Health Goddess

Blah blah IVF blah

So. The fabled Dr Handsome.

Let me preface this by saying that it was Dr Y who proclaimed him A Very Handsome Doctor. That got me quite excited, enough to Google for his picture. Whee. And Dr Handsome must be quite photogenic because he did look pretty cute in the photo. Coupled with the fact that he was v nice over the phone and bam! I was sold.

And then we met him for the first time on a stormy Saturday morning at KKH. It was…okay. I mean, I was definitely not expecting the hottest doctor in the world but I was hoping for some form of visual pleasure. While Dr Handsome did turn out to be v v nice, he was also merely pleasant looking. In fact, Mr Thick proclaimed him the typical pleasant looking doctor.

I concur.
And was a tad disappointed.
I should have known better than to trust a man’s taste in men.

And erm, yes, I have broken up with Dr Y and hooked up with Dr Handsome despite the latter’s lack of handsomeness.
As I said to Dr Y, he charges like Chanel and I can only afford Uniqlo. The only logical conclusion: Splitsville. We are still friends, although I think I will miss the days of spamming his phone with my queries. Sobs.

Anyway, it appears that many Singaporeans are finding out that they are also not able to spawn simply by shagging because we have been penciled in for the cycle in…OCTOBER! Holy cow. That’s four frigging months. FOUR! I nearly fell off my chair when the massively pregnant nurse told me the magic month.

That threw a monkey wrench into my Type A, well laid out plans. With the possible changes coming up (shh! can’t talk about them now), I was in a tizzy over how I was going to fit everything in. That’s the thing with this infertility shit – your life starts revolving around jabs and scans and retrievals and transfers. I have a love/hate relationship with cycling (nothing to do with the two-wheeled sort).

Dr Handsome had suggested that we go for the longer agonist protocol which I am cool with, except that it means MORE JABS for a longer period of time, which equals being a Genetically Modified Cow for a longer period of time. I’m also really, really hoping that he can “force” me in for an earlier cycle, we’ll find out again when we see him in July.

And…the biggest revelation of all: I DO NOT HAVE A RETROVERTED UTERUS!

Gawd. You would think that I know my uterus after all these years but NO. During our consult, Dr Handsome asked that I be acquainted with his dildocam (ie. have it stuck up my vajayjay for a look-see) and I casually mentioned that I have a retroverted uterus.

Hmm actually you have an anteverted uterus but that’s okay, he replied.


Either my uterus has been skipping around my insides or…or I don’t know.
Maybe I have a schizophrenic uterus.

Uteruses (uteri?) these days, tsk.

The organised chaos

The kids are okay

Two weeks on, I have somewhat accepted that our first IVF attempt was a failure.

Don’t worry, it’s not like I was sitting in the dark every night, crying my heart out. As Yi Lin once wrote, it’s saddening because the “project” that you had worked so damn hard on didn’t succeed. Nobody died – and it is precisely that which makes me very sad. Because, as perverse as it sounds, I would rather have had a miscarriage than a negative.

When you have gained and lost, at least you live with the knowledge that you once had it. Even if it had been a fleeting moment, for that period of time, you were happy. It worked and you know that you are capable of being pregnant. You had a little embryo implanted in you. It gives you hope to try again and again because you know that it IS possible.

But when you have faced months and months of negative results like we have, the road seems extra long and arduous. Lots of “what ifs” dot the future: what if we would never be pregnant? What if we need five or eight or 10 IVFs to get there? What if the next cycle is exactly like the previous one – crappy? What if my eggs are just inherently crappy?

Initially, I was adamant that we ride the wave of momentum. Rest up a month or two and then plunge headlong into it again. There are lots of other factors at play here – a possible change in working environment; the need to get something, ANYTHING done; time racing against us.

But two weeks later, I feel more relaxed and happier about where we are now. Yes, the goals are still there, it’s just that the goal posts have been moved back, that’s all. So I wasn’t able to live my dream of having kids before I was 30. That’s okay. I’d still be a mom, just at a later age. Who knows, I may be a better mom because of all that we have gone through. And if I can’t do the transfer within the same cycle, not a big deal. It’ll let my body recover and perhaps I would be in a better condition for the frozen embryos a month later.

