Nothing like I'd planned

Yesterday, my intentions were not to post about the sniveling DrJ, but to pour my heart out about how much it sucks to have gotten my period......again.

Although I'd tried so hard to stay as pessimistic as possible and down play the probability that I may have been pregnant as a result of our little "accident", deep down I had really hoped that I was.

I'd hoped that the torturous journey through yet another series of two week waits was over for me, that I'd be knocked up and the only thing I'd have to worry about was keeping the little sucker in there.

I'd hoped beyond hope that I would be pregnant again before the 3rd of August, my due date with Jesse.

Wednesday morning, 10 DPO, I crossed my legs while desperately searching for that one remaining pregnancy test that I knew I had, but couldn't remember exactly where I'd packed it when we'd moved. Eventually I found it, peed on the stick and held my breath....... and waited..... and hoped..... and waited.
But only one line came up.
When I wiped, there was a bit of blood, and knowing that my period NEVER comes early, I consulted Dr Google and found that implantation bleeding can occur anywhere up to 12 days DPO. So I held on to a tiny bit of hope.
Thursday lunch time saw me lose any remaining hope I'd been holding on to.
What is my body doing?? Was it that I "bragged" about how easily it returned to it's normal cycle post hysteroscopy?

I can't believe how foolish I was to think that I could accidently fall pregnant.

Social Graces

I usually have the greatest amount of admiration and respect for my father, but today, he almost did his dash.... and if he wasn't my father, I'm sure as shit that I would never have anything to do with him. All this sounds rather sensationalized I'm sure, and in the light of morning, it may be just that, but right here, right now, I'm one pissed off kitty.

When we were kids and my parents were still married, there was an obvious tension between my Da and my mother's mother. She was a devout Christian who went to church every Sunday, never drank, smoked or swore. Apart from the smoking part, my Da was/is the complete opposite. My grandmother almost had kittens when my mother brought him home, he was every good christians nightmare. My Da was a real bloke's bloke. He played football on Saturdays, drank copious amounts of piss before, during and after the game, swore like a wharfie and the only time he set foot on church ground was if he'd taken a wrong turn on his way home from the pub. He was also a scratcher, though not a spitter.

My grandmother was hell bent on leading him towards the light and showing him what being a christian was the ONLY way to be. She tried, she failed, she despised him for not converting, he despised her for not excepting him the way he was. Many a time, as a child, I recall Da saying "well if she doesn't except me the way I am, she can blow it out her arse".

This set the first moral marker in my life, it taught me that it was ok to be me. Except me as I am or don't except me at all. You don't need to change who you are for anyone else, it's ok to be who you are.....warts and all.

I guess this problem started a little over 12 months ago when Da's friend Jeff, mentioned that he was concerned that my nephew Caleb, who was not yet 2 at the time, and who he'd spent a total of 20 minutes with, was speech impaired or possibly retarded because he wasn't not speaking correctly and that it should be looked into asap. This from a man who had only received his teaching degree a mere 2 years earlier at the ripe old age of 49 and had since spent his "teaching" time with Japanese exchange students helping them improve their english. I mean for fucks sake, the kid isn't even 2 yet, he's still crapping in a nappy and Dr Jeff is diagnosing speech problems, give the kid a break. So Da gets on the blower to my sister and reports Dr Jeff's expert assvice. This doesn't go down well with my sister, or me. Although we fight light cats and dogs, we are fiercely protective of each other.

12 months on and Caleb's speech is coming along just fine, thank you Dr Jeff.

Making an unsolicited diagnosis, making judgments, giving assvice and the general smarminess that oozes from his pores, didn't bath him in a good light with "us kids", Chad included.

So that brings us to today, when Da tells me that Dr Jeff wasn't too impressed at the innuendoes that were thrown in his general direction about his sexuality by Chad. I'm stumped, I don't have a CLUE what he's on about. Chad hasn't seen Dr J for months, since last time he got a lift to the football with us......... 2 fucking months ago.

