iVf baBY BLueS

Justin and I arrived in New Zealand on the 31st March 2010. We enrolled with a GP and began to investigate our fertility in greater depth; following on from our Aussie GP's investigations. I have had to document my cycle and temperature every day, I often make up the temperatures as I can't always be bothered. 

A routine laparoscopy uncovered some obvious damage to my fallopian tubes and a follow-up hysterosalpingiogram confirmed that due to severe scaring both my fallopian tubes were rendered completely useless. Follicles (eggs) unable to unite with sperm; end of story. 

We finally made it on to the IVF waiting list in 2011 and began waiting. 

Our first official IVF appointment was scheduled for the first day of my period in August 2012, and this month has been seared into the back of my head ever since it was organised earlier this year. 

I came back from 4 months in Aussie working two midwifery contracts and started getting excited about our first appointment. I have a volume of paperwork detailing my cycles and daily temperatures. 

I hadn't received a reminder phone call and so I decided to give the clinic in Palmerston North a call to see if there was anything else we needed to bring with us. I was told that there 'was no appointment for the next day' and that 'although the Dr would be in the clinic he wasn't actually seeing any clients', so there must have been some confusion. It turns out that the clinic had tried to call me on my NZ mobile while I was in Australia and my phone was not in use. They were aware I was in Australia and they had our home number but if they did ring this they didn't leave a message and couldn't leave a message due to privacy anyway. Justin would have been out on the farm all day everyday. Because they decided they couldn't get in contact with me they pushed our appointment date back to December. 

Apart from feeling like crying, I also felt bad for Justin because he had painstakingly organised to have the day off work and have a relaxing day in Palmy. 

The receptionist advised that I should ring the Fertility Associates in Wellington and see what they could do for us. 

I explained my dilemma to the big wigs in the capital city of New Zealand and they were sympathetic and offered us an appointment for the same day as the original appointment but we would have to go to Wellington instead of Palmerston. We agreed. Petrol money was the least of our concerns. 

So after having our bloods taken we drove to Wellington the next day and had lunch with Justin's brother before making our way to the Fertility Associates building.

Justin had to give his first official on-the-spot sample. This was a really flash building (let's face it, there's a lot of money exchanging hands in the pursuit of happy families) and so this was a bit daunting and a lot scary for Justin. 

My first mistake was that I presumed we would be waiting for at least 10 or 15 mins, and that they really only needed Justin for this sample anyway; so I opportunistically went to the toilet. When I came back, Justin was wringing his hands together and said "Come on, they're waiting for us! Why did you have to go to the toilet?!"...I was like, "Well what do they need me for anyway?"

So we went in through the doors and a slightly embarrassed looking technician went through the rules of the game and gave Justin a sample pot and then ushered us both into a private room and told us as a parting gesture to make sure we locked the door behind us. 

I was instantly confused. Is this how it is now days. This doesn't seem right at all. Justin and I just looked at each other and I started chuckling nervously. Justin however looked as though his whole world was about to end, and I read his expression as "Well why the fuck are you in here?"...I just shrugged with amusement. 

The room was a cosy 3 by 2 with a sophisticated couch, bedside table and a closed in toilet off to the left. 

Justin surveyed the room with down cast eyes and a look that suggested Armageddon was coming. I was still grinning and wondering what part I was going to have to play, if any. 

The bedside table housed 4 very used adult magazines. Two were soft porn with fake girls and their fake bits, the other two were for homosexual men. Justin turned pale. I was really beginning to feel sorry for him now. So I tried to make him feel better; I said "Come on, you're good at this. This is your forte. You'll be right. Stop being a sook!" He grabbed the soft porn and went into the toilet and shut the door. 

I was just sitting there, feeling awkward, listening to the pages of the magazine being frustratingly flicked through (clearly not having a great effect). 

I took the time to research the world of homosexual men and was interested to discover that their magazines were actually not soft porn. I was impressed. 

After 15 long, painful minutes, Justin emerged and spat at me "I can't do this!" 

I looked at him. 

Panic washed over me. We have already been in here for at least 20 minutes already (what's the norm here? Will we be weird if this isn't done and dusted within an acceptable time frame? Am I actually going to have to help out? And what does that mean exactly?). So much to think about. This was so unfair. When I have to have internal ultrasounds and pap smears Justin doesn't even have to hold my hand - why the fack was this happening to me? So I did what any decent wife would do in this situation...

