tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251841592024-03-07T17:47:41.024+10:00Infertile Fantasies...dreams about the nightmare of infertility.
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.comBlogger497125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-78521577974705669852019-02-06T15:40:00.001+10:002019-02-06T15:55:18.286+10:00Inbox me sometime<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
All the transfers failed. The final round happened second half of 2018, nearly three and a half years after we had our first conversation about donating. The last set didn't even thaw, which was a shock, the way we had set ourselves up for a grand climax at the end of a two week wait, at the end of our three-and-a-half-year donor journey at the end of the whole, long decade since we first agreed we'd like to make a baby, and even then I was half-imagining a greater climax beyond the grand climax, some sort of extra-climactic climax followed by a series of steadily escalating climaxes right up to the Magnificent Ultimate Megaclimax, all that ending on the day before transfer like a cut-off phone call, mid-sentence, like the credits rolling in the middle of a film, like a storm that claps thunder, blowing on without rain, like... your last embryo, suddenly not thawing. Like that.<br />
<br />
It's strange. We are now left to navigate a new transition in our friendship with our recipients (somehow I only thought that would be a thing if the donation succeeded). People (outsiders) still don't know what to say. They fumble for words and fail, or (worse) they don't even try fumbling. This still annoys me.<br />
<br />
<br />
For what it's worth, I wrote a poem, back when I had hope, which I'll leave here:
<iframe src="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1_XkqQK7hxo74ok6aZyDSuHxzn7crGhYo/preview" width="540" height="50"></iframe>
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<br />
Otherwise, I went yesterday to update our health cover. I removed fertility treatments and obstetrics, added physiotherapy, child psychology and orthodontics, which I guess is where we are at now, which is fine, I mean, it's where we always planned to be, it's the "here" we were aiming for. So that must be the last of it. Well, it's never the last of it, but isn't it an ok place to finish telling the story?<br />
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Thanks sincerely, I mean it.<br />
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Inbox me sometime, if you want to. I'm here.</div>Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-62249664372006953002016-08-31T12:33:00.000+10:002016-08-31T12:35:53.287+10:00Until then, stars<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a long time between posts. That's infertility for you.<br />
<br />
We're still here, still waiting for the stars to align on the next embryo transfer - stars of blood, stars of schedules, stars of endometrial lining, stars of emotional readiness. You know - stars. Well make up your own metaphor then.<br />
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While you're doing that, let me tell you about what a wise woman once said to me. Not that it was the only thing she said - amongst her many words of advice and the story of her experience there was a lot to learn. But I want to talk about this one thing because it's where we are at - and I have my own take on it.<br />
<br />
The thing she told me was that while embryo donors give a great gift to their recipients, their recipients also give a gift back, and that's the gift of closure. And I think maybe that's true.<br />
<br />
But it shouldn't be.<br />
<br />
I'm going to say it: find closure first. There, I gave you advice. Find closure on your own terms, in your own way, within your own sphere of control, within your own selves. Our recipients are struggling forward as fast as they can, which it turns out is very slowly. They're not in a position to give much back and, look, I remember what it's like. I remember being less than capable too.<br />
<br />
I'm glad we held off making this decision all those years, even though in hindsight, that delay was a subtle brake on what we could have been doing - throwing more energy into our jobs, making plans for the family we already have, getting on with outside projects. Now, though, we're breathing. We know it will take as long as it takes and we're ok with that. We have our peace of mind and it doesn't rely on what our recipients do or do not get done with our embryos this year - and if a child comes into the equation, well, I just want us all to be able to start off right.<br />
<br />
I want to thank you all for helping to be our closure. I can't say that enough. And I include in that the wise woman whose words I've discussed here. Truly, you guys are my stars and you've aligned for us.<br />
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In the meantime, I have nothing of note to report here. We're just, you know. Waiting.</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-41770227617227623432016-01-13T15:14:00.003+10:002016-01-13T15:17:25.302+10:00What I Know And The Questions I Have<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
TL:WTH<br />
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The heartbeat scan went well. But I guess you can't pick up every ectopic pregnancy on every apparently-normal heartbeat scan. A week later her fallopian tube burst without warning and she was rushed to the OR.</div>
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The baby is obviously gone. She's ok.</div>
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WHAT I KNOW</div>
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I know when she told me it looked normal at eight weeks I was relieved.</div>
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I know much of what I'd been feeling before was a sort of displaced early pregnancy anxiety, rather than pure maternal grief.</div>
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I know there was still a touch of grief. </div>
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I know she's upset but she's handling it well. So is he.</div>
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I know ultimately, I wanted it to work.</div>
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THE QUESTIONS I HAVE</div>
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When, how, how often, and with what words should I contact them?</div>
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How do I feel that we gave them the opportunity to experience a life-threatening miscarriage?</div>
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Should I feel good that we held up "our end of the bargain" - a good embryo for our recipients - or bad that we didn't hold up "our end of the bargain" - a safe uterus for our embryo?</div>
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Is three remaining embryos enough?</div>
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When will we get to find out?</div>
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Don't the stakes seem kind of high now?</div>
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How sad am I supposed to be, and how much of my sadness am I allowed to share with them in theirs?</div>
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What's the protocol for this?</div>
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What if it never works again? </div>
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</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-77084782202798182222015-12-20T21:23:00.000+10:002015-12-27T18:17:27.169+10:00Going ahead<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
They went ahead with the first embryo transfer.<br />
<br />
"How do you feel?" asked my friend, because I seem to have managed to pull together a small group of people who, without mutual knowledge or communication, have gone and made it their function to keep asking me how I feel. It's reminiscent of blogging, but in meat space. It's weird.<br />
<br />
I said, "Surprised," when our recipients let us know that all six of the two-day-old embryos had survived the thaw. "Didn't know they all had it in them."<br />
<br />
It was later I realised with a slight chill that we'd passed the point of no return. Those embryos were only ours til they thawed.<br />
<br />
A single, "beautiful" blast was transferred on the Monday, and a second one put back in the freezer for another time. Our recipient explained all the things she was planning to help its chances (acupuncture, meditation, diet, clearly-defined periods of baby-holding and not-baby-holding) and gave us the date for the blood test. She said she was trying to keep her hopes in perspective. And me? I was telling my friend I felt fine. From this distance, without the artificial hormones, the whole process is less intense.<br />
<br />
She got pregnant. I'm telling you like that so we can cut to the chase: at 3am last night I found myself sobbing in my living room, shuffling through my contact lists to see who in which time zone might be up and willing to talk. When I found someone, I wondered "aloud" if I was the worst mother in the world, but ultimately I had to explain that I had known it would be like this, at least a little bit, perhaps a lot. We knew and we did it anyway. That was our choice.<br />
<br />
So I went out with my phone for a walk in the darkness. "Do you think this feeling will pass?" my friend asked me, and I said, "I know it will. Feelings always do," but then a second friend chimed in and said, "I'm guessing you'll always feel something there," and suddenly my heart was lighter, like it just then realised it didn't have to go through it all <i>that night</i>, because it would in any case be going through it piece by piece each day.<br />
<br />
This morning, a third friend asked, "Do you regret your decision?" and I said, "It's too early to say yet. In my books, she's not really pregnant til they see a heartbeat, and that scan won't happen til next year." But I keep coming back to the moment I got the news, and I know it sounds dramatic and perhaps a little cliche, but my hands actually shook and I felt a light head spin, so I lowered myself onto my knees and pressed my forehead to the floor as if praying, and I focussed on my breath while I waited for it all to sink in. It took sixty whole seconds to realise I was whispering, over and over, subconsciously.<br />
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And what I was whispering were two simple words. And the words were: "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-76525747826717715222015-11-16T12:43:00.001+10:002015-11-17T17:44:02.453+10:00The Un-silent Donor<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You mostly hear from embryo donors through glossy testimonials on agency websites. And maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it means there's little to say, that donating couples are, by and large, secure and comfortable with their decision, that they signed the paperwork one morning between the school drop-off and the office coffee run and never felt the need to question their choice, let alone bawl about it online.<br />
<br />
Maybe our numbers are so low that a strong community of voices is yet to emerge - and in the meantime, difficult to find.<br />
<br />
Or maybe it's that few people are interested in listening, or that we don't know how to talk.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://frugalsteppingstones.com/">Jen</a> put me in touch with a friend who's been through it, and a circle of people opened up to me. I've spoken to several, discussed their experiences, and drawn from the wisdom they've gained. We can tell you that embryo donation is harder than you think. And not always the right decision. And other times, despite the difficulties, it is.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Think carefully about your support network.<br />
Find a professional who has worked with donating families - or (failing that) who has worked with relinquishing families in the more traditional adoption community.<br />
Be clear and frank about your wants and expectations, right from the very beginning.<br />
Expect a rollercoaster, especially if the donation works, and especially over the first few years.<br />
Focus on the kids.<br />
Most importantly: don't hurry forward.</blockquote>
<br />
I cried for every page of paperwork I scanned and emailed to the clinic, and there were pages upon pages upon pages upon pages. Then I was seized by a sudden urge to phone the scientists one last time, but I didn't, because I wasn't sure how that conversation would go. "Hi, our embryos are being transported out today, and I just wanted to ring to... um... um...?"<br />
<br />
In the end, when the email came through to say our embryos had arrived safely at the recipients' clinic, I felt fine. Not fine like I had nothing left to say, but fine, like I could make out the shape of things to come.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<i>If you're here because you're thinking about donating your embryos, feel free to get in touch. Or check out <a href="https://www.varta.org.au/">VARTA</a>, the Victorian Assisted Reproductive Treatment Authority, which provides <a href="https://www.varta.org.au/sites/default/files/Unused%20embryos%20decision%20tool%20-%20brochure.pdf">t</a><a href="https://www.varta.org.au/sites/default/files/Unused%20embryos%20decision%20tool%20-%20brochure.pdf">his decision-making tool for those with unused embryos</a>, amongst other resources.</i><br />
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<br /></div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-9380995429136159982015-10-18T03:47:00.003+10:002015-10-18T03:51:21.989+10:00Because it wouldn't be Assisted Reproductive Technology unless we were flying long haul for it...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
...we've just touched down back at home.<br />
<br />
I'll spare you the details and give you the summary: screening tests are super-expensive and insured only within certain geographic regions. Flights are (so much) cheaper.<br />
<br />
What's priceless? Face to face time with key friends and family. (Those video calls will never match up.)<br />
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As a bonus, it makes me feel like I know how to do this. Makes me feel like I've survived it all before.<br />
<br />
