, it'll give us more information - such as testing for antibodies, and sperm survival (over a 24 hour period). Things that weren't tested before. Things that may be wrong that we don't know about yet. He's working on the basis that the more information you have, the more information you have. I like his thinking.
Luckily, Al's not bothered a bit by this either.
Something I observed in the meeting was that the specialist was very cautious in the way he came around to talking about Al's fertility and I was really fascinated by the way the dynamic changed when focus turned to Al.
When we were focussing on me, he'd throw the ball at me, I'd throw it back, and there was no stopping to watch for broken glass. It was what it was. But, when he moved onto Al, it was like the floor was covered in broken glass, so carefully did he tread. Until of course he realised that if Al was any more laid back about things, he'd have been asleep (actually, between you and I, I'm not convinced he wasn't for half the appointment). Then the gloves came off, so to speak.
Having mulled it over, I honestly believe that a lot of people fail to divorce male fertility from sexuality, and possibly more so, masculinity, which is why the specialist was so careful in approaching it. It's interesting (and completely bollocks) psychology. But, when you think about it, for centuries, where a couple has remained childless, it was the wife that was barren, and that was that. Admittedly, there is more that can go wrong with girly bits, but still. The man and his virility weren't questioned.
The thing is though, with the whole manliness thing in mind, and because I am obviously either extremely immature, or else hysteria is setting in ... does anyone else find it immensely funny that the sample jar the guys have to catch their stuff in is pink?
When we started looking into our fertility issues, a fertility test for Al was the first thing that was ordered by the specialist (this is the endo specialist I'm talking about). Although she believed I had endo, she wanted to eliminate him for the purposes of any further investigation if (a) clearing the endo didn't work or (b) I didn't have it when they opened me up. The only way to diagnose endo is by laproscopy. Anything short of that and it is just 'suspected' endo.
The other thing is that a minor fertility thing in either partner might not be such a problem eg. mild endo usually doesn't make you infertile, and a minor problem with sperm is the same - but add the two together, and the problem multiplies exponentially.
Al, bless him, takes most things in his rather large stride and did what was asked of him, no questions, no complaints ...just perhaps a little nervousness about his boys going under the microscope, and a lot of hope that he wouldn't get stuck in traffic between our place and the lab (our place is South Auckland, the lab is Central), as the sample had to be to the lab within the half hour or it was no good for testing.
That analysis checked motility (sperm movement), morphology (what they looked like - the head, middle, and tail of the sperm - and therefore the overall percentage of normal sperm), and count (how many of the little wrigglers there actually were).
There are so many things to factor in with male fertility it seems - for example, our fertility specialist told us that depending on sperm count, they may consider anything up to 95% abormal sperm to be 'normal'. Confusing? Yes. It's not going to get any clearer either, I don't think, when I try to explain it. I suck at explaining things!
Basically, if you've got a low sperm count (say 10 mill per ml) with 90% abnormal, you'd be dead in the water (yes, yes, it's still possible to get pregnant, bla bla ...but you've got issues. Trust me), but with a better sperm count (say 50 mill per ml) it's not all tears before bedtime. You're probably just partially dead in the water.
But, you know, even then, it's all good. Just so long as you relax and forget about things, it'll be fine! (Yes, that was a cheap shot and I'm a bad person. Bite me. I can't believe people are still saying this to me.)
From the initial test, Al had 70% abnormal, but a good count (91 mill per ml ...they look for 20 mill per ml so even with 70% abnormal swimmers, he's still out in front of 20 million guy), so everything looks good with him. I guess it comes down to ...it only takes 1!
The specialist at Fertility Associates has ordered a re-do of Al's test though. He wants more extensive testing and he is of the opinion that the technicians at the lab we went to wouldn't know a healthy sperm if one jumped up and boxed them on the ears (that paints a bit of a picture, doesn't it?). So, he wants the test run through the Fertility Associates lab, because those techs are looking at sperm constantly. Plus, it'll give us more information - such as testing for antibodies, and sperm survival (over a 24 hour period). Things that weren't tested before. Things that may be wrong that we don't know about yet. He's working on the basis that the more information you have, the more information you have. I like his thinking.
Luckily, Al's not bothered a bit by this either.
Something I observed in the meeting was that the specialist was very cautious in the way he came around to talking about Al's fertility and I was really fascinated by the way the dynamic changed when focus turned to Al.
When we were focussing on me, he'd throw the ball at me, I'd throw it back, and there was no stopping to watch for broken glass. It was what it was. But, when he moved onto Al, it was like the floor was covered in broken glass, so carefully did he tread. Until of course he realised that if Al was any more laid back about things, he'd have been asleep (actually, between you and I, I'm not convinced he wasn't for half the appointment). Then the gloves came off, so to speak.
Having mulled it over, I honestly believe that a lot of people fail to divorce male fertility from sexuality, and possibly more so, masculinity, which is why the specialist was so careful in approaching it. It's interesting (and completely bollocks) psychology. But, when you think about it, for centuries, where a couple has remained childless, it was the wife that was barren, and that was that. Admittedly, there is more that can go wrong with girly bits, but still. The man and his virility weren't questioned.
The thing is though, with the whole manliness thing in mind, and because I am obviously either extremely immature, or else hysteria is setting in ... does anyone else find it immensely funny that the sample jar the guys have to catch their stuff in is pink?
Thursday 22 March 2007
It was the best of times
After 3 long years of hideousness, we're getting a new bathroom.
This weekend!!
Reason 1.
This weekend!!
I'll give you 4 very good reasons why this is so, so cool...
Reason 1.
The oversized, yellow shell-shaped hand basin, with matching yellow plastic tap head things.
Reason 2.
The white laminate vanity, with chocolate brown trim.
Reason 3.
The gold coloured brassed flower shaped handles (half of which are broken), with about 40 years of disgustingness built up in the detailing, and which, aside from their general hideousness, are an absolute bitch if you catch your knees or shins on them. Which you do. Regularly.
Reason 4.
The manky steel shower box, and shower curtain which always seems to be going mouldy, and sticks to you when you're having a shower. (Poor Jack was absolutely certain that we were going to turn the shower on while he was in there, but good puppy that he is, he miserably sat for the photo anyway. Jess was hiding somewhere outside ...)
I've saved you from a photo of the flourescent light tube thing over the mirror, which is almost completely rusted. That's probably just a little bit much to cope with at this time of the day. Juts take my word for it that it's gross.
Oh, and score of scores, we realised yesterday morning that we had omitted to buy both a mirror for over the vanity, and a light to replace the old revolting one over the mirror, so I sent Al shopping. He found a gorgeous amd divine mirror ...$620 worth. Argh! But, but, but, when he issued a wistful sigh at the saleslady, it turns out that they no longer stock that mirror (it was the display one and taking up space in the show room), and they were basically giving the blimmin thing away to any takers. So we took! For the grand total of $145.13. And then, just to make things even better, he went and found a light ($130), but when they rang it up, it was half price so that little baby only cost $65!
So, it's all about the 'Wooppee!!' in our house at the moment!
P.S. For whatever reason, when I put pics in the body of my posts, the formatting goes to hell. I have no idea how to fix it, so you'll just have to cope ...I'm a technophobe. It's part of my charm.
Wednesday 21 March 2007
Being crap with dates
Monday was the one month anniversay of starting my blog and I missed it.
Oops.
I mean, I could have gone and bought something celebratory couldn't I? A nice top to congratulate myself on being out there and interesting (to myself at least), baring my soul to the world for a whole month ...A pair of pants for designing quite a styley blog which is eye catching but not too busy (again, in my own humble opinion) ...the possibilities are endless. I don't think it's really the same (ie. successfully explaining to the husband the reason behind the 'celebration' when the VISA bill has reached astounding new heights this month ...probably courtesy of all the other celebrating that has been going on) if you do it retrospectively.
I don't know why I am so crap with dates. To be a bit sexist for a moment, aren't girls supposed to be good at that sort of thing? I suppose what I should do is note the dates in my diary once and for all (instead of relying on my own dysfunctional memory), and then transfer them on an annual basis from one diary to the next. It would eliminate so many panic attacks. Birthdays, anniversaries, you name it. I always think 'I'll do it later' and for whatever reason, I actually believe that in a week or two, next month or next year, I will remember, and I'll get it right. Perhaps I revel too much in the sense of satisfaction when I do actually get one right (maybe there is a deeper psychological issue at play here, but that's too much to think about at this hour of the morning...).
For example, my favourite set of twins in the world were born either on January 19 or January 17 (I think... Bugger. The more I look at those two dates, I'm starting to wonder). Right now, I can't remember which, but I do know that I got the date right this year for the first time in ...10 years? Thereabouts anyway.
My parents' wedding anniversary is at the end of this month. It's either the 28th or 29th of March (I'm certain that the date is in the twenties, and these two are the only ones that seem to ring right) ...so I usually send them a gift in the last week of March to cover my bases. Or, I ring Dad and ask what the date is again (most years), so that I can ring Mum and say 'Happy Anniversary!' and she thinks I've remembered. Well, I sort of did.
My youngest brother's birthday is 10th February. I know I definitely have this one right, for at least the next year, because he's crap with dates too, and so set his next-February wedding date for his birthday so he wouldn't forget. Having two things on the same day helps the date stick.
My mother and law's birthday is on the 5th or 6th of November, and my sister-in-law's birthday is on the 5th or 6th of May (I think). That's just evil to someone who is crap with dates. I'm pretty sure that one is on one date and one is on the other (as in MIL is 6th November and SIL is 5th May, or it's 5th November and 6th May. One of the two), and I get them around the wrong way every. single. year. Again with the bi-annual (one for each birthday) sneaky phone call to someone who can provide confirmation.
I got married at labour weekend thinking that this would help me remember my wedding anniversary. It does help me remember the general time of year, so kudos to me ...just not the exact date. It would probably be slightly more special if I didn't remember after that fact (eg. on 22nd October that my anniversary was two days earlier), but you get that on the big jobs. And before you think that I am an unsentimental freak, AL isn't much better, and we think we're quite clever getting the general time of year right when we lost the wedding photos somewhere around our second anniversary.
I completely forgot one brother and sister in law's anniversary in February, and I'm not entirely sure I ever actually knew the other brother and sister in law's wedding date (they eloped, saved on wedding drama, kudos to them).
Thankfully, my first niece was born two days before my birthday, so that one sticks. 15th April. Any subsequent nieces and nephews hopefully will be so considerate as to pick dates that will ring bells when they're approaching.
I remember my own birthday because of the influx of presents, and a really good excuse to go and get my hair done or something (and if all else fails, I just have to remember that it's two days after my niece's). I think I've only forgotten it once, and that was years ago. And it's not as bad as it sounds, I didn't completely forget ...I remembered when I got the 'It was a stinking hot day and they were painting the outside of the hospital so all the windows were closed' phone call from my Mum. And something about cheerios. Or perhaps the cheerios is one of my brothers' phone calls?
So, I probably shouldn't be surprised that I missed celebrating the first month of my blog being up and running. Maybe I should write the anniversary in my diary, so at least I don't miss the first year ...?
