"Just Relax" - (Lest I Forget)

National Infertility Awareness Week 24-30 April 2011.

I humbly present to you my submission for the Bust an Infertility Myth Blog Challenge. If you would like to participate, go here.

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I remember my kitchen floor quite well.

It has grey/white tiles with fancy swirls. It's hard and cold. There are a few small cracks and chips on some of the edges, little consequences of clumsiness with saucepans and hammers. There are also stains from nights of spaghetti bolognaise meals and a carcass of a cockroach still lingers.

I remember my kitchen floor. I spent many times lying on it crying. I waited all day to cry. Waited for the husband to leave on his errands so that I wouldn't involve him in my despair. My spirit cracked from a loss of courage and hope.

I waited 6 whole arduous years. I cried for 6 whole disheartened years.

Infertility Fucking Sucks.

I remember my fertility specialists rooms quite well.

An old federation house set in a leafy tree lined suburb. It's award winning gardens livened with brilliant colours of red, pink and yellow roses nestled amongst the magnificent purple hydrangeas. Inside the waiting room the attractive furniture invites you to sit on its Italian imported leather and dark oak lounges and chairs. In her consultation room a glorious Japanese Kimono hangs behind her like a Queen ready to address her subjects. The nursing stations are separated by fish tanks with various tropical fish swimming happily ready to greet you.

I remember my fertility specialist rooms. I spent 3 years as a patient undergoing 3 in uterine insemination's, blood tests, laparoscopy results, 2 IVF cycles, 3 frozen embryo cycles, urine tests, hormonal tests, ultrasounds and what the hell happened controversial discussions.

3 painful, anxious yet hopeful years of hormone injections in my stomach. Ultrasound dildo's modestly inserted in my vagina. Follicles galore, embryos grown in a petri dish, ovarian hyperstimulation, crazy moods and embryo transfers. Guilty and heartbroken feelings of watching the husband 'off his load' embarrassed and distressed in a darkened room with naughty magazines.

6 whole formidable years of pregnancy tests that came back negative. No explanation apart from a diagnosis of endometriosis that may have contributed to the outcome.

6 whole humiliating and bewildered years of a diminished faith and an empty wallet with no pregnancy or baby to show for it.

Infertility Fucking Sucks.

I remember the emergency department at the public hospital quite well.

It's bleak white walls. The several coughs and moaning pains of its inhabitants. The imprudent attitudes of it's medical staff. The dirty shit-stained toilet. My sad pale face and sullen eyes looking back at me in the graffitied mirror.

I remember that one night. A night of cramps and pain, a deep dull ache in my soul. Bleeding black clots. Red stained underwear. A relentless memory of drinking Chinese herbs from a straw to avoid it's potent disgusting taste. A quiet and happy yet short moment of seeing 2 lines on a pregnancy stick. One night is all it took to miscarry my beloved.

One lifetime to remember.

Infertility and Loss Fucking Sucks.

Do you still want to sit there with your smugness and painted thin lips whilst your designer dressed obnoxious children play at your feet and your fruitful yet soft cock husband delivers you a chardonnay and then you both broadcast and proclaim that my husband and I should "just relax"?

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To read other blog entries, Go here
Infertility 101? Go here
Want to know what National Infertility Awareness Week is? Go here

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25th April - ANZAC DAY

"They shall not grow old, as we that are left grow old, Age shall not weary them nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning, we shall remember them".

LEST WE FORGET