Fear

I have just had my front door handle tried. The house is now dead bolted but I am very shaken. I calledthe Boi (Who has car and is at work till 7 in the morning) and it wasn't him having forgotten something.

I am doing this post to relieve the inner fear.

A car has pulled away from the front of the house but my fear remains.

I know I am OK.

I am just shit scared.

I hate this feeling.

"The only thing we have to fear is fear it'self -
nameless, unreasoning, unjustified, terror which
paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance."
---- FDR - First Inaugural Address, March 4, 1933

Update

So; post anaesthetic recovery going slowly but well. It hurts to move and the antibiotics have made me feel groggy and emotional.

Oh, did I mention going in for a D&C and a hysteroscopy? Nope? *Shrug* My bad. I'm not dwelling on this today.

It's Grand Final Day, a topic I won't discuss because of the BEST TEAM EVER no making it, and a supposed bias I hold against interstate teams being even allowed to play in the AFL. What next? New Zealand in the NBL? Singapore? *Shakes head*

I actually don't care about the Basketball, I don't get the game, it just illustrates my point... sorta. I just know in my heart that Collingwood would have at least three more Grand Final Cups if the interstate teams weren't so backed financially by the governing body to promote the game interstate.

So for the weekend I'm a Soccer and NRL girl. Two brilliant Melbourne teams taking on the rest of Australia.

The wedding shopping is almost done. I just need to find jewellery, book hair, book hens night and organise my sister now. Cars are still being debated.

SO FAR THIS WEEK:

Flowers: Tick.
Flowergirl outfits: Tick.
Shoes: Tick.
Lingerie: Tick.
Cake: Appointment made.
Invites: Just need to be printed and sent. (GRRRRR, behind my schedule....)
Addresses: The Boi needs to get addresses for his side, I have all except five of mine. (This is not a competition. I'm trying to minimise all my stresses by being organised. It's not working too badly.)
Play list: Tick

NEXT WEEK AIMS:

Hair
Jewellery
Hens
Invites completed and sent
Thank yous for presents
Date for sister coming down confirmed
Cake confirmed
Cars; finalised either way
Reading for ceremony
Bonbonierre debate opened

IVF: on hold till January. Mixed feelings. Heart V. Head. Head ruling. :(

Course: finalising bits and pieces. Hopefully I can graduate next year. 5 assesments, 2 rpls, 2 exams and counting. (One is a mini exam in class next Thursday, two talks for assessments with essays attached... not too bad. Rest not too stressed over... just RPLs).

Work: Need to push harder for shifts. Once course over I am going to base my work hours around Peter's so we can at least see each other and sleep together.

Weight loss: On hold till Monday; Tummy ouches too much for exercise.

Business ideas: ONE: card manufacturing on a small scale for sale around local florists and gift places. Need to find distribution group and requirements.

Emotional state: Blah! (Did you know that when a bipolar goes in to manic phase one way it presents is a voracious sexual appetite! When depressed the oppisite happens. Learnt something new yesterday.)

Flower girl dress shopping

OK, nervous as all get out.

Mum in law to be is going to come over (floor needs a good vacuum, Boi asleep) and we are going to go shopping for makings for dresses for floewr girls.

SCARED!

Mum-i-l is cool, but I am worried how she wants dresses (over skirt of organza) as opposed to my vision (Peek a boo petticoat in same colour as sash.)

She is also very conscoius of my mum's manipulative side, but fails to see a similar streak in herself.. or am I just being paranoid and seeing things in her I have issues with in my own mum?

Any how, at least we have a color (Burgundy) to work from.

Next step: Hair and flowers.

Quotes

Every now and again I encounter a quote that says it so well:

Let us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple many things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties and obscurities now.
Mark Twain, Christian Science (1907)

Lot's of other cool ones, here.