Eight days then home...</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-57854729816240925492015-09-26T15:08:00.000+10:002015-09-26T15:21:09.867+10:00A Beautiful Thing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At first, when people said we're "doing a beautiful thing" by donating our embryos, I squirmed. This is despite a widely-used script which everywhere reinforces the idea that it's the proper motivation. Donor testimonies read:<br />
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<i>"We wanted to pay it forward-"</i> should that be backwards? <i>"-and help another couple with their infertility."</i></div>
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"<i>We were so excited to be able to share this gift to make another family's dreams come true.</i>"</div>
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Some time ago a friend I don't know very well visited Singapore and we caught up for a coffee, and I did that thing to her where I accidentally ended up saying a lot more about what was troubling me than she was probably expecting or indeed comfortable with. Amongst these were my thoughts on working and motherhood.</div>
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"I've applied for a full time job," I said, innocuously. "PB has asked me to enrol him in extra-curricular classes every day after school so I guess I'm not needed there so much now and... I just think it might be time." </div>
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But she's perceptive, and there must have been something in my eyes, because she paused on the other side of the table and looked at me closely. </div>
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"He's a great kid," I added. "What other child do you know of who's demanded more school?" I gave a small chuckle, but then I found I had to break eye contact to look out at the trees. "I mean, sure, he can be a handful... By the end of the day... sometimes we just... I don't know. But his sports coach is wonderful with him."</div>
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We sat in silence for a few seconds, then she leaned forward and put her cup on the table. "You know, it takes a fucking village," she said. </div>
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And I nodded, because I believe her. But to do so I fight the myth that it has to be all me, all the time. I fight the myth that I should be most of his world. I fight the myth that if someone else is guiding my child - God forbid if they do it more often or more successfully - it means I'm less than; I've failed; I'm unfit. And I fight this myth not as a parent, but as a <i>mother</i> - even in this place and time.</div>
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At first, people said we're doing a beautiful thing for this couple by donating our embryos and I squirmed, and it's because I've been told that this is the correct reason, and also that this reason isn't good enough. <br />
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But as I talk things over I realise, with relief, that it's not actually <i>our</i> reason. For us, it's not about helping them. It's about accepting where we're tapped out; about working to prioritise the kids we already have; about wanting to move forward but in a way which honours our past. We're here because we have this thing to do but we've learned we can't do it all on our own. We're ready to see ourselves as part of the world's village and to let the village take on this role.</div>
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And the more I think about it, the more I come to this conclusion: it's because we don't want to do a beautiful thing that this whole plan might work out ok.</div>
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</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-82097759732919581942015-09-19T12:50:00.000+10:002015-09-20T12:52:20.090+10:00Can I ask you a favour?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I get the forms through on Thursday, and I look at them. Legalese and a few spaces for signatures, or in other words, all our parental rights. I mean yes, we can withdraw our consent any time til the embryos thaw, but this is the part where we have to <i>actively</i> give them over.<br />
<br />
So I look at the forms and I contact a couple of friends. "Can I ask you a favour?" I say. "Can you try to talk me out of it?"<br />
<br />
I get various reactions. The first friend asks if I'm sure I'm being wise. "Does your husband want me to do this?" she says.<br />
<br />
The second can see the sense in it and nods slowly. "That's a hard one, though," she admits. "Let me have a think and get back to you."<br />
<br />
The third jumps on the suggestion with an enthusiasm bordering on glee, but immediately starts prefacing sentences with, "Now, I'm just trying to do the job you gave me here..." When he hits the first tough point he looks positively apprehensive.<br />
<br />
But through the conversation with this third friend, I realise something: I'm not very worried about how I'll feel later. Will I experience grief watching this potential child reach milestones? Interact with my own children? Weather hardships? I don't know, but I don't care - I know why we've made this decision, and I'll get through the rest, either way.<br />
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The questions that still play on my mind come this weekend involve the feelings of other people: Will our children resent our choice? How will our parents feel? And to a certain extent they involve boundaries: How much should we give? In the best case/in the worst case? It could be a fine line, and there'll always be someone who disagrees with us on where to draw it.<br />
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I'm still waiting on my first two friends, and in the meantime, you know this merry-go-round better than either of them. And I'm ready, at this point, to hear the worst of whatever anyone has to say. So I wonder, if it's not too much trouble, can I ask you a favour? Can you try to talk me out of it?<br />
<br />
Go.</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-57173557422377091452015-08-30T23:43:00.000+10:002015-08-30T23:43:23.310+10:00How would you like it if someone else terminated your baby, and more questions for the uninitiated<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After we announced our engagement, my mother said, "I'm de-mothering. I'm de-mothering." She repeated this mantra whenever she was overcome with the instinct to fuss and interfere. "It's up to you two to work things out together now," she said. "But you're sensible, and he's a nice boy."<br />
<br />
The formal discussion process for our embryo donation started nearly two weeks ago, and so far we have progress and answers and new questions and outpourings - a healthy amount of each of those.<br />
<br />
<i>We all ask:</i> How many people would we tell?<br />
<br />
<i>And we all say:</i> The children, of course - yours and ours. They should know from fairly early on, and we should update their understanding of it as they mature. Then the bigness of the deal of it - that's up to them.<br />
<br />
<i>Then we all ask:</i> What about the rest of the family?<br />
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<i>And we all say:</i> It wouldn't be a secret. Two sets of grandparents are already waiting to know what'll become of the extra embryos.<br />
<br />
<i>And she adds:</i> If it were me, I'd be talking through it with my mum already. But could you tell her not to say anything to the people who should hear it from us, until after they've heard it from us? Not that it would be the end of the world, but ideally...<br />
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Then we all breathe our sighs of relief. It's good to be on the same page. It's one of the reasons we've chosen to go with known recipients, rather than leaving the choice to the clinic. Relinquishing responsibility is easier when you're ceding it to someone you have faith in.<br />
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<i>Then the psychologist says:</i> How would you feel if these two decided to terminate the baby?<br />
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And we pause a while because it's a difficult thing to imagine.<br />
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<i>At last we answer:</i> It would have to be their choice. From this standpoint, we all have similar ideas, but if push comes to shove it'll be <i>their</i> baby, and it won't be our place to say.<br />
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And the psychologist agrees that the "gift" needs to be complete and unconditional, right from the very beginning.<br />
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I'm de-mothering. I'm de-mothering.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-84923950088598988552015-07-28T22:40:00.000+10:002015-07-28T22:40:35.235+10:00Let me tell you how to see me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I want you to see me standing, serene, on a cliff top. I'm upright, with my shoulders back and my chin out and my hands folded neatly in front of me. If you like, you can add long hair, flapping gently in a light breeze, or lips, loosely gathered in a soft smile. You can peer at my toes, planted barefoot in the mud, spaced wide and firm, with the earth oozing between them. My hips are square and strong. My chest expands with unhurried breaths. In all this, what you must see is my stillness, my confidence, my calm.<br />
<br />
That is how I see myself most days. On the other days, I dance. I become whirling motion, moved by the music, thrown around by a rhythm I don't control. On those days, I choose to close my eyes, to feel the world tilt up in my living room as I surrender my powers of vision and give in to a cacophony I bring upon myself, swayed but not falling, bent but responding, leaping, and shuffling, and turning around.<br />
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Rarely, I weep. I curl into myself, squeezing up like a sponge to wring out the sadness. I do this not because I am uncertain, but because I am becoming certain, and I know (after all I've been through) that these tears will help me buy my passage home.<br />
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And I know (after all we've been through) that I want to tell you how to see me. I stand. I dance. I weep. All of these are who I am.</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-30935304970265686562015-07-27T10:31:00.000+10:002015-07-27T10:31:42.032+10:00We are moving forward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Donating our embryos<br />
I found out this week<br />
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Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-31925793135684346332015-07-01T22:54:00.000+10:002015-07-01T22:58:50.078+10:00The Wait and The Rest<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
What can I tell you about a vision I can't quite yet see?<br />
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If you click to <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/p/infertility-journey.html">Infertility Journey</a> you'll find it ends with two blasts and six two-day embryos on ice. Except it can't actually end there, can it? It was always the plan (at least vaguely the plan) to wait til the two children we're now parenting gave us the breathing room we'd need to take another chance, and then take that chance. These days I know if we wait any longer I'll suffocate. </div>
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My hands are full in ways I won't go into, and though I move continuously into the future, the future defies my attention when I haven't yet sorted out my present. Faintly, though, I hear myself yearning for other things. Then with regret, I remember how I loved pregnancy - I loved pregnancy - whilst admitting I don't think I can handle more parenting. We (the both of us) feel responsible for our embryos, but we no longer think the best home for them's here. </div>
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Last month, the way forward seemed obvious, and at the same time, unexpectedly difficult. In the end I picked up the phone anyway, and offered our embryos to friends who were heading into their "one last IVF cycle", and they said if this try fails, they'd love to give our embryos a chance with them. </div>
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Sometimes the truth reveals itself best in the moment of action. Before the call, I cried solid tears. As we hung up, I breathed in peace. </div>
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Wish me luck with the two week wait, and I'll let you know how things turn out.</div>
</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-21082641270524635272013-06-15T15:39:00.003+10:002013-06-15T15:41:00.706+10:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I guess some things can be seen best through close inspection, whereas other things are more aptly held in the corner of your eye.<br />
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The things happening lately are part of that latter category. I started a new blog which isn't, and yet really is, all about it. (You can email me if you want to know where it is. You may even see a reflection of this old place in the title.)<br />
<br />
It helps to write, sometimes anonymously, sometimes indirectly. So I am writing again. But not here.</div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-30353401660648663382013-04-27T15:35:00.001+10:002013-04-27T15:35:34.367+10:00Red, With Highlights?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My sister did a lot better with my parents. ("How did she manage to get the information out of them?" The Earl asked. "By being my sister?" I guessed. My father-in-law once commented collectively that my sisters and I were a determined bunch, but his comment was triggered by a thing this particular sister had done.)<br />
<br />
So my mother does indeed have breast cancer. Again. A carcinoma, to be more exact. It was detected at her twenty-year checkup and is still very small, for what that's worth. They think it's unrelated to the last episode - an entirely new growth - and although they haven't finished hunting for signs of metastasis they haven't found anything yet. There is a meeting with the surgeon next week, and they will learn more about what sort of things they're planning to cut off and how and why. At some point we will also figure out if there's to be any followup treatment, such as chemotherapy - that plan is still in the process of being formulated. Meanwhile, my mother is reconsidering her position on genetic testing. If she decides to go ahead, and turns out to be positive for any of the known genes, I may have some decisions to make on that front as well.<br />
