One woman’s tale of love, depression, IVF after 40.
Or should that read; I visited Laparoscopy and all I got was this lousy infection?
It is over a week since my lap. Even now I am not even sure if I actually had the suggested d&c.
Call off the search and rescue people!
Remember me?
I am still here. Thank you for your cards and flowers.
Continue reading ‘Public Service Announcement from Lifeslurper’
Men are a strange lot.
The other night I sat with Wobbles as he read. I was writing down a few plans and started absent mindly scribbling on the inside of the cardboard of my empty anti-depressants packet. As a joke I presented him with my ink doodle that had taken minutes to create. He was instantly enchanted. He looked at it very closely and made some very complementary comments. So I took it back, signing and dating it as if it was some great work of art. Later as we got ready for bed, I noticed Wobbles carefully picking up my prescription box scribble and taking into his study. This man who never picks up after himself and wouldn’t notice three week old milk if it was left to fester on the kitchen table in the summer hear.
What was he doing with it I asked? Wobbles was a bit hesitant to tell me what he was up to. He planned to scan it so he could have a copy and archive the original so to preserve it forever. Such a simple gesture, made completely touching in its honesty.
It’s that time of the year.
Being a glass half empty kind of a gal, I have to do my best to not view the year as being over by the time we pass June. It is a yearly ritual. Something I blame on too many years spent as a student*, viewing the world and indeed my life in terms of the calendar year. In the latter half of the year I tend to dismiss the months remain as the fag end of the calendar, making my own silent vows to make better use of my time in the New Year.
Since infertility and ART reared its ugly head in my life, I have become rather time obsessed. I am not suggesting that IVF has assisted me in making better use of my time. Sadly, the real result seems to be an acute obsession with passing time that seems to lead to even more time wasting than my old ways.
I can’t
I can’t give you
I can’t give you what you want
body
bleeding Continue reading ‘Appalling Lifeslurper poetry Pt I’
It might have been the Clomid-sized headache or it might have been due to general IVF distraction.
Wobbles needed some clean clothes to pack for two nights away in the city. He’s travelled ahead to combine our long IVF test hike with some work-related meetings beforehand. I did a washing load exclusively of his clothing, and took it straight to the dryer. Our rainy location makes fresh air drying impossible at this time of the year. Had the dryer been located in the house, instead of the garage, maybe I would have noticed there was a problem beforehand.
I opened the dryer door to a cascade of newly-navy dotted garments. Seems like one of Wobbles’ beloved texta pens had stolen away for the entire washing and drying journey. This picture shows some detail of a once all-white tee shirt.
Long Live Chairman Meow
When I won the heart of Wobbles, I instantly became step mother to Squeak the insecure shut in tabby cat. With our anti-social ways, seemed Squeak and I were to learn we had a lot in common. At the first sign of danger, Squeak likes to hide under the sofa, while my favourite hiding refuge is under the doona.
Having lived a happy life in the company of felines, my confident approach to Squeak saw me introduce her to being picked up, combed, and introduced to a diet more friendly to an ageing tummy. Continue reading ‘Not another kitty blog! Visiting the feline Revolution.’
Knowledge of my own living habits made the prospect of responding to Wobbles’ invite to move in together rather terrifying. As a child I had lived under the rule of my domineering Second Sister’s compulsively clean ways. She would check my hands for ink marks, and my toothbrush for evidence of use. On leaving the family home, I was to enjoy the freedom of living on my own. There had been only one other abortive attempt at cohabitating with a man some twenty years earlier. That had been an esteem crushing time which coincided with the onset of a major depression. That as they say, is a whole other story.
Fortunately, my interest in Wobbles far outweighed my fear. I took the plunge without too much trepidation.
Continue reading ‘Sacred Sink. Tales from a tea towel shrew.’
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