The one following this is just great for today:

When I, a thoughtful and unbiased Presbyterian, examine the Koran, I know that beyond any question every Mohammedan is insane; not in all things, but in religious matters. When a thoughtful and unbiased Mohammedan examines the Westminster Catechism, he knows that beyond any question I am spiritually insane. I cannot prove to him that he is insane, because you can never prove anything to a lunatic — for that is a part of his insanity and the evidence of it. He cannot prove to me that I am insane, for my mind has the same defect that afflicts his.
Mark Twain, Christian Science (1907)

Pity more of us don't remember this.

And on a lighter note: I think I found a cure for one problem: here.

Dream for an insomniac

Another night of not being able to sleep.

At least the Boi is at work and cannot see me pace, see me cry, see me struggle to find peace and overcome the emptiness inside.

I used to express myself through varying standards of poetry. Now I've lost that. All I have left is self indulgent guilt and blame.

I'm scared. I know statistically that every year we wait means it's harder, but we're not planning on waiting a year.

I know attempting another cycle during my final semester while we oganise a wedding is also silly. It's the neon BUT thing though.

I want to try to have the baby in the next twelve months. Then I can focus on starting my business and child rearing. We will also know the hours we have to work so I can work agency around the Boi till the business takes off. I cannot be there as a Counsellor if I don't know my availability for clients.

I cannot start my creative design company making cards, candles and soaps until I have a better idea of where I am headed in the next twelve months. I do not want to put things on hold... again... no matter how logical.

And I know waiting is logical.

For as much as my heart breaks everytime I see the crimson tide, it also makes me stronger.

Luna is my Godess of choice, she controls the tides and with it the ebb and flow of life. I know she makes me crazy at times, but I also know that she gives me the strength to continue through adversity. We both have a 28 day cycle. We both have a side that shines and a dark side. We both have power that is not evident at first glance as we allow Sol to shine through brighter and seemingly stronger. Luna watches over the Earth and helps guides Her, I just want to watch over a child and guide them.

The emptiness inside at this time is frustration at not being able to go forward, at being held inplace by circumstances beyond my control. Food and exercise are two things I can control. I do not want to control my own personal Sol, nor do I need to control every aspect of my destiny. It would just be nice to be able to have some control over this..... because once we start it again... all control is in the hands of anothr person.

IVF appointment

The Boi and I have just returned from our appointment this morning with our IVF gynaecologist at Epworth.

I'm begining to understand how people fail to register things at a doctor's. Normally I walk away clear on what has happened but not today.

I can remember the cold, clinical inspection of my uterus... the pinch of the swab as they tested for whatever they take the cultures for. The invasion of the fngers as they palpated my cervix. Getting more information about changes to techniques. I hope Boi took it in because I went to my bad head space after the examination and can't remember much after that.

Appears that I need another D&C, for three reasons... open up the cervix (too small and tight), the regrowth of endometrium after a D&C increases the chances that the blastocele will implant thus increasing chances of pregnancy (A blastocele or cyte is the stage before zygote, the zygote develops into a foetus, the foetus becomes a baby.) and the third reason was to ensure all the remnants of the miscarriage are gone.

That's an image I need. My uterus the cemetery. Anyway, my mood is sinking even lower so I'll eat something. Then I'll get some sleep and go to the gym before working the night shift. (One thing you'll rarely hear in aged care is a nightshift being called a "graveyard shift", for all the obvious reasons.)

McProtest

I was directed to a great site protesting the increasing popularity of "Hummers" and gas guzzling cars purely based on the impact on asthmatics.

They ask you to post a message for a McDonald's sign. It can be serious or light hearted.

This was my attempt.

It was either that or "READ FAST FOOD NATION THEN TRY TO EAT HERE"

Optimism

Just dobbing in my gorgeous Boi who has a leash for walking Little Miss on.

I'm moving to Spain

The following is an extract from The Age:

This week, however, Madrid's regional Government struck a renewed blow for real women by banning models it deems to be too thin from Madrid's fashion week.

