Medicare Card Number

Dear Medicare

Dear Medicare,

Over the past decade I’ve had more people peer up my vagina than I care to remember. Mostly with my husband by my side holding my hand. At first he was awkward about it, he would nervously look at the ultrasound screen, or my face, or even the photos on the wall, but never down between my legs where my doctor or scientist or nurses had their heads. 8 years later he’s a total pro, he is practically an expert, mainly on my reproductive system, but I have no doubt in the case of someone else’s vagina emergency he would know what to do.

You see Medicare, I have spent my 30’s trying to make a family but have been mostly unsuccessful. My husband and I have a 100% failure rate when it comes to IVF. We often high five our awesome accurateness at not achieving a pregnancy through it, and the ‘F’ word is banned in our house. FERTILE…it’s a F-ilthy word to me because I am so very very tired of the sadness, and heartbreak, and other men who are not my husband peering up my vagina.

Only last month after another failed round of IVF I finally had courage to share my despair. I introduced my followers to the May edition of Gerard and Emily’s un-excellent infertility adventure. I want to share it with you Medicare in the hope you may understand the repercussions of your possible decision to cut rebates for women over 35.

PHOTO: Supplied by Emily Jade

This little cell of hope was put in me, and my long-suffering aforementioned husband joked that it had my eyes and his nose. We also joked that this little dot of dreams would have the middle name of May. After the month we’d conceived and my beautiful Nana Mavis who was gentle and kind, attributes I’d hoped this part of my DNA would have. Even if it were a boy we laughed it would still be May. I also felt this was the one. Gerard was home by an hour before the transfer to hold my hand. Last transfer he was away overseas. We’d Face-timed during that transfer, hilariously his two mates were with him on the other end of the line. Their faces beamed into the transfer room and they got a bit of a shock when they saw more of me than they would normally want, but after 10 years of fertility treatment, what’s another few faces in the room when my legs are akimbo. They wished me luck and I wondered if this would be the fun story we would tell our future child, that 7 people were there that day. A doctor, a scientist, a nurse, your daddy, his two mates and me all hoping, wishing and praying you into existence. It wasn’t, so I really felt this would be the one. IVF is so down to timing and totally out of your control that surely him getting home right on the hour that this would be it. It wasn’t. Another month down the toilet literally, right before Mother’s Day, and during Infertility awareness week, the irony was not lost on me.

It was the 29th embryo we had lost and I have all the pictures from the ones that made it at least to the transfer stage. They mean so much to us; we love it so much, even when it fails.

So when I read headlines like “IVF limit for older women” I’m duly concerned. Medicare, I did not choose this life. I did not choose to have a disease that has done everything it can to stop me creating the family I so wanted. So why is my disease and its subsequent cure going to have its rebates cut? Would you do that for someone who has cancer at 80? Oh, they are pretty old, we shouldn’t give them chemo because, well, old!

I have spent a fortune on IVF, when I could have been spending that money on my mortgage, albeit a smaller more affordable house because I don’t have a dozen kids to fill it, but I work, pay taxes and I’m desperately trying to make more good little tax paying humans. The rebate barely touches the sides, but it helps, and I thank you for that. Please don’t take it away just because I’m older now. I have been trying my hardest.

I should point out that I have one perfect little miracle and despite all the effort and expense, she was conceived after a total ‘cut and polish’ of my endometriosis, one of the many I have had. I’m one of the lucky ones, and I know it, but my addiction to being her mum and loving every moment is also the reason why I’m finding it hard to give up trying, even at 40 where I know my chances are getting slimmer and slimmer. The irony being that despite all the statistic’s on women’s fertility after 40, I fell pregnant on my 40th birthday, the year I swore I was going to give up. My birthday pregnancy cruelly ended a week before Christmas, right as we were going to announce it to everyone, our Christmas gift to our family, a brother or sister for our 5 year old.

Now, 7 months into my 40’s the fire is back raging in my heart to try one more time.

One more time.