There's a good idea. Smart. Forward thinking.
I'll do it later.
I will.
Oops.
I mean, I could have gone and bought something celebratory couldn't I? A nice top to congratulate myself on being out there and interesting (to myself at least), baring my soul to the world for a whole month ...A pair of pants for designing quite a styley blog which is eye catching but not too busy (again, in my own humble opinion) ...the possibilities are endless. I don't think it's really the same (ie. successfully explaining to the husband the reason behind the 'celebration' when the VISA bill has reached astounding new heights this month ...probably courtesy of all the other celebrating that has been going on) if you do it retrospectively.
I don't know why I am so crap with dates. To be a bit sexist for a moment, aren't girls supposed to be good at that sort of thing? I suppose what I should do is note the dates in my diary once and for all (instead of relying on my own dysfunctional memory), and then transfer them on an annual basis from one diary to the next. It would eliminate so many panic attacks. Birthdays, anniversaries, you name it. I always think 'I'll do it later' and for whatever reason, I actually believe that in a week or two, next month or next year, I will remember, and I'll get it right. Perhaps I revel too much in the sense of satisfaction when I do actually get one right (maybe there is a deeper psychological issue at play here, but that's too much to think about at this hour of the morning...).
For example, my favourite set of twins in the world were born either on January 19 or January 17 (I think... Bugger. The more I look at those two dates, I'm starting to wonder). Right now, I can't remember which, but I do know that I got the date right this year for the first time in ...10 years? Thereabouts anyway.
My parents' wedding anniversary is at the end of this month. It's either the 28th or 29th of March (I'm certain that the date is in the twenties, and these two are the only ones that seem to ring right) ...so I usually send them a gift in the last week of March to cover my bases. Or, I ring Dad and ask what the date is again (most years), so that I can ring Mum and say 'Happy Anniversary!' and she thinks I've remembered. Well, I sort of did.
My youngest brother's birthday is 10th February. I know I definitely have this one right, for at least the next year, because he's crap with dates too, and so set his next-February wedding date for his birthday so he wouldn't forget. Having two things on the same day helps the date stick.
My mother and law's birthday is on the 5th or 6th of November, and my sister-in-law's birthday is on the 5th or 6th of May (I think). That's just evil to someone who is crap with dates. I'm pretty sure that one is on one date and one is on the other (as in MIL is 6th November and SIL is 5th May, or it's 5th November and 6th May. One of the two), and I get them around the wrong way every. single. year. Again with the bi-annual (one for each birthday) sneaky phone call to someone who can provide confirmation.
I got married at labour weekend thinking that this would help me remember my wedding anniversary. It does help me remember the general time of year, so kudos to me ...just not the exact date. It would probably be slightly more special if I didn't remember after that fact (eg. on 22nd October that my anniversary was two days earlier), but you get that on the big jobs. And before you think that I am an unsentimental freak, AL isn't much better, and we think we're quite clever getting the general time of year right when we lost the wedding photos somewhere around our second anniversary.
I completely forgot one brother and sister in law's anniversary in February, and I'm not entirely sure I ever actually knew the other brother and sister in law's wedding date (they eloped, saved on wedding drama, kudos to them).
Thankfully, my first niece was born two days before my birthday, so that one sticks. 15th April. Any subsequent nieces and nephews hopefully will be so considerate as to pick dates that will ring bells when they're approaching.
I remember my own birthday because of the influx of presents, and a really good excuse to go and get my hair done or something (and if all else fails, I just have to remember that it's two days after my niece's). I think I've only forgotten it once, and that was years ago. And it's not as bad as it sounds, I didn't completely forget ...I remembered when I got the 'It was a stinking hot day and they were painting the outside of the hospital so all the windows were closed' phone call from my Mum. And something about cheerios. Or perhaps the cheerios is one of my brothers' phone calls?
So, I probably shouldn't be surprised that I missed celebrating the first month of my blog being up and running. Maybe I should write the anniversary in my diary, so at least I don't miss the first year ...?
There's a good idea. Smart. Forward thinking.
I'll do it later.
I will.
Tuesday 20 March 2007
Hope and despair
Of late, every ounce of hope in me has been split evenly in two directions.
Friends who will remain nameless - Today they find out if their first IVF cycle has been successful. At some stage today, they will sit down together and open an envelope which will contain the results of their pregnancy test. With every fibre of my being, I hope that that result is positive. This couple are amazing. They have so much want, so much love, and they deserve more than anything in the world after their long and heartbreaking journey, to be saying hello to their baby at the end of the year, and to be a family for Christmas. They are going to be the most fabulous parents, and their children are going to be beyond lucky. I know that it's science, and that their path cannot be altered now, but it's not going to stop me sending prayers up every which way for them today. Do the same, would you?
Tertia - I have talked of Tertia before, I have told you about her book, and I have a link to her blog on mine. After everything she has been through, last week, the same day in fact that I saw my specialist and he told me to have hope, Tertia found out she was pregnant. Naturally. It was an absolute miracle. A woman who went through fertility treatment after fertility treatment, who endured nine IVF cycles before her twins Adam and Kate her born, who fought and fought and fought, who never gave up hope, who lost 3 babies before that, who has suffered immensely but who has somehow made it through, a woman who is downright amazing, found out that she had become pregnant naturally. Imagine how she felt. I cried when I saw the post, and I don't cry a lot. I barely ever even cry for myself.
This morning, I logged onto her blog to see how her scan went yesterday ...to find out that her baby has died.
No one should have to go through that. It's cruel and twisted and sick. There are not enough words to say what else I think it is. How can there be words? I've followed this woman's life for years, and I feel like she's a friend. It's heartbreaking that her heart is broken, and I am beyond angry on her behalf.
Friends who will remain nameless - Today they find out if their first IVF cycle has been successful. At some stage today, they will sit down together and open an envelope which will contain the results of their pregnancy test. With every fibre of my being, I hope that that result is positive. This couple are amazing. They have so much want, so much love, and they deserve more than anything in the world after their long and heartbreaking journey, to be saying hello to their baby at the end of the year, and to be a family for Christmas. They are going to be the most fabulous parents, and their children are going to be beyond lucky. I know that it's science, and that their path cannot be altered now, but it's not going to stop me sending prayers up every which way for them today. Do the same, would you?
Tertia - I have talked of Tertia before, I have told you about her book, and I have a link to her blog on mine. After everything she has been through, last week, the same day in fact that I saw my specialist and he told me to have hope, Tertia found out she was pregnant. Naturally. It was an absolute miracle. A woman who went through fertility treatment after fertility treatment, who endured nine IVF cycles before her twins Adam and Kate her born, who fought and fought and fought, who never gave up hope, who lost 3 babies before that, who has suffered immensely but who has somehow made it through, a woman who is downright amazing, found out that she had become pregnant naturally. Imagine how she felt. I cried when I saw the post, and I don't cry a lot. I barely ever even cry for myself.
This morning, I logged onto her blog to see how her scan went yesterday ...to find out that her baby has died.
No one should have to go through that. It's cruel and twisted and sick. There are not enough words to say what else I think it is. How can there be words? I've followed this woman's life for years, and I feel like she's a friend. It's heartbreaking that her heart is broken, and I am beyond angry on her behalf.
Monday 19 March 2007
Charity donations
It's started for the year. Everyone wanting a piece of your wallet. Well, Al has that all year, and 'everyone' is me, but what I'm on about this time is charity donations.
Most people have charities that they donate to happily, and regularly. 'Regularly' in my book is annually (or, in Al and my case - twice in two days last year when the Rescue Helicopter was doing it's thing! I sent a donation in from the post appeal, and the next day they rang the house and Al gave them a donation over the phone as well), when whatever charity it is has their appeal, or else when that charity is brought to your mind. eg. A case of animal cruelty sparking an extra donation to the SPCA, or a family member or associate being diagnosed with or having a cancer scare sparking a donation to the cancer society, that sort of thing.
My charities are the Rescue Helicopter (I know someone who needed it, and it saved his life), SPCA (obviously, I looooove my animals, so the SPCA gets some lovin' as well), Canteen (the children's cancer charity, because, well, they're kids). I think that's it. Those are the ones that get the bigger amounts (eg. $10, $20 that sort of thing). Then there are the street appeals, which always get whatever coins I have - Breast Cancer Awareness (breast cancer in the family), the Foundation for the Blind (my grandmother went suddenly and unexpectedly blind late in her life, and they were amazing to her), Hearing Dogs (my husband is deaf ...or at least seems to be ...no, in all seriousness, I think it's a great concept). There are probably a few others too that I can't think of for now.
Anyway! We all have our charities. The thing that gets me though, and in part dictates who I will give to, is that for a lot of charities, it is no longer good enough to give them a donation of your choosing, or just your coins. You have to give $30, or $50, or my personal favourite, an automatic payment. Why is that? Have some 'charities' turned into such big business that your donation of whatever you can spare honestly just isn't worth it to them? Where the heck is the money going?
A few years ago, I had a girl come to my house on a Barnados appeal, and requested an automatic payment. I said that I wasn't prepared to do an AP (at the time, apart from my objections to charities requesting APs, I just didn't have the money) and I said I'd give her a cash donation. I had prior to that always given a donation to Barnados during their appeals. Do you know what she said? That they don't take cash donations because it's not worth their time to collect them (this was on a door appeal, presumably if they do street appeals, it's different. Presumably. Hopefully.). I've never forgotten that. I was disgusted. And I have not donated to them since.
At the weekend I got mobbed by the 'Save the Children' people, and it was the same thing - AP please.
The thing is, you can't save everyone but you do what you can when you can. If organisations are going to turn away your dollar donation, and they do that to a thousand people the chances are that those same people will tell them to beg off when they ask for an AP and won't give that organisation donations in the future either, so what have they gained?
And now for another pet hate ...traffic light window washers. It really shouldn't be illegal to run them over.
Most people have charities that they donate to happily, and regularly. 'Regularly' in my book is annually (or, in Al and my case - twice in two days last year when the Rescue Helicopter was doing it's thing! I sent a donation in from the post appeal, and the next day they rang the house and Al gave them a donation over the phone as well), when whatever charity it is has their appeal, or else when that charity is brought to your mind. eg. A case of animal cruelty sparking an extra donation to the SPCA, or a family member or associate being diagnosed with or having a cancer scare sparking a donation to the cancer society, that sort of thing.
My charities are the Rescue Helicopter (I know someone who needed it, and it saved his life), SPCA (obviously, I looooove my animals, so the SPCA gets some lovin' as well), Canteen (the children's cancer charity, because, well, they're kids). I think that's it. Those are the ones that get the bigger amounts (eg. $10, $20 that sort of thing). Then there are the street appeals, which always get whatever coins I have - Breast Cancer Awareness (breast cancer in the family), the Foundation for the Blind (my grandmother went suddenly and unexpectedly blind late in her life, and they were amazing to her), Hearing Dogs (my husband is deaf ...or at least seems to be ...no, in all seriousness, I think it's a great concept). There are probably a few others too that I can't think of for now.
