My CV should read “talented pin cushion…”

My CV should read “talented pin cushion…”

I can’t have children.

 I have spent 10 years of increasingly intrusive, drug protocols. I am an expert-

  • in injecting big fuck off needles up to 4 times a day,
  • throwing back a handful of meds in a single swallow,
  •  applying hormone patches,
  • sticking pessaries where the sun never sees,
  • watching my hair fall out in clumps,
  • having daily blood tests
  • getting regularly intimate with an ultra-sound wand (dildo cam in my circles).
  • whacking my legs into stirrups quicker than any rodeo rider for doctors, nurses and embryologists to stare intently at my girly bits,
  • being poked and prodded up the wazoo,
  • regularly having surgical instruments scrape my uterus without a sedative (aka the “evil test & yes, one does go into shock & nearly passes out).

 Each day I say to myself “today is the day I will brace myself and grieve for the death of all my potential children”   It is yet to come.

I see the strength on the faces of my partner, parents and sister, when inside they are grieving the loss of their own child, grandchildren, niece/nephew.

I have had many a poignant  moment pondering on never having all those first moments- my baby reaching for my face, first day at preschool, seeing her crawl for the first time,  hearing him giggle, their first time at the beach or feeling the indescribable love that people have for their children.

That feeling of waking up and not knowing what I am here for.

Looking at the bank account and realising you could have put a hefty deposit on a house if you hadn’t had to pay all those medical bills.

Those moments of deep sadness, worthlessness and incredible heartbreak  when you get yet another negative result, the daily betrayal of your body no matter what you do (positive thinking does not make one pregnant-let’s just clear that little gem up).

The attempts of well-meaning friends “why don’t you just adopt?”…. all well-meaning but just a tip….don’t say it, just don’t.

Facing the daily cruelty of Mother Nature and trying to be big about it, and believe that she has ear marked me for amazing things that don’t require being a mum (still trying to figure out what that amazing thing is….)

The moments when you walk in the door at home, finally finding yourself alone and your legs give out and you collapse on the floor in a suffocating heaving mess. You release the gut wrenching sadness, then pick yourself up off the floor and put on your happy, happy joy, joy public face.

Clenching my teeth in the face of people who declare “Christmas is about the children” after yet another year of failed cycles. I believe Christmas is about Family…whatever shape or size  it is.

I have to come to terms with the wedge that has been driven between some of my dearest friends, their world is so different to mine and my journey has been an awfully lonely one. No-one gives you a card to say- sorry your body destroyed yet another life, our sympathies.

I have struggled with not having a membership to that elusive Mummy Club.

I know I have to put behind me 10 years of baby making demons and look to a different future to what I had planned.

Despite all that, I am the luckiest girl in the world (if hitting 41 you can still call yourself girl). I have a super guy who hugs me and calls me crazy girl, does absurd impressions of me being an efficient (not really) coffee maker/home keeper, fabulous parents who respect my decisions and are always there for me, a sister who teaches me that getting worked up over the little things just isn’t worth it (she’s a cool cucumber of the good kind) and a variety of friends who just rock. They make me laugh and inspire me. A nutter of a big black dog who grounds me daily with his floppy eared love and weird arse antics.

To all those people who actually made it to the end of this monologue (and I suspect the ones who have dwelled in the world of infertility are probably the only ones who did), sorry for the sad, self-indulgent rambling but thanks for letting me purge.

Hugs to all those people who have experienced this journey. It’s really hard and an incredibly lonely place to visit (even just for a short time). My heart and strength goes out to you.

IVF journey


21 thoughts on “My CV should read “talented pin cushion…”

  1. Thank you. For being so honest. Your story should have been my story, the only difference has been a bit of something else luck isn’t the right word.

