25 Things No One Tells You About IVF and infertility…

Posted on January 8, 2014 by borysSNORC

1. When people say IVF is an ’emotional roller coaster’, they are sugar coating it – nothing will prepare you for the soul destroying cycle of hope and despair/hope and despair like month in, month out unsuccessful IVF cycles.

2.You will find yourself living in two week blocks – two weeks of self injecting hormones and watching to see if you got good eggs up… two weeks of waiting to see if your cycle worked. You will plan your entire life around these two week blocks.

3. Well meaning friends who aren’t aware or have forgotten that you are on IVF, will ask ‘So, when are you two starting a family?’ (sometimes while smugly patting a growing abdomen), which will simultaneously make you want to burst into tears and/or stab someone.

4. IVF totally kills your sex life – after months (for some people, years) of trying the ‘old fashioned way’, you will find yourself being told NOT to have sex at various time while trying to conceive on IVF.

5. After a while on IVF, you will start avoiding baby showers and visiting friends with new babies. – you will even avoid the baby section of department stores and women with strollers in public… anything to stay away from the little emotional time bombs.

6. IVF drives home just how ‘animal’ humans are, and how hard we work to ignore this fact in our day to day lives – being infertile and unable to breed makes you feel ‘less of a woman’… femmascualated, if you will.

7. When on IVF, topics like vaginal discharge, sperm count, sperm motility, testicular aspiration, and fallopian hydration all become perfectly acceptable conversational gobbits, and will be trolled out with alarming regularity, even over the dinner table.

8. IVF patients see a pregnant teenager smoking or drinking, or a new brand new mom smoking near an infant, and do not just go ‘Tut, tut, how irresponsible!’ – they will go into a completely uncharacteristic, blind rage and have to employ all their self restraint to refrain from ripping that person a new asshole.

9. When on IVF, people will frequently say, to ‘Why don’t you just adopt?’ – like there is a magical baby store somewhere that you can just rock up to a counter, place your order and pick up a matching pair of kids for an instant family.

10. While on IVF you won’t want to have sex – your abdomen will be bloated and tender from injecting hormones – so you won’t want to have sex during the follicular stimulation part of your cycle. Waxy progesterone pessaries or Crinone glugging up your vagina like Clag, is so NOT sexy – so you won’t want to have sex during the luteal support phase of your cycle either.

11. You will find yourself unable to be genuinely happy for any friends or family members who are pregnant/having babies/have newborns… you find yourself faking happiness in these situations and turning in an Oscar winning performance. This is emotionally exhausting.

12. On IVF, time ceases to pass in the same way – normally days and weeks and months normally seem to fly, but when waiting to do a pregnancy test, time will creep by the speed and velocity of cold molasses flowing uphill.

13. People will judge you for trying ‘extreme measures’ like IVF. They will say that you will ‘get pregnant as soon as you stop trying so hard’ – this is complete and utter bullshit. No one in their right mind would put themselves through IVF unless they had serious medical issues.

14. While on IVF, even if you have a rare and fleeting moment when you feel up to it, your partner won’t want to have sex with you – he’ll be worried about knocking those precious little embryos out of place.

15. When you’re on IVF, a veritable plethora of absurd advice will rain down upon you with alarming regularity – ‘Just take a holiday and it’ll happen’… ‘You just need to relax and it’ll happen’… ‘Try standing on your head after sex and it’ll happen’ – I shit you not on that last one.

16. At some point when undergoing IVF procedures it becomes perfectly normal and routine to have a big plastic wand shoved in your vagina, sometimes several times each month – regular trans-vaginal ultrasounds become the least of your problems.

17. The phrase ‘Life isn’t Fair’ takes on a whole new meaning – after enduring unsuccessful IVF treatments you’ll find yourself pondering women who get pregnant and don’t want to be and thinking ‘why is it so easy for everyone else???’

18. When you’re on IVF eventually the idea that people can get pregnant through sexual intercourse becomes a concept so foreign to you, as to be completely fucking absurd – conception no longer has anything to do with physical intimacy with your partner.

19. IVF somehow makes your uterus public property – everyone from your mum, your sister, your neighbours, your work colleagues, to your hairdresser will all have an opinion on what you are doing ‘wrong’ and they will be only to happy to share it.