Of course, there is still this big black hole of fears and worries looming. That’s the thing when you bring out the Big Guns – you know that if the Big Guns misfire or malfunction, there is no Bigger Gun to come to your aid. Of course, there are always options like donor egg or adoption but these are decisions that cannot be made lightly. Nobody just adopts or just opt for donor eggs.

But I can’t afford to think of that right now. We have made an appointment to see Dr Handsome* and we’ll see how things go. KKH is notorious for having a crazy long queue for IVF (goes to show just how many couples NEED assisted reproductive technology to conceive in Singapore – someone point that out to our government please?) and we may have to take a longer break than planned.

That’s okay, as long as it’s not a break of, like, SIX MONTHS. In the meantime, there’s always shagging for the sake of shagging! Phew! No more performance anxiety (plus the durian season is over). Clearly, shagging is not going to get us anywhere, as we have proven.

No siree, I am leaving my reproductive future firmly in the hands of Science and Medicine. Let’s hope they don’t disappoint me.


*I still feel a tad sad at consulting Dr Handsome but my guilt is assuaged by the fact that I am not having a fling with him behind Dr Y’s back and that he was recommended by Dr Y.

Health Goddess

The end. For now.

It’s over.

Call me Debbie Downer but in my heart, I’ve always known that it wasn’t going to go our way. Right from the start, the odds were firmly stacked against us and it would take a miracle for us to get the happy ending.

Miracles have never happened to me.

But you know, just because there wasn’t much hope doesn’t mean that I wasn’t holding out for a dream come true. Because with every procedure, there is always a faint glimmer of possibility that it might just work. You hear of stories, good stories that have happy endings, and you wonder, maybe, just maybe, it is my turn this time.

It isn’t.
But maybe next time.

In a strange way, though, I am thankful for having gone through this. No, not glad, because nobody who wants a child deserves to go through hell for it. It isn’t fair. But this infertility shit has shown me just how strong and strong-willed I can be. I’ve cried my fair share of tears, I’ve lain in bed feeling sorry for myself but I’ve never allowed myself to stay down. And that’s something nobody can ever take away from me.

But you know what, I could never have done it on my own, as strong as I think I am. Without my darling husband, who patiently took over some of my household duties when I was all choked up with nausea, who never showed signs of giving up hope, who bought me chocolate milkshakes because he just knew I needed one, I would have crumbled. He’s my beacon in the night.

And oh, all those other people – some friends and some strangers – who brought me so much love and encouragement. Someone once told me that the support of friends is very important for those going through IVF and it’s true. The support that I had envisioned from my usual quarters did not materialise; instead, the cheers came from people whom I have never, ever expected to hear from. And it meant so much to me, to know that people were rooting for me.

Special mention to:

  • My friend the Queen of the Prairie – for oohing and ahhing at the right times, for christening my little underdog embryos, for sending me those lovely, lovely flowers, for giving me hugs over Whatsapp even though she is far away in Kansas.
  • The wonderful Miss Ene – for texting me regularly and asking how I am, for helping me with you-know-what (I don’t want to jinx it by saying it out loud!)
  • My cousins/godsisters – for just being there and never, NEVER saying platitudes like, oh it will work. They kept it real. And I appreciate that.
  • The Squirts – for bringing me dinner when I was sick, for coming over to keep me company just because, for having that super cute baby who makes me laugh all the time.
  • Yuling – for always, always sending me the sweetest messages that never fail to bring tears to my eyes. She’s a mother of one but she gets it. She just gets it.
  • Everyone who has ever left encouraging comments or emailed me – you have no idea how much those messages mean to me. They made me smile and they kept me going. Your comments allowed me to be real, to be me. Thank you Serene, Dot, Bookjunkie, Pleasure Monger, Lady J, Sherie and oh, so many others!
  • The cleverest, funniest Dr Y – poor him, for being stuck with a high maintenance patient like me, always bombarding him with text messages. But he did his best and he was always kind. He’s also probably the most positive person in the world. I’m so glad to have found him. Although I don’t think he shares the same sentiments.

So what’s our next step going to be?
Husband and I have talked it through and we have some ideas. I’m going to let this poor little body of mine detox and have a rest before starting on another cycle. We’re going for a quick holiday in two months’ time and in the meantime, there’s going to be plenty of beer guzzling, wine sipping and sashimi slurping.

I’m going to bloody live again.