Now Chad isn't one to do "innuendoes" of any description, it's just not his style. What Chad DOES do is camp it up big time. Both he and Da have a running joke about being "bent" and they both play it up. It even goes as far as Chad doing the Marilyn Monroe "Happy Birthday" song especially for him every year for his birthday, (minus the dress and wig of course) which he thinks if hilarious.

Though my memory isn't the best, what I do recall of that night in the car was a conversation between Da and Chad where they carried on in their usual manor, camping it up, Da calling Chad "possum" or "sweetie" or something to that effect. It was just the "usual" banter between Chad and Da. There were no innuendoes thrown in any direction, there was barely a curt "hey" tossed in his general direction when he hopped in the car because, frankly, we don't like him.

I tell Da that it's absurd, that obviously Dr J has his head planted so firmly up his own arse he is obviously confused between what was really said, and what he thinks was implied. Da then breaks into a tirade of what is "socially excepted". That although we carry on like this with each other, other people (read Jeff) may take offense to it. We should watch our p's and q's within social groups (read around Jeff) because someone may just punch you in the face if they dislike your behavior or may misconstrue what you say.

When I tell him that someone who is secure in their sexuality wouldn't be upset by "our behavior", that someone who didn't think the world revolved around them wouldn't assume that things said were automatically innuendoes about their sexuality, he lets lose with another barrage of crap and how I need to "behave" in public.

I'm not socially retarded. I know how to and when to act appropriately. I know when to curb my language (cause I swear alot, if you hadn't already noticed) and when I can let lose with a onslaught of appropriately placed *f* words.

I'm the kind of person who tells it like it is. I'm the kind of person who will tell you when you have lippy on your teeth or that your fly is undone. I'm the kind of person who will tell you how great your hair looks or commend you for doing a great job with your kids when you feel guilty as hell for just smacking them in a public place and every one is giving you the evil eye. I'm the kind of person that will tell you that you're rude if you think just because you're old it gives you the right to push to the front of the line, or insist that you say "please" when you want me to do something for you.

I'm not the kind of person who pretends to be someone or something I'm not.
I'm not going to change the way I am because someone may misconstrue something I say. That's not the way I was raised. In turn, I don't expect Chad, my family or my friends, to "be" anything but themselves, even as embarrassing at it is at times, because that is who they are, and who they are is the reason I love them......

So Dr J, for being a girlie girl and having a big sook to my Da about how hurt your feelings were by something you imagined, instead addressing the problem with us, for the shit you stirred up and the screaming match that ensued and for thinking you are important enough to make judgments on our behavior ....this is for you....



oh and while I'm at it.....

"If you can't except us the way we are, blow it out your arse"

Nurse Maid/Boob Poker

The Chad has been sick with the flu. Not your normal every day garden variety common cold, but a raging fever, delirious, calling out in his sleep, kind of flu. Hence my absence, I've been playing nurse maid. He's back at work today, not 100%, but better than he was a week ago.

In light of the "condom incident", The Chad and I have had many a discussion about going down the road of trying again. I thought it may have just been delusional ramblings brought on by the fever that may have made him say that he wants to start trying again, that somehow he'd forgotten already how traumatic losing Jesse was, but no.

He doesn't want to wait until October. He wants a family. He wants to have a baby........ with me. This still blows me away. As semi-defective as I am (I'm talking physically, not mentally, cause that's a whole different kettle of fish), this wonderful man wants to risk having his heart broken again and try to have a baby with me.

The past week has seen my analyze every niggle and twinge in my uterus. I'm constantly poking my boobs to see if they are sore. I'm wondering if this insatiable appetite is because of something other than just eating because I'm freaking out thinking I may be.

In all honesty, I don't think I'm really ready to be on this horrendous rollercoaster ride again. The fear of losing yet another baby is overwhelming, but no amount of time is going to make that fear subside. I guess it doesn't matter if it's 1 month, 2 months, 6 months from now, I'm going to have to eventually deal with it and jump back on the horse......so why wait...... it's not like I'm getting any younger.

If it doesn't work this month, I've already got a back up plan...... I'm going to steal Panda's fertility cooter and whack a pumpkin the back of my cupboard.......