20. After a while on IVF treatments the phrase ‘We are praying for you’, will make you want to commit grievous bodily harm. With the nearest blunt instrument. You will need a chaperone/witness for social occasions.

21. At some point on IVF you will try to convince yourself that you have ‘given up’ – but deep down inside you will discover you are unable to… even years later you may find you never actually ‘gave up’ and the pain of it all is still with you.

22. If you are on IVF long enough (too long?) you will find yourself developing deep and abiding friendships with the anaesthetists who keep you company while you wait for your surgeon – you may even end up with a favourite anaesthetist (this is a very sad state of affairs).

23. While on IVF, you will learn more about the female anatomy, the reproductive system, hormones and artificial reproductive technologies than you ever wanted to know… you will become the ‘Girly Swot Guru’ for the rest of your fertile female friends.

24. Early on during IVF your modesty will be defenestrated – about the second or third time you have an embryo transfer with your OB/GYN, a scientist or two, a nurse, an orderly and some strange guy writing notes in the corner of the room while you have your feet in the stirrups you will decide: ‘Modesty, schmodesty.’

25. But the worst thing no one tells you about when you’re on IVF is that a positive pregnancy test is no guarantee of a healthy viable foetus – so much can still go wrong from the point of conception and positive test to actually growing a healthy baby, and a miscarriage after years of effort, pain and expense is absolutely soul destroying.

OMG. What have I done?

Posted on December 7, 2013 by borysSNORC

I may have made a tactical error.

I’ve not been sleeping so great. Being on an unusual bed has a tendency to do that to me… aaaand this information surprises no one. So I wanted to go for a massage. Seeing that costs about $170 real dollars here, I thought I’d get one in Auckland instead. I know, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

I found a place in a shopping centre, very similar to what they have at home, and though a 45 minute neck, back and shoulder massage might loosen me up a bit. But I kinda overlooked the importance of communication in the massage process having become familiar with the massage therapists that I see at home.

Turns out getting a massage from someone with a limited grasp of English, isn’t the same as getting my nails done from someone with whom I have a similar language barrier. Worst thing that can happen getting my nails done by a little Vietnamese lady who can’t understand me is that I’ll end up with nails that are out too long or too square. Turns out that the worst thing that can happen getting a massage from a little Chinese lady with speaks VERY limited English is that I can spend the next hour in excruciating agony!

The exchange went something like this:

Me: Hi I’ve got a chronic pain condition from a number of car accidents, and I’d like a neck, back and shoulder massage, please.
Massage Lady: You point. You point on picture.
Me: O_o okay *duly points to picture*
ML: Ok. On table.
Me: I’d prefer no oil and 45 min mins thanks
ML: Okay. Okay. No problem. No problem. I do you.

Hmmm…

So like a fool, I half strip and get on the table and within less than 30 seconds, I am clenching my hands, eyes wide open in extreme pain and going ‘Hey, easy on, that REALLY hurts.’ She pokes around for a bit, ‘So stiff. So stiff.’… a bit more ‘Very tight. Very tight.’, more prodding, ‘Too hard. Too hard’. I’m squirming and just about in tears, telling her to ease up! Then she says in very broken English, ‘You want me go lighter, I need take longer.’ Ok fair enough. I knew my muscles were in quite a state seeing how she poked my upper thoracic and I got a sharp pain behind my right ear, and then she poke my lower back and I got a horrid ants crawling over my scalp sort of tingly feeling, so that’s fair cop, I think. One hour it is.

She says ‘Muscles no loosen up without Chinese oil’. So, then it was out with the oil. Yeurk… I hate massage oil, it leaves you all slimy for the rest of the day. And she’s rubbing my back down like I’m a big brawny footballer or something, trying to get my muscles to loosen up a bit. And once they did a little bit, it was out with the pointy pointy fingers. Holy fuck. I had forgotten why I always try and see masseurs… larger hands means the heavy pressure is distributed a little less pointedly. Fark. Everywhere she touched me was horrendously tender and painful. I found myself doing breathing exercises like a laboring pregnant woman to try and get through the pain! Unbelievable.