Anyway! We all have our charities. The thing that gets me though, and in part dictates who I will give to, is that for a lot of charities, it is no longer good enough to give them a donation of your choosing, or just your coins. You have to give $30, or $50, or my personal favourite, an automatic payment. Why is that? Have some 'charities' turned into such big business that your donation of whatever you can spare honestly just isn't worth it to them? Where the heck is the money going?
A few years ago, I had a girl come to my house on a Barnados appeal, and requested an automatic payment. I said that I wasn't prepared to do an AP (at the time, apart from my objections to charities requesting APs, I just didn't have the money) and I said I'd give her a cash donation. I had prior to that always given a donation to Barnados during their appeals. Do you know what she said? That they don't take cash donations because it's not worth their time to collect them (this was on a door appeal, presumably if they do street appeals, it's different. Presumably. Hopefully.). I've never forgotten that. I was disgusted. And I have not donated to them since.
At the weekend I got mobbed by the 'Save the Children' people, and it was the same thing - AP please.
The thing is, you can't save everyone but you do what you can when you can. If organisations are going to turn away your dollar donation, and they do that to a thousand people the chances are that those same people will tell them to beg off when they ask for an AP and won't give that organisation donations in the future either, so what have they gained?
And now for another pet hate ...traffic light window washers. It really shouldn't be illegal to run them over.
Sunday 18 March 2007
Rockin' Saturday
I don't normally do weekends (I'm still gripped by an unreasonable paranoia that I'm going to run out of things to talk about if I post weekends as well), but I had such a heavenly day yesterday I had to [skite] share.
I rolled out of bed at a very luxurious 9am (can't do that if you have a baby!), ensconced myself on the couch and watched 'The Departed' on DVD (a very good movie which, incidentally, we forgot to take back to United Video yesterday ...crap).
I think I got out of my PJs at about lunch time, and then toddled off to my beauty therapist for a couple of hours of divine pampering. Bikini wax (this is kind of the pre-pampering torture that makes the rest of the pampering seem sooo good!), eyebrow shape (also wax), eyebrow and eyelash tint (complete with hand massage while waiting for the tint to take), and then a full pedicure, finished with pink toenails (disturbingly the same colour as my blog background ...).
Insert sigh of absolute pleasure here.
Oh yes, and a box of chocolate truffles that I picked up on my way home for dessert last night.
Jealous?
I rolled out of bed at a very luxurious 9am (can't do that if you have a baby!), ensconced myself on the couch and watched 'The Departed' on DVD (a very good movie which, incidentally, we forgot to take back to United Video yesterday ...crap).
I think I got out of my PJs at about lunch time, and then toddled off to my beauty therapist for a couple of hours of divine pampering. Bikini wax (this is kind of the pre-pampering torture that makes the rest of the pampering seem sooo good!), eyebrow shape (also wax), eyebrow and eyelash tint (complete with hand massage while waiting for the tint to take), and then a full pedicure, finished with pink toenails (disturbingly the same colour as my blog background ...).
Insert sigh of absolute pleasure here.
Oh yes, and a box of chocolate truffles that I picked up on my way home for dessert last night.
Jealous?
Friday 16 March 2007
I'm so proud!
I've been despairing of Al.
I have explained and explained to him the spending justification system, how it works and how you can make it work if you're struggling a bit (trust me ...square peg? round hole? it'll fit, you just have to be desperate enough), and he's been making no effort at all to take it on board.
For example, the other day, he told me that he wanted to buy an MP3 player which was going to cost $400.00.
Straight off the bat, he broke the golden rule - it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
He almost saved himself a lengthy re-explanation of the system when he began the next sentence with "And it's completely justified!".
I'll admit, I was curious. Very curious. How was he going to do it? I am the master and he is my pupil ...I was hoping he'd make me proud.
He says, "I've got 2 days over time which will completely pay for it."
For pete's sake. Actually paying for the purchase with actual money works completely against the principles of the system, and in fact eliminates the need for the system entirely.
And then it happened.
Just a small step, but a step nonetheless, and my heart burst with joy.
He phoned me yesterday afternoon while I was still at work ...
Him "I had an accident and I slipped."
Yes, most of you would be alarmed and be envisaging broken limbs or lots of blood or a couple of missing fingers or something, but me? This was music to my ears! This is my line when I've bought something, or several somethings when I shouldn't have. He even had the fake-sheepish tone of voice thing going on. Bless.
Me "How much of a slip?"
Him "$515.00"
Not too bad an effort for him.
Me "Ok ...how much exactly?"
Him "I don't know. $514 and something. Do you really want to know the cents?"
I love they way he says the last bit like I'm a certifiable lunatic. Of course I want to know ...this is so I can balance the VISA and check it off his statement (we have a joint VISA, but it becomes his as soon as the bill arrives).
Him (rummages about looking for the receipt) "Hang on .....$514.00 exactly! No cents."
Me "OK"
Him "Hey! We saved a dollar!!"
And that, my friends, is what we call progress.
I have explained and explained to him the spending justification system, how it works and how you can make it work if you're struggling a bit (trust me ...square peg? round hole? it'll fit, you just have to be desperate enough), and he's been making no effort at all to take it on board.
For example, the other day, he told me that he wanted to buy an MP3 player which was going to cost $400.00.
Straight off the bat, he broke the golden rule - it is easier to ask forgiveness than permission.
He almost saved himself a lengthy re-explanation of the system when he began the next sentence with "And it's completely justified!".
I'll admit, I was curious. Very curious. How was he going to do it? I am the master and he is my pupil ...I was hoping he'd make me proud.
He says, "I've got 2 days over time which will completely pay for it."
For pete's sake. Actually paying for the purchase with actual money works completely against the principles of the system, and in fact eliminates the need for the system entirely.
And then it happened.
Just a small step, but a step nonetheless, and my heart burst with joy.
He phoned me yesterday afternoon while I was still at work ...
Him "I had an accident and I slipped."
Yes, most of you would be alarmed and be envisaging broken limbs or lots of blood or a couple of missing fingers or something, but me? This was music to my ears! This is my line when I've bought something, or several somethings when I shouldn't have. He even had the fake-sheepish tone of voice thing going on. Bless.
Me "How much of a slip?"
Him "$515.00"
Not too bad an effort for him.
Me "Ok ...how much exactly?"
Him "I don't know. $514 and something. Do you really want to know the cents?"
I love they way he says the last bit like I'm a certifiable lunatic. Of course I want to know ...this is so I can balance the VISA and check it off his statement (we have a joint VISA, but it becomes his as soon as the bill arrives).
Him (rummages about looking for the receipt) "Hang on .....$514.00 exactly! No cents."
Me "OK"
Him "Hey! We saved a dollar!!"
And that, my friends, is what we call progress.
Thursday 15 March 2007
Joke of the week
A dyslexic walks into a bra ...
*badoompch*
(And before anyone gets upset ...I fully understand and appreciate the difficulties and particular challenges that a person with dyslexia suffers. My two youngest brothers are dyslexic, and it was one of them that told me the joke.)
*badoompch*
(And before anyone gets upset ...I fully understand and appreciate the difficulties and particular challenges that a person with dyslexia suffers. My two youngest brothers are dyslexic, and it was one of them that told me the joke.)
Wednesday 14 March 2007
Fact check - endo and infertility
"Although mild endometriosis is not a major cause of infertility, about three or four women in 10 who have endometriosis have difficult becoming pregnant."
From "Understanding Infertility: A Guide for Women" Edition 1, published and distributed by The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists.
So, it's only 30%-40% approximately, not the 40%-60% that I told you earlier.
Also, I forgot to tell you in my last post that I bought pregnancy vitamins. Elevit, with loads of folic acid in. Just, you know, in case. They're not cheap those things! Ouch! $104.95 for 100 tablets (yes, we can look at it that I was too lazy to source them somewhere cheaper ...OR we could say that I was staring my infertility down in a fit of defiance after seeing the specialist because that sounds much cooler) ...but then $30 a cycle thereabouts hardly even bleeps on the radar against all that money I'm saving on fertility treatment over the next 12 months ...sort of. Maybe I should go and get my handbag in another colour ....
Just joking!
Kinda.
From "Understanding Infertility: A Guide for Women" Edition 1, published and distributed by The Royal Australian and New Zealand College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists.
So, it's only 30%-40% approximately, not the 40%-60% that I told you earlier.
Also, I forgot to tell you in my last post that I bought pregnancy vitamins. Elevit, with loads of folic acid in. Just, you know, in case. They're not cheap those things! Ouch! $104.95 for 100 tablets (yes, we can look at it that I was too lazy to source them somewhere cheaper ...OR we could say that I was staring my infertility down in a fit of defiance after seeing the specialist because that sounds much cooler) ...but then $30 a cycle thereabouts hardly even bleeps on the radar against all that money I'm saving on fertility treatment over the next 12 months ...sort of. Maybe I should go and get my handbag in another colour ....
Just joking!
Kinda.
The post-mortem
You’re wondering what happened at the specialist …?
Nothing.
Seriously.
Apparently …it’ll happen when it happens.
Ha! Hahahahaha!!
Actually, I’m not kidding.
Al and I have been assigned to the 'big black hole' category of unexplained infertility.
There is nothing wrong with either of us that should inhibit pregnancy, and yet we’re not pregnant after 22 cycles. We’re abnormal, but there is no reason for it. Our chances of becoming pregnant naturally are good, but reduced because we’re not pregnant after 22 cycles. You with me?
A normal, healthy, fertile couple is generally accepted to have a 20% chance of becoming pregnant each cycle. Because of our history, our chances are more like 15%.
I had endometriosis, but that has been successfully removed, and I have fully recovered. The specialist said it would be easy for him to blame our infertility on the endometriosis, but he doesn’t believe that’s the case. He does not feel we are infertile because of endometriosis. In fact, even with endo, he believes my chances of becoming pregnant were good …possibly not even reduced. Endometriosis is graded from 1 (being mild) to 4 (being severe), and it is graded on the endo itself, not the symptoms it presents. I had severe symptoms, but only Grade 1 endo. I will have to verify this statistic, but I think endometriosis actually only negatively effects fertility in 40-60% of women. 'Only'. Ha. You know what I mean though.
Kudos to me - he did say I came to see him at the perfect time in my cycle. He did an internal ultrasound, and showed us my ovaries, and particularly the beautiful, healthy, follicle which was very close to releasing an egg (and winked at Al when he said that I’d be ovulating in the next couple of days). The lining of my uterus also looks perfect pre ovulation, and ideal for implantation. (It was a little weird having your husband standing there while another man wiggles an almighty great probe around in your yoo hoo ...but that's a post for another day)
I do not have PCOS. We turned that one on its head with the internal scan, and has been clarified once and for all. It explains why I don’t have any major symptoms of PCOS. My ovaries may look polycystic, even to a seasoned surgeon, but they’re not. I’m fine.