Luck of the Irish

Imagine this.....
A young (ish) couple, deeply in love, coming together after being separated for weeks days..... blah blah blah..... you remember how the rest of the story goes.....

This is where the story gets interesting.

Seeing as the young(ish) couple are physically able to, but not yet mentally ready to start trying again, their choice of contraception is condoms (you can see where this is going can't you)

Upon "dismount" (and I scored a 8.2 if any of you are interested..... I'm no Nadia Comaneci but I give it a crack) the afore mentioned condom is missing. Not broken..... M.I.S.S.I.N.G!! It's not on the penis, it's not on the bed, it's not tangled up in the bed sheets ..... it's GONE!

The Chad has a fish around and proclaims that it's not "there" either.

"It has to be there"
"jump up and down, that might make it come out"
"I don't think that'll make it come out honey
"just TRY would you!"

For a moment I thought it was just his sick and perverted need to see a naked fat chick jumping up and down, until I saw the look of despair on his face.

"Well don't just stand there! get some clothes on! I have to take you to the hospital to get it out."

A couple of deep coughs and a trip to the ER was averted.

Here's where the story gets REALLY interesting.

6 weeks, 4 days ago, I had my hysteroscopy and D & C
4 days later, much to my surprise, I get my period. Here I was thinking that they were going to give the ute a good old clean out, obviously my body wasn't too impressed with the cleaners and proceeded to re-clean to her standards.
Bang on 4 weeks later, my body hasn't missed a beat, the D & C hasn't, as I had feared, messed with my cycle and I get my period.
2 days ago, I have crampy like pains, I'm not sure if this is ovulation or gas.
Today, the missing condom incident.

We tried for 9 months to fall pregnant the first time....... 5 months the second time..... here we are, trying not to fall and what happens....

I'd laugh at the irony of it all if I wasn't so busy crapping my dacks.

The Substitues

Due to the fact that my sister is a wanker and has extremely poor taste in men, my nephew doesn't have much of a father figure in his life.

He hasn't seen his father since Christmas, somewhat because of this nasty "consent order" crap that seems to be taking forever to make it's way through the courts, but mostly because the guy is a utter fuckwit. I won't go into it all, cause no doubt it would bore you to tears, but the guy is a A grade tool who thinks that sitting on the dole and paying $11 a fortnight to support his child gives him the right to call my sister charming names like "dickhead" "stupid mole" and "fat pig" in front of their child and to see his son when ever he wants, for as long as he wants. He didn't think there was a problem with bringing the kid home at 7pm when he was suppose to be home at 4..... he is, after all, HIS son.

So needless to say, being cooped up in the house with only his mother to play with day in day out, the kid craves company. I try to, at least once a day, sit on the steps with him and read a book. I love reading, and in a small way, I hope to pass that love of books onto him, so reading is my "thing" that I do with him. Though I must say if I have to read that damn Wiggles book again I think I'll vomit.

The Chad's area is "boy stuff". Playing soldiers, kicking the footy, all the sort of stuff that a boy would do with his dad.

H doesn't do alot of things with him. She's more than happy to plop him in front of the TV all day to watch dvd's or let him run around in the back yard by himself for hours while she sits on the computer "chatting". He doesn't attend play groups or have play dates, she doesn't take him to the park to play with other kids.

My sister takes the saying "it takes a village to raise a child" to the extreme. She thinks it's our "duty" to play with him, educate and entertain him. Don't get me wrong, I love Caleb to death and I love the time we spend together, but it is her responsibility as a parent to do these things for him, not off load them onto the other "villagers", and at times, we resent being forced to do these things. I hate having to look at the sadness in his eyes when I tell him I don't have the time to read him a story or take him to the park, because I know that if we don't take him, nobody will.

We didn't volunteer for these roles, it's just something that's happened.... some days we don't do it with too much enthusiasm, some days we just don't have the time, but we try. We do it for Caleb.....