<br />
I feel calmer - actually everyone feels calmer - having put that level of information together. My mother even deigned to talk to me briefly on the phone this morning. My father has instructed me to continue planning the 2014 big family holiday we'd been talking about. <br />
<br />
I think we will do better this time. We are all older, and wiser. My sister has obviously gained the knack of putting her foot down and insisting on being informed, as opposed to disintegrating into a blithering mess. My father has learnt a trick or two. (A friend asked him if she should come over to visit my mum and give her comfort. "She's not accepting visitors," he replied, "but don't you need me to have a look at a problem with your laptop or something? We'll both be home Saturday morning and I can check out your machine for a few hours, just make sure it's free of viruses and everything, and maybe you can wait for me in the kitchen with my wife and have a cup of tea, if she feels up to it?") And I, well. I have a couple more tools than I did when I was a teenager, too.<br />
<br />
So this is just how it is and we'll just have to do our best and see how it goes.<br />
<br />
Maybe I'll go ahead and change my hair colour after all. Why not?<br />
<br /></div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-78389600048242465462013-04-25T15:06:00.000+10:002013-04-25T15:10:49.300+10:00Mouse<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I thought I'd be writing one of at least two different posts today. In my head, I'd half-composed something about the fact that I was finally asked if we'd had Young Master assessed for some sort of behavioural disorder. Then Mel wrote <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2013/04/the-nuances-of-the-sabra-parent/">this intriguing post</a> about communal parenting, and I was going to muse on the subject in a cross-cultural context. But actually what I'm going to write about today is how I've decided to not change my hair colour. Well, it is and it isn't about changing my hair colour. You'll see what I mean.<br />
<br />
The first time I met my current hairdresser he asked me, in incredulous tones, how long it had been since I'd last had a haircut, and why. I opened my mouth to explain it to him - some people do with their hairdressers - and closed it again because it was all too hard. I'm not sure I could have conveyed - in fact, I'm not sure I can now - the tortuous year of failed FETs from that first cycle; how in the end we lost <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/search/label/FET%20%235">Jester</a> and had our <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/search/label/testing%20break%202007">recurrent pregnancy loss workup</a>; how something changed, somewhere inside me; how I made the decision to shelve our remaining embryos in order to move ahead with a fresh cycle, a fetching swept fringe and some highlights.<br />
<br />
The last time I saw him he asked me, in incredulous tones, who'd cut my hair most recently. I admitted I'd had it done by someone else whilst on holidays - again. The story of my hair is a story of getting bad haircuts on holidays. "For the longest time I told myself it was because I never got time time during a normal week," I told him, "but I've realised that's not it at all. It's actually harder to make time when you're away. And it takes longer, because you first have to find a hairdresser. No - the reason I always get my hair cut when I'm away is because I like the surprise of not quite knowing what I'll end up with. It's a little travel game, like ordering "a coffee" or "a tea" just to find out what comes and in what ways it's different to the stuff you'd get at home."<br />
<br />
"But with a tea or coffee, if it's bad, you can't always just stop drinking it," my hairdresser responded, still incredulous. "With a haircut you have to walk around like that for as long as it takes." I shrugged and observed that eventually it grows. Then I explained that since I had no holidays coming up, I was thinking of booking in for a new colour instead. Something other than boring old mouse. I thought about discussing how this related to my life's increasing stability and my aims to start progressing again with my career, but I skipped it because we obviously have different philosophies on hair. <br />
<br />
This morning I found myself standing in front of the mirror with my hair brush for a very long time. Young Miss and Master were outside "planting flowers" in the box on the patio, which is code for "spreading dirt around everywhere and tracking mud through the house". I wasn't really paying attention. The forefront of my mind was occupied by the thought that I didn't want to change my hair colour after all. At some point, Young Master wanted help with something, and when he didn't get a good response he peered at me curiously.<br />
<br />
"Are you crying?" he asked. And I confirmed that I was. "Why?" I muttered something about Grandma being very sick, maybe. Actually, I don't know what's going on - my parents have never been very good at transmitting this sort of information. I know there was some sort of problem with my mother's last mammogram which happened at some ill-defined point in the past, or perhaps it was an ultrasound, and that the GP is in the process of scheduling some sort of surgery, and that maybe there will be other treatment as well, or not. Is it a biopsy? Is it a mastectomy? They got a "confirming phone call" from the GP earlier in the week. Confirming what? It's like getting blood from a stone, and about as successful. My father assures me he will tell me more as he gets to know more, except he won't - I know I will be hard pressed to draw what he knows out of him, and there will be countless questions he simply won't have thought to ask. Is this a scare or is this the real thing? And if it's the real thing - I mean, it sounds like they've completed several steps of workup already - does that mean the cancer my mother battled twenty odd years ago is finally breaking out, never to be fully contained again? My mother is not speaking to anyone and won't come to the phone. My sisters don't know. I wouldn't either, if I hadn't rung this morning and asked if my mother could chat. <br />
<br />
I've always felt that my mother's breast cancer was part of my infertility story, or perhaps it's more accurate to just say it's part of my story. I met The Earl during her initial battle. It informed my sense of timing and my decisions on treatment. I'm not really sure where to go with this paragraph. I don't actually know what's going on - at present, I am only imagining the worst. At least I hope it's only imagining. But it doesn't sound very much like previous scares. And I don't know what to do.<br />
<br />
I had a lot more to say in my head. I was going to end with some profound metaphor on life, and hair, and how I like the thrill of not knowing quite knowing what they mean by "tea" in Cambodia and ordering it anyway and perhaps getting stuck with something unpalatable, and how I don't mind if I sometimes walk around looking like a bad eighties music video for a month or two at a time. But there are ways in which I also long for predictability and continuity, and times when the most I can do to achieve it is to fail to visit the hairdresser for a while. In any case, I think, for now, I'll stick with mouse. I don't have much else to conclude with.<br />
<br /></div>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-8501664966061803892013-02-22T00:39:00.000+10:002013-02-22T00:39:25.592+10:00TemperedI lose my temper every day.<br />
<br />
Sometimes these things aren't apparent to a blog reader. In fact, sometimes they're not apparent to many outside the household at all - I tend to lose my temper towards the end of the day, just before The Earl arrives with his cavalry, by which time we are usually out of public scrutiny. So I am telling you all here, now, for the record, so that you know.<br />
<br />
Recently, Young Master has started to get the hang of peer interactions. After years (wasn't it centuries?) of trying to explain to him how people get along, something suddenly clicked and he got it. I didn't realise how much of a mental burden it was to me that he hadn't got it yet until after he got it. All of a sudden I can relax when he is playing with other children: I don't feel the need to anxiously monitor his interactions and head off potential disasters, whilst at the same time trying to stay well enough back that I'm not interfering unless actually needed - all whilst running after an early toddler.<br />
<br />
He has also figured out how to handle me. Yesterday, I was stressed and distracted, trying to deal with a bureaucratic issue (that has not yet been resolved), spending way more time than usual on the phone and computer. Towards the end of the day I was writing yet another email when The Young Master appeared beside me, saying something. I didn't hear him, and I told him in a frustrated tone that I was still trying to sort out "this whole mess" and needed to send another email, but when I raised my hands to the keyboard he took them gently and gave each of them a little kiss whilst speaking in a soft tone. Distractedly, I gave him a smile and a pat on the back and lifted my hands to the keyboard again, whereupon he repeated his act, and this time I heard him: "Mum," he said, "I wish you would use these two hands to come and play my game with me instead of using them to type another email."<br />
<br />
I blinked for a moment. Where the fuck does he learn that? But of course it worked, because I kissed his hands back and, looking into his face, assured him that I would come and play games in exactly two minutes, whether I had finished sorting out "this mess" or not. And I did.<br />
<br />
I do marvel at how he gets these things. Did I teach him that? I don't think I did. Probably I taught him to be shrewish and hysterical and the rest he worked out on his own, as if by magic. If I can take credit at all, maybe it's for choosing a school where someone <i>else</i> could teach him good lessons - even then, I chose it largely on convenience, so not much credit at all.<br />
<br />
The cynic in me says I did teach him that <i>in a sense</i>, but what I have actually taught him is not love or kindness or some other lofty attribute, but how to manipulate me skillfully for his own ends. When I go mad at him he hugs me and tells me he loves me. Result: I quickly stop being mad. One day he looks up at me mid-hug and says, "Mum, whenever you get mad at me I always give you a hug and tell you I love you."<br />
<br />
"I've noticed you doing that," I reply. "Out of interest, why do you do it?"<br />
<br />
He nuzzles my stomach and squeezes me extra-tight. "I just don't want you to forget." Even if it's just a tool of manipulation, can I really be upset that he has decided to manipulate me by returning anger with affection? So many times I've preached that the best response to abuse is empathy. People, I have said, don't set out to be mean just because they want to hurt everyone. If they are being mean, it's because something, somewhere, has gone quite wrong. Solve the problem: starting with sympathy. I find it hard advice to follow, of course, but I should be glad that someone in our house seems to be fighting fire with water, whatever his motivation.<br />
<br />
I lose my temper every day. Recently I lost my ring, too, or I thought I'd lost it, but really I'd just dropped it into an obscure corner of my purse. The Young Master found it whilst looking for something else, and when he held it up to me I gasped dramatically and he flinched. "Why did you just gasp?" he wanted to know.<br />
<br />
"I'm surprised to see my ring!" I answered. "I've been looking for it for a whole week and I'd decided it was gone forever and I was very sad about that, because I've had it for such a long time and it was given to me by an old friend."<br />
<br />
"Oh. So you're happy?" he asked.<br />
<br />
And I bent down to him and cupped his face in my hands and looked into his eyes. "Do I get mad a lot?" I asked guiltily, searching for the answer in his expression as much as his words.<br />
<br />
"No," he said. "A bit. Sometimes you get very angry. But I know we can always be friends again afterwards." And he smiles and hands me my ring.<br />
<br />Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-36341892379724690222013-01-10T01:58:00.002+10:002013-01-10T02:37:10.690+10:00Library of the WorldOne thing about raising children as an expat is that your local children's library doesn't have the same cultural filter as your children's library "back home". The differences can be subtle, and surprising. You see, where I come from, my local librarian was actively trying to create a culturally diverse set of reading material - a little Roald Dahl, some Zen Buddhism, and one or two folk tales from Africa. And the thing is, it's easy to list off the things you've read your kids that are also being read to children in Russia, Qatar, or Milwaulke. But how do you tune in to what you're <i>not</i> reading? Well, you could do a hit and run trip through your local children's library, like we did last week.<br />
<br />
Here's a short list of recent stories:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><b>A book whose name I have already forgotten</b>, so great was my haste to return it. The story revolves around a boy who is playing happily in his room one day when his friends drop by, unexpectedly. His grandfather comes up to the boy's room to ask him if he'd like to come down and play, and the boy declines. The grandfather advises him not to be grumpy, and he assures his grandfather that he is not grumpy, he's just not in the mood for unexpected visitors who are, after all, <i>unexpected, </i>and kind of just wants to finish off this thing he was right in the middle of doing before they dropped around <i>unexpectedly</i>. The grandfather, with a knowing smile, sits down on the bed and tells him an "allegorical" tale... about a fish who is playing happily in his anemone when ditto ditto ditto and ditto. In the end, the fish learns that he should "stop being grumpy" and play with his damned friends already. Moral of the story? It is not ok to be an introvert. (Secondary moral? Some people do not know how to write allegories and prefer to write bricks that will shortly hit you over the head thinly wrapped in what may technically be called an allegory.) </li>
