Over the past decade I’ve had more people peer up my vagina than I care to remember. Mostly with my husband by my side holding my hand. At first he was awkward about it, he would nervously look at the ultra sound screen, or my face, or even the photos on the wall, but never down between my legs where my doctor or scientist or nurses had their heads. Eight years later he’s a total pro, he is practically an expert, mainly on my reproductive system, but I have no doubt in the case of someone else’s vagina emergency he would know what to do.
You see Medicare, I have spent my 30s trying to make a family but have been mostly unsuccessful. My husband and I have a 100 per cent failure rate when it comes to IVF. We often high five our awesome accurateness at not achieving a pregnancy through it, and the ‘F’ word is banned in our house. FERTILE…it’s a F-ilthy word to me because I am so very very tired of the sadness, and heartbreak, and other men who are not my husband peering up my vagina.
Only last month, after another failed round of IVF, I finally had the courage to share my despair. I introduced my followers to the May edition of Gerard and Emily’s un-excellent infertility adventure. I want to share it with you Medicare in the hope you may understand the repercussions of your possible decision to cut rebates for women over 35.
This little cell of hope was put in me, and my long-suffering aforementioned husband joked that it had my eyes and his nose. We also joked that this little dot of dreams would have the middle name of May. After the month we’d conceived and my beautiful Nana Mavis who was gentle and kind, attributes I’d hoped this part of my DNA would have. Even if it were a boy we laughed it would still be May. I also felt this was the one. Gerard was home within an hour before the transfer to hold my hand.
Last transfer he was away overseas. We’d Face-timed during that transfer, hilariously his two mates were with him on the other end of the line. Their faces beamed into the transfer room and they got a bit of a shock when they saw more of me than they would normally want, but after 10 years of fertility treatment, what’s another few faces in the room when my legs are akimbo. They wished me luck and I wondered if this would be the fun story we would tell our future child, that seven people were there that day. A doctor, a scientist, a nurse, your daddy, his two mates and me all hoping, wishing and praying you into existence. It wasn’t, so I really felt this would be the one.
IVF is so down to timing and totally out of your control that surely him getting home right on the hour that this would be it. It wasn’t. Another month down the toilet literally, right before Mother’s Day, and during Infertility Awareness Week, the irony was not lost on me.
It was the 29th embryo we had lost and I have all the pictures from the ones that made it at least to the transfer stage. They mean so much to us; we love it so much, even when it fails.