A body mass index (BMI) will be used to determine whether models are a healthy weight. On this indicator, 30 per cent of models who participated in the previous event would be turned away because they had a BMI under 18. Doctors will be on hand at the show, which will begin on Monday, to check on the health of the models.

The article "in search of the model weight" is one of the better looks at the weight debate from a limitted industry perspective. As a size 16 who cannot get jeans that fit (To fit my hips they are baggy on my waist, the only ones that fit properly are the granny baggy stule that is available in boutique stores aimed at the "bigger girl" and charging fifty bucks for a simple white t.) I would like to see a return to real women. In fact I have an unofficial campaign that any women over a size fourteen that is comfortable in her body is automatically told she is a spokes person of.

I started the campaign in the hope of finding role models for some of my nieces. Genetically my family produces boys or curves. For a teenage girl to discover she's got the curves that made my mothers generation swoon is not a positive in todays society.

The gorgeous K mentoined in an earlier post is a real woman. Her husband's wedding speech included the phrase "I have married the most beautiful woman in the world." K will probably never be a size 10, but hell she works a size 16 like crazy so why should she?

Her mum, my sister L, is also a gorgeous woman. My dad will tel you that he fathered the two "most beautiful girls ever." In my sister's case I don't disagree, in mine it depends on the way the wind is blowing. L battles her weight, but the only times I've ever thought she looked "Blah!" was when she was uncomfortable in what she had on.

No, clothes do not make the person, being comfortable in your skin does. Feeling that you look good in what your wearing merely helps this process.

Having said that... I'm off to the gym. Make up for missing yesterday. Yes I want to lose weight, but so my ovaries are easier to see using an ultra sound, not the naked eye. I will never be a 33-23-35 (Kate Moss) or a 34C-24-35 (Claudia Schiffer), but if I can be Alicia Silverstone, Janeane Garofallo or my own me I'll be happy.

The Boi thinks I'm gorgeous... he doesn't need me to change. And the best thing... is niether do I.

My only real weight gripe (other then the jeans) is that lingerie that hides sticky out tummies under slinky wedding dresses shouldn't look like medieval knights wore it to fir their armour post feasting. Why can't lingeries look sexy no matter how big we are? Our weight doesn't decide our sexuality, so why should some 14 year old boy in a dress get to look down at me when I ask for a bustierre in Ivory and send me to the "people over a size 18 need to go over there" bit? No women under 60 deserves to be stuck with Granny underewear. No women over for that matter either... anyway... gym.

A General Apology

I just realised how hard it is to read some of the previous posts. I'll keep that in mind in future and not use small print.

Also I should probably try to use this for good not just vanity... so we'll see how we go with an attempt at relevance in a reality outside of my own mirror.

Deep end dive about to come:

Anyone else thinking that the new laws proposed to reduce the number of people in need of refuge coming to our beautiful counry hark back to an era before Mr Whitlam? To an age when men were rednecks and women were struggling to get the vote?

OK, so last comment not really fair. The White Australia Policy came in in 1901 as part of Federation; and the "new" Immigration Restriction Act which ended the employment of Pacific Islanders and placed tight controls on certain immigrants. The Act prohibited those considered to be insane, anyone likely to become a charge upon the public or upon any public or charitable institution, and any person suffering from an infectious or contagious disease 'of a loathsome or dangerous character' entry to Australia. It also prohibited prostitutes, criminals, and anyone under a contract or agreement to perform manual labour within Australia (with some limited exceptions). (Thank you http://www.racismnoway.com.au/classroom/factsheets/59.html)

In Victoria women got the vote in 1908. So until 1966 when the White Australia Policy began to be dismantled that statement was complete hyperbole.

What worries me now is that in our return to the fashions of an earlier more "innocent era" we might be adopting some of the darker aspects of that time too.

We have a war going on that I hope most Australians are against; Iraq and Vietnam.
We follow blindly a foreign power because they are our big brother/ally: America and America.
We have legislation before parliament that hinges on when life is thought to begin: Stem cell and Abortion.
We want to reduce the number of immigrants: English language tests and White Australia Policy Literacy tests.
We have a Liberal PM who has been in Govt for a long time that "no one likes" and is a staunch monarchists: John Howard and Sir Robert Menzies.

