Poor old Michael Finnegan… Begin again.*

He’s still out there in the drab grey drizzle of the late winter afternoon, continuing on with the tree-lot planting project. My parents were coming over today to give us a hand, but my Dad woke up this morning feeling wretched and flu-y so thoughtfully kept himself and his bug at home. I spent the hours post-lunch in bed finishing a book. It has been a pretty low-key kind of weekend around here.

The d&c on Friday went smoothly. I was starving by the time I went into theatre, the previous list having run way over time because the usually quick surgeon had, that day, a learner-driver registrar in tow, who was doing some of the cases and holding things up. Whatever. Everyone has to learn sometime. But I was thankful no one was learning on me. When my doctor came around to get me to sign the consent form, and ask any questions, he smirked: “I suppose it would be unkind of me to tell you how much I enjoyed my pie for lunch just now”. Ha ha ha. I told him he was a bastard. After I was wheeled into the operating theatre and placed on that oh-so-thin, thin table, I mentioned to the anaesthetist that I was liable to swear at him as the anaesthetic went in, for the three seconds before I fell asleep, because it hurt like hot burning fire coursing through the veins in your whole body and it wasn’t much fun. He said it was fine to swear as long as I didn’t hit him. Turned out he used some maxalon first, which not only meant I had no nausea on waking, but somehow negated the pain of the knock-out drug and I didn’t feel a thing as I gently drifted off to sleep. In recovery, I woke up faster than any of the other patients that day (don’t tell your DH! the nurses said, but of course I did. Well to be fair, he wouldn’t have been on his best form while gassing for the surgeon that morning, and no one died either on the table or post op, so frankly I don’t think he was that bothered. But he was impressed with his colleague’s maxalon trick and said he thinks he’ll start using it himself).

I hung around in my private-room bed, trying to read to distract myself from the fact that I was still starving, until the panadeine forte kicked in and everything went a bit blurry. Then I just watched the clock, wondering how long I would have to wait before sustenance appeared. Turned out to be about seventy five minutes: nine and a half hours since I had last eaten. This is how they get you to actually eat hospital food, and think it is ok.

DH turned up fifteen minutes later and drove me home via the DVD store where deliberation took too long, and the nausea began to kick in, so we hurriedly made our choices and raced off to the medicine cabinet for a zofran wafer. Five minutes later I was all good and tucking into leftover pizza from the previous night, and watching a semi-depressing art-house movie called the Man Who Cried, starring Johnny Depp, Cate Blanchett and Christina Ricci. Despite the 1.5 tabs of temazapam and my effective painkillers, I didn’t sleep well, which probably contributed to the early crash and burn of Saturday.

Today I am all but normal again. The head fuzz has pretty much disappeared. I’ve barely any bleeding, and haven’t taken a painkiller all day. I am so ready to feel comfortable in my skin – all this bed-rest has become quite unbearable. I didn’t love the digital scales at the pre-op weigh in on Friday, which told me I’d gained 1.75 kg (3.8 pounds) in the last six weeks (most of which probably occurred over the previous week and a half, when I started finding solace in overeating, as I am wont to do in such situations). But the scales didn’t lie- my trousers are beginning to feel snug in the bum region, which is my first signal that I need to do so some exercise and lay off the chocolate for a while. I will start yoga tomorrow, do some body balance DVD at home for a few days and give myself another week before heading back to the gym, but I am ready to burn some calories, and generate some endorphins again. I’ve been sedentary since my first two week prac began on the 22nd of June, and I am just so desperate to get moving once more. I would in no way mind my body being hijacked for a good cause, but frankly, it never turns out to be for a good cause and I have to drag myself up from the bootstraps on a yearly basis and start again. Tedious doesn’t begin to cover it.

And so I embark on the next stage of my journey. The re-making of my self. The healing, the strengthening. I don’t feel beaten. I still want to fight the good fight but I see it might be time to rethink my strategy. Appointments have been made for October with a new doctor at my old IVF clinic, and a new doctor at a new IVF clinic. With them I will discuss the ins and outs of gestational surrogacy, which is newly legal in this state. I will also consider going straight to donor egg in January, if my donor is amenable. My preferred options are as follows in this order: my egg/DH sperm in surrogate womb; donor egg/DH sperm in surrogate womb; donor egg/DH sperm in my womb. I am not even going to bother with my egg/my womb. That combination has now failed seven times. Was it W.C Fields who said “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. No use being a damn fool about it.”? Indeed.

Thus my womb has gone from first to last in one fell swoop. After this experience I feel so jaded and tired of going through the early pregnancy motions only to have my body change just enough to be a pain in the arse, but not enough to carry a child to term, and then having to pick up the fucking pieces all over again, I am over it*. I just don’t want to do this even one more time. My priority is to find someone else, who thinks they might want to do it, and suck up to them hard. So I am putting the word out there. If anyone reading this post knows anyone who knows anyone who would remotely consider being a surrogate for us, please thrust my details in their pocket. However, being realistic, they would probably have to live at least in Australia, (though I intend to check out the logistics and legalities of intercontinental options, but not ones where we have to pay $125,000 because that just isn’t realistic) and preferably, but not compulsorily in this state. Surrogacy is altruistic here, too, so that wonderful woman would be doing this service unpaid (though medical expenses etc are taken care of by us). I know. It is a massive ask. But as I’ve always said: don’t ask, don’t get – so I’m asking, just in case I get lucky.

I mean, dude- I really could use a break.