Leaving you with this beautiful song by my two favourite singers that’s made me cry and cry when I was at the lowest point. I just hope that there will be something for us to look forward to this coming Christmas.

Health Goddess

This ain’t a fairy tale

I had a meltdown yesterday.

Unexpectedly, the embryologist called to confirm, again, that none of our remaining embryos were good enough for freezing. That I knew. I took the opportunity to ask about the quality of my eggs and she said that yes, they were developing a little slower than normal. Again, that I knew.

The kicker was when she said, well, let’s hope for the best and Dr Y will advise you on your protocol for the next cycle.

Do you hear that? It’s the sound of my heart breaking into tiny little pieces and the embryologist crushing them with her feet callously.

She might as well have said outright YOUR EGGS SUCK, PRESS THE BUTTON AND TRY AGAIN.

I burst into tears immediately after I hung up the phone.

But it turned out fine.

Because once the tears had dried, I decided that there was no point being all sad and mopey about it. Yes, Bryan and Bryna, bless their little underdog status, may decide that Camp Womb is a great place to stay in for the next nine months. But there is also a greater possibility that they won’t. I can’t put all my eggs in one basket – pardon the pun – and hope that one of them will stick. I can cry a little, mourn our inability to get pregnant just like that but at the end of the day, I cannot and will not let myself get stuck in the trenches of depression and guilt.

Sure, the Universe may be screwing around with us. Yes, it’s been a hellish journey. I am 30, look 50 and feel 60.

But you know what, I’m not going to give up and go running back to my mama crying just because my reproductive bits are not functioning as they should and some random cosmic lottery dictates that we are not meant for the easy shag-and-reproduce way out.

If it’s a fight you want, it’s a fucking fight you are gonna get.

I’m just one step away from what I want and I will do whatever it takes to get my damned happily ever after, no matter what form it takes.

Health Goddess

The universe hates us

This morning, we received some depressing news: the remaining three embryo siblings of Bryan and Bryna have stopped developing and we will not have any embies to freeze.


That means, if neither Bryan nor Bryna implant, we will have to do a fresh cycle all over again the next time round. It is going to be the works all over again – daily injections, scans, bloodwork etc. Back to square one, let’s start at the very beginning again.

Needless to say, I was all choked up after ending the call with the very nice embryologist. Doubt and worry flooded my mind. What if the two embryos in me are of similar quality and do not develop? Does that mean this cycle is a bust? After all the time and effort I had put in?

Right from the start, the odds have been against us. During stimulation, I was in quite a bit of discomfort. All that nausea, vomiting, diarrhoea and lack of appetite! I can’t recall the last full meal I had. All these ovarian hyperstimulation syndrome symptoms were supposed to manifest AFTER the administration of the HCG trigger shot and I was having them BEFORE the damn injection.

Thankfully, the doc prescribed me a medicine that helped to curb the symptoms BUT (there is always a BUT) it gave me the additional side effects of gastric pain and nausea. So I have had to take one more drug to alleviate the gastric.

Anyhow, our statistics don’t look too good. Of the 16 eggs retrieved, only 9 fertilized and by day three, we were down to five. The best two – Bryan and Bryna – were transferred and well, we know what happened to the other three. All my hopes of day five transfer and frozen embryos flew out of the window.

Right now, all I can do is hope for the best even if chances of success are slim. I have tried my best, I have borne all the physical discomfort with as much grace and dignity as I could muster. I couldn’t have done anything more to change the outcome.

And so we wait.

Health Goddess, Letters to

Hullo embryos!

Dear Bryan and Bryna,

Just FYI – I didn’t come up with these names. It was my friend the Queen of the Prairie who insisted on calling you thus. You see, she thinks that she is very hip and loves calling you and your fellow embryo siblings ‘bryos. From there, it became Bryan and Bryna. But really, it’s better than the names I have given to her yet-to-be conceived Alaskan babies.

They are called Salmon and Salmonella.
Because she will be going salmon fishing when she is in Alaska.
Am v funny and witty!

Anyway, so the two of you are now safely ensconced in the Sentosa Cove of wombs ie. MY uterus. And CONGRATULATIONS, you were selected because you were the most outstanding among your siblings! Well, as outstanding as you lazy buggers can get anyway. While most other embryos are already in the 8-cell state on the third day of retrieval, you two are only 6-cells big. Oh no, I am not comparing, not at all. And no, you don’t need to get 100 for your spelling tests in future, just 98 will do.