    You truly are one of the strongest, bravest women I know. I will gladly share my children with you. And even though you have figured out what that amazing thing you are ear marked for I believe your already doing it. Your grieving and your honesty are so incredibly brave. Your saying the words many women want to but just don’t know how. Don’t stop xxx

    Ps the elusive mummy club it’s bullshit. It doesn’t exist in my world. Anyone would be lucky to have you as a friend, breeder or otherwise xxx

  2. Thanks for making me cry Tracy.
    I had wondered whether you were a don’t want or can’t have, and had leaned towards can’t have. Now I know, and feel very sad for you and mr m, and very cross at the “think positive” people. Bet they’ve all got 6 kids each…
    I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have had the patience or will to go through what you have.
    And that’s where I run out of words…..

  3. I knew you were special from the moment I danced with you. You have bared your soul, greiving and painful and yet even in this dark depth you hold humor – Talented Pin Cushion! IN the sharing of the hard things in life, where no reason or answer is good enough you halve your pain, help others with theirs as they recognize it in your writings. I wish you the best of letting go, clensing this pain if you will, for this is what you typed you wanted in posting this wonderfully honest heart wrenching peice. If i may be of support at any point, you know where to find me

  4. Oh Tracy, so sorry to hear, to learning. You are one brave & strong girl! As much as it is a very difficulty road, depressing and lonely, you are not alone. I’m obviously not speaking for myself, but we have a good friend has been through a very similar, long and painful journey. I’ve also been a Hearttfelt photographer for 2.5 years, and it is devastating the amount of loss. Heartbreaking every single week, sometimes every day.

    Thank you for your honesty, I hope catharsis has helped.

    Stay strong!

    • Thank you Stewart. I had hoped that by writing this, it might reach someone who is facing the same thing and let them know that there are people out there who just “get it” and not feel quiet so alone in the journey. I hope your friend has some light at the end of their journey. I have signed up for Heartfelt also in the hopes to give back in what way I can.

      • She did indeed. After a 6 years of struggle, trying every option under the sun, she poured her heart out on a blog page (also a photographer) and she found a savour in the way of a donor embryo. She’ll be celebrating her daughter’s 2nd birthday next month. Heartfelt is very difficult, but rewarding to give back something so precious.

  5. I am sitting here howling my eyes out my darling. Knew you were strong and one very special daughter. Dad and I so very, very, proud of you.

  6. Oh Tracy, my heartbreaks with you. I cannot fathom the journey you have been on. Your honesty is so raw and I hope a little cathartic for you. I cannot and will not offer any words of consolation – I don’t have the insights or life wisdom.

    I hope you find some strength, I hope you find your meaning and hope you find your way forward.

    You are an amazing human in your own right. My children have been blessed to have you in their life. Thank you for calling me a friend.

    Love Kate

    • You know Kate, it was my journey with your son that helped put my faith back I what I did as a teacher. He was a little boy when I met him that had a bright future if given the right support and look at him now! It just showed what can be achieved and the potential that can be reached if everyone works together for a child. He’s one tough cookie who won my heart. You have done an amazing job and I am also lucky to call you my friend.

  7. Your right Kate!! Tracy you are an amazing human being and I am honoured to be a friend of yours. You are strong, resilient, inspirational, caring, generous, funny, honest, genuine, talented, and reliable are just some of the words that come to my mind when I think of you. I send you big hugs and lots of love always xxxxx00000

  8. Oh Yas… are so sweet and now I am just getting a big fat head haha. Everyone has personal battles, some share, some shout them out to the world and others and others just quietly go about their day. Hopefully someone else can read this and know that there are others out there that simply understand. Txxxx

  9. I cried all the way through Trace, you have always amazed me with your strength and ability to get through anything ife has thrown at you. You certainly made Uni more bearable and I don’t think I would have got through it without you. Im so sorry that having children is something you have had to close a door on, you are amazing with kids, as I said before Harris and Lewis loved having you in their school and having you as a teacher, they were very sad when you left. So glad that you have been able to follow your dream of photography, you are very talented. There isn’t really anything I can say to make you feel better im sure, I know I am extremely lucky that I was able to have children. I hope some day the pain eases, if only just a little. Love always Sarah

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