I can’t get pregnant.

Yeah, sorry to lump that on you just like that, but I figure if you’re here, then you’ve probably noticed the whole ‘IVF’ reference in the name of this blog, and so might have figured out something about its primary content.

What I mean is, my beloved and I are embarking upon what is turning out to be a bizarre, fascinating, freaky-scary, but in many ways all-round amusing process of ART. (That’s  “Assisted Reproductive Technology” to those of you not in the know.) Well, I say amusing, but I mean terrifying. Hey, you say potato, I say potato.

(That potato-thing never works quite so well in writing, does it?)

We want kids. We can’t have any. Well, ‘we’ do both want them, but it’s ‘I’ who can’t have them. See, my beloved is a forty-something bloke with a fondness for bad jokes, and he has two lovely,  healthy, happy kids already. So we can probably assume the problem is not at his end. So it’s me. Oh joy. Anyway. We can’t have kids because I can’t conceive and so after many years of giving it a damn good go naturally, we have decided it is time to turn to the medical profession for some help in getting us – read: ‘me’ – knocked up.

Yup, we’re trying IVF.

This blog is my diary of the process. Because so far it’s been somewhat surreal and I need to get it down as it happens. And hey, this is 2011, so if I’m going to be writing this shit down anyway, why not do so in a totally public forum out on teh interwebs.

So anyway, I’m just on the high-side of mid-thirties, which does not make me an old chook by IVF standards, though it does by my mother’s standards, as she has never failed to remind me every day since I was about twenty that menopause comes early in our family. Yeah, thanks Mum.  Helps to hear that again. I’ve been trying to get up the duff for, oh, a few years now, but nothing happening. I’ve had every test, needle, prod, poke and examination known to woman, and they can find nothing wrong with me. (And no, Mum, I’m not menopausal. I’m only thirty six for chrissakes. Besides, the tests confirm I’m okay, OK?)

And because this is 2011 and I am not defined by my breeding status, thank you very much, I will also divulge that I am a writer, photographer and corporate careerist, though I don’t admit that last too readily in public, because it gives people the wrong impression.

Published on February 14, 2011 at 2:20 am  Leave a Comment  

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