<li> <b>Today, Maybe</b> (Dominique Demers and Gabrielle Grimard). The story revolves around a girl who sits passively at home making tea and jam sandwiches and entertaining visitors and talking to her pet bird and basically guarding her chastity and honing her domestic skills whilst her One True Love travels all over the world looking for her (and probably developing a fulfilling career at the same time). In the end, he turns up, they lock eyes, and... I guess... we are supposed to believe that they just lived happily ever. Because they are destined for each other. What is that? That is a book which should be ceremonially burnt by anyone who believes in either a) gender equality or b) real-life relationships. Because, honestly. Grudging points for making the One True Love a bear, and not a white Anglo-Saxon prince (although the bear is still male).</li>
<li> <b>Why Cats Don't Wear Hats</b> (Victoria Perez Escriva and Ester Garcia). The story is translated from Spanish, and the language retains a charming foreign air. Using a series of "logical" steps, the book explains that cats don't wear hats, because that would lead to a chain of events which would eventually necessitate the renouncing of the cat's essential "catness". To be a cat is easy, the book concludes, as long as you don't want to wear a hat. This is a delightful book about foresight, unintended consequences, the true weight of material objects, and the way one desire can lead to another, transforming you as you follow each call. Its subtlety begs discussion and allows the reader the freedom to frame the moral within his or her own set of values. (Reading the back cover, for example, gives the impression that the authors think they have written a book about the importance of being yourself.)</li>
<li> <b>John Brown, Rose and the Midnight Cat</b> (Jenny Wagner). A true classic. A dog and an old woman live happily together, until a black cat tries to join their household, invoking jealousy on the part of the dog. When the dog sends the cat away, however, the woman becomes sad and ill, leading the dog to relent in order to make her happy. The reader has the opportunity to learn not only that an extra friend doesn't lessen the original friendship, but that sometimes loving someone means putting their wants before your own. Again, the story is subtle enough to invite thought and is open to individual interpretation.</li>
<li> <b>Green Eggs And Ham</b> (Dr Seuss)*. Another classic - the story needs no summary. Again, one of its strengths is its subtlety - the messages are there, but they are not explicitly spelled out. This also allows the book to grow with the child. The more obvious moral - that you can't decide if you like something or not without trying it - suits younger children. The less obvious moral - that just because someone annoys you doesn't mean you will dislike everything they have to offer - can come later on.</li>
<li> <b>MOM (Mom Operating Manual)</b> (Doreen Cronin and Laura Cornell). This is a genuinely funny book, even if they did miss the opportunity to create a title joke by using a meaningful acronym (Mum Upkeep Manual?). Unlike another book which I also hastily returned and cannot now name, it does not employ sarcastic humour of the kind that its readership is unlikely to appreciate. (The other book contained advice such as: "Be sure to wake your parents up super-early so they'll have time to stop being tired before work." This book employs the type of humour which is not only funnier but less dangerous: "Your mum is likely not getting enough sleep if: 1) She has packed you a lunch of unsweetened cocoa and a raw egg." I know which I'd rather read to my preschoolers.) The inescapable message is that your mother has needs and will not function well if those needs aren't sufficiently met. Of course, realising that other people have needs and that harmonious relationships will result from having everyone's needs acknowledged and addressed is an important lesson which goes well beyond the home hearth. </li>
</ol>
<br />
<a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2013/01/infertility-as-a-punishment-parenthood-as-a-reward/#comment-93052">Mel's recent post</a> made me think about what our kids learn from the stories we tell them. Fiction is a powerful tool, because of its ability to engage a reader's interest and dispense with the bounds of reality. It can teach in ways - and on topics - that non-fiction cannot. I have this wild** idea that we should form an online picture-book club, to over-analyse what we are saying to our kids through fiction and make use of the internet to help set aside our cultural filters. It would be like any other book club, but less time consuming. If you want to join, please review a book you've read to or with a child (depending on their agegroup - it doesn't have to be a picture book if the kids are past that stage, neither does it have to be your own child - it could be a niece or the pupils in your class) on your own blog, provide a link back to this post, and leave me a comment asking me to add you to the list. I'd like to be mindful of the lessons I'm teaching.<br />
<br />
Picture Book Club List:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Be first!</li>
</ul>
<br />
--<br />
*The Dr Seuss is part of our own collection, but seems to be a favourite at the moment.<br />
<br />
**Obviously my definition of "wild" has changed since my teens and twenties.Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-20835898561579604022013-01-05T16:56:00.002+10:002013-01-05T17:04:57.847+10:00Cambodia With Kids - Advice and ObservationsApologies for the delay. I wrote the last post shortly before the Connecticut shootings (I think it posted just after - I wrote it at the same time as the first), and for some reason I didn't feel like writing more about our wonderful holiday over that particular weekend. I'm sure those directly involved aren't ready to be back to normal yet, but the spirit of Christmas and the freshness of the new year calls me to turn over a leaf and resume what I started. Without further ado: <br />
<br />
Is Cambodia a good destination to travel to with kids? Yes, yes it is. First of all, people are generally welcoming of children. A lot of people speak English, and well, which makes things a little more comfortable for the monolinguistic four-year-old. It's easy to organise private transport and tours at an affordable cost, allowing you to tailor the journey to your needs, and there are blessedly few things to try your patience other than your own toddler. But there's more! Here is a range of observations and advice on taking your young kids to Cambodia, according to our experiences. I'm going to cover strollers, car seats, sleeping, eating, nappies, sightseeing, poverty, touting and begging, and health and hygiene.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Strollers</h4>
They should be left at home, if you can possibly help it. If you can't, take the lightest, most foldable umbrella stroller you can find, or see if anyone's still making those ones that convert into a backpack carrier. We saw a total of two strollers the whole time we were in Cambodia. One was being pushed along the riverside by a rather well-to-do local woman in Battambang, who had three extremely well-dressed children with her. I don't know how many places she gets to use it, apart from along the river. The other was being pushed by a tourist in Siem Reap. The woman looked like she was getting pretty fed up with it.<br />
<br />
It's not just that the streets aren't stroller-friendly (around the temples of Angkor, for example, you can pretty much forget it) - it's also that tuk tuks are a chief form of transport so you won't always have a boot to throw it into (a small umbrella stroller would be ok, though, as long as you're not taking motos). And if you're expecting ramps or lifts everywhere you go, you may have to reset your expectations. Many shops and markets are of the crowded type with narrow aisles and passageways. In addition, you won't necessarily need the stroller like you do at home - those tuk tuks and motos drop you pretty much at the door to where you're going, and there are usually plenty around, looking for work. The amount of walking we actually <i>needed</i> to do was very small.<br />
<br />
We took our ergo, which (and they're not paying me to say this) is one of the best baby/toddler products we ever bought. With two adults and plenty of areas safe enough to let Miss explore on her own at a distance of a couple of metres (around the temples, for example, we barely carried her - she mostly either walked by herself or rode in the tuk tuk), it wasn't a hassle.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Car Seats</h4>
We brought The Young Miss's car seat with us. It's a Combi Corocco, which is lightweight and compact, so it fits easily in any vehicle with a seatbelt. We found the taxis we took all had good seatbelts, although the mini bus only had one - which we used for the car seat. I'm not sure I would rely on getting a car seat in Cambodia. The local kids travel in arms on motorbikes, or in hammocks made by tying sling carriers between the handlebars of bicycles, so I'm pretty sure they thought we were freaks for restraining our toddler like that. We only used the seat three times - from the airport in Phnom Penh, for the road trip from Phnom Penh to Battambang, and from Battambang to Siem Reap. The rest of the time we used tuk tuks (except for the one occasion where we used motos). The traffic, as previously described, isn't exactly screaming along, but we thought it was both safer and more practical for the longer trips and it was a small thing to pack it in for those rides.<br />
<br />
For The Master, who is four, we brought along our <a href="http://www.boostapak.com/home.html">Boostapak</a>. Trunki are not paying me to say this either (although I wouldn't say no to a pink version to match our green one... Trunki?) but they are deadset geniuses. It is a backpack - a useable backpack you can put things inside - with a hard case and foldout bits to guide the seatbelt through. We used it on both our taxi rides, but not the minibus trip, as there was no seatbelt anyway. We also used it as a day pack around town most days, and as a booster seat at restaurants for the Young Miss (see under "eating").<br />
<br />
If I have one criticism of the Boostapak (and I do) it's that the child tends to slump in it when they are of a certain, specific height. We've had ours for over a year now. At first, The Master's legs stuck straight out, so it was fine (he was technically under age for it at that point - we have no car and I can only lug one car seat around at a time, so I opted for the baby's capsule - but he was already bigger than the average 4yo when we started using it). Then he grew taller and his hip-knee length got to this awkward stage, where his feet dangled from the calf and he slumped in order to try and get them dangling more comfortably from the knee instead. Then he grew again and now sits straight and comfortable once more. I would have liked some sort of anti-submarine clip between the legs for that awkward stage, but I admit I can't think of how to add one off-hand. In any case, except for that 3-4 month period it has been an excellent product and it's certainly a good one for those travelling with young kids.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Sleeping</h4>
I heard reports that cots were available on request at some hotels, but since Miss hasn't slept in one for over a year, I couldn't really tell you. The beds we did have were generously-sized, particularly as regards their width, such that (in Battambang) three singles were adequate for our family (I slept with Miss). In the other hotels, we had even more bedspace. Usually, we either slept the kids together on a double bed, or pushed two singles together. The reason for this was so we could set them up under a mosquito tent - we'd brought the tent poles from our 2-person tent and the largest box-shaped mosquito net we could find, and assembled it over them. This served a double-purpose: keeping the mosquitoes away (obviously), and a firm tuck also provided some protection against rolling off the bed (for the toddler).<br />
<br />
We were able to get family rooms in Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, which were large. We also had a pool and restaurant in both these places, as well as in-room wifi, which allowed the kids to excitedly skype their grandparents with updates each day.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Eating - Cuisines, High Chairs, Room Service and Breastfeeding</h4>
The Master is generally a good eater, but he got quite unadventurous the moment he hit foreign ground - although Miss continued to be happy browsing from anybody's plate. We were expecting this, and had no desire to push it. It meant we ended up eating at tourist-orientated restaurants which served both western and local food, of which there are plenty (French and Italian food was the most common that I saw). Korean food, if your family is so inclined, is also very big, and we saw Indian and vegetarian restaurants in all our destinations, too. This is, of course, not an exhaustive list - it's just what I happened to notice and remember. I would advise a little extra forward-planning when it comes to meals with kids, keeping in mind that the pace of service tends to be slower than what you might be used to at home. <br />
<br />
No restaurant we saw owned any high chairs. The Earl actually asked at one place and ended up having to pretty much draw a diagram, before they gave him a bemused and baffled, "Sorry, but no." We were half-expecting this, and the trunki boostapak on a chair (plus or minus the shoulder-harness we'd also packed) is a good alternative, but mostly we just opted to let her sit on our alternate laps instead.<br />
<br />
Room service. Whenever that debate crops up about kids in restaurants, someone always gives this indignant comment about how, <i>in their house</i>, children are/were taught proper table manners at dinner time each night and they therefore have/had no behavioural problems when dining out. This always gives me a chortle, because these people either a) have poor memories or b) have the kinds of families where mum and dad are both home at 5:30pm with easy-going kids who are in pleasant moods after 3-hour-long afternoon naps. I'm sorry, but my kids don't do anything well at dinnertime, much less sit in a restaurant, and it's not because I'm too lazy to teach them table manners. (Truth be told, I'm talking here about <i>one of</i> my kids, but it only takes one to set the whole situation awry - especially when I am always wrestling them single-handedly at dinner.) I will happily take them - together, single-handedly - to any five-star restaurant, anywhere in the world, for brunch*, but by the end of the day (and especially when travelling) it is just time to fall back on room service and that is that. <br />
