arow88

A Probing Inquisition.

Posted on March 2, 2015 by arow88

Part of this whole baby process is tests, tests, tests and more tests! Bloods after bloods after bloods, pap smears, ultrasounds and probes! Oh my! I knew the process would involve a menagerie of tests, however I neglected to think about how invasive and uncomfortable and awkward those tests might be.

I do not like being probed (often). I am a top not a bottom. Pants not pumps. I am not, to use a football analogy, a wide receiver. Thus this process so far is my least favourite obstacle on the way to parenthood.

I walked into the ultrasound clinic and sat down surrounded by pregnant women who stared at me curiously, wondering a) why I was here and not pregnant, b) why I was alone and c) if they could get my number because I’m prone to turning even the straightest of straighty-one-eighties (case in point my wife).

I had a ragingly full bladder, was incredibly nervous and to make things worse the sonographer was running 40 minutes behind. That’s 40 extra minutes for my bladder to add at least another 10mls to its already bursting capacity! 40 minutes to be eaten alive by these happy, glowy, annoying pregnant women! 40 minutes to think about the GIGANTIC probing I was about to receive. It was not a fun 40 minutes.

Finally a smiling South African woman called me through and promptly told me she needed my bladder empty (What!? I’ve just sat here in excruciating discomfort for no reason!? But also, yay!). She then took me into a small room and asked me to remove my pants (But you haven’t even taken me out for dinner!?) and slide under a sheet on the examination table. I did so and proceeded to look anywhere but her face as she lubed up the probe, which was btw actually a lot smaller than imagined, and went to insert it. OUCH. Like, really, OUCH.

“Why, what tight pelvic floors you have!” She exclaimed. No really, she seriously, legitimately said this. I had no idea how t respond to such a comment! “Oh… thanks… I think…” I’m taking it as a compliment!

The rest of the ultrasound went pretty quickly, albeit uncomfortably. She probed left, she probed right, up, down and on an angle before announcing a diagnosis of PCOS with a follicle count of over 30 (wah!). On the upside though, she did describe my uterus as ‘lovely’! Yay! Pity we’re not using that part!

Eventually she pulled out (Ouch again!), handed me some tissues and left me to gather my clothes. Much like my days of one night stands really….

I’m not really sure how much the diagnosis of PCOS will affect our chances at baby success, I’m assuming my hormone therapy will probably be a little more tailored and that they’ll have to monitor a little more closely for hyper-stimulation. I guess I’ll find out in April when we make our second trip over to Sydney!

One probe down, several more to go!

Africa & my big gay honeymoon – The Highlights in retrospect (& in pictures).

Posted on February 23, 2015 by arow88

Sally & I got married on November 16th 2013 (or if you’re an ignorant, religious, right-wing conservative – we had a very expensive dress up party). 7 months later we embarked on our wonderful African honeymoon!

Kalahari Desert:

The first of many Cessna planes, epic sunsets, the roar of lions in the morning, walking safaris and love, love, love.

Though the Kalahari is not strictly speaking a desert, when you set sights on the vast sandy expanses and dry scrub it is easy to see why European settlers named it so. We Safari’d day and night – bouncing around in an open air jeep, making friends with crazy dutch people and sitting down to eat with our wonderful guides at night. The food was delicious, the weather was warm, the sunsets were awesome and my first taste of Africa left me hungry for more.

My beautiful wife.

Okavango Delta:

Lions & leopards & hippos oh my! The wetlands were abundant with animals, we barely had to leave the lodge to bump in to elephants roaming between the huts and hippos hungrily munching on grass outside our windows. We fished on the delta, poled through the water in mokoros and watched the sun set with wine, good company and more beautiful sunsets.

Lions & Mokoros & many, many layers!

Linyati:

From the desert to the wetlands & finally the Savannah.

The African Wild dog – only 3000 left in the wild and we stumbled across their den accidentally – oh soz!

Across the border and into Zambia:

A lunar rainbow at Victoria falls, baboons, a village and the once in a lifetime walk with lions.

I am always dubious about paid interactions with animals and the ‘walk with lions’ was no exception. We visited a lion & cheetah sanctuary, a place created to reintroduce big cats into Zambia’s wild and teach young Zambian’s about the importance of animal conservation. And despite my reservations, I was more than pleasantly surprised. When the time came to meet the lions we walked out into an open bushy area and 3 young lions – 2 female, 1 male, came bounding over to us, full of energy and youthful curiosity. The were beyond beautiful. We spent the next hour walking with them, playing with them, even being pushed over by them! We walked through the scrub and they walked loosely next to us, ahead of us and behind us – they went where they pleased and if game had stumbled past they could have run off to hunt and come back. The program aims to raise money by allowing them to interact with humans and then stopping that interaction approximately a year before they are released into the wild. It was an incredible experience and one I will ever forget.

