September 20, 2005

About me. Hmm....lessee, I'm Australian, born of a (now deceased) Italian father and an insane mother, and after wasting too many years of my life, I now work as personal trainer and Bowen therapist. My family is all nuts. No, really, they are, so I've been on my own since I was twenty one and dying (da dum) from anorexia (which is a really stupid disease, and quite embarrassing to admit to, though these days, what with all the Nicole Ritchies and the Lindsey Lowens making it a fashion statement, I see now that my brush with death may have actually been a lost opportunity for being stalked by the paparazzi) Now, where was I? Oh yeah, I finally got bored with not eating and began to do so almost four years ago. Life fell apart, my body fell apart, and and I was as sick as a dog for three years as one after the other, body parts complained about the extra, albeit healthy, weight. Nevertheless, I was a little trooper and kept plugging away, and in the last year, the effort paid off, my life is coming together and lookit me! I'm pregnant!

About the being pregnant: I turned 39 this year and, until I got knocked up, was in a five year relationship with a man I did NOT want to have children with. Oh, I liked him well enough, but a family with him? Err, no. I pretty much knew I was infertile because my womanly cycle thing (god, is there EVER going to be a cool name for it? 'Menstrual cycle' makes me think of men fishing for shrimps while riding bicycles or something. 'Aunt Flo?' Makes my back hair curl...) was all fucked up from the minute I hit puberty, then I had an IUD that subsequently was the subject of a class action when it was found to cause infertility, then I got anorexia and bla bla bla. So, at the prospect of never having children, or to be honest, the prospect of having regrets for never exploring my options, I went to see a reproductive endocrinologist. Long story short, he discovered that as well as my cycle being whacked (no kidding?) I also have a blocked tube, and being as old as dirt, the only way I'd get pregnant before I was menopausal would be to do IVF. (or does one 'have' IVF? I never got that bit straight) So rack up the supression meds and line up the (totally bitchen. I mean, seriously, my chosen donor was almost a Nobel Peace Prize winner) donor sperm, that's what I was going to do. I didn't think I'd get pregnant, mostly I wanted to know I'd done what I could, so I could die happy, childless and with no regrets about wasting my reproductive years with Boofo, the Inappropriate Sperm Donor.

Does that make sense?

As an aside, Boofo was all 'Yay! Go for it! I love kids and you'll be a great mum! Ra!! ', bla bla wank wank bla. He didn't want to be the father, but he loves hanging out with his friends' kids, or something. *shrugs*

Aaaanyway, less than a month before my scheduled IVF cycle, I was all Where In Fuck Is My Period?!, so I peed on a stick and was all 'well, waddyaknow? That control line shows up real quickOMGTHATSNOTTHECONTROLLINE!!!!' and after years of using no contraception apart from a fertility monitor that told me that only once in all that time was I ever actually fertile, I was pregnant after having sex TWICE this year. TWICE!! ferpetesake. Oh, and we had sex because my period was late, I was maximally PMSy, and sex can bring on a period, right?!! (uh, is this a little too much information for your delicate eyes?)

What are the odds?

Actually, I have an answer to that last question: one in two hundred gabillion, or thereabouts.

Adding to the improbability of this pickle I'd found myself in, the reproductive unit was tracking my cycle at that time, and three days after we did the sex thing, I still hadn't ovulated. When I called them to report a faulty pregnancy test and there's NO WAY I could be pregnant to Boofy Boy, they congratulated me and I cried and wailed and said 'Nooooo!', and they, in return, blinked and decided I was obviously and totally insane.

Seeings as how this was such a miraculous conception, and seeings as how this kid is due on Christmas day, I figure I'm giving birth to the New Messiah, or The Golden Child, or some other religious icon. Even so and with that knowledege, I'm still having real trouble curbing my potty mouth.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, pregnant naturally and about to tell the Inappropriate Sperm Donor who, when told, lost his shit and hasn't been seen again.

And that about brings us about up to date.

Funny thing is about this journal is that it was never intended to be an infertility or pregnancy diary. I wrote deep and meaningful unpregnant stuff until these hormones swapped my brain matter for huge norks. Impressive? Well, yes they are, but they're also as uncomfortable as all fuck, and I can't think deep thoughts with these independantly moving body parts getting in the way.

2005 © aibee

Creative Commons License