He asked me how I am emotionally, because that has a bearing. I said I’m fine. I’m OK. Or, at least, I feel fine and OK. I think that right at this moment, I am forcing some pretty strong feelings down …I have barely eaten since the appointment, and I barely slept last night and they’re my two tells. But, I need a couple of days. Once I’ve had that, I will have my feet back underneath me again.
Our only option for fertility treatment is IVF. It is the only option which will increase our chances of becoming pregnant. He was quite blunt about that. IVF will give us a 50%-60% chance per cycle. He said Clomophine will do nothing for me because there is nothing wrong with me. Clomophine has a purpose, and for me, it can’t do anything that my body isn’t already doing itself. I am disgustingly healthy, and I ovulate every single month. IUI (artificial insemination ala turkey baster) will raise our chances from about 15% per month to about 18% per month. 3%. Sweet FA. So, we could realistically spend thousands of dollars on artifical insemination and drugs when having good old fashioned sex for free will give us pretty much the same odds of a pregnancy.
In relation to the IVF, he said please don’t rush it …Enjoy your life, enjoy each other. We’re not harming our chances of starting a family by waiting 2 years. I’m only 28 now, so 2 years will only make me 30 (I think …I’ve only got 20 fingers and toes, and I can’t find my calculator). Being 30 won’t reduce my chances any for becoming pregnant. I’m not 35, or 40, or in an age danger-zone. It's only what I can or can't cope with emotionally.
So, it becomes about statistics and odds from here on in.
He explained it in gambling terms …
We have a slightly less than a 1 in 5 chance every month of becoming pregnant every cycle. Obviously, if we don’t succeed, it stays a 1 in 5 chance, it doesn’t become a 2 in 5 chance then a 3 in 5 as the cycles go by. We knew that. He believes that based on statistics and a long career, that our chances are about 15% and that we can become pregnant on our own in 2 to 3 years and recommends waiting. The operative word of course is ‘can’. He didn't say 'will'.
But, he also acknowledges that based on the same statistics and our history, that we could conceivably (no pun intended) get to that 2 or 3 year mark and still not be pregnant. This is where we must roll the dice.
I told the specialist when I left that I hope I never see him again. He said he hopes so too.
Statistics and odds.
The generally accepted fertility facts for a normal, healty couple having sex regularly are:
25% will be pregnant within one month
60% will be pregnant within six months
75% will be pregnant within nine months
80% will be pregnant within one year
90% will be pregnant within eighteen months*
We're rolling the dice based on that.
After the appointment, Al and I went for a coffee to discuss our plan.
The conversation went like this …
Him "So what is the plan?"
Me (shrugging, defeated) "We wait"
Him "How long do we wait?"
Me "2 years"
Him "No. Twelve months"
Him again "Can we have ten grand in twelve months?"
Me "Easy"
Him "Then we do that. We start saving now."
Me "I’ll start saving when I’ve done my other things. I’m not living my life for this any longer."
Him (chokes on his coffee and starts laughing)
Me (immensely surprised that he finds this funny) "What? Why are you laughing? How is that funny? We are getting our bathroom done, we are getting our new dining suite, and we’re getting our coffee machine. We talked about those things, we're planning them. I’m doing those things first. I’ll save for IVF after."
Him "Oh"
Me "What do you mean, 'Oh'? Why are you laughing?"
Him "I thought you had a secret shopping list or something …you know …a pair of Prada boots…?"
Honestly! I don’t know where that idea came from …I don’t even like Prada.
Anyway!
So, we’re waiting. 12 months. When we get to 12 months, we will hand over our credit card, and start private IVF. That’s the plan.
And just one little thing ...no matter how tempting it is to make me feel better by offering me platitudes, or telling me to relax …don’t do it, because I am balancing on a knife edge. I will mash my relaxed fist into your nose. Just so you know. Fair warning and all that.
You have to know when to hold ‘em,
Know when to fold ‘em,
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run.
You never count your money,
When you’re Sittin’ at the table,
There’ll time enough for countin’,
When the dealin’s done.**
Nothing.
Seriously.
Apparently …it’ll happen when it happens.
Ha! Hahahahaha!!
Actually, I’m not kidding.
Al and I have been assigned to the 'big black hole' category of unexplained infertility.
There is nothing wrong with either of us that should inhibit pregnancy, and yet we’re not pregnant after 22 cycles. We’re abnormal, but there is no reason for it. Our chances of becoming pregnant naturally are good, but reduced because we’re not pregnant after 22 cycles. You with me?
A normal, healthy, fertile couple is generally accepted to have a 20% chance of becoming pregnant each cycle. Because of our history, our chances are more like 15%.
I had endometriosis, but that has been successfully removed, and I have fully recovered. The specialist said it would be easy for him to blame our infertility on the endometriosis, but he doesn’t believe that’s the case. He does not feel we are infertile because of endometriosis. In fact, even with endo, he believes my chances of becoming pregnant were good …possibly not even reduced. Endometriosis is graded from 1 (being mild) to 4 (being severe), and it is graded on the endo itself, not the symptoms it presents. I had severe symptoms, but only Grade 1 endo. I will have to verify this statistic, but I think endometriosis actually only negatively effects fertility in 40-60% of women. 'Only'. Ha. You know what I mean though.
Kudos to me - he did say I came to see him at the perfect time in my cycle. He did an internal ultrasound, and showed us my ovaries, and particularly the beautiful, healthy, follicle which was very close to releasing an egg (and winked at Al when he said that I’d be ovulating in the next couple of days). The lining of my uterus also looks perfect pre ovulation, and ideal for implantation. (It was a little weird having your husband standing there while another man wiggles an almighty great probe around in your yoo hoo ...but that's a post for another day)
I do not have PCOS. We turned that one on its head with the internal scan, and has been clarified once and for all. It explains why I don’t have any major symptoms of PCOS. My ovaries may look polycystic, even to a seasoned surgeon, but they’re not. I’m fine.
He asked me how I am emotionally, because that has a bearing. I said I’m fine. I’m OK. Or, at least, I feel fine and OK. I think that right at this moment, I am forcing some pretty strong feelings down …I have barely eaten since the appointment, and I barely slept last night and they’re my two tells. But, I need a couple of days. Once I’ve had that, I will have my feet back underneath me again.
Our only option for fertility treatment is IVF. It is the only option which will increase our chances of becoming pregnant. He was quite blunt about that. IVF will give us a 50%-60% chance per cycle. He said Clomophine will do nothing for me because there is nothing wrong with me. Clomophine has a purpose, and for me, it can’t do anything that my body isn’t already doing itself. I am disgustingly healthy, and I ovulate every single month. IUI (artificial insemination ala turkey baster) will raise our chances from about 15% per month to about 18% per month. 3%. Sweet FA. So, we could realistically spend thousands of dollars on artifical insemination and drugs when having good old fashioned sex for free will give us pretty much the same odds of a pregnancy.
In relation to the IVF, he said please don’t rush it …Enjoy your life, enjoy each other. We’re not harming our chances of starting a family by waiting 2 years. I’m only 28 now, so 2 years will only make me 30 (I think …I’ve only got 20 fingers and toes, and I can’t find my calculator). Being 30 won’t reduce my chances any for becoming pregnant. I’m not 35, or 40, or in an age danger-zone. It's only what I can or can't cope with emotionally.
So, it becomes about statistics and odds from here on in.
He explained it in gambling terms …
We have a slightly less than a 1 in 5 chance every month of becoming pregnant every cycle. Obviously, if we don’t succeed, it stays a 1 in 5 chance, it doesn’t become a 2 in 5 chance then a 3 in 5 as the cycles go by. We knew that. He believes that based on statistics and a long career, that our chances are about 15% and that we can become pregnant on our own in 2 to 3 years and recommends waiting. The operative word of course is ‘can’. He didn't say 'will'.
But, he also acknowledges that based on the same statistics and our history, that we could conceivably (no pun intended) get to that 2 or 3 year mark and still not be pregnant. This is where we must roll the dice.
I told the specialist when I left that I hope I never see him again. He said he hopes so too.
Statistics and odds.
The generally accepted fertility facts for a normal, healty couple having sex regularly are:
25% will be pregnant within one month
60% will be pregnant within six months
75% will be pregnant within nine months
80% will be pregnant within one year
90% will be pregnant within eighteen months*
We're rolling the dice based on that.
After the appointment, Al and I went for a coffee to discuss our plan.
The conversation went like this …
Him "So what is the plan?"
Me (shrugging, defeated) "We wait"
Him "How long do we wait?"
Me "2 years"
Him "No. Twelve months"
Him again "Can we have ten grand in twelve months?"
Me "Easy"
Him "Then we do that. We start saving now."
Me "I’ll start saving when I’ve done my other things. I’m not living my life for this any longer."
Him (chokes on his coffee and starts laughing)
Me (immensely surprised that he finds this funny) "What? Why are you laughing? How is that funny? We are getting our bathroom done, we are getting our new dining suite, and we’re getting our coffee machine. We talked about those things, we're planning them. I’m doing those things first. I’ll save for IVF after."
Him "Oh"
Me "What do you mean, 'Oh'? Why are you laughing?"
Him "I thought you had a secret shopping list or something …you know …a pair of Prada boots…?"
Honestly! I don’t know where that idea came from …I don’t even like Prada.
Anyway!
So, we’re waiting. 12 months. When we get to 12 months, we will hand over our credit card, and start private IVF. That’s the plan.
And just one little thing ...no matter how tempting it is to make me feel better by offering me platitudes, or telling me to relax …don’t do it, because I am balancing on a knife edge. I will mash my relaxed fist into your nose. Just so you know. Fair warning and all that.
Now ev'ry gambler knows
the secret to survivin',
the secret to survivin',
is knowin' what to throw away,
knowin' what to keep.
knowin' what to keep.
'Cos ev'ry hand's a winner,
and ev'ry hand's a loser …
You have to know when to hold ‘em,
Know when to fold ‘em,
Know when to walk away,
Know when to run.
You never count your money,
When you’re Sittin’ at the table,
There’ll time enough for countin’,
When the dealin’s done.**
* Dr Miriam Stoppard, "Conception, Pregnancy & Birth" (p. 29)
** ‘The Gambler – Kenny Rogers
** ‘The Gambler – Kenny Rogers
Tuesday 13 March 2007
Ahem
A friend just emailed me and suggested that 'rooting' perhaps wasn't the best choice of word in my below thank you post, considering the circumstances.
Heh Heh ...Snigger
Obviously, the double entendre was completely unintentional ...
It detracts from the seriousness of it all, don't you think?
So, we shall all pretend I said 'cheering' and never speak of this again.
Snort
Heh Heh ...Snigger
Obviously, the double entendre was completely unintentional ...
It detracts from the seriousness of it all, don't you think?
So, we shall all pretend I said 'cheering' and never speak of this again.
Snort
Thank you
To everyone who has been and is thinking of us, and has sent us messages yesterday, last night and this morning to remind us that we have so many people behind us, rooting for us, thank you.
I really can't tell you how much it means to both of us to have so much love and support.
I really can't tell you how much it means to both of us to have so much love and support.
