Our Last Chance Cycle will kick off soon. I have decided (with Wobbles’ approval) to do things a little different this time. I am calling on some extra help with the knowledge this might be a little controversial, and possibly a lot desperate.
It all probably amounts to too little too late as well.
Lifeslurper readily admits to being in need of an attitude adjustment when it comes to ART. Apparently, it is all that will help my elderly ovaries begrudgingly cough up some over cooked or sometimes even half-baked follicle producing eggs.
Without IVF we are stuffed. With it, we so far have nowhere. I am resentful. The fertility specialists tell us we have no hope, at the same time as they offer to sign us up for another cycle. I feel I am entered in a race that I am certain to have difficulty clearing the starting line. Continue reading The Cult of Desperation
On the face of things, my fertility specialist and hairdresser have very little in common. Their work involves distinctly different regions of the body. Their skills potentially contribute to vastly different outcomes.
Heartbreak on admittedly varying scales can often be the most obvious result of their desire to experiment or use creativity.
At this stage of my life, I need my hairdresser almost as much as I need my fertility specialist.
Continue reading Groomed for IVF
With the arrival of every new calendar year comes that gaping sense of hope and possibilities, yet when you are in the midst of an infertility situation that no one (except an ever loving partner) see any chance of success, optimism is normally measured out in small doses.
This year is still in its infancy, yet so far it seems to be about endings.
Lifeslurper has a new home, the old run-down Camp Wobbles is no longer and the most enduring love of my life has gone. Both events coincided, as if to make what was always going to be a painful transition just that bit more straight forward.
Continue reading Goodbye sand dunes!
Newly post operative, post-illness and post-sanity Lifeslurper now attempts to dive headlong into the Christmas spirit by composing this yuletide re-work of a classic. To be sung to the tune of Tie Me Kangaroo Down, Sport….no just kidding…to be sung to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas.
Note to all critics (especially those who have previously savaged my attempts at lyrics or poetry) go easy! To Lifeslurper’s kind readers, by all means make suggestions for improvement.
Merry Christmas to all! Wishing postive results for those still waiting for one, and great health to those now on their way to parenthood!
The Twelve Months of IVF
On the first month of IVF,
My fertility clinic sent to me
A bill for thousands of dollars.
Continue reading The Twelve Months of IVF