<br />
I don't know how many hotels officially offer room service in Cambodia (none of ours did), but the hotel in Siem Reap was happy to let us order at the restaurant, take the plates to our room, and then return them at some unspecified future time (we returned them later that night, after the kids were asleep). The waitress actually went to the trouble of helping my husband bring the plates down. In other places (with one exception where we did manage to eat out), we easily found ourselves a hearty lunch no matter where we'd got ourselves by lunch time, and let dinner be something light from a bakery (mine don't tend to be that hungry by dinner under normal circumstances anyway - which probably exacerbates our dinner table troubles. They're like me - starving at breakfast, morning tea, and lunch, and then petering out). <br />
<br />
As far as breastfeeding was concerned, nobody batted an eyelid and I was able to get on with it anywhere, including the back of the tuk tuk as we were going along (just watch for those potholes...). <br />
<br />
<h4>
Nappies </h4>
We brought a pack and it lasted the whole week, but I am told (and believe) you can get disposables at all three of our destinations. We only saw one set of nappy changing facilities, however. It was a drop-down table in the ladies toilet at Phnom Penh airport, and I had to get the cleaner to unlock it so it could be dropped down. Otherwise, we changed our nappies wherever we could find a spot - most commonly on the back seat of the tuk tuk (or on the bed in our hotel room). Nobody was bothered.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Sights to See </h4>
There are enough family-friendly sights in Cambodia to fill the usual holiday, and that's without hitting the beaches (I'm told they're worth the trip, but I have no personal experience). Be aware that at least one young child (mine) considers the temples to be spooky, and a child's attention span with them may wane quickly unless they have a special interest (we spent only one day, compared to the three days we spent when there was just the two of us), but the grounds are still a terrific run-around area.<br />
<br />
The fishing village trip we did (to Kampung Phluk) isn't awfully suitable for kids in the early stages of mobility (and corresponding impulsiveness), although the locals obviously get along, so it can be done. (Personally, I'm not sure that myself or either of my kids would do well at the under-three-year old stage if confined to a small boat all day. You should ask yourself how it would go down in your family.)<br />
<br />
The standard tour around Battambang can be enjoyed by all ages, largely because it contains a pretty good amount of variety and the amount of time spent at each location is entirely up to you.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Poverty, Begging and Touting </h4>
Cambodia is not a rich country yet, though it has recovered substantially since its days under the Khmer Rouge. The villages certainly aren't full of luxury residences, but the simple pole-houses seemed full of happy, well-fed kids, even if they were dusty (our kids were at least as dusty - it's unavoidable) or sometimes naked. Touts were generally relaxed and friendly (there was a bit of a crowd, including some rather persistent kids, outside Ta Prohm temple at Angkor - but part of that was because I bought souvenirs and drinks straight out of the tuk tuk without even pretending to bargain) and we didn't experience the relentless "hard sell" tactics you have to get used to in other places. We saw only three beggars during our whole trip (which always makes me suspicious about what happened to all the other beggars... but let's assume they were being taken care of by the numerous NGOs) which is less than what you might see on a stroll through Brisbane, though more than what you'd encounter in Singapore (which is the place that really does make me suspicious).<br />
<br />
In short, if you're worried your kids are going to be overwhelmed by the contrast between their privileged existences and the way the other half lives, Cambodia - at least the parts we visited - makes a very good starting point for your travels. There are certainly differences to discuss, but it will be a gentle introduction.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Health and Hygiene - Pills and Vaccinations, Toilets and Showers, Tummy Upsets</h4>
Obviously, this doesn't replace the up-to-date advice of your doctor, and is only our experience based on when and where we went, who we took, and the decisions we made. Hopefully, it will give you something to get started. We were advised by our doctor that malaria preventatives need not be taken in Phnom Penh and Siem Reap, and decided that, given the time of year and our very short length of stay outside those places, we would just use mosquito nets and repellents for the trip. One child got bitten by one mosquito - in Siem Reap. Antimalarials are available for young children, however, if you are staying longer outside those those two centres or want to err towards a different analysis of risk. Hepatitis A vaccinations are standard in the Singaporean schedule, so we were already covered there, although this would not have been the case if we were following the Australian schedule, so you need to check. Typhoid vaccination was also recommended, but the age-group-appropriate version we needed was out of stock across the whole of Singapore in the period leading up to our trip, so we had to fall back on standard food and water hygiene measures. We drank bottled water (some hotels have water coolers to reduce plastic waste) and freshly-cooked food, and tried to get everyone to wash their hands properly. We discouraged the patting or feeding of animals, as rabies is endemic, although all three of the places we visited could have provided post-exposure shots if necessary.<br />
<br />
The toilets we used were all western-style toilets with seats, although not all of them could take toilet paper. We managed to get Master to use the hand-held bidet with some encouragement, but were glad we'd brought toilet paper and nappy wipes as backup. (On these occasions, we made sure he threw the paper or wipes into a bin next to the toilet instead of into the toilet itself.) Most of the toilets were pretty clean, by public toilet standards (the hotel toilets were all fine) and absolutely none of them - to Master's delight - had the hated automatic flushers he gets so scared about in Singapore. In fact, one of the toilets had a trough and bucket instead of a flusher, which Master found absolutely intriguing.<br />
<br />
There were hot showers at all the hotels. Unfortunately for the kids, none of our hotels had baths.<br />
<br />
More unfortunately, The Young Master did come down with a nasty tummy bug within twenty-four hours of our return - undoubtedly something he picked up from the trip. He recovered after 36 hours or so, and the doctor didn't find anything alarming on examination or via a stool sample. His little sister simultaneously had an extremely mild bout of runny stools with no fever or loss of appetite, and the adults were fine. So yes - it's definitely worth being vigilant, but no real harm done. I am blaming it on the home-made icecream he ate for afternoon tea on our last day, firstly because it's the only thing he had that nobody else ate, except his sister who had a grudgingly small spoonful, and secondly in the hope that I might be able to keep all the icecream to myself in future.<br />
<br />
--<br />
*The other day we stopped at the cafe near the supermarket and the kids shared a fresh coconut. They'd drunk the juice and were on to the flesh. The Young Miss was saying, "Peas, [Master], nunner piece?" and The Young Master was replying - and I quote - "Why, certainly, [Miss], I can get you another piece in no time!" And then he was carefully scooping her out a piece and feeding it to her with the spoon, whilst they both sat politely on their own chairs and I sipped a cup of tea. And if you'd seen me then you would have said I was the Best Parent Ever.<br />
<br />
Fast forward two/three hours, and - well, we were having our typical dinner time scene, let's just say. I won't describe it for you. I will just ask you not to judge parents whose kids lose their ability to be civilised human beings at around 5pm. People only have so much power over whether or not to take their children places, and I am actually luckier in a sense than some with better-behaved children in that at least mine are very predictable.<br />
<br />Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-55127946894014714482012-12-16T02:39:00.000+10:002012-12-16T11:48:51.681+10:00Cambodia Itinerary - Part TwoContinued from <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/2012/12/cambodia-then-as-stinky-backpackers-and.html">Part One</a>.<br />
<h3>
BATTAMBANG </h3>
<br />
The next day we
took a tuk-tuk tour around Battambang. We stopped for tea ("Western
tea?" asked 'James', our driver. "Local tea," I told him. It's a hobby of
mine to go places and ask for caffeinated beverages such as "tea" or
"coffee" without giving any further instruction just to see what I end
up with. In this case it was hot, sweetened, green tea.) and went
straight on to the <a href="http://www.smithsonianmag.com/people-places/Catching-the-Bamboo-Train.html">Bamboo Railway</a>, which (after some initial misgivings
on the part of The Master) was a huge hit.<br />
<br />
Last time we
took the same tour around town by moto. When we got to the end, we took
the "small train" - they hadn't yet reached a consensus on the
English-language name - back to town. I remember standing beside a cow
shed, watching as a few men lifted wheels and a platform onto the track,
and joking that this must be the "small train" coming in to our
"station". Our moto drivers agreed, but they laughed too, so it took a few
minutes to realise they were actually serious. The "small train" - now
known as the bamboo train - is a bamboo platform on two sets of wheels,
propelled by a little motor. It runs along a single track and can be put
together or dismantled in a couple of minutes. Last time, we met a
groups of villagers coming in the opposite direction, piled at least a
dozen of all ages on to the same platform, and the two "trains"
negotiated to see who would have to be removed from the rails to let the
other pass. They had more people, including elderly women and children,
together with sacks of rice and other food, but we had two motorbikes,
which were deemed less moveable. Everyone pitched in together, though, and their train was soon loaded back onto the track behind us. Then we bid
each other farewell before puttering away. Last time, that was the only
train we passed on our way back.<br />
<br />
There are a lot of
tourists and (as far as we saw) no locals using the line now, and a
tourist policeman is stationed permanently at one end of the line to
oversee the operations. Handicraft and drinks stalls mark both ends of
the ride. The policeman shook hands and introduced himself, directed our
driver to a parking spot, then gave us the run-down whilst our train
was being organised. The kids got on famously with the village kids at
the far end of the line, and one girl, not more than 50% bigger than the
The Young Miss, took Miss onto her hip and carried her all around the
village pointing out all the animals and naming them in English and
Khmer. Everyone was delighted with the way Miss mimicked either language
with equal "proficiency", as one-and-three-quarter-year-olds will do.
They showed us their brick factory and invited our kids to climb the
pile of rice husks they use to fuel it and jump up and down with them.
The pile of rice husks, it turns out, is springy like a trampoline. They
made us grass rings and bracelets. They found The Young Miss a dog who
was "safe to pat" and made sure she didn't touch any of the others, even
though she wanted to. We bought some cool drinks. It was nice.<br />
<br />
The
Bamboo train may or may not exist in the near future. There is a big
project afoot to upgrade the line so it is safe enough for real trains
to run across the country once more, and in the meantime, the roads seem to have
taken over as the main form of transit for the locals. It's great to see
progress being made for the sake of Cambodia and its people, but I
hope there is still employment for those who work on the bamboo train in
years to come - and fun to be had for us tourists, too. If you get the
chance, you should take a ride. It was a highlight of both trips.<br />
<br />
The
rest of the tour went just as well. We saw a temple, some temple ruins,
villages, a winery (that was new...) and The Young Master (much to his
delight) had his first ride on a motorbike. The Young Miss did, too,
strapped into the ergo, but she seemed to view it as a rather ordinary
event, whereas the Master was so excited about his ride that it didn't even bother him when we visited The Killing Caves at the top of
the mountain, and he spent the next two hours breathlessly telling every
child under ten years old he could find that he had just ridden on a
motorbike, which brought some strange looks from the local kids.<br />
<br />
Eventually, the Miss and Master started showing signs of having had enough for the day, so we
asked our driver to cut it short and take us back to town, where another
quick romp back by the river brought us to dinner time. The next day,
we ate a hearty breakfast, took one last stroll along the river and
through the central market, then piled into a taxi - with seatbelts - and made our way to Siem Reap.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h3>
Siem Reap and Surrounds</h3>
Last
time we went from Siem Reap to Battambang by boat. This service still
exists, although the locals who live in fishing villages along the lake and river
have started complaining about the speed, noise, frequency, and general
disturbance. In any case, it's a long trip in a
little dingy, especially in the dry season, and with the improved road
situation, it made more sense to take the three hour trip by car. And the car
was a much better price!<br />
<br />
I was glad the second road trip was the
shorter one, as everyone was starting to get a bit scratchy by this
stage. Our taxi driver canvassed the local tuk tuk drivers in Siem Reap
until he located our hotel, where he dropped us with (no doubt) a sigh
of relief. We hit the pool, followed by the hotel restaurant, followed
by our beds - all of which helped us feel better, but not better enough.