The perfect post
I normally spend a bit of time in traffic on my way to work ...sitting at the lights behind 50 gazillion other cars, waiting for the infernal red light to go green, so that I can go and wait at the next red. I do have it better than some though, I encounter about 8 sets of lights between me and work with a nice stretch of relatively clear motorway (South Western) in between, and it usually only takes me about a half hour between driveways (mine and the office).
But, newsflash! Regardless of how easy/tough I have it, I have a system for getting around those pesky red lights! I discovered it just this morning while on my way to work ...and while it may not be entirely dependable, it worked great guns for me today.
Here it is ...
* Have a flash of brilliance and think of the perfect post for your blog whilst driving down the road. And by perfect, I mean an excellent blend of informative discourse and intelligent witticisms, on a well chosen topic. Literary genius and all that.
* While not taking your eyes off the road for a second (!! very important), reach a hand into your handbag and pull out your diary and a pen (allowing a little extra time for first grabbing onto some lip gloss, followed by a packet of paradex, a tub of moisturiser, your work keys, two pens that don't go, and something else kinda squishy (??!) before finding a working biro) to make some quick notes at the next red light (I choose the red lights because then you'll actually be able to write properly and be able to read what you've written later...oh, and, of course, the whole not operating a motor vehicle whilst trying to write blog notes thing).
* This will then ensure that the traffic will flow beautifully for the entire duration of your trip, you will encounter nothing but green lights the whole way into work, and therfore not be able to write down a single letter.
* Obviously, the downside of this system is that you'll forget what your blog post was going to be about by the time you get there.
How does that work you ask (the forgetting bit)? Well, it's like ...waking at 2am, when you can't be arsed getting out of bed, and thinking of something that you have to remember to do the next day, spending ten minutes debating with yourself whether you will remember and therefore don't have to get up, or you won't, in which case you do ...upending the cat that was sleeping on top of you (and who is now rather pissy) because you know from years of experience with this sort of thing that of course you're going to forget and you therefore have to get up, then tripping over a dog (or two) lying beside the bed, landing face first on the floor, righting yourself vaguely, walking into a door and then over-correcting into a wall, managing to get down the hallway with only one more wall incident, but having to turn on the kitchen lights to find a pen, therefore causing yourself to go completely blind as you realise that you're busting for the loo, which requires you to dash back down the hallway, tripping over whichever dog has followed you into the kitchen and is sitting behind you (I mean seriously, why would a dog think it's getting treats at 2am?? ...probably because they're so cute, they get treats at 2am ...I am so pathetic), and then forgetting why you got up in the first place, but because the dogs have decided that now that they're awake they too need to go for a pit-stop which involves not only wees (outside, obviously), but a full perimeter sniff of the property to ensure that no intruders ...or, you know, cats ...have entered their territory, then locking the door and checking 50 times that it is definitely locked and you are not going to murdered during what remains of your sleep, and going back to bed. Except, without the bruises and a pissy cat.
That sort of thing.
It was going to be such a clever post too. Bollocks.
But, newsflash! Regardless of how easy/tough I have it, I have a system for getting around those pesky red lights! I discovered it just this morning while on my way to work ...and while it may not be entirely dependable, it worked great guns for me today.
Here it is ...
* Have a flash of brilliance and think of the perfect post for your blog whilst driving down the road. And by perfect, I mean an excellent blend of informative discourse and intelligent witticisms, on a well chosen topic. Literary genius and all that.
* While not taking your eyes off the road for a second (!! very important), reach a hand into your handbag and pull out your diary and a pen (allowing a little extra time for first grabbing onto some lip gloss, followed by a packet of paradex, a tub of moisturiser, your work keys, two pens that don't go, and something else kinda squishy (??!) before finding a working biro) to make some quick notes at the next red light (I choose the red lights because then you'll actually be able to write properly and be able to read what you've written later...oh, and, of course, the whole not operating a motor vehicle whilst trying to write blog notes thing).
* This will then ensure that the traffic will flow beautifully for the entire duration of your trip, you will encounter nothing but green lights the whole way into work, and therfore not be able to write down a single letter.
* Obviously, the downside of this system is that you'll forget what your blog post was going to be about by the time you get there.
How does that work you ask (the forgetting bit)? Well, it's like ...waking at 2am, when you can't be arsed getting out of bed, and thinking of something that you have to remember to do the next day, spending ten minutes debating with yourself whether you will remember and therefore don't have to get up, or you won't, in which case you do ...upending the cat that was sleeping on top of you (and who is now rather pissy) because you know from years of experience with this sort of thing that of course you're going to forget and you therefore have to get up, then tripping over a dog (or two) lying beside the bed, landing face first on the floor, righting yourself vaguely, walking into a door and then over-correcting into a wall, managing to get down the hallway with only one more wall incident, but having to turn on the kitchen lights to find a pen, therefore causing yourself to go completely blind as you realise that you're busting for the loo, which requires you to dash back down the hallway, tripping over whichever dog has followed you into the kitchen and is sitting behind you (I mean seriously, why would a dog think it's getting treats at 2am?? ...probably because they're so cute, they get treats at 2am ...I am so pathetic), and then forgetting why you got up in the first place, but because the dogs have decided that now that they're awake they too need to go for a pit-stop which involves not only wees (outside, obviously), but a full perimeter sniff of the property to ensure that no intruders ...or, you know, cats ...have entered their territory, then locking the door and checking 50 times that it is definitely locked and you are not going to murdered during what remains of your sleep, and going back to bed. Except, without the bruises and a pissy cat.
That sort of thing.
It was going to be such a clever post too. Bollocks.
Monday 12 March 2007
The day before
Tomorrow, we meet with the specialist for the first time.
I had intended to do quite a poignant post this morning, and with that in mind I've been thinking alot about my worries and fears, and how this thing is affecting my life in general ...encroaching on everything somehow.
So much hinges on tomorrow. I don't know what to expect. I have very little control over what happens next and I hate that something so very important is in someone else's hands for now. My biggest fear is that we'll be sent away to wait because I really don't know how well I'll cope with that.
But, when it comes down to talking about the impact that it's all having?
I'll just tell you this ...
I went to Devonport on Saturday, and I forgot to get chocolates.
Obviously, I'm a wreck.
I had intended to do quite a poignant post this morning, and with that in mind I've been thinking alot about my worries and fears, and how this thing is affecting my life in general ...encroaching on everything somehow.
So much hinges on tomorrow. I don't know what to expect. I have very little control over what happens next and I hate that something so very important is in someone else's hands for now. My biggest fear is that we'll be sent away to wait because I really don't know how well I'll cope with that.
But, when it comes down to talking about the impact that it's all having?
I'll just tell you this ...
I went to Devonport on Saturday, and I forgot to get chocolates.
Obviously, I'm a wreck.
Friday 9 March 2007
Something very cool happened yesterday
I was given some money!
I love getting given money*! It's one of my favourite things, and even though this money was originally my money, it wasn't money I ever expected to get back, so it was like getting entirely new, free money.
It's a bit of a long story, but last year I enrolled with Massey University to do an extramural paper. The paper started off really well ...I was loving it, working hard and getting good results, but then my endo started really kicking up and I started struggling with my studies. Once I'd had the surgery, it became pretty clear that I wasn't going to be able to hold enough ground to get me through the rest of the year and the exam the way I wanted to. Massey did offer to hold the exam over until this year for me (basically, I'd complete the course work in one year, and sit the exam the next year) if I completed the second assignment, but things really did just turn to custard.
Anyway, the final date for withdrawl from study with a refund of fees and without academic penalty was in the March. I withdrew in October, so I'd missed the cut off by a wee bit ...which was just one of those things. When push came to shove, I just really didn't want to have it all hanging over my head. I'd had a feeling that we might end up where we are this year, and studying on top of it all ...? Uhhh ...No thanks! So, no harm, no foul, I decided to cop the academic penalty and waved goodbye to my course fees.
But, when I phoned the University to withdraw, they queried why I was yanking the chain so late in the year. I told them that is was a combination of personal circumstances and medical reasons, and on that basis it was suggested that I apply for ‘consideration’ from the University.
So, I figured I had nothing to lose (and if I could get part of my fee back then great!), and I wrote them a letter with as much detail as I could about that had happened throughout the year.
A few weeks later they wrote back to me saying that they had my application and would I supply a letter from my doctor confirming certain things ...such as the date that my endo developed. Hello? It wasn't a stubbed toe. I wasn't going to get a medical certificate saying "I confirm that the patient developed endometriosis at 9.07am on Monday the bla bla of April 2006" or whatthehellever. Although, if they wanted confirmation of the miscarriage that is thought to have triggered it all, they were welcome to the positive pregnancy test with my wees all over it (which, incidentally, I do not have any more).
Anyway, they had their list of confirmation and evidence required, and gave me a date by which to send it all in after which time they'd bin the application. It all got a bit hard, so I just left it. I didn't see that I could give them what they wanted, and since I wasn't expecting anything when I pulled out of the paper, I just filed the letter and wrote it off.
Then about a month ago I got a call from a lady at the University saying that she had my file sitting on her desk and could I send the stuff in. I explained to her the difficulty in that, and referred her to my original letter, and then said to her that I was happy for them to close their file. She, it seems, wasn't so happy to do so, and asked me to just get a letter from my Dr simply confirming the date I had my surgery. That didn't seem so hard, so I got the letter and sent it in to her.
Yesterday, they sent me a letter to say that they had reversed my academic penalty, and that they had refunded my fees in full (well, for the paper - I lost a non-refundable enrolment fee ...a grand total of $40 out of about $530, so woop de doo!). Yay for me! I was beyond surprised. So ...what am I going to do with my free money ...? I'm going to be sensible. I’m going to put the money towards [the very cool scarf I saw at Moochi last weekend! It’s a scarf …with a hood! And the beanie to match. Well, it doesn’t exactly match per se, and don’t ask me why I’d need a beanie with a hooded scarf, it’s just one of those things! Sort of like collecting handbags. And probably another pair of ballet flats. I love ballet flats] my fertility treatment – my specialist's accounts and drugs.
And, on another note ...if getting that five hundred bucks back doesn't make my Moochi bag free, I don't know what does!
* It's 6.25am (we're having a power shut down at work today, so no internet ...hence why my dedicated self is posting at this ungodly hour of the morning) and I cannot think of the grammatically (is that even spelled right?!) correct expression ...no doubt it'll hit me in about an hour when I'll be unable to edit it, and then bug me for the entire day!
I love getting given money*! It's one of my favourite things, and even though this money was originally my money, it wasn't money I ever expected to get back, so it was like getting entirely new, free money.
It's a bit of a long story, but last year I enrolled with Massey University to do an extramural paper. The paper started off really well ...I was loving it, working hard and getting good results, but then my endo started really kicking up and I started struggling with my studies. Once I'd had the surgery, it became pretty clear that I wasn't going to be able to hold enough ground to get me through the rest of the year and the exam the way I wanted to. Massey did offer to hold the exam over until this year for me (basically, I'd complete the course work in one year, and sit the exam the next year) if I completed the second assignment, but things really did just turn to custard.