Africa was amazing – to hear the roar of a lion, be charged by a Bull elephant, snorted at by a hippo and see the beauty of animals left to roam where they belong – it ruined zoo’s for me forever, reignited my passion for animal welfare and made me yearn to go on many more adventures. We will be back, I’m still hungry for adventure.

Being gay is fucking expensive.

Posted on February 19, 2015 by arow88

Partly because we have an innate need to look good**, but especially if you want children.

This week our journey to parenthood commenced with a trip to Sydney to see IVF specialist, Dr. Bernstein. Why did we go all the way to Sydney you might ask? There are perfectly good IVF clinics here in Perth I hear you say. This is true, but the laws in WA are (like everything else in the land of WaitAwhile) archaic and just plain shit. Perth has very strict laws around the donation and importation of sperm – meaning the only donors available are local donors from within the state (bogan genes guaranteed).Joking, joking! (But not really.) Here you are put on a waiting list and when a donor (yes, singular) becomes available you are offered his sperm with a single page information sheet that reads something like “Caucasian, blue eyes, 170cm, 80kg” and because you’ve been on the waiting list for what feels like forever, you say yes and you hope for the best. Cue Sydney, the city of opportunity! There is no waiting list for sperm and the laws there allow for international importation of donor sperm. Hurrah! A bigger gene pool! And because America and Europe extrapolate a lot more information about their donors, that info is passed on to you.

A few hours into our initial appointment we sat down with the donor coordinator to talk sperm. She handed us two files worth of potential donors, told us to flick through and write down the ones we liked best and she’d bring us their full files. Holy shit was this bizarre. She left the room and we began to look through the files – a single page of information on each donor outlines his nationality, racial background, occupation and included a personal statement from the donor and a staff impression. We managed to whittle it down to there – there were men from several different races available but we knew we wanted our baby to look like both of us so Caucasian was preferable. The African American donor was put aside because of this reason and also because we felt that we would be looked at as having chosen to make a ‘designer’ baby (think Bruno). The ginger donor was written off because, well, ginger (Haha. Sorrynotsorry). So we chose our three and Estelle, the coordinator, retrieved their files for us to peruse and once again left us to it. Shit just got even more bizarre. Each man had a 10+ page file with a full genetic profile, family health history, educational and occupational history, a personal essay and a photo.

Man number 1 was quickly tossed aside as the word GOD in capital letters appeared all throughout his file. Now don’t get me wrong, I know that religion is nurture not nature but the kid is going to be born to two gays and under the identity laws can find their donor when they turn 18, so it was important to us to find the right fit for all stages. there ain’t no room for Jesus in our 3-bedder!

And then there were two. A blonde haired, blue eyed all American sportsman whose occupation was social work and dream was to save the homeless vs. an olive skinned, dark haired artistic type who spoke three languages, played all instruments, had a BA in visual arts and who the staff impression described as having “beautiful intoxicating eyes.”

Eeeny meeny miney mo… Catch a Gayby by the toe.

** All that immersion in sperm lead to a great need for retail therapy – over $1000 later, an Armani jacket and a Ted Baker coat, we felt much better.

Should we, Shouldn’t we?

Posted on February 15, 2015 by arow88

There comes a time in every gay’s life when they have to consider the question – to baby, or not to baby?

Some people find this question easy to answer – they’re either so chock full of maternal oozy-gooey goodness (case in point my wife) that the answer is an obvious yes. Or, they don’t have a maternal bone in their body and hate the thought of little ankle biters running around, and the answer becomes an uncomplicated no.

But some people, such as myself, are a little more stuck in Switzerland. I like kids, I do. They’re cute and funny and ready to be moulded into cool little dudes & dudettes. But they also ruin your life! Parenthood means the end of those nights spent spontaneously going to wine bars, catching a show, hopping a plane for a long weekend… Gone are the times of backpacking aimlessly or travelling cheaply through third world countries. Oh, and I hear the sex goes too. A+ for that one! According to the oozy-gooey maternal types, all of those obstacles can be navigated with family support, kids clubs on holidays and a sleep routine that allows for alone time. But ask the DINKs and they’ll swear that nothing will ever be the same, you’ll have no money, no life, no sex, no sleep AND your kids will probably turn out to be little pricks who hate you anyway. Thus for in-betweeners like me, the answer is never simple. I like money and travel and sex and sleep but I also like kids. What to do?

Fortunately (or maybe unfortunately, its too early to tell), I was tipped off the rhetorical wall of Switzerland and into the land of babies by my charming wife. Now I don’t mean that she convinced or forced me onto the ‘yes’ side of children, but when you’re living in a world of neutral and you kind of want babies and you do like kids but you’re just not sure you’re ready… having a wife who wants one more than anything is enough to tilt the table. So here I am, or we are. Two gays and a (maybe) baby.