Back in the saddle

Imagine this.....
A young (ish) couple, deeply in love, coming together after being separated for weeks....
He takes her in his arms, they kiss with such passion, her breath catches in her throat. As the moon light streams through the bedroom window, he lays her softly on silken sheets, slowly undressing her, kissing and caressing her body. Then, he is above her, looking deeply into her eyes, he enters her.....slowly..... she moans softly, her fingers digging into his broad shoulders. Passionately, ever so slowly, they make love for hours, relishing the feeling of this "togetherness" that has been forbidden for so long. In unison, they reach climax, and lay spent in each others arms, whispering words of love.

*sigh*

That's how I thought our first tumble in the hay would have been after 6 verrrryyyy long weeks would have been.....

We managed the passionate kissing, skipped the moonlight through the bedroom window and the laying down on silken sheets, the undressing was more like two animals clawing at each other and wham-bam-thank-you-mam, it was all over for both of us in a MASSIVE 4 and a half minutes.

Purely poetry in motion.....lol.

For the Birds

The Chad hasn't had many relationships in the past. Actually, I'm only his second long term relationship.

In his words, they were just kids playing house. She was just 16, he was 18. They were together for 3 or so years. He ended the relationship because she was playing around behind his back, but true to his enormous heart, he never held a grudge and has never said unkind things about her. She went on to have a baby with the guy she played around with, and although we live in the same area, he hasn't bumped into her in almost 4 years........until last week....

Alice Cooper had a concert where The Chad works, and being a huge Alice fan, she was there.

They spoke for a bit, just the usual polite sort of crap that you do when you're not all that interested in what the other person has to say.... the "so what have you been up to...... where are you living now......blah blah blah".

Then she asked "Do you have any kids?".

He said "Yes....but no" and then went on to tell her about our miscarriages, which is something that The Chad doesn't usually like to talk about.

She then said "Oh....that's so sad.......... I could be a surrogate for you"

Thanks for the offer....but there is nothing I would loath more than to have MY Chad's ex girlfriend carry a baby for me. BLUCK! And besides, the girl isn't right in the head. She's been hanging around "The Crow" (as mentioned in my post here ) and now introduces herself as "Griffin". Be fucked if she thinks I'd let a chick who thinks she's a mystical bird carry a baby for me!

Arseholes

Dear Chantal,
We noticed that you did not attend your Antenatal Clinic appointment on the 5th of July 2005.
It is important to attend your Antenatal appointment to ensure your continued well being and that of your unborn baby/ies.
Please contact the Antenatal Clinic, as soon as possible, on xxxxxxxx to make an appointment

Thanking you
Ms I'mAThoughtlessPratt
Admin Officier
Mater Mothers Hospital

You'd think these clowns would get their act together.

62.5%

I've been driving myself insane the last couple of days searching the net for success stories of women with bicornuate uteri. Well it hasn't just been the last couple of days.......more like the last 2 weeks. Do you think I can find any? Of course not. What I did find was a report written by some medical boob who's obvious intention, back in 1997, was to put the fear of god into me about trying again.
He/she writes........"The reproductive potential of the bicornuate uterus showed
a live birth rate of 62.5%"
and
"The bicornuate
uteri (n 5 26) had a total of 56 pregnancies; 26 were term
pregnancies, 14 preterm deliveries, two late miscarriages and
14 early abortions."
What sucks is that they didn't elaborate on the "preterm deliveries" how early did these little ones come? Did they survive? Did they have complications? Where there any procedures performed to assist these women that carried to term? Did they need a stitch or bed rest or voodoo witch doctors to perform rituals with goats blood and chant at the stroke of midnight when the moon is full?

And like a record that is stuck......all that I keep hearing in my head is "62.5%, 62.5%, 62.5%".

Do I have what it takes to battle the odds and try to have a baby? Could I handle having a premie baby and having to go to the NICU every day for months? Am I counting my chickens before they hatch? Is there any truth to the "third time lucky" theory?

If anyone knows of any women out there in blogland with a bicornuate uterus, could you be kind enough to point me in the right direction...... I feel like I'm chasing my own tale. I'd love to be able to be armed to the hilt with information so when I go to find a doctor, I'll know all the right questions to ask.

Apart from doing my head in with the whole stats thing, life has been pretty damn good.