Anyway, the final date for withdrawl from study with a refund of fees and without academic penalty was in the March. I withdrew in October, so I'd missed the cut off by a wee bit ...which was just one of those things. When push came to shove, I just really didn't want to have it all hanging over my head. I'd had a feeling that we might end up where we are this year, and studying on top of it all ...? Uhhh ...No thanks! So, no harm, no foul, I decided to cop the academic penalty and waved goodbye to my course fees.
But, when I phoned the University to withdraw, they queried why I was yanking the chain so late in the year. I told them that is was a combination of personal circumstances and medical reasons, and on that basis it was suggested that I apply for ‘consideration’ from the University.
So, I figured I had nothing to lose (and if I could get part of my fee back then great!), and I wrote them a letter with as much detail as I could about that had happened throughout the year.
A few weeks later they wrote back to me saying that they had my application and would I supply a letter from my doctor confirming certain things ...such as the date that my endo developed. Hello? It wasn't a stubbed toe. I wasn't going to get a medical certificate saying "I confirm that the patient developed endometriosis at 9.07am on Monday the bla bla of April 2006" or whatthehellever. Although, if they wanted confirmation of the miscarriage that is thought to have triggered it all, they were welcome to the positive pregnancy test with my wees all over it (which, incidentally, I do not have any more).
Anyway, they had their list of confirmation and evidence required, and gave me a date by which to send it all in after which time they'd bin the application. It all got a bit hard, so I just left it. I didn't see that I could give them what they wanted, and since I wasn't expecting anything when I pulled out of the paper, I just filed the letter and wrote it off.
Then about a month ago I got a call from a lady at the University saying that she had my file sitting on her desk and could I send the stuff in. I explained to her the difficulty in that, and referred her to my original letter, and then said to her that I was happy for them to close their file. She, it seems, wasn't so happy to do so, and asked me to just get a letter from my Dr simply confirming the date I had my surgery. That didn't seem so hard, so I got the letter and sent it in to her.
Yesterday, they sent me a letter to say that they had reversed my academic penalty, and that they had refunded my fees in full (well, for the paper - I lost a non-refundable enrolment fee ...a grand total of $40 out of about $530, so woop de doo!). Yay for me! I was beyond surprised. So ...what am I going to do with my free money ...? I'm going to be sensible. I’m going to put the money towards [the very cool scarf I saw at Moochi last weekend! It’s a scarf …with a hood! And the beanie to match. Well, it doesn’t exactly match per se, and don’t ask me why I’d need a beanie with a hooded scarf, it’s just one of those things! Sort of like collecting handbags. And probably another pair of ballet flats. I love ballet flats] my fertility treatment – my specialist's accounts and drugs.
And, on another note ...if getting that five hundred bucks back doesn't make my Moochi bag free, I don't know what does!
* It's 6.25am (we're having a power shut down at work today, so no internet ...hence why my dedicated self is posting at this ungodly hour of the morning) and I cannot think of the grammatically (is that even spelled right?!) correct expression ...no doubt it'll hit me in about an hour when I'll be unable to edit it, and then bug me for the entire day!
Thursday 8 March 2007
5 days to go
Although it feels like time has been dragging backwards since I made the appointment with the specialist - I guess anything short of immediate action feels like we're sitting on our hands swinging our feet in the air - it hasn't been so bad really, and it's only 5 days to go now.
I don't know what to expect from the specialist, I wish I did, but I'm hoping he'll give us a plan for treatment that we can kick off with my next cycle. I have no idea whether that is a long shot or not, but I'm not giving it too much thought right now.
I've booked the appointment for mid-cycle, so although I'm hoping that he won't want a redo of the blood (hormone) tests I've had done a gazillion times before (ok, ok ...3 or 4), if he does want them, I'll be able to get them done more or less straight away (my appointment is on cycle day 13, and the tests have to be done CD22/CD23) and I won't have to wait out another cycle (if I'd booked the appointment for CD24 for example and he wanted the tests, I'd have to wait another month just to do the bloods).
We're also going on holiday for a week at the end of the month - yay! The break will be really good for anything we may need to process, or come to terms with, or to just not think about it at all which would be bliss. Or, if the appointment doesn't go well for any reason (such as the specialist suggests we give it more time before getting into assisted reproduction, and I leap over his desk and stab him with my nail file or something), a holiday will be just the ticket!
I don't know what to expect from the specialist, I wish I did, but I'm hoping he'll give us a plan for treatment that we can kick off with my next cycle. I have no idea whether that is a long shot or not, but I'm not giving it too much thought right now.
I've booked the appointment for mid-cycle, so although I'm hoping that he won't want a redo of the blood (hormone) tests I've had done a gazillion times before (ok, ok ...3 or 4), if he does want them, I'll be able to get them done more or less straight away (my appointment is on cycle day 13, and the tests have to be done CD22/CD23) and I won't have to wait out another cycle (if I'd booked the appointment for CD24 for example and he wanted the tests, I'd have to wait another month just to do the bloods).
We're also going on holiday for a week at the end of the month - yay! The break will be really good for anything we may need to process, or come to terms with, or to just not think about it at all which would be bliss. Or, if the appointment doesn't go well for any reason (such as the specialist suggests we give it more time before getting into assisted reproduction, and I leap over his desk and stab him with my nail file or something), a holiday will be just the ticket!
Well, well, well ...what do we have here?
It's a post!
First thing in the morning!
For you to read while you have your respective morning coffees!!
So stop complaining that I never post first thing in the morning.
You know who you are.
:-)
First thing in the morning!
For you to read while you have your respective morning coffees!!
So stop complaining that I never post first thing in the morning.
You know who you are.
:-)
Wednesday 7 March 2007
The Ginger and the divorce
Well, honestly ...what did you think was going to happen when I told the ladle story? Al does read this blog every day.
Yeah, sure. He's far too used to me by now to have heart failure at one little wee oopsie ( ...just so long as he doesn't find out about the others*, I'm good). I mean, the words "No more shopping" were only uttered once during the whole of last night. 'Once' doesn't even appear on my radar. He's got to say it about 3 times before the radar even starts beeping. 6 times is probably entering the danger zone though. Which is what layby was invented for ...that gives me 6 weeks for him to forget that I wasn't allowed to shop.
Now, onto something serious ...
Who's eaten all my creme eggs?
Two days ago, my in-laws flew out of Auckland, destined for Vietnam. Al met them for lunch before they took off (literally) and they presented him with a big bag of creme eggs (they're not back until almost Easter). Obviously, I divided these up very fairly when I got home (Al got to have the ones I don't like, so it worked out pretty well ...about an 80/20 split in my favour) and carefully put my ones away. And by 'putting away' I mean 'hiding in the dark recesses of the pantry'.
But the thing is ...they've gone. All of them. Gone. Never to be seen again. Poof! Disappeared. The dastardly thieving culprit has (presumably) eaten all my creme eggs and just left the plastic packets and empty foil wrappers (very tidily in the rubbish bin, I must say)!
And do you know what's worse??
That villainous thief has also left an extra kilo or so on my scales.
How rude!
* My darling husband, of course I'm joking. The ladle is the only oopsie in the history of me. It's ....errr ....artistic licence or something, to, you know, make stuff up for entertainment value ...and I have a lot of people to entertain here.
Yeah, sure. He's far too used to me by now to have heart failure at one little wee oopsie ( ...just so long as he doesn't find out about the others*, I'm good). I mean, the words "No more shopping" were only uttered once during the whole of last night. 'Once' doesn't even appear on my radar. He's got to say it about 3 times before the radar even starts beeping. 6 times is probably entering the danger zone though. Which is what layby was invented for ...that gives me 6 weeks for him to forget that I wasn't allowed to shop.
Now, onto something serious ...
Who's eaten all my creme eggs?
Two days ago, my in-laws flew out of Auckland, destined for Vietnam. Al met them for lunch before they took off (literally) and they presented him with a big bag of creme eggs (they're not back until almost Easter). Obviously, I divided these up very fairly when I got home (Al got to have the ones I don't like, so it worked out pretty well ...about an 80/20 split in my favour) and carefully put my ones away. And by 'putting away' I mean 'hiding in the dark recesses of the pantry'.
But the thing is ...they've gone. All of them. Gone. Never to be seen again. Poof! Disappeared. The dastardly thieving culprit has (presumably) eaten all my creme eggs and just left the plastic packets and empty foil wrappers (very tidily in the rubbish bin, I must say)!
And do you know what's worse??
That villainous thief has also left an extra kilo or so on my scales.
How rude!
* My darling husband, of course I'm joking. The ladle is the only oopsie in the history of me. It's ....errr ....artistic licence or something, to, you know, make stuff up for entertainment value ...and I have a lot of people to entertain here.
Tuesday 6 March 2007
You'll be wondering about the ladle ...
The story of the ladle has become legend in some circles, but there are those among you who have probably been looking at the photo of the ladle thinking I’ve lost the plot. Not so! Well, not entirely anyway.
This is the story of the ladle …*
Once upon a time, in a fictional land far far away, there lived a fictional Ginger. The Ginger was married to a wonderful man called The Husband, who she loved dearly, and who she would never, ever, ever tell fibs to about shopping. Ever.
Every day The Ginger used to go for a walk during her lunch break at work, and she would wander past a gorgeous little shop called Art de Vivre which stocked all sorts of beautiful things. Amongst the beautiful things that were for sale at Art de Vivre there was a fabulous range of kitchen utensils, in Provençale designs …cheese, bread and paring knives, jam spoons, salad servers, serving spoons, ladles …but they were hideously expensive.
The Ginger used to dream of having such beautiful utensils in her kitchen.
Then, one day, The Ginger went for a walk during her lunch break and discovered the true meaning of happiness. Art de Vivre was closing down (very sad!), but they were having a closing down sale (very happy!!), and everything was reduced. Everything. Including the beautiful kitchen utensils. In fact, the beautiful kitchen utensils were not only individually reduced, but if you bought 2 or more, they were reduced by even more! The Ginger was in heaven as she [dived headfirst into the utensil display in case someone else might get to the utensils before her] gracefully collected a ladle, and a couple of other things, and then happily skipped back to her office** (after paying for them of course).
After happily skipping back to the office, The Ginger was cheerfully tucking her receipt for the ladle into her diary when she noticed something. Something rather bad really. She had actually paid quite a lot for the ladle. Quite a lot. Forty-something dollars a lot.*** For a ladle. Forty-something dollars for a ladle which was 30% off to start with. Which means that the ladle was about $60.00 full price. That’s a rather pricey ladle by anyone’s standards.****
The Ginger realised that the ladle must have been mispriced on the stand. Woops. But, it was such a beautiful ladle, that The Ginger forgave it for being mispriced, and just hoped that The Husband wouldn’t look at the VISA bill that month (and although The Ginger hopes this every month, she especially hoped it this particular month).
That night, The Ginger had to wrestle The Husband to the ground because he was going to use the ladle for serving dinner. The Ginger explained to The Husband that he cannot ever use the beautiful ladle because it was [too bloody expensive to actually use] so beautiful, it must be used for display only.
And then something else happened.