What I didn’t get was how fast and furious you eggnoids were growing in my ovaries and then suddenly when faced with the sperm boys in the petri-dish, you became laggards. And then it hit me. I am convinced that it is all because of your Dad’s lazy boys! I knew it! His boys were always slow and sluggish (bad, bad motility) so they must have been lousy influences on all of you! Hmph.

I’m a wee bit sad that your grades aren’t outstanding. In the world of embryo quality, you guys are considered decent but not outstanding. Sigh, now that’s my fault and I take full responsibility. But you know what, I created you, okay okay WE created you (although your Dad did nothing but wank into a tiny plastic jar) and so I love you wholeheartedly. You guys are OUR precious little underdogs and we will be cheering you on. Even if you only have 30-odd percent chances of surviving, it is still better than all those empty dreams we have had for the past two years.

Damn hormones, making me cry.

Just know that you may not be the best embryos out there but that is okay. I was never the coolest or prettiest or cleverest girl too. I laugh too loud, talk like a fishmonger, am socially awkward, say the wrong things to people, have eye bags the size of marbles, have terrible skin and my hair is never straight or neat. I treated myself as an average girl and used to blend in with the furniture. But no longer. I now embrace my individuality and am not interested in being your average everyday girl. Am now v Fabulously Gorgeous! And very noisy!

You don’t have to be perfect. In fact it’s great that you are NOT perfect because that makes you our little fighters. So what if you are just 6-cells big? It sucks but it doesn’t make you LOUSY. It just means we are all too school for cool! (as Pink sings)

So go on and have a party inside! Find a spot that gives you the best view (cervix or tubes lalala), burrow in and pop the champagne!

Just don’t get drunk and drop out. Noooooooooo.
It’s now up to you two and God.

Your Momma

That’s Bryan on the right and Bryna on the left. Aren’t they imperfectly adorable!

Health Goddess

Back to the mothership

So tomorrow, the eggnoids will be sent back to the Mothership where they will hopefully stay and grow.

I don’t know how I should feel. Excited? Eager? Scared? Worried? Maybe all of the above. I just know that I have this creeping thought that it’s not going to go well. I mean, after all these MONTHS of disappointment, it’s really hard for me to move on to optimism and positivity. I know, I really shouldn’t feel this way but I’m just so terrified of having high hopes and crashing back into the earth with the most painful thud.

Plus, I just had a tough phone call with my mom. She was fab but all she could talk about was Rai and how cute he was. It just made it all that tougher for me to tell her how hard it has been for me and what I have gone through. I just felt like she didn’t need to hear all the bad stuff when she is finally in a good place right now. I ended up not saying anything other than that the transfer is tomorrow.

Maybe I’ll be able to talk more about my experience once the procedure has been done. Thank you for your kind words and in the meantime, please, wish me hope and luck will ya?

Health Goddess

Eggnoids, out

So the eggnoids have been taken out of my plumbing and are currently frolicking in a petri dish somewhere with the sperm boys, with one hand holding on to a margarita.

Unfortunately, no such luck for me. The sedation wasn’t very kind to me and I slept most of yesterday away. Woke up with terrible cramps and had to pop painkillers. Gah. Am still walking around like the hunchback of Notre Dame and probably look it too.

V v sad. No longer am I Fabulously Gorgeous.

Appetite still hasn’t returned and am v depressed thinking of all the food that I want to eat but can’t.

O, juicy Shashlik steak! I wouldn’t mind getting grumpy Hainanese uncles dumping a dollop of sour cream on my table just to sink my teeth into your meaty bits (true story, uncle missed my bowl while scooping the sour cream into my bowl of goulash and chucked in on my placemat without his dour expression changing. I thought it was hilarious, while normally I would have been pissed off).

Will write more when I can sit up straight. Also, need to wipe cat puke off floor, idiot cat insists on eating my plants and going all bulimic on me after that. Curses.

Health Goddess

A very Sob story

You know those stories which start with “once upon and time” and end with “and they all live happily ever after”? Hah! Lies! This is not one of those I feel pretty and witty and bright posts. It’s more I feel pukey and shitty and frightful.

