After the January cycle failed, I fell into a deep depression. Rationally one shouldn’t get so upset about natural cycles, random as they are, but I think we are way past the rational stage here. We are talking about a journey that has almost reached the five year point. Sometimes I really just can’t believe that.

In addition to this there have been some major life events in the family that are very stressful to deal with. Plus, I had my first performance review for my new job. Fortunately it went exceedingly well, but the mere idea of “performance conversations” is enough to strike fear deep into my heart.

It’s been a difficult time. While the last few days have been better, the past few weeks I can only describe as ones in which I was merely surviving.

Nonetheless, the husband and I perservered, and another well-timed cycle was had by all.¬† Yet it was still with an overwhelming¬† sense of futility that I stood in the pharmacy today and waited for my prednisone prescription to be refilled. I’m eight days past ovulation today, so there are a few days left in this cycle yet.

My expectations are low. My new year’s hope has evaporated.

As predicted

It was negative.

I expect my period will arrive on schedule tomorrow.

I am not surprised. I am disappointed. I am frustrated.

Random thoughts about this cycle

There are quite a few things I would like to say about this cycle, but I can’t seem to articulate them in any coherent form. Therefore, I give you my random thoughts.

Random thought #1: impending doom
This RT is quite prevalent and getting a lot of airtime in my head as the cycle nears its end (10dpo today). I do not believe that this cycle will be a success. I find this quite sad, given how enthusiastically my husband and I embraced January and how perfectly everything went. I have no scientific reason to believe the cycle will fail, but part of me seems to have already given up on it. If thought manifests reality, then doom is certain.

I challenge the universe to prove me wrong.

Random thought #2: my husband
I really wanted this cycle to work. Not just for me, but for my husband. Lately he has been expressing his feelings about how much he really wants this to work out. I have discovered all sorts of interesting information.

Examples include that he is as frustrated as I am that we are in a position today that, all things considered, we should have been in three years ago. He doesn’t want to give up, but he accepts that it is difficult and it is my decision as to when to give up. He will always want to have a child with me (sob!), and in telling me so gives me a look that says I am a complete and utter twit for even contemplating asking whether he wants to continue or not.

Random thought #3: testing
I thought about testing this morning.

I decided to live in ignorance.

If I had tested, I would just convince myself that a BFN at 10dpo was too early and the cycle of torture would begin. As I am pretty sure I know how this cycle is going to end (see RT#1) I think I can live without the sight of another BFN, thank you very much.

For the record, I am planning to test on Friday, which will be 12dpo. A certain enough date. There are two primary reasons. In the unlikely event that the universe does prove me wrong, I don’t want to be in a situation where I can’t get to a lab for a blood test because it is the weekend. Secondly, there is a work function in the afternoon that I am expected to attend. I will be very much looking forward to that work glass of wine if the BFN eventuates as predicted.

Such are the random thoughts in my head.

New colleagues

Today I thought I’d write about what you encounter when you commence employment at a new workplace, which always seem to come complete with other human beings.

Starting a new job, one is forced to socialise with these other human beings, and as such I was expecting the inevitable “so, do you have kids? I have fifty of them and they are all brilliant” type conversations. I had steeled myself inside my impenetrable suit of RPL Warrior Woman Armour for the inevitable onslaught. Much to my surprise, I have only been asked this question once so far. Once. Even then, it was because the person sits next to me and she was talking about her own baby. I managed to reply with what I hope was a neutral sounding “No.” Although I did glance away for a moment while I experienced a pang of sadness, I quickly turned the conversation back to her by asking some child related question, leaving her free to ramble on at length, which she did. Survived with dignity intact.

I’m not really sure why I have escaped further questioning, but I am glad of it. A few of our group are your typical twenty-two year old grads, so I am sure babies are the furthest thing from their mind. The rest of us would be thirties or older. As far as I can work out, only my neighbour and two other people have children at all. So it is a relatively safe environment for the fragile infertile.

There is, however, one thing that is much more difficult to deal with. It is a phenomenon I will call The New Dad To Be.

As you can probably gather, New Dad is going to have a baby. His first baby. New Dad is very excited about this. Obviously so, because during the first week he told me (and everyone else) all about it approximately eight hundred and fifty times. New Dad clearly thinks he is very special and clever and the greatest and most studliest man that ever walked the earth. Congratulations, New Dad! You have succeeded in doing what 99.9% of the population can do without difficulty. I know you would like to think otherwise, but this does not in any way make you special. Come over here and take a look at my fucked up reproductive immunology situation which places me among approximately 0.0000001% of the population, and I’ll show you special.

New Dad is not content only to share intimate details of his baby making adventures with virtual strangers ad nauseam. Oh no. He has committed a much greater sin. One I have never in fact witnessed before. I sincerely hope to never witness such a breach of office etiquette ever again. What is this unforgivable infraction, you ask? Well, New Dad has seen fit to expose his unborn child and his wife’s lady parts to the entire organisation by plastering an ultrasound photo onto his computer as a background screen.

Said screen never shuts off. I am therefore forced to see it several times a day as I have to pass his desk in order to move around our floor. Of course, if I do happen to miss it for some reason, I can still hear New Dad blathering on in the background to some poor innocent victim who has been trapped into asking the bleeding obvious question: “So, is that your baby?”

Message to New Dad: You are having a baby. Great. We get it. We are all happy for you. I know my husband would be freakin’ excited if he was standing in your shoes. Whilst I am sure your longer-standing colleagues will be sending round the collection envelope any day now to buy you a nice big baby hamper, the rest of us don’t know you. And futhermore, we don’t care. So please, please please, stop with the endless baby conversations. And for the love of all that is good, I beg of you, remove that photo. There is no telling what what an RPLer will do when in the grip of a prednisone and progesterone induced psychotic-hormonal-rage.