The Husband, although somewhat baffled, after the tackling incident, told The Ginger that he really liked the ladle and thought he and The Ginger should have more of such beautiful things in the kitchen. He suggested that while the sale was on, The Ginger should go and get some more utensils. Like, one of each. The Husband’s enthusiasm might have been partly because The Ginger might possibly have suggested that she had paid a little bit less than she actually had for the ladle. Just a smidgeon though, of course.
Uh oh.
The Ginger had a dilemma. What was a Ginger to do? She had to either admit to the husband that [she had told him an enormous fib about how much the ladle cost] the ladle wasn’t actually quite so cheap as she might accidentally have led him to believe it was …and therefore get herself strangled to death and buried in the back garden. OR she could go and get the rest of the set of beautiful utensils and protect the husband from knowing the true extent of The Ginger’s woopsie, which he surely would prefer anyway.
It was a difficult decision, which the Ginger suffered over dreadfully. For five minutes.
The very next day The Ginger went and got the rest of the beautiful utensils ...which no one is allowed to use to this day ...and The Ginger and The Husband lived happily ever after.
Until about 5 minutes after I post this.
* Please note that the story of the ladle is entirely fabricated. There is not an ounce of truth in it. Honest!!
** The Ginger is hoping that The Husband has started laughing too hard at the thought of The Ginger happily skipping anywhere to enable him to continue reading.
*** In case The Husband isn’t laughing too hard at the thought of The Ginger happily skipping anywhere, The Ginger has written The Husband a short letter:
Dearest The Husband (who is the most wonderful man in the world),
I love you very very much, and you must remember that because this story is entirely fictional, the price of the ladle is entirely fictional also, and The Ginger would never have paid that much for a ladle. Or told fibs about it.
Love,
The Ginger
**** She didn't notice this earlier at the time of purchasing the ladle as she had bought a couple of things, and is completely crap at maths.
This is the story of the ladle …*
Once upon a time, in a fictional land far far away, there lived a fictional Ginger. The Ginger was married to a wonderful man called The Husband, who she loved dearly, and who she would never, ever, ever tell fibs to about shopping. Ever.
Every day The Ginger used to go for a walk during her lunch break at work, and she would wander past a gorgeous little shop called Art de Vivre which stocked all sorts of beautiful things. Amongst the beautiful things that were for sale at Art de Vivre there was a fabulous range of kitchen utensils, in Provençale designs …cheese, bread and paring knives, jam spoons, salad servers, serving spoons, ladles …but they were hideously expensive.
The Ginger used to dream of having such beautiful utensils in her kitchen.
Then, one day, The Ginger went for a walk during her lunch break and discovered the true meaning of happiness. Art de Vivre was closing down (very sad!), but they were having a closing down sale (very happy!!), and everything was reduced. Everything. Including the beautiful kitchen utensils. In fact, the beautiful kitchen utensils were not only individually reduced, but if you bought 2 or more, they were reduced by even more! The Ginger was in heaven as she [dived headfirst into the utensil display in case someone else might get to the utensils before her] gracefully collected a ladle, and a couple of other things, and then happily skipped back to her office** (after paying for them of course).
After happily skipping back to the office, The Ginger was cheerfully tucking her receipt for the ladle into her diary when she noticed something. Something rather bad really. She had actually paid quite a lot for the ladle. Quite a lot. Forty-something dollars a lot.*** For a ladle. Forty-something dollars for a ladle which was 30% off to start with. Which means that the ladle was about $60.00 full price. That’s a rather pricey ladle by anyone’s standards.****
The Ginger realised that the ladle must have been mispriced on the stand. Woops. But, it was such a beautiful ladle, that The Ginger forgave it for being mispriced, and just hoped that The Husband wouldn’t look at the VISA bill that month (and although The Ginger hopes this every month, she especially hoped it this particular month).
That night, The Ginger had to wrestle The Husband to the ground because he was going to use the ladle for serving dinner. The Ginger explained to The Husband that he cannot ever use the beautiful ladle because it was [too bloody expensive to actually use] so beautiful, it must be used for display only.
And then something else happened.
The Husband, although somewhat baffled, after the tackling incident, told The Ginger that he really liked the ladle and thought he and The Ginger should have more of such beautiful things in the kitchen. He suggested that while the sale was on, The Ginger should go and get some more utensils. Like, one of each. The Husband’s enthusiasm might have been partly because The Ginger might possibly have suggested that she had paid a little bit less than she actually had for the ladle. Just a smidgeon though, of course.
Uh oh.
The Ginger had a dilemma. What was a Ginger to do? She had to either admit to the husband that [she had told him an enormous fib about how much the ladle cost] the ladle wasn’t actually quite so cheap as she might accidentally have led him to believe it was …and therefore get herself strangled to death and buried in the back garden. OR she could go and get the rest of the set of beautiful utensils and protect the husband from knowing the true extent of The Ginger’s woopsie, which he surely would prefer anyway.
It was a difficult decision, which the Ginger suffered over dreadfully. For five minutes.
The very next day The Ginger went and got the rest of the beautiful utensils ...which no one is allowed to use to this day ...and The Ginger and The Husband lived happily ever after.
Until about 5 minutes after I post this.
* Please note that the story of the ladle is entirely fabricated. There is not an ounce of truth in it. Honest!!
** The Ginger is hoping that The Husband has started laughing too hard at the thought of The Ginger happily skipping anywhere to enable him to continue reading.
*** In case The Husband isn’t laughing too hard at the thought of The Ginger happily skipping anywhere, The Ginger has written The Husband a short letter:
Dearest The Husband (who is the most wonderful man in the world),
I love you very very much, and you must remember that because this story is entirely fictional, the price of the ladle is entirely fictional also, and The Ginger would never have paid that much for a ladle. Or told fibs about it.
Love,
The Ginger
**** She didn't notice this earlier at the time of purchasing the ladle as she had bought a couple of things, and is completely crap at maths.
Monday 5 March 2007
New Link - Fertility Associates
You might have noticed the new link for Fertility Associates which has appeared on the right (if not ...guess what?? There's a new link to Fertility Associates on the right!!). If I haven't cocked it up (it's highly likely that I have, so I'll have to check as soon as I post this), the link will take you straight to a short profile on my specialist, Freddie Graham, who I will be seeing next Tuesday.
We were going to be going to a seminar tomorrow night with Fertility Associates on fertility treatments and counselling etc which I was quite looking forward to. Al saw it advertised in Thursday's paper, and I left a message with them on Friday. I thought that it would be good to gather all the information, and process it a bit before seeing the specialist on Friday. But (there is always a 'but' with this business!!) when I followed up on the message this morning it seems that by Thursday (when the ad was published) the seminar was already full! They had 60 people for tomorrow's seminar, and 20 on a waiting list for the next one which hasn't been set yet. Is it just me, or is that a scarey number of people who can't make a baby on their own?
As odd as it may sound, I think it's only just hit me that we really have to do this. I feel like I've just fallen over and hit reality-pavement face first. The whole fertility treatment and specialist thing has been hanging there in front of us for a while now, but it still wasn't really real to me - it was something that was in the future ...a back stop for if our miracle didn't happen. I don't know that I had really accepted that there were no miracles to be had for us. I guess I honestly thought that there'd be an eleventh hour 'surprise' and we'd be saved from all this. This is not how it was supposed to be at all and I don't want to do it this way. I really don't.
Still, perhaps the journey will be a short one. That'd be the next best thing.
We were going to be going to a seminar tomorrow night with Fertility Associates on fertility treatments and counselling etc which I was quite looking forward to. Al saw it advertised in Thursday's paper, and I left a message with them on Friday. I thought that it would be good to gather all the information, and process it a bit before seeing the specialist on Friday. But (there is always a 'but' with this business!!) when I followed up on the message this morning it seems that by Thursday (when the ad was published) the seminar was already full! They had 60 people for tomorrow's seminar, and 20 on a waiting list for the next one which hasn't been set yet. Is it just me, or is that a scarey number of people who can't make a baby on their own?
As odd as it may sound, I think it's only just hit me that we really have to do this. I feel like I've just fallen over and hit reality-pavement face first. The whole fertility treatment and specialist thing has been hanging there in front of us for a while now, but it still wasn't really real to me - it was something that was in the future ...a back stop for if our miracle didn't happen. I don't know that I had really accepted that there were no miracles to be had for us. I guess I honestly thought that there'd be an eleventh hour 'surprise' and we'd be saved from all this. This is not how it was supposed to be at all and I don't want to do it this way. I really don't.
Still, perhaps the journey will be a short one. That'd be the next best thing.
Having issues today
I've been trying to get a post to publish all morning, and blogger is obviously having a similar kind of day to me. It should have stayed in bed this morning.
My post has 'published successfully' about 10 times, but is it there? No.
If it suddenly appears (ten times), it's not my fault!! (well, technically I suppose it is, but I blame blogger for being unruly).
Grrr.
My post has 'published successfully' about 10 times, but is it there? No.
If it suddenly appears (ten times), it's not my fault!! (well, technically I suppose it is, but I blame blogger for being unruly).
Grrr.
Sunday 4 March 2007
I've created a monster!
Al went shopping on friday night, and proceeded to explain to me once said shopping was discovered (hiding in the bottom of a bag of Indian takeout), that it was free.
Apparently all he had to do was swap a piece of plastic (his VISA) for a piece of paper (the receipt), and no money changed hands at all ...so it was free!
I suggested that that might be taking the whole 'spending justification' system to the extreme.
He just grinned.
Crap.
Apparently all he had to do was swap a piece of plastic (his VISA) for a piece of paper (the receipt), and no money changed hands at all ...so it was free!
I suggested that that might be taking the whole 'spending justification' system to the extreme.
He just grinned.
Crap.
Friday 2 March 2007
Getting it right
What the hell do I set this to to get the blimin date right? It's posting a day behind at the moment ...
I've got it set to UTC + 12:00, NZ daylight time. You'd think that'd do it.
Help!
[Nevermind. I give up. It seems to have put itself right. Must be because I had some chocolate cake. Everything seems to fix itself after chocolate cake ...]
I've got it set to UTC + 12:00, NZ daylight time. You'd think that'd do it.
Help!
[Nevermind. I give up. It seems to have put itself right. Must be because I had some chocolate cake. Everything seems to fix itself after chocolate cake ...]
Thursday 1 March 2007
The woman at the BBQ
Every now and again something happens that completely takes your feet out from under you when you don't expect it, and it leaves you feeling empty and sad. I've been feeling a bit like that this week because of something that happened at the BBQ last weekend. I didn't want to post this earlier in the week though, because I needed a few days with my thoughts, and because when I talked to you about it, I really wanted to divorce it in my head from the happy occasion that was my brother's engagement.
One of the things that is hardest to cope with when you are dealing with infertility is that life goes on for everyone around you. It doesn't grind to a halt for them like it has for you. I guess that if you are someone who didn't have a problem falling pregnant, it makes sense that it wouldn't naturally cross your mind that other people might not be the same as you, and I think that awareness is something that comes from experience and understanding. You (hopefully) learn to tread a bit carefully. You (again, hopefully) stop and think twice before you make that pregnancy dig, or suggest that a couple are too busy having a good time to think about children.