The next day, therefore, we decided it was time to split the party and
get out of each other's pockets. The Earl stayed at the hotel with The
Young Miss, and they did a bit of swimming, some eating, and some much-needed
catching up on sleep. In the afternoon, he took the Young Miss to pick up his bib for <a href="http://www.angkormarathon.org/?lang=en">the following day's half-marathon around the ancient temples of Angkor</a>.<br />
<br />
Wait, did I mention the impulse for the trip originated with The Earl's new-found fascination with running? Yes, he's into running now. He could probably sit down with <a href="http://serenitynowinfertile.wordpress.com/">Serenity</a> and have a good old chat about it. In any case, the idea of running, at dawn, around the ancient temples of Angkor appealed greatly to him, so he decided to step up his game and do his first half-marathon. But first, he took the day off sightseeing to rest up and eat well. Meanwhile, The Young Master and I grabbed a tuk
tuk and headed off to <a href="http://www.cambodiahome.com/cambodiavillagekampongpluk.htm">Kampung Pluk</a>, a nearby fishing village.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Kampung Pluk</h4>
Much has been said on message boards about boat safety in Cambodia, and most of it is not favourable. But in a country with stricter safety standards, would they let a four-year-old drive the boat? Probably not - and The Young Master loved it. I asked our boat driver if it was usual for the local kids to be driving boats by four years old and he shrugged and said, "Of course." Some of the other tourists didn't seem convinced, however - one woman in particular looked aghast as her boat passed ours, going in the opposite direction. At our speed (walking), depth (waist, on the Young Master), and distance from shore (less than ten paces) I didn't feel especially threatened, however, and our driver sat nearby, offering verbal and physical course corrections as necessary. We puttered like this for quite some time, until we got to the village on the water.<br />
<br />
And when I say "on", I don't muck around. Most of the buildings were on stilts, and some were floating. We saw the police station, doctor's clinic, town hall and temple. There was also a school, with kids outside, waist-deep, playing a game of water-soccer, whilst others came or left by canoe. There were houses and houseboats, floating piggeries, and enclosed fisheries. We stopped in the "restaurant district" and swapped into a canoe, which wound through and around the mangroves. Then we returned the way we'd come. On the way home, The Young Master asked to stop and "help" some boys who were fishing in a creek using a net. They let him hang around, but in the end I had to point out that he was half their age or less and that braving the current and trying to wind and cast the net was harder than it looked. He returned to the hotel disappointed that he hadn't been able to go fishing.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Marathon</h4>
We were hoping to watch The Earl run his half-marathon on the Sunday morning, but it was not to be. My plan was to let the kids wake up at their normal time and eat breakfast before heading out to the sidelines. However, for the first year ever, the organisers decided to close off the course to traffic, leaving our tuk tuk driver stranded where he'd dropped The Earl off by the famous Angkor Wat. We were forced to potter around the hotel grounds until he turned back up again, which didn't take long. The Earl not only finished the run (he was afraid he wouldn't be able to) but finished in the top half of the runners, making a time he was happy with. <br />
<br />
After a swim to cool off and a spot of lunch, he and The Young Miss took a nap together again, whilst The Young Master and I went into the central market for some souvenir shopping. The Young Master found another friend at the market, and bought a gift for his classmate back home. Then we all joined up next to the river, where The Young Master found a man casting the same type of net as the boys had been using the previous day. He asked if he could have a go, and the guy showed him how to wind the rope around his thumb and gather it in his hands, but he was really too little to hold it all together, much less throw it out. In the end, he accepted that even the local kids don't start using that kind of fishing gear until they are much older, and contented himself with "helping" the man retrieve fish (or debri) from his net after he'd hauled it back in. We bought sandwiches from a street seller for dinner, and returned to our hotel to rest up for our big day at the temples.<br />
<br />
<h4>
Temples of Angkor</h4>
Oh, the temples. They are certainly an impressive site, although also a much more cultivated one these days. The first difference we noticed was at the ticket booth. Last time, we found a single booth, manned by two people, beside a dusty road. Now there is a bitumened slip road containing about a dozen booths with staff everywhere. The grass is green and tended, the icecream vans have proliferated, and the whole enterprise has become safety and conservation-conscious. This is all great news, but it didn't impress The Young Master, who immediately decided he wanted to return to the hotel. I must say, I was surprised at this - I thought the temples would have a certain "wow" factor all their own, but I guess he hasn't hit his Indiana Jones phase yet. I thought he'd like hearing the stories told in carvings, like enormous, stone, picture books, but I musn't have been telling them right. Luckily, I had a flash of brilliance and drew up a list for a scavenger hunt*, which seemed to interest him enough to keep us going until lunch time, when he finally worked out how to express what was troubling him: in a nutshell, he found the temples kind of spooky. Once we worked this out, we were able to come up with a simple compromise - he would just stay on the outside. He was happy to do this, and romped around the ruins happily like he would in any old park, whilst The Early and I took turns having a closer look, and occasionally discussing an exterior feature of interest. The Earl and I were glad we'd seen everything in reasonable depth before - it took the pressure off this visit, and we were happier to potter around in a way that suited the kids.<br />
<br />
Both of them slept very well that night. The next day we took a swim and then packed our bags for home. Our flight didn't leave til evening, so we took a stroll around the Royal Gardens, a walk along the river, and grabbed a bite to eat before piling into a couple of tuk-tuks for the airport. The Siem Reap International Airport was our last big double-take, having been completely overhauled since its days as a dusty building with a bit of an immigration bench and a handful of moto drivers waiting around outside. (In fact, Siem Reap seems to have relatively few moto drivers these days. The ones who tout for tourists, at least, have all gone and bought trailers for their bikes, thus upgrading themselves to the status of tuk-tuk drivers - a rarity on our last visit.) In any case, it's not so modernised that you can't still stroll across the tarmac to your plane, which we did with that mixture of satisfaction and reluctance which marks the end of a great trip.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
Next Up: Observations about travelling with young kids in Cambodia.<br />
<br />
*This is our list for the scavenger hunt. Each of the speaking members of the party contributed to the list. We found everything except the danger sign (I guess they've replaced their danger signs with actual safety measures since our last visit), and it took us the whole day to do that. Even The Young Miss found a couple of items, although I'm not sure she was aware they were part of a game.<br />
<br />
Lots of the finds opened up discussions about history, culture, or the local environment. For example, the water wheel provided a lesson in both local agriculture and Buddhist symbolism. The statue with the head (most of them are now headless) provided an opportunity to discuss the history of the temples and ancient kingdoms. And there was an interesting discussion about how the trees grow like that.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Working water wheel </li>
<li>Statue with its head still on </li>
<li>Boat (we saw one being used by a bridal party on their wedding photo tour of the temples)</li>
<li>Fishing net </li>
<li>Fishing rod</li>
<li>Carving of dancers (apsaras)</li>
<li>Tree growing out of ruins</li>
<li>Tree that forms a tunnel with its roots</li>
<li>Aeroplane (actually seen after we left the temple grounds - they weren't flying over the temples)</li>
<li>Carving of wheel</li>
<li>Carving of elephant</li>
<li>Hot air balloon</li>
<li>Flowing river</li>
<li>Giant face on gate</li>
<li>Big stone lion</li>
<li>Danger sign</li>
<li>Stone bridge with stone railing</li>
</ul>
Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-53638484178050024872012-12-14T01:09:00.002+10:002012-12-14T01:26:13.980+10:00Infertility, Death, and The Daily MailThis story has <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/12/if-you-dont-have-a-baby-you-are-going-to-diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiie/">been</a> <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/12/childless-until-proven-parenting/#comments">discussed</a> on Mel's blog. Thanks to Alexicographer, I have a copy of it, which I want to comment on briefly.<br />
<br />
Alexicographer suggested (via the comments to the first link, above) that the study would cost about 4 hours' worth of a post-doc's time plus a mac-book (which I assume can be substituted for any kind of equivalent computing device). All I can say to this is, obviously I am not yet a post-doc. I am pretty sure it would take me four hours to work out whether I was supposed to be running a Cox regression or (let's be honest) any other form of statistical analysis you might care to name. As it happens, I'm in the middle of studying up on this as we... well, I should be doing it right now, but this counts, right? In other words, if you are a post-doc, and you have feedback or corrections, please leave them - I would be grateful!<br />
<br />
My first comment is that, as suspected, everyone should start using <a href="https://addons.mozilla.org/en-us/firefox/addon/kitten-block/">the firefox add-on which redirects every Daily Mail link to pictures of tea and kittens</a>, because honestly - you are not reporting science to the public so much as blatantly trolling. In fact, if your (I'm talking to you again now, not the Daily Mail) <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2010/03/aunt-jane-and-her-terrible-advice/">Aunt Jane</a> tells you to adopt as a result of having read the Daily Mail article, my recommended response is to give her a sympathetic smile, and gently explain to her that she has been trolled.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eBT6OSr1TI">The Daily Mail</a> [that is not a link to the Daily Mail, it's a link to Dan and Dan's song about the Daily Mail - I refuse to link to The Daily Mail directly and I thoroughly recommend the song] reports that,<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Scientists say the study throws new light on the age-old question
of whether life fulfillment provided by children can actually extend
your years. The answer appears to be yes – but only
compared with people who want children and are unable to have them. In
these circumstances, adoption may reduce the risk of early death,
according to Danish scientists."</blockquote>
<br />
Bollocks. Wow. They really had to put their best spin-doctors on the job to draw that message out of it. First of all, we don't know whether the differences in mortality are due to "life-fulfillment" - a possibility I would list as number seventy-hundred-and-eighty-seven, under such things as "leading a less adventurous life-style during your forties" or "less likely to have an undiagnosed clotting disorder which prevents successful IVF treatment and at the same time increases the chances of death". As it happens, <i>the scientists specifically state that the study does not provide evidence that having children, even after infertility, extends your life years</i>.<br />
<br />
They <i>specifically state</i> that. I guess The Daily Mail reporter got sidetracked looking up big words like "exogenous" and never made it through the whole article.<br />
<br />
With regards to the second sentence of the quoted paragraph, it is true that, in this study, adoption was found to be associated with a reduced risk of death amongst those for whom IVF didn't work. However, the authors feel that this is not because adoption "reduces the risk of early death" but because being able and eligible to adopt is associated with a range of other factors which, together, reduce the risk of early death.<br />
<br />
Again, they <i>specifically state</i> that, and it is an even stronger statement than the one I described above, which merely tells us that the study is not designed to prove a causal link (although there is a lot of speculation in the statement).<br />
<br />
Correlation, you must remember, is not causation. (This reminder is given three times in exactly those terms - once in <i>the abstract</i>, once in <i>the box-summary</i>, and once in the discussion of the results. I can understand how the Daily Mail missed the latter, but honestly... they couldn't read a box summary before writing a newspaper report? Or they did, but they decided it would be more fun to forgo scientific reporting in favour of trolling?)<br />
<br />