But when I think I’m okay with that, it was out with the pointy, point elbows. Seriously, she was pushing so hard on my shoulder girdle, I swear I heard her put a foot up on the wall opposite to get more leverage! More gritting of teeth and imploring her to ease up a bit, ‘Yes, yes, lady. No problem. No problem.’ Argghh!

By this time I am lying there, face squished down the hole doing the squirrel cheeks thing, wondering how soon the hour will be up and wondering if I’ll make it. Next thing I know, she’s put a towel over my lower back and clambered up onto the table with me and starts getting into the back of my hips with her knees! Shit. As if this woman didn’t have pointy enough hands, and pointy enough elbows, I gotta saying, her damn knees were about as pointy as they come! She kneaded me (pun intended) all up and down my lower spine, rather skillfully getting into every vertebra by swinging her feet left and right to get the right angles. I felt like Tim Curry, in Charlie’s Angels with Lucy Liu walking up and down his back, half expecting some unexpected and swift maneuver that would render me unconscious any second… well I was hoping for unconsciousness, because this shit was fucking killing me!

I managed to get out of there alive, though seriously thought it was going to be a bit touch and go there for a while. I was somewhat dazed for about the next half hour, guzzling as much water as I could and trying to keep a jumper on so I didn’t cool down too quickly.

Not smart Borys, not smart. Tomorrow we will see if my back looks like someone took to it with a bike chain.

Shan’t be doing that again.

Malinger – to feign illness, in order to shirk one’s duty or avoid work.

Posted on November 29, 2013 by borysSNORC

“I know what people in pain look like… and she’s definitely not in pain.” said the stupidest, most ignorant fucking prick this side of the Black Stump, to my friend…

What gives someone the audacity, sheer gall, to meet me for a few hours, pass judgement on my body, my pain and my inescapable daily experience of it, and then decide that I’m some sort of malingerer? What sort of arrogant wanker thinks he has the right to look into my mind, my heart, my body, and decide what I do or do not feel? What sort of smug, pompous, self involved, vainglorious little arse of a man (who, by the way, is not in possession of any sort of medical degree, extensive nursing training or engaged in the healthcare professions), gets to decide that I am LYING about MY pain?

Many of you know me pretty well… you’ve seen me at medieval events wearing heavy and uncomfortable clothing doing things that I shouldn’t be doing, you’ve seen me laughing and being social at parties pretending everything is fine, you’ve seen me (like this fucktard has) standing around all day in pain teaching people to shoot. You’ve seen me helping out where ever I am physically able, whilst simultaneously acknowledging and yet attempting to ignore the limitations of my body.

Some of you will know that I’m wearing bright pink today, or purple, or red, so that hopefully the people around me won’t notice the pained look in my eyes. Some of you will know that the awkward or slightly limping gait with which I am walking is from sitting too long, or the strained expressions as I execute the extremely difficult manoeuvre of getting out of a chair is from nerves shooting pain signals around my body. Some of you will know that I’ve constantly got more pharmaceuticals in my system than should be allowed for short blondes, or for operating machinery or for consuming alcohol. Some of you will know these things but then will politely refrain from mentioning it, because you know that I really don’t want to talk about it. Some of you will know that I am not really the surly bitch that my facial expressions might indicate, that it is just the strain of keeping my shit to myself all the time.

What very few of you know is just how much fucking effort it takes to keep myself upright and functioning, each and every day. Very few of you know that I have not slept for more than five or six hours any night for the last six years. Very few of you know that I am in so much pain that I take freezing cold showers in the middle of the night, to feel something other than pain. Very few of you know that I am habitually just one tiny unexpected inconvenience from tears, as I constantly channel all my energy into ignoring my pain, leaving very little energy for dealing with ‘other people’s shit’. Very few of you know how many times I have wanted to step off the planet and cease to live this painful existence. Very few of you know how dark the dark times really are, and how little real joy there is in a life filled with pain with no hope of reprieve.

What this self centred, egotistical, callous, and downright malicious cretin of a man, who made this hideously inappropriate and ignorant comment about ME, after barely four hours acquaintance, will NEVER know is just how desperately I want to march right up to him, right now, and tell him like it is. Tell him how horrid it is living in this traitorous body that gives me nothing but pain and heartache. Tell him what it is like to be constantly medicated to the point where your own recollections of the days events are notoriously unreliable. Tell him what it is like to be absolutely bone weary exhausted and yet be unable to sleep because the pain keeps you awake. Tell him what it is like to be afraid of picking up a fucking electric jug in the kitchen or reach down to pet the puppy, without steeling yourself against potentially painful spasms that could last all day. Tell him what it is like to have your first and foremost thought of every minute of every day be how much pain your body is experiencing.