Whilst I try to be understanding, to think of things from the other person's point of view, and make allowances ...be the bigger person and all that ...sometimes I just get tired of it. In fact, at the moment, it's not just sometimes.
Don't get me wrong though - I don't have pregnancy envy, and I don't have baby envy. I don't want your pregnancy, and I don't want your baby. I'm not bubbling over with cluckiness. I don't feel like I want to bundle random babies up and take them home, or wish that they were mine ...and I really don't do the whole 'gooing' and 'gaahing' over babies thing.
What I want is a particular child. The child that will be part of me, and part of my husband. I want that child which will be a part of both of us, to raise, to watch it grow and help it learn, and I want to watch my husband be the wonderful father that I know he will be. I want the family that we planned.
I get asked a lot, and hassled a bit about 'having babies' by friends, acquaintances, and even people I don't really know. It's one of those things. I'm in my late 20s, I've been married for 5 years and I have 2 dogs and a cat. It's the natural progression to add a baby to the mix, and most people aren't backwards about coming forwards and calling you on it. I also get raised eyebrows if I mention feeling tired or rundown, or my posture sucks, or I've had a huge lunch or whatever. Mostly I go with the "Yeah, yeah, whatever" variety of answer and that mostly does the trick.
I've said before that I have good days, and I have bad days. The last couple of weeks I've been having bad days. I'm at the end of my cycle, which is always hard, but this is the last one before I start fertility treatment, and so it's been especially difficult for me. I feel a bit like someone has been drumming 'this is it this is it this is it this is it this is the end' in my head since my Luteal Phase* started.
So, my reaction was a little bit inevitable when this happened ...
At the BBQ I came across someone who I knew by sight from high school. She is the sister of my brother's fiancee. And she's 5 months pregnant. She came up to me, wondering what I'd been doing since high school. I said I'd been to uni, been in legal as a secretary for about 8 years, then shifted to a straight admin job about 6 months ago and was just cruising with that. Just gave her basic stuff. As you do.
Then she gave me the look, and I knew it was coming before she patted her bump and said "Maybe this next?" Yeah. Maybe.
It's one of those things. Natural progression. I get that, so I just let it go. I gave her my politely-disinterested-I-don't-want-to-get-into-that smile and my standard "Yeah, yeah, whatever", before grabbing a cold sausage off the table, making my (rather feeble admittedly, but I was thinking on the hop) excuses, and heading inside to heat it up in the quiet safety of the kitchen.
Obviously I wasn't expecting her to follow me a couple of minutes later and start telling me that she is "sooooo lucky" because she doesn't have a single stretch mark ...and I really wasn't expecting her to pull up her top, and display her bump so that I could see for myself that there was indeed a lack of stretch marks!! Ye gads. I didn't even know this person.
I put it down to her being weirdly forward, and thankfully, my sausage exploded in the microwave at that point, rather symbolically I thought, and I had to go and get another one.
I managed to avoid/ignore her until dinner was well under way ...probably helped by the fact that I'd deliberately positioned myself with my back to her. But, you know, whatever works.
Somehow, the dinner conversation turned to my earliest childhood memory ...and I said that it was "Dad telling me that he flushed the Christmas tree down the chimney"** Yes, I said chimney. I meant toilet, obviously. Everyone thought it was hilarious, and I said something about having had a bad week with muddling my words up (which is because I had been having trouble sleeping, and was exhausted!!).
Obviously, I provided a great opening for the sister who interjected with "You must be pregnant!". Oh! Yes! That must be it! Why didn't I think of that? ...Oh. That's right. BECAUSE I'M INFERTILE.
But still, I left it. I knew, knew she was just trying to draw attention to herself, and her pregnancy which she has every right to be proud of, and what she wanted was to talk about it and be fussed over, to be able to say that that's what happened to her when she was pregnant ...just as clearly as I knew that she didn't know that I was struggling with infertility. But I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to, and I didn't see why I should. I was tired and raw, and had my own thing going on. I get tired of making allowances for people sometimes. So, I just said "No, I really don't think so" with a nice firm, 'leave this the eff alone' inflection to my voice.
Think that was the end of it? Uh, no.
There was a group of us standing around talking a little later on, as you do at BBQs, I think talking about the building industry since 4 of us were in it, one was on the periphery, and Al knows a bit about it. And then she appears again. Just walks on up, and says ...
"Well, if you're thinking about babies, I can recommend doing it in parks - that seemed to work for us!" while smiling and fondly rubbing her bump.
I am not joking. Who the hell does that? What did she want me to say ...?
At this point, and I honestly couldn't help it, I turned to her with a smile several hundred degrees chillier than the antarctic and said ...
"Actually, we're going to be mixing our babies up in a laboratory, but thanks all the same."
And she stayed away after that.
I guess where I'm going with this story is, please think twice. Please remember that we could be any woman you come across, any woman on the street, and we may not want to talk, or give you the attention you want. We might not be capable of it, even if we wanted to ...be it today, tomorrow, the next day, or every day. If you're someone we know, that may be hard for you, but remember, it's hard for us too. Very hard. We do our best, but we're going through a lot.
* The period from the day after ovulation to the start of your next cycle.
** I was probalby about 2 or 3, and I'd asked Dad where the Christmas tree was after it disappeared that year after Christmas.
One of the things that is hardest to cope with when you are dealing with infertility is that life goes on for everyone around you. It doesn't grind to a halt for them like it has for you. I guess that if you are someone who didn't have a problem falling pregnant, it makes sense that it wouldn't naturally cross your mind that other people might not be the same as you, and I think that awareness is something that comes from experience and understanding. You (hopefully) learn to tread a bit carefully. You (again, hopefully) stop and think twice before you make that pregnancy dig, or suggest that a couple are too busy having a good time to think about children.
Whilst I try to be understanding, to think of things from the other person's point of view, and make allowances ...be the bigger person and all that ...sometimes I just get tired of it. In fact, at the moment, it's not just sometimes.
Don't get me wrong though - I don't have pregnancy envy, and I don't have baby envy. I don't want your pregnancy, and I don't want your baby. I'm not bubbling over with cluckiness. I don't feel like I want to bundle random babies up and take them home, or wish that they were mine ...and I really don't do the whole 'gooing' and 'gaahing' over babies thing.
What I want is a particular child. The child that will be part of me, and part of my husband. I want that child which will be a part of both of us, to raise, to watch it grow and help it learn, and I want to watch my husband be the wonderful father that I know he will be. I want the family that we planned.
I get asked a lot, and hassled a bit about 'having babies' by friends, acquaintances, and even people I don't really know. It's one of those things. I'm in my late 20s, I've been married for 5 years and I have 2 dogs and a cat. It's the natural progression to add a baby to the mix, and most people aren't backwards about coming forwards and calling you on it. I also get raised eyebrows if I mention feeling tired or rundown, or my posture sucks, or I've had a huge lunch or whatever. Mostly I go with the "Yeah, yeah, whatever" variety of answer and that mostly does the trick.
I've said before that I have good days, and I have bad days. The last couple of weeks I've been having bad days. I'm at the end of my cycle, which is always hard, but this is the last one before I start fertility treatment, and so it's been especially difficult for me. I feel a bit like someone has been drumming 'this is it this is it this is it this is it this is the end' in my head since my Luteal Phase* started.
So, my reaction was a little bit inevitable when this happened ...
At the BBQ I came across someone who I knew by sight from high school. She is the sister of my brother's fiancee. And she's 5 months pregnant. She came up to me, wondering what I'd been doing since high school. I said I'd been to uni, been in legal as a secretary for about 8 years, then shifted to a straight admin job about 6 months ago and was just cruising with that. Just gave her basic stuff. As you do.
Then she gave me the look, and I knew it was coming before she patted her bump and said "Maybe this next?" Yeah. Maybe.
It's one of those things. Natural progression. I get that, so I just let it go. I gave her my politely-disinterested-I-don't-want-to-get-into-that smile and my standard "Yeah, yeah, whatever", before grabbing a cold sausage off the table, making my (rather feeble admittedly, but I was thinking on the hop) excuses, and heading inside to heat it up in the quiet safety of the kitchen.
Obviously I wasn't expecting her to follow me a couple of minutes later and start telling me that she is "sooooo lucky" because she doesn't have a single stretch mark ...and I really wasn't expecting her to pull up her top, and display her bump so that I could see for myself that there was indeed a lack of stretch marks!! Ye gads. I didn't even know this person.
I put it down to her being weirdly forward, and thankfully, my sausage exploded in the microwave at that point, rather symbolically I thought, and I had to go and get another one.
I managed to avoid/ignore her until dinner was well under way ...probably helped by the fact that I'd deliberately positioned myself with my back to her. But, you know, whatever works.
Somehow, the dinner conversation turned to my earliest childhood memory ...and I said that it was "Dad telling me that he flushed the Christmas tree down the chimney"** Yes, I said chimney. I meant toilet, obviously. Everyone thought it was hilarious, and I said something about having had a bad week with muddling my words up (which is because I had been having trouble sleeping, and was exhausted!!).
Obviously, I provided a great opening for the sister who interjected with "You must be pregnant!". Oh! Yes! That must be it! Why didn't I think of that? ...Oh. That's right. BECAUSE I'M INFERTILE.
But still, I left it. I knew, knew she was just trying to draw attention to herself, and her pregnancy which she has every right to be proud of, and what she wanted was to talk about it and be fussed over, to be able to say that that's what happened to her when she was pregnant ...just as clearly as I knew that she didn't know that I was struggling with infertility. But I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to, and I didn't see why I should. I was tired and raw, and had my own thing going on. I get tired of making allowances for people sometimes. So, I just said "No, I really don't think so" with a nice firm, 'leave this the eff alone' inflection to my voice.
Think that was the end of it? Uh, no.
There was a group of us standing around talking a little later on, as you do at BBQs, I think talking about the building industry since 4 of us were in it, one was on the periphery, and Al knows a bit about it. And then she appears again. Just walks on up, and says ...
"Well, if you're thinking about babies, I can recommend doing it in parks - that seemed to work for us!" while smiling and fondly rubbing her bump.
I am not joking. Who the hell does that? What did she want me to say ...?
At this point, and I honestly couldn't help it, I turned to her with a smile several hundred degrees chillier than the antarctic and said ...
"Actually, we're going to be mixing our babies up in a laboratory, but thanks all the same."
And she stayed away after that.
I guess where I'm going with this story is, please think twice. Please remember that we could be any woman you come across, any woman on the street, and we may not want to talk, or give you the attention you want. We might not be capable of it, even if we wanted to ...be it today, tomorrow, the next day, or every day. If you're someone we know, that may be hard for you, but remember, it's hard for us too. Very hard. We do our best, but we're going through a lot.
* The period from the day after ovulation to the start of your next cycle.
** I was probalby about 2 or 3, and I'd asked Dad where the Christmas tree was after it disappeared that year after Christmas.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)