I said "Oh stop being so ridiculous and get on with it! You are going to make us look like idiots. What's the problem? You are able to wank every other day of the week and then some, and now you get cold feet". 

He just looked at me with a look that said he was about to flee the scene. I am a nurse. I recognised the flight or fight response, Justin was like a deer caught in the headlights. I could tell he was losing the will to live. 

So I tried to take control. Or at least I pretended to do so. I thought, how hard can this be for a married couple who have been intimately involved for over 12 years. We aren't exactly into public sexing but this was legal, expected even. 

So I said "Sit down you big baby you and I'll help you out then if I have to"...I'm sure there's a fertility book out there that would explain to wives how to have more tact in these moments but clearly I haven't read that book, so Justin was just going to have to suffer through this a bit more. 

I shook out the draw-sheet which was purposefully left folded at the end of the couch and told Justin to sit down. He was looking green now. This was so freaking ridiculous. I was going to have to do everything if we were going to ever get pregnant. I could hardly contain my frustration. 

I kneeled down, placed my hands on Justin's knees, looked up into his woeful, pitiful face and then I burst out laughing. I'm sure that people waiting down the corridor would have heard me. I couldn't help it I swear. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was just such a stupid situation to find ourselves in. Why was I even there?!

I apologised to Justin as best as I could while still laughing uncontrollably. Surely he would see the funny side and have a laugh too and then we would make sweet, sweet love and produce a fine and magnificent sample of the highest grade. But Justin didn't see the funny side and he said "Why are you even here?!"

This just made it even funnier to me and I was a lost cause now. I had to leave. Justin was happy to close and lock the door behind me as I walked shamefully back to the waiting room alone and laughing like an idiot. I had to just hope that the fertility associate staff had seen it all before and nothing surprised them. Maybe they bet money on this kind of thing happening it was so common; who knows, they never let on if they do (very professional). 

I was feeling rather guilty and stifled back my smirking when Justin finally emerged back into the waiting room. I was in trouble, that was certain. 

We went for a stroll and looked at rugs while we waited for our Dr's appointment and to get all our results back. 

Justin got a gold star for his big effort. Clap, Clap. 

The Dr even told him to "put the results on the fridge if he liked they were so good", I just sneered. Another feather in Justin's cap. 

My results were not so good, I didn't get any gold stars and I wasn't expected to put my useless hormone results on the fridge. In fact my reproductive organs got an 'F' for fail. As punishment I had to strip off right there and then and have an impromptu internal ultrasound with the dreaded 'probe' device which is so not my favourite piece of medical equipment anymore (if it ever was). I mean, Justin got his own room, all the time in the world and a Gold Fucking Star! So unfair. 

And here's where it got even more bizarre. The Dr handed me the probe and said "Go ahead and put this in yourself". I'm thinking...what now I've got to do your job for you as well. Men! Lazy sons of bitches. 

Well this was all very annoying indeed. For anyone who hasn't had to do this before (and I'm expecting I'm setting a new precedent - so beware ladies), believe me when I say there is no way you can look graceful when you attempt this. I couldn't hold it there with any amount of steel strength kegle pumping pelvic floor muscles and so I was forced to contort into a pretzel until that bastard of a man that called himself a new age Dr returned from behind the thin curtain. He looked at me like he was now suddenly realising that I was mentally handicapped and would begin giving me slow instructions to make it easier from now on. 

The Dr has a rummage and a look around at my uterus and ovaries and invites Justin in for a look also. It's just one big freak sideshow of useless reproductive organs and underneath the shame of it all is me, wishing i was back making fun of Justin struggling to have a private wank with me in the room. Nothing seems funny now. 

I am quizzed about my weight, and my cycles. All below average grade scores of course. I used to be a straight A student, this is so humiliating. My ego gets battered and bruised some more and then we part ways with the big wig fertility Dr; and then we make our way to another pathology unit so I can have more blood taken (this time costing $92 for the privilege). 

We drive the 3 and a half hours home, just talking about trivial shit that we find both debatable and chat worthy. 

We have survived our first IVF appointment and later we would find out that our 'first cycle' has now begun.