Instead, I am just sitting here, asking myself why the fuck do I even go to such extraordinary efforts and measures to keep my chronically painful self TO MYSELF, if intellectually challenged individuals like this ignorant simpleton are going to judge me like this?

Just because I am not crying does not mean I am not in pain.
Just because I am not wearing a cast or a brace, does not mean I am not hurting.
Just because I am forcing a smile onto my face does not mean I am at ease.
Just because I am laughing and participating does not mean my body is pain free.

What it does mean, you narcissistic, brain dead, self-important, insensitive, chicken fucking dimwit… is that I have had over twenty years experience in dealing with MY pain. And I choose not to inflict MY pain on everyone else’s life by constantly forcing others to acknowledge its existence. Just because MY body and MY life is full of pain – day in and day out – doesn’t mean that the lives of those around me need be constantly likewise reminded and affected by MY pain. The fact that I don’t seem like I am in pain is a sign of MY achievements, in managing and mitigating MY painful circumstances, hiding MY no-longer obvious distress at being in pain, managing to attempt going about MY life as best I can.

What you can really take away from this, is that MY PAIN HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU, and I work my arse off to make sure it stays that way.

SO STOP BEING A FUCKING CUNT AND MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

Real Monsters for Halloween

Posted on October 31, 2013 by borysSNORC

I could spend hours scouring the internet for imagery… and no, unlike many of you who use the internet for a similar pursuit, I’m not talking about collecting untold gigabytes of pornography!

I like looking for art and artworks of obscure artists. I think it’s amazing that I am able to see the works of an art student in Russia or an little known sculptor in Spain or an accomplished illustrator like Toby Allen who created these ‘Real Monsters’, as artistic representations of mental disorders.

Today is Halloween, which in Australia generally means very little, no matter how hard retailers are trying to get us to buy into this particularly un-Hallmark, but decidedly consumerist, holiday. Popular culture seems to spend a lot of time cogitating on zombies and vampires and things generally undead, that generally go bump in the night. Monsters of this kind do not bother me at all. Never have and never will. But these ‘Real Monsters’ of Toby Allen’s… well, them I got some experience with, and they scare the shit out of me.

No use crying…

Posted on August 28, 2013 by borysSNORC

Okay, here’s a weirdness.

I’ve had four shitty car accidents. And yes when I refer to them they are always ‘shitty’ car accidents, not horrific, not tragic, not destructive, not soul destroying, not back breaking, not any another sort of adjective… always ‘shitty’. Don’t know why on that one, except none of them were my fault and I feel like that is just my all round shit luck, and complete lack of Parking Fairy, that is to blame for it all.

Anyway, with four shitty accidents in my past you’d think that would give me four shitty days of the year to lament my shitty broken body and my shitty chronic pain situation – the 28th August, the 24th of December, the 21st of September and the 17th of November. But for some reason it doesn’t. Not a year has gone by since 1991 that I haven’t mentally had a sad-on, on the 28th of August. Each year, it goes through my head… One year of being in pain everyday. Five years of being in pain everyday. Ten years of being in pain everyday. Fifteen years of being in pain everyday. Twenty years of being in pain every fucking day. And it’s not just the milestone years either (though the twenty year thing was pretty hard to deal with, as it officially meant I had more years in pain than I had had years, pain free), it’s every year – thirteen years, eighteen years, twenty-two years – today!

But for reasons I truly can’t explain it’s only the 28th of August and the 19th of November that I feel myself spending the day gritting my teeth in anger and frustration over the persistent and pervasive pain I’ve been forced to endure and over the undeniable and unavoidable fact that life is not fucking fair! I don’t know why the other two dates don’t make me twitch, especially since the December 24th one is the one that came closest to, you know… seeing me end up dead in a ditch. It makes no sense.

Blargh. It’s out there for another year. Happy Painful Anniversary to me… again.