No… the C word isn’t C U Next Tuesday: it is children. Having them eludes me.
For a large part, it is taxing on my body and my emotions, but today I just had to laugh.
Because today I put a progesterone pessary up my bottom.
From now until I’m told otherwise, I have to ‘shelve it’ twice a day. Usually a pessary is for your manoush, but the clinic says putting it in your bottom is better.
And believe me, when you’re desperate for kids, you just do whatever the clinic tells you.
If you asked me a few years ago if I would be putting things in there, I’d have said NEVER NEVER NEVER, but now I’m cool… ish.
I’ll just add it to the list of LOL and ridiculous moments I’ve had on this fertility roller coaster, such as:
1. Laying in bed for 20 minutes after doing the deed with my legs in the air, trying to hold everything in there
2. Peeing on stick after stick to test ovulation or pregnancy – if I laid them out end to end, I’m pretty sure I could fill a football field
3. Buying a fertility bracelet… I think I must have been desperate at this point. It broke. And I’m not pregnant
4. Trying to think of legitimate-sounding excuses as to why I will be late to work and talking in codes to the people at work who do know. “How was your breakfast meeting?” wink wink.
5. Discussing my breast fullness, cervical mucus and bowel movements with my acupuncturist
6. Downing 101 herbal supplements and goodness knows what else, courtesy of my naturopath and acupuncturist…. For all I know I could be chowing on donkey balls every morning!
7. Getting hot flushes like a menopausal lady because of the fertility meds
8. Giving myself injections – yep, I feel hardcore, but I know I’m not because I chicken out and have about three false starts before I actually stab myself
I’ve been poked, prodded, had everyone under the sun looking at my junk, had iodine squirted up my fallopian tubes (try saying hystersalpingogram three times quickly!) and had discussions about my body and my sex life with half of Perth.
One in six couples experience infertility, defined the inability to conceive if, after trying for twelve months you’re unsuccessful. When I go in for my daily blood tests, the room is full.
I wouldn’t wish this on anyone else, but for all those of you in this boat with me, let’s reflect for a moment on what we’ve been through, how nuts the experience is, and have a good old chuckle.
The author of this post is known to Mamamia but has chosen to remain anonymous.