You have been warned.

Two weeks

Imagine! My husband and I were actually in the same location for two whole weeks! Heavens!

He was under strict orders that he could not leave until I had ovulated. That particular event occurred yesterday, and now Husband has returned home to the farm, and I am sad. Waaaaah.

Things in the conception department have been progressing nicely. I am medicated up to my eyeballs, I ovulated on schedule, we had perfect timing, and the husband is enthusiastically embracing the prospect of trying very hard this year. It seems that we have a good chance. I am feeling good about it, despite all the reasons not to. All we have to do now is wait another two weeks.

Please, please, please let this be it.


Welcome to my new home!

In honour of this auspicious occasion, coffee and cake will be served promptly at 3pm.

Please update your bookmarks, blogroll links and subscription feeds as the blog URL has changed.

A new post will be available soon.

Happy new year

The new year has arrived and with it that sense of renewal that comes with starting afresh. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank all of my readers for the support I have received through this blog in the past year. I would like to wish you all the very best for the new year; may your homes be filled with love and many blessings this year.
You will be pleased to be hear, dear readers, that despite your overwhelming preference for my husband and I to engage in some teenage-style roadside lovin’, we made it safely home and the deed was done just in time. Sadly, I do believe it was all in vain, as I am currently 10dpo and my period is already heralding its arrival. So much for that, then.

We have had a wonderful holiday. It poured with rain for the first three days, so many a book was read, some baking was done, and in between bouts of rain we tended to some urgent gardening tasks. After about three days of this, the sun came out and we ventured to the beach for a long and refreshing walk. The past two days have been absolutely glorious and we have spent long, lazy afternoons at the beach, walking, reading, eating ice-cream, and swimming in the warm waters where the ocean forms a natural lagoon among the sand dunes. I feel rested, relaxed, and grateful for all the blessings in my life.

It is a wonderful feeling to be happy and peaceful as we enter this new year. May it be a sign of things to come.

Long shot cycle number 3,405

How many times I have written a post about long shot cycles this year? Way too many for my liking. And here we are again.

Today is Tuesday. I finish work on Thursday at 3pm and then head straight to the airport for fun-filled hours of travelling. It’s also CD12 and the fertility window has definitely arrived. So today I did something that was oh-so-2006 and went and spent $25 on a box of OPKs. A girl has to be sure, after all.

The results: a definite line but not a positive. I conclude that I will surge tomorrow, meaning we may still have the alleged 24-36hr premium time in which to attempt conception. It may, in fact, be one of those perfectly timed cycles that Dr C is so fond of. But I wouldn’t count on it. I don’t have a thermometer (it’s at home) for verification purposes, so I am just praying to the freakin’ Monsters that the surge holds off OR that we fall within that perfect window.

The husband is on standby. My mind is filled with romantic scenarios. Such as being greeted at the airport by my husband with a bunch of my favourite flowers, then whisked off to a romantic dinner, home for a nightcap, before heading to bed where we engage in awesome romantic lovin’. Because in fertile world this is surely all that would be necessary for the bestest-present-of-all conception to occur.

In Andie’s world, however, reality will probably involve something along the lines of speeding down the highway to the local lookout and doing it it in the car like a pair of misbehaving teenagers, BEFORE we go home and break open that bottle of excellent shiraz. Like I said, a girl has to be sure.

Yes, dear readers, there is one thing you can count as you follow this long and winding tale toward its end. I am without a doubt one classy lady. One classy determined lady.

A clockwork failure

Q: When did Andie’s efforts at trying to conceive ever go to plan?
A: Absolutely fucking never, that’s when.

Suffice to say – as wit and even articulate sentences appear to be beyond me at this point – that my period arrived three days early, thus screwing up any hope of conceiving during the Christmas break. You know, when my husband and I are actually together in the same geographic region. When it’s our eighth wedding anniversary. When just once I expected my clockwork cycle to be just that, and deliver me to the arms of my husband at the beginning of the fertile window. But no, the fertility gods (or rather, monsters, shall we say) continue to torment me.


Meanwhile, life progresses apace. I thank you, dear readers, for all your kind comments and enquiries.

All is well. I have arrived safely in Small City, commenced work, and even secured an apartment. A busy time to be sure. I am enjoying my new job, the work is good and the colleagues in my commencing cohort are all very nice. I think I have managed to survive the first two weeks without managing to make a complete idiot of myself.

Life is good.

A recurring nightmare

I am a light sleeper. It doesn’t take much to wake me up. I also have an over-active brain, meaning it is often hard to fall asleep. When I do fall asleep, I am often subject to nightmares, just as when I was a child. On Saturday night, I found myself trapped in one of these.

Sadly, when I woke up in the arms of my husband, surrounded by peace and silence, with a few early birds outside the window for company, I could not pretend it was a new day and that sunshine and kisses would make it all go away. No. I dreamt about doctor’s visits, visits where you are holding the hand of your husband, staring at an ultrasound screen, only to be told heartbreaking news. I dreamt about phone calls where bad test result news was handed out. I dreamt about telling my husband the bad news. Over and over and over. Every time I woke up, I would fall back asleep only to have a variation of this dream. It was all the same. Pregnancies that were failing, failing, failing, and failing again.

I could not make this dream go away in daylight because sadly it is not merely a bad dream, it is a reflection of our journey. It really is a recurring nightmare of the worst possible kind. A nightmare that I would like very much to be over.

I don’t know what brought this dream on. For the most part I am able to put trying to conceive out of my mind. and get on with things. It has, however, put me on a slow downward spiral when it comes to considering our future baby making prospects. All I know is that we face an uphill battle, and at the same time, we are edging ever closer to the end of our journey. Yet, in the darkness, there is that one slight shred of possibility that keeps us inching forward.

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