FUCK! Even Bob Dylan is in the charts (3rd in top 10: see http://www.hmv.com.au/charts/rockpop.asp for more details.)

So seeing as everything is going backwards, inclding my powers of logic, I'm going to bed.

I just hope when I wake up in the morning that it's 100% 2006. Not some weird blend of the last century.

Weddings

In less then three months the Boi and I are getting married. This is actually not causing me anywhere near as much stress as I thought it would... or the Boi thought it would either. Boi seems to feel that I am stressing though. I figure if I can't feel it then it's all in his head for a change. Like the logic? I thought I'd try out a novel approach.


I have the dress, the venue and celebrant are booked. That's almost as far as we've gotten.

The invites are awaiting our attention to print up. We have design figured out and all sorted. Wording perfected. Guest list drawn up.

My "proxy" matron of honour is K, her mum, my sister, lives about two hours away so K's working out a few things for her at this end. We have the guest list, the invite template, the papers and a venue but not gotten much closer to finalising "hen's night". !st step is finding a better thing to call it.

Future mother in law is going to make flower girl dresses for future sister in law's 2 daughters. Her vision and mine are a little different. She wants overskirt. I want simple clean lines. If anything overskirt can have a false petticoat that can be a different colour and peak out from the hem. This can match the sashes atound their middle and the roses in their hair. Simple but sweet. I wanted scuffs but the girls mum wants "proper foot wear", so I guess she can deal with that. No biggy.

I cannot find the shoes I want, or the hair piece. Mum is all anxious and won't let me borrow hers. It's a bit yellowed as it's 50 years old. I want it drycleaned and as my "something old", she's panicky it will "melt". Jewellery is also causing hassles.

My sister and I desperately need to catch up to organise her outfit. She's happy with whatever I chose. I wnat her to try on the styles I like and chose herself. Everytime we get close to organising this though something turns up. We are also different neck types so I want to see what type of necklace for her. A choker on me looks good but she might not like them, and one ting I am not having is my Matron uncomfortable.

Dad want's to wear this steal grey (like a navy meets grey) suit. I would prefer he hire a black suit. We agree on one thing though, he'll wear a tinted shirt undernesth and not a white or ivory one. The tie will also match the suit. Dad's over 80 so I don't want him thinking that the suit he buys for the wedding will be his funeral one, so I'm not pushing. The steel grey thing at least fits and isn't shiny.

Mum want's me to go shopping with her for an outfit. That may prove the death of one of us. I love her dearly, but Southland with a woman who hates to shop?

My biggest fear though is that the details will be wrong.... flowers, music, meals, cars, cake... other peoples outfits.... hair and make up... and that this will turn me in to a Bridezilla.

At this stage I cannot even decide on "walk down aisle music".... anyone got a karaoke version of Chisel's Khe Sanh? ;P

The Boi said he's cancel it if I chose "Suddenly" by Angry Anderson, aka Scott and Charlene's wedding song; it's almost tempting. *Evil grin*

False Hopes

Sitting in a crowded classroom. It's a sharing circle, we have to reach deep within ourselves and find three words that describe how we are feeling at the time (which didn't really rhyme, it didn't rhyme overseas which describes how your feeling.... but I digress into TMBG... ).


I can't take this exercise too seriously. It's supposed to allow me to sit better with how I am feeling while I am with a client. Today I know what I should say, but I lie instead. I talk about feeling as if I'm wrapped in the wings of an angel that is comforting me as I deal with emotions from earlier in the day, I say I have a sugar high from what I ate to comfort myself from the emotions I had earlier in the day, and I say I have guilt because I need o get to the gym to work off what I ate earlier to comfort myself. People around me dutifully laugh. It's easier to lie then to let them see that inside I am still crying.