Mel complained about the division of parents vs non-parents, stating that the idea of being "childless until proven parenting" is noxious. And I don't disagree. The way society divides parents and and non-parents based on whether they are raising or have finished raising living children ignores a wide range of circumstances. This was always a beef of mine (and not just mine) when Mother's Day rolled around (and it still is). Society is yet slightly divided on the question of whether an expectant woman should celebrate or not, but those in the trenches of infertility tend to be more or less excluded - which doesn't seem right, when you consider how much more parenting some infertile men and women have done (both in a physical and emotional sense), when compared to their expectant or newly-minted counterparts. <br />
<br />
However, the scientists make clear that their distinction is between those who registered a birth after IVF treatment and those who did not, during a followup period of three to fourteen years after the start of treatment. They openly admit not only the possibility but the probability of "unobserved comorbidity*" given the available data (which was taken from publicly-available registries) whilst pointing out that adjusting for the factors they could observe had not really altered the results. They do consider number of IVF treatments in their analysis. One could still argue that they should have used different terminology, whilst admitting, to be fair, that the debate over the alternative remains unresolved, even within the community. Possibly, to be accurate, it should have been an acronym such at PRB (parents, or patients, or people registering a birth) vs PNRB. In any case, you can be sure the Daily Mail would still have come out with "mothers" and "childless".<br />
<br />
A few things must be brought to and taken away from studies like this. Firstly, note that the outcome under observation is rare. The Daily Mail will tell your Aunt Jane that you are FOUR TIMES MORE LIKELY TO DIE if you don't have kids, at least through adoption, but actually, almost everyone they followed - regardless of category - survived. Put it this way: if one person dies, on average, from cause X in one year and in 2012 you happen to get an extra person, that is a DOUBLING OF DEATHS FROM CAUSE X THIS YEAR according to the Daily Mail, or a single extra death to everyone with an ounce of common sense**. And if your unlucky statistic from 2011 happened to hang on til the first of January 2012, giving no deaths in 2011 and two in 2012, then it is still one death per year according to those with common sense, or an AN INFINITE INCREASE IN DEATHS FROM CAUSE X COMPARED TO LAST YEAR AND POSSIBLY THE BEGINNING OF THE APOCALYPSE according to the Daily Mail. So tell your Aunt Jane that either way, things will probably turn out just fine.<br />
<br />
Secondly, these data tell a story about a population. They can't tell <i>you</i> if you are going to die soon (which you are probably not - see above). Statistics, as everyone who has ever sat down at a fertility clinic already realises, is not a crystal ball.<br />
<br />
Thirdly, just because science tells you X, doesn't mean the right choice is necessarily Y. We make our decisions against a background not just of medical facts, but of values and circumstances. Context is everything when it comes to forging our onward path. This doesn't devalue scientific research or the input it provides, but we must remember to limit its use to its proper purpose.<br />
<br />
This study should be a welcome report to infertility patients - especially those who for whom treatments fail. It may turn out that there are concrete steps which can be taken to improve your chances of surviving into old age - medicating with aspirin, perhaps, or increased screening for certain cancers. However, it should be recognised that this is piece, maybe, twelve of a one-thousand-piece scientific puzzle - and the authors are not only aware of this, but are at pains to emphasise it to their readers. We don't yet know why IVF patients who never end up registering births or adopting have an increased rate of death in the immediate followup period after starting IVF, compared with those who do. The authors claim that "because [their] study is based on a natural experiment, the results are less likely to be due to reverse causation" - an assertion which doesn't impress me much, under the circumstances, based on my limited knowledge of statistics, epidemiology, and reproductive medicine. "Less likely" seems (to me, here) a far cry from "impossible". We - and especially your Aunt Jane - must remain open to the idea that death coinciding with infertility treatment may be a cause of childlessness, rather than the other way around***.<br />
<br />
In conclusion: this is an interesting, if somewhat limited study, which has been over-reported in what must have been either a slow news week or a please-distract-them-from-the-real-news week. The authors themselves deserve to be thanked for their efforts and encouraged to dig further. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5eBT6OSr1TI">The Daily Mail</a> deserves to be forever <a href="https://addons.mozilla.org/en-us/firefox/addon/kitten-block/">transformed into pictures of tea and kittens</a>***.<br />
<br />
Part two of our trip to Cambodia is coming.<br />
<br />
--<br />
<br />
*I'm not sure exactly what sort of "comorbidities" the authors had in mind here - my assertion is the fairly vague one that they knew they didn't have all the info.<br />
<br />
**There are valid statistical techniques for handling rare outcomes. What you learned about small numbers leading to unreliable results is an oversimplification which borders on an outright lie. Note that over twenty-one thousand couples were assessed.<br />
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***The authors do raise this point when talking about the group of adoptive parents who, they speculate, may have a decreased death rate owing to "survivor bias" - given that Danish laws do not permit parents to concurrently pursue adoption and IVF treatment. On the other hand, it must be noted that they have adjusted for the number of treatment cycles.<br />
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****I had to repeat both links again, just to encourage everyone to follow them.<br />
<br />Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-16647036213834212712012-12-12T01:53:00.000+10:002012-12-12T03:32:56.395+10:00Cambodia - Then, as stinky backpackers, and Now, with Two Kids Under FiveI really enjoyed Mel's recent series on her family's <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/10/merry-old-england/">Literary</a> <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/10/traveling-to-london-with-kids/">Tour</a> of <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/10/visiting-the-making-of-harry-potter-in-london/">London</a> <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/10/harry-potter-sites-around-london/">and</a> <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/11/alice-in-wonderland-sites-around-oxford/">Oxford</a> (I think I missed one there... but that'll get you pointed the right way). I'm a sucker for a travel blog. (If you are too, the other series that comes to mind is <a href="http://troislittlebirds.blogspot.sg/2011/03/our-trip-part-1-with-tips.html">Vee</a> and <a href="http://troislittlebirds.blogspot.sg/2011/03/our-trip-part-2-with-tips.html">Boo</a> in<a href="http://troislittlebirds.blogspot.sg/2011/03/our-trip-part-3.html"> Thailand</a>. Remind me how old he was then, Vee?) This travelogue is planned in several parts. Parts one and two describe our itinerary. Part three covers some general observations about travelling with kids of this age in Cambodia.<br />
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<h3>
Phnom Penh to Battambang</h3>
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We recently returned from a trip to Cambodia, with the young Master and Miss, who are now nearly-two and nearly-four-point-five. We last (and first) went to Cambodia in 2002 - a whole ten years ago - and there have certainly been a few changes. The first clue came when, just before the trip, a friend described Phnom Penh as her favourite city in Asia. "Really?" I thought. "Phnom Penh? That dusty little hicksville? Big enough to be mildly unfriendly and noticeably more expensive than the country's more regional areas, but without any more wealth or sophistication to show for it?"<br />
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Last time we came to Cambodia, we started out in Siem Reap, travelled across to Battambang, and finished in Phnom Penh. I admit this probably gave Phnom Penh a tough assignment - Cambodia is, without doubt, one of my two all-time favourite travel destinations, the other being Turkey. In both places we were able to rock up with no definite plans except a return air ticket from a different city*, and in both places we found the locals to be genuinely interested in making our journey a pleasure. There was no hassle and no hard sell from those who were also interested in making their money from tourists. Everyone was full of general conversation, and it was also easy to get travel suggestions. Organising stuff was a breeze. So of course, when we got to the less-welcoming big smoke, Phnom Penh, and sensed our return to the status of cashed-up strangers, it was bound to be the kind of let-down that paints an unfair memory.<br />
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Our guide-book described Phnom Penh as being "back", and they were right. The place has changed, and I might want to live there. Mind you, we saw it but briefly - we had only an eight-day itinerary, and we had decided we needed to ease The Young Master into it, as he tends to get a bit overwhelmed by new experiences, so we went straight from the airport to the hotel by taxi, hung out by the hotel pool and ate at the hotel restaurant, then packed up our bags fresh and early the next morning for our road trip to Battambang.<br />
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<h3>
Phnom Penh to Battambang </h3>
<br />
Yes - road trip to Battambang. This was a new one for us. Last time we did the reverse trip, we did it by plane. You could technically get between the two places by road, but it was a fourteen-hour-plus trip - not including the time it would take you to dig the car out of a bog if it had rained recently - and that's if you made it past the land mines and bandits. The train service was worse, if a little safer from land mines. Nowadays, you can accomplish the 300km trip in five or six hours, along a sealed (though somewhat potholed) road. The train service and airline no longer exist.<br />
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We piled into our minibus at 9am after a hearty, western-style breakfast. We'd originally ordered a whole taxi since we filled one anyway, but the hotel could only locate a minibus, the exclusive use of which was offered to us at the same price but without most of the seatbelts. We used the one we did have to strap The Young Miss into her car seat, whilst The Young Master experienced the delicious thrill of travelling completely unrestrained. None of us were nervous about this - despite the newly-sealed roads, the traffic meanders. Our bus driver not only had to avoid the potholes, but also motorbikes, some with various trailers and ridiculous loads, bicycles, motorbikes towing bicycles, hand-led horses and cows, usually pulling carts, stray dogs, and people trying to hail minibuses from the middle of the "highway".<br />
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The Young Master spent the morning getting used to all of this from the safety of his vantage point behind the windscreen, which was just as well because the first time he actually had to interact with Cambodia directly - when we got out for a lunch stop - an elderly woman carrying a basket on her head bent down in his face, pinched his cheeks, flashed a toothless smile, and offered him some deep-fried tarantulas on a stick. He held up to this well, managed to decline the tarantulas politely, and even started playing with two of the local children whilst we ate lunch. When it all got too much for him, he asked to return to the minibus so he could hide out whilst everyone else finished up. The Young Miss, meanwhile, was in her element, having found a swinging chair, a playmate her own age, and more doting fans than she knew what to do with.<br />
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We got back on the road for the next big push, and the kids were just coming to the end of their attention spans when we pulled into Battambang. The hotel of our choice was unfortunately full, but we found a room with three wide, single beds in another one just across the road. We reshuffled our stuff and went out for an aimless walk around town to stretch our legs. The Young Master decided he was going to wave and say hello to all the under-ten-year-olds he saw, and he did. Before long, he'd found a group of them to play with, and he and Miss easily cobbled together a racing game despite the lack of mutual language. When it was finished, we walked on by the river - wow, such a lot of new buildings by the river since last time - where the Young Master was enthralled to discovered a game played with a shuttle-cock-like device, the name of which temporarily escapes me (lakeh? something like lakeh?). By this time, it was getting on for dinner. We grabbed some buttered corn cobs from a street-seller to tide the kids over, found ourselves somewhere to eat, and then headed straight "home" to bed.<br />
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Coming in Part Two: Battambang and Siem Reap <br />
-- <br />