I haven’t had an appetite since I started shooting myself up with hormones. (Sidenote: I’ll bet that recreational drugs cost half as much as my jabs do and I’ll even get high for the money that I pay! Now, I just feel blah and miserable. WORST DEAL OF THE CENTURY.) This lack of appetite thing is v distressing for someone like me who lives to eat. Fried carrot cake! Nah. Hokkien mee! Sorry. Bak chor mee! Erm, no. O, taste buds, where have you gone?


And to compound matters, my stomach doesn’t like those extra hormones either, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. So I’m either nauseous or hurling out what’s left in my tummy (answer: nothing much) into the toilet bowl. This was what happened to me on polling day. Mr Thick and I were parked in front of the TV in the living room while I shuffled back and forth into the bathroom either to pee or to dry heave into the bowl. And just before the result for Aljunied was announced, I finally did a Merlion.


A quick fling with the vajayjay cam on Friday – very wham, bam, thank you ma’am it was – showed that my ovaries had sprouted more follicles. Now, they are the proud mamas of 20 follies, big and small! Well done, my darlings! No wonder I feel like SHIT. Dr Y (who is very handsome and cool and clever – if he is reading this) says that I am at risk for OHSS and tells me to eat more proteins and down more H2O.

Except. I am so bloody sick of eating egg whites! Every morning, my routine looks like this: wake up, jab, prepare a three-course Gourmet Protein Delight meal of half-boiled/boiled/fried egg whites (four to five), protein shake and protein-fied Milo. And my friends on the Internetz, let me offer you a piece of sage advice:

Egg white in any form still tastes like bloody sodding egg white.


Are you bored yet? Me too. Well then, here are some exciting news: the eggnoids are getting picked up on Tuesday! It feels too fast but well, it appears that these follies of mine are uber competitive. Hmm, wonder where they get that from, as am v laid-back and demure.

In the meantime, I am relying on the Dalton Academy Warblers to keep my spirits up as I try to placate my sulky tummy.

(PS How adorable is Darren Criss! Yums.)

Health Goddess

Lefty and righty

My left ovary is complaining.

Poor thing, really, this wasn’t any of their faults but they have had to work doubly hard. No, make that 10 times as hard.

See, in a normal cycle, the two ovaries only need to grow one egg to be released. Sure, there are other competing follicles to nurture but it’s not hardcore like this. It’s more like, we’ll grow a few and see who gets to burst out first la dee da.

On Tuesday afternoon, after four days of daily 250iu of Puregon jabs, the vajayjay camera showed that there were about 10 to 12 follicles growing in there. And no prizes for guessing which ovary has been putting in extra time. No wonder Lefty has been so pissed off with me. Every night before I go to bed, Lefty has a tendency to pummel me from inside. Ah don’t like this! yells Lefty. Ah wanna talk to mah union now! Ah am overworked!


But it’s apparently all good. Dr Y is v pleased with himself for predicting the right dosage of Puregon to use. Oh, did I tell you that we opted to stick with him? Yeah. We are eating bread for our dinners for the next six months. Anyhow, he seemed pretty happy with the 12 follicles and their sizes.

In his own words, I am so glad you didn’t explode with follicles.


In fact, so happy is he with the prognosis thus far that he has decided I need to be jabbed TWICE. While the follicles are slowly reaching adulthood, I need to ensure that they stay put until the egg retrieval. So jab #2 is to prevent the follicles from spontaneously ovulating. Fun times.

This kid is SO going to OWE me for the rest of his/her life.
I mean, I haven’t had a drop of alcohol since…forever! And I have been craving Rosemount O! And Hoegaarden!

But thankfully, the jabs have been going well. It’s a bit unnerving to see the needles pierce through my skin like a hot knife through butter and truth be told, it does sting. But the pain is nothing like I had imagined, it’s been much more tolerable than expected. It’s no tea with jam and bread but it’s fine. And -touch wood- I haven’t hit a capillary yet and there are no bruises marring my tummy.

Besides the intense fatigue and my lack of appetite these days, the side effects have been minimal. Yes, I sometimes look like I have had too much to eat at the buffet table but it’s not permanent. Phew.

Most importantly, am still Fabulously Gorgeous!

Friday is scan number two, we’ll see how these little follicles of mine develop.

Good ovaries! Grow babies grow! ♥