On the due date for the birth of the foetus I miscarried I told the truth. I told them how I wanted to be holding my baby after having given birth. I told of my anger at the situation and my heart break that I was there at that time. I talked about the hope that others realised just how lucky they were to have kids. And I cried.

I also traumatised half the class. Reexploring that was not something I was going to do, not out loud anyway.

Inside I was bleeding today. I know because for another month my cycle has come. Each month I fool myself that if we do the right thing at the right time I WILL BE PREGNANT! and each month I end up in tears as regular as clockwork my cycle comes.

Is it irony that now my cycle is regular due to the IVF? We can predict it to the day.

My uterus felt like my gynaecologist had trained under Jack the Ripper. My heart was in pieces, again. It's amazing how quickly it can heal at times, but it becomes more fragile with each blow.

I wanted to cut off the Boi's scrotum. (It doesn't work properly so why can't I? )
But instead I called him. He was getting his hair cut and told me that I get like this every month. I build up false hopes then am a wreck for the first day. I hate him being right. And when I'm all depressed like that I want to be babied, not given honesty.

Last month it was a fortnight of sex, at least twice a day. We had to stop because he was almost raw ... and trust me my hormones were at a peak so twice a day (marathon sessions or other) was not good enough. I wanted more... more... more... more... more... MORE!!!!!!

This month it was one night of the most mind blowingly sensual sex I have ever experienced. I cried... it was so lovely. I was in such a hieghtend state of arousal that he just had to touch my lower lip ligtly with his tongue and I shivered. The connection I felt to him at that point was closer then any I had ever felt.

Did you know when you orgasm the sperm is driven further into the body giving it a better chance to work? Thats why all the contractions down there. Cool hey?

So you can see where my mind went. Doing it heaps: gotta be a higher chance this way.... nope.... doing it once so that the level of sperm is greater and then orgasming (a lovely bonus which surely couldn't hurt).... nope.

I don't tend to tell the Boi about my hopes in all of this. It scares him a bit when I get my hopes all up like that only to crash when it all proves to be for nothing.

Hey, at least I have three positives from this.

1) Mind blowing orgasms of that standard are rare for any female.
2) Next week we try again at IVF so my cycle should be about right to start a boost cycle.
Um.... Yeah... 3)... I did have one... honest.... oh yeah, the kilo I gained according to the scales yesterday should be gone in about four days.

They migt be long shots but anything is better then no hope at all.

IVF

Confession one: My partner has fertility issues. This means that although we have a phalocentric issue all treatments are gynocentric.

In basic English, although the issue lies with him the only way to overcome it is to go through IVF, or take a really yukky drug (prednisolone) that has side effects that are worse then the prospect of no kids and only increases our chances to 1 in 4 from 0.25%.

IVF means hormones, mood swings, weight gain, bloating, constipation, needles, invasive treatments, internal ultra sounds, blood tests, pessaries, scopes, scans, anaesthesia, harvesting of eggs, your body being a puppet for others to manipulate, screwed up sex drive, sore breasts, abdominal cramping, drugs and vitamin tablets.

First they shut you down, so a chemical menopause. I know this as my wonderfuly gorgeous sister is going through "the change" and we compared notes.

Then they fire you up... think onset of puberty is bad? HUH! At least thats gradual.

If the firing process is successful they can harvest your eggs. They tell this through ultrasound. So your bloated, hormonal, ovulating and some person is poking around in areas that are tender and feeling abused. This is the fun stage. This is when they give you a "Green light, injection on this date, harvest on this" or a "Nope, migt as well use the injection and go at it like bunnies and be hopeful." The injection releases the eggs.

If they can harvest it's done not dissimilarly to a biopsy. It was about this time that I realised that women become "Clucky" during IVF because they are feeling a close bond to battery chickens. (Confined by a regime, not in a cage, and feed hormones.)