<br />
*Side note: I think Mel is a great person and everything and I really was interested in reading about her travels, but I have decided to NEVER, NEVER go on holiday with her family. This is for mutual benefit. I like to arrive informed, but thoroughly unscheduled. Mel... likes to arrive scheduled. We would kill each other.Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-78968845309541418852012-11-14T01:26:00.001+10:002012-11-14T01:37:33.323+10:00NaBloPoMoI thought I might try NaBloPoMo - that is, posting a blog post in November. I like to bend the rules to fit my situation.<br />
<br />
Serenity wrote a post about her <a href="http://serenitynowinfertile.wordpress.com/2012/11/12/the-diego-negotiations/">Diego negotiations</a> that really rang true for me. I've got to tell you, the endless whining, pleading, pestering and tantruming kids do over much-desired objects and experiences is one of those things that pushes my buttons enormously. So much so that, as per a sage observation <a href="http://despitemotherhood.blogspot.sg/">Rachel</a> once made about kids being able to tell when something crosses your personal lines, we hardly ever experience the phenomenon around our house these days.<br />
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When we do, I have a protocol. First, I make sure my reply to a request has been a) heard and b) understood. Then I remove the item from the equation - by changing my answer from "maybe" to "no", or by declaring an amnesty of a certain time period during which the thing will not exist within our household. I have this whole lecture that goes along with it. At the beginning of the lecture, I identify with The Young Master's feelings of helpless yearning. I ask him to reflect on how utterly horrible he feels as they consume him. I assure him that these feelings are common to pretty much all of human kind throughout history, and explain the good news that many techniques have been developed so people can quell such horrible feelings when they are not productive.<br />
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At this point we have a little musical lesson centred around <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Serenity_Prayer">that well-known prayer</a> - "Lord, grant me the serenity..."<br />
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I point out to him that this case falls into the "things I cannot change" basket rather than the "things I can", because he does not yet always have "the wisdom to know the difference". Then I ask if he'd like me to help him achieve that elusive serenity by explaining some of the most widely-practiced techniques, and if I time it right he is too busy trying to work his way towards the practical meaning of that last paragraph to do anything but accept.<br />
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Cue geography lesson: pretty soon he is holding his globe, and I am tracing monkey's Journey To The West and giving him Intro to Buddhism 101. He cottons on to this quickly, because we live next door to a Buddhist temple, and we frequently hear bells or chanting, and smell the burn of incense. I explain the practice of eschewing worldly possessions, even to the extent of shaving one's hair and wearing a basic outfit of robes, and of shutting out the experiences of the world in order to spend time in focussed meditation. (Sometimes, if I have given my lecture fairly recently and therefore need to use a different angle, I trot out The Sound Of Music instead, and we discuss Maria and nuns and prayer and get stuck for a while trying to define "flipperty-gibbet".)<br />
<br />
By this stage he has forgotten any thoughts of tantrums in both his curiosity over where in the hell I could possibly be going with all this, as well as the simple passage of time. When I bring it all around full circle by suggesting we need to follow the ways of our neighbourly monks by removing the desired item or experience from his world so he can use the time to sit in quiet contemplation - if necessary, in his room - he looks at me sharply, suddenly aware that I have snuck up on him and now have him surrounded.<br />
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I give him a wry grin, followed (before he can answer) by a gentler, more serious face, then I tell him that I really do want to give him what he wants, as per my original reply, but I also can't have him whining, pleading, pestering me or throwing fits over the thing because - first of all - it's rude and unpleasant and makes me feel very stressed and angry, and secondly it feeds this horrible feeling of helpless yearning he tells me he doesn't like to experience. So I suggest he could either distract himself with a specified alternative or one of his own choosing or, if he thinks that won't work - or if he demonstrates its unworkableness - we can make like the monks. Mostly, the pestering subsides, but every so often he loses his judgement and crosses the line.<br />
<br />
This happened most recently a few months ago. I can't even remember what he wanted, but I had told him I would get it for him as soon as I'd finished my current task, which I estimated would take about ten more minutes. Within that ten minutes, however, I reached my limit and revoked my earlier answer, declaring that the item was obviously causing us all problems and I was removing it (temporarily) from our world in favour of quiet meditation, and was willing to adjust the distance of that removal and the amount of contemplation in direct proportion to the intensity of the negative feelings he had on account of it. The Younger Master drew in an enormous breath and I braced myself inwardly for the drama, whilst trying to present a composed and sympathetic face and casting about for our globe.<br />
<br />
His mouth opened. Then he shut it again, and stormed off. I stuck my head around the kitchen door to see where he was going. He took a sketch pad and a set of crayons from his stationary cupboard, sat himself at the coffee table, and began drawing with intense concentration. After ten seconds or so he looked at me angrily and said, "Mum, I am writing a story about a boy whose mum tells him no and he takes that no and gets his cricket bat and he hits the no outside and it gets run over by a car."<br />
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"Ok," I said carefully. He returned to his work. After thirty seconds or so, I shook myself from my stunned daze and returned to mine. In five more minutes I finished it, and came to sit next to him on the couch. He drew in silence, and I felt a bit superfluous, so I got out a book, read a chapter, then put it away again and completed some more housework. I prepared lunch, and did the dishes. I read half of another chapter. One and a half hours later, he finally completed his work, and presented it to me as a reading, for my commentary.<br />
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And I thought, "Oh my goodness. I've created a blogger."<br />
<br />Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-34152238133878657542012-10-16T23:12:00.001+10:002012-10-16T23:12:29.470+10:00Did I just......drop off the face of the earth? Why yes, I just did. I have been idly pursuing work for a couple of months now and all my paperwork came in at once. I started two part-time jobs last week, and an online course of study yesterday. When I looked back at the blogosphere a lot of stuff had happened including <a href="http://www.stirrup-queens.com/2012/10/the-2012-creme-de-la-creme-list-is-now-open-for-submissions/">the opening of this year's Creme De La Creme list</a>, which you should add yourself to before December 15th.<br />
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I have other stuff, but it will have to wait til I've worked out what I'm doing.Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-8854040966806720862012-10-02T01:06:00.000+10:002012-10-02T01:06:39.824+10:00Mutual IncomprehensionThe Young Master is against fighting, unless you're talking about <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/2012/08/dispelling-bogeyman.html">strangers who</a> <a href="http://infertilefantasies.blogspot.sg/2012/08/uniform-of-bogey-slayer.html">look at him</a> (he is doing very well with strangers at the moment, by the way). We took him to a kid's karate class and he refused to participate beyond the warm-up. "They're punching and kicking!" he told me indignantly.<br />
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"Yes, but... <i>air</i> punching! <i>Air</i> kicking!" I protested. Which brings me to another thing. He doesn't like Kung Fu movies. He <i>refuses to watch</i> Kung Fu movies. I mean, he refuses to watch Kung Fu<i> Panda</i>. More than that, he refuses to watch any movie or TV show where the characters fight each other. I am stunned to discover how violent children's television really is.<br />
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He hates pirates "because they fight". He had a nautical theme for his fourth birthday, and when it came time for the "treasure hunt" he kept insistently repeating to everyone, "But we're not pirates. We are <i>marine archeologists</i>."<br />
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We made a recent trip to Malaysia for a long weekend, and at one point we were hanging out at a playground with some local kids who only spoke Malaysian, which The Master does not. They were playing with toy guns - something that hasn't worked out at home (by which I mean "home" and also home). Imagine my surprise when I saw Master using a stick as a gun and shooting right back at them, laughing playfully all the while. As I watched, however, things became clearer. Master's gun wasn't your normal gun - it was a special ray-gun which turned "bad guys" into nice, friendly people. I don't speak Malay either, but I'm pretty sure the other kids were playing an entirely different game - something more traditional, like cops and robbers (in the old-school, shoot-em-up style, as opposed to Master's version which focuses more on rehabilitating the criminals into useful and upstanding citizens*). <br />
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In the playground at home, the whole thing would have disintegrated under the strain of competing narratives, but here - barred from mutual comprehension - they got along just fine. It's funny. We spend our whole lives striving to make ourselves understood, and it turns out that sometimes a little misunderstanding goes a long way.<br />
<br />
--<br />
*You should hear how he plays armies. He brings in diplomats to diffuse
the violence and then professionals to repurpose war technologies to
civilian ends. Starting with the airforce, which becomes a commerical
air fleet offering passenger, mail, cargo, and scenic pleasure
flight services. I promise you this isn't a game of our devising.<br />
<br />Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25184159.post-21340029098422222112012-09-30T19:08:00.003+10:002012-09-30T19:13:32.917+10:00HomeMany people have defined "home" in their own way. "Home is where the heart is." "Home is where you hang your hat." To me, nothing has ever resonated more strongly than that famous <a href="http://www.internal.org/Robert_Frost/The_Death_of_the_Hired_Man">quote by Robert Frost:</a> "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in." I'm fond of where I grew up, where my relatives are and my earliest memories reside, but more than anything this is what keeps me pinned: the knowledge that if our house of cards gets blown to the seven winds, this is where we'll bolt to, and they'll not only let us through immigration, they'll give us healthcare, education and a basic pension - as applicable. This is why I don't begrudge paying taxes to a nation I don't currently reside in. In the meantime, my heart and my hat will come wandering with me.<br />
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We went to a Mid-Autumn Festival celebration recently, and in the expectant silence between one of the magician's tricks and the next, The Young Master asked (in a voice loud enough to carry throughout the entire hall), "Mum, why did he make a flower come out of the cup?" The audience laughed, so the magician called him to the stage.<br />
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He asked The Young Master his name, how old he was, and where he came from. "Brisbane," said Master to the last.<br />
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"And can you spell Brisbane?" asked the magician.<br />
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The Young Master considered this question deeply, his lips moving in silence as he sounded the word out from beginning to end. The audience waited in quiet anticipation of the response of our boy-genius. Finally, he leaned in towards the microphone and said, with clarity and confidence, "No."<br />
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Later, The Young Master's fans crowded around. "How old was he when you moved to Singapore?" one of them asked - and I had to explain that he was actually born in Singapore, and had lived most of his life here. "Oh!" she said with a chuckle, "so he's not really from Brisbane at all!" I guess not. But Brisbane (and not Singapore) is the place where, when he has to go there, they have to take him in, and in this sense it is still very much his home.<br />
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As to where he comes from - the answer is still in the making.<br />
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How do you define "home"? Is it where you came from? Are you living there now?Beahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11877513815828460269noreply@blogger.com0