My favourite part though all of this is the lovely running commentary on your body.
"You need to lose weight."
No duh!
"Your left ovary keeps moving, we can't count the eggs."
It's camera shy, OK?
"You won't experience the side effects you had with the [birth control] pill on this regime."
Two months of hormonal cow from hell later we get told there is another option. At least this time I was merely depressed. The pill/ birth control injections have turned me into a paranoid schizophrenic in the past (I became convinced I was being chemically poisoned by a former partner who was just trying to feed me.)

And the advice from those around us on how to conceive:
"Maybe your doing it wrong."
"You just need to relax."
"Eat more fruits with seeds."
"Don't eat meat. The hormones they pump in are causing your problems."
"Eat more red meat."
"Don't have hot baths."
"Don't have cold showers"

The pregnant women surrounding us:
"Oh, you just need to stay positive. My gynacologists sisters aunt in law had IVF and she has twins now."
"Oh, we didn't want to mention to you we're pregnant again in case it upset you." (Yes, in 9 months after watching you gain weight, avoid us, and be embarassed everytime you can't that would be the time to present a baby and tell us about the pregnancy. )

We are amongst some of the luckier ones but it feels like every step forward equals one step back. For example: Discover hormones stopping and starting screw with my system severely: be unable to harvest.
Alternative method "Boost cycle" to grow eggs: We can harvest: All 4 become embryoes. Implant 1st one: nope, period in a week. Implant next two after them being frozen, discard forth as it stagnates. PREGNANT! First ultra sound: heart beat almost non existent.

I have some medical training. I know what the heart rate needs to be.

Meanwhile all our family knows, mum in law to be has bought out childrens section of Myers and given it to me at Christmas (I burst in to tears and lost it completely. When you're spotting and everyone tells you your going to be fine a present like that at less then 8 weeks does not help.)

So we call prospective grandparents and ask them to let others know. Talking to a brother the other week I asked him if he'd been told, and he said no, he was waiting to hear the gender of the baby.

And seriously that's the worst bit off it all. It's not the unexpected internal ultrasounds that flashed me back to having been raped. It's not all the well meaning but seriously misguided advice and "chin ups" from people, or them tip toeing around you about their own pregnancy.... it's the losing of hope.

It's the foetus dying and you not knowing why. It's sitting in a bath full of blood as your partner tries to clean you up putting aside his own guilt (over his infertility) and grief to try and get you through the state of shock you are in. It's still blaming yourself 9 months later, going ove everything in your mind as to what you did to cause it... worked in hot environment, worked to hard, didn't sleep properly, stressed the miscarriage on, didn't eat properly, aromatherapy oils, cat trays, ate something you shouldn't of... and the list continues.

We go back next week to try again. Never know, maybe someone else out their will read this, see their own situation mirrored and know they are not alone in this. I just hope that person has a person beside them as wonderfully beautiful as my Boi.

Preowp purrrrr! (That's cat for "Hi, nice to meet you".)

My understanding of these things is that they are a form of vanity publishing. I don't know if anyone outside myself will ever read this so I am hoping that this is not vanity so much as a search for sanity.

So who am I? I am more then the sum but less then the whole of my parts.

I am a student studying in Melbourne. I work casual shifts through an agency in an industry I am passionate about but need to escape. I am currently organising my wedding. My partner and I are undergoing IVF in the hope that we can have a family. I'm trying to get fit to make the process easier (and as I carry weight on my stomach at the moment easier can be read as finding ovaries through less flab to enhance harvest). I am facing the mortality of my father as his health declines. I'm an old style Goth, slowly fading to grey. But I am also a hippy who despises the thought of labelling anyone. I am a solo witch looking for a mentor and a coven.

As sung in Uncle Tom's Cabin: "I'm not aware of to many things, I know what I know if you know what I mean."

The picture is of our two fur kids. The ginger tom is Bossco. The mackeral tabby is Nutbag; or Little Miss as I call her. They enjoy daytime soaps, Oprah, Yoga, showers, running around the house at three in the morning and crashing in to walls. (And long attempts to sneak past us and get outside.)