Infertiles like me know that saying well. Because that’s what we do, we try one more time, until the time is many. When people ask you how many times have you tried you know they want to know how many rounds of IVF you have done. But the truth is you have tried to make a baby every month since you started trying… so I have essentially tried 122 times, and will keep trying with or without medical help and well into my 40’s if I want to. So please Medicare, help me, don’t punish me, I have been punished enough.

Love Infertile Emily.

Kell's Ride

Flan: Support Kell’s Ride for the Future

Don’t blame me. Blame my kid’s kindy teacher for EJ’s accordion.

My kid’s beloved kindy teacher, Kerrie Larda, gave me two button accordians because she heard Emily Jade talking about them on 1029 Hot tomato.

One of them is beautiful. To look at. I thought I’d wait till EJ had a rough day and drop it on her then.

EJ wouldn’t stop playing it so “with Christo” dared her to play it in public. Well, of course the good egg accepted the challenge.

In order to get around the required 3 month busker’s licence, EJ played on private property at the invitation of The Pantry Café Burleigh who I’m sure are very nice and a little hard of hearing.

While EJ committed cold blooded yet well intentioned musical murder, a bloke came up to me and asked for a minute of my time.

His name is Greg Kelly. Greg has early onset dementia and it will take his life. I was truly struck by this bloke.

I played his story on the radio this morning and when I went to the servo on the way home, the owners of BP Southport, offered me $200 to fill Greg’s first tank of petrol.

Have a listen below and as proof that this took place as I say it did, you can hear EJ’s sonic crime scene in the background;

Now that you know Greg Kelly and that he’s trying to raise money for those that help dementia patients and shine a light on the plight, can I ask you to put a bit of gas in his tank?

Here’s a link to Greg’s Facebook page: and his Go Fund Me page if you would like to donate:

Thanks. There’ll be a bit more to this story. Keep your eye out.


P.S. I said I’d let you know what Viv Richards thought about the question “Would 20/20 cricket make a great Commonwealth Games sport?” The greatest Batsman I have ever seen said “Yeah.”

P.S.S.S. So Just call me Scoopy McScooperton.

Flan tinny giraffe

Flan’s poll: Hoons in tinnies

Do you reckon that hoons in tinnies on our waterways speeding near swimming enclosures full of kids should get their tinny taken away from them and given to me?

I do.

This particular tinny had no sun shade on it but they’re not that dear. If I had this boat I’d love it more than the hoons.

I’d certainly be more responsible than the clowns in this boat last Sunday and I’d make sure I didn’t exceed 6 knots near people.

I’ve wanted one since I was a kid. The kids on the TV show flipper had one and I wanted to be them.

Please vote to impound their tinny and give it to me.

I’d be a responsible skipper on the waterways and I’d clean out the hoons cages everyday…. I promise.

Last weekend I was dead-set scared for a bunch of people in the swimming enclosure and the surrounding bay at Tallebudgera as three young blokes skylarked, mugged laired, showponied and loudly hooned around and around endangering people trying to have a quiet family Sunday arvo swim.

They were also doing the boat equivalent of a wheelie/mono and genuinely frightening everyone.

I’ll never be prouder of my mate, Al, for walking down to the water’s edge and giving them a good old fashioned kiwi gobful. Two words.

Un and printable.

Onya Al.

Many people on the shore went up to Al and commended him for telling the aquahoons which direction they should navigate.

So, question of the day….should aquahoons have their tinnies impounded and given to people who have passed their skipper’s licence and have no recorded misdeameanors on our waterways?

Or should their tinnies be crushed into cubes and use them as bbq tables in gold coast parks?

Or maybe you have a better option.

Love to hear about it. Maybe Al deserves it more than me.

If you take part in Flan’s poll you’ll go in the draw to be on the short list to play off for the chance to toss for a double pass to the movies … hell, you may even win an aluminium coffee table.

Maybe one day.

Cricket Team

Flan: How I met cricket legend Sir Vivian Richards

I’m going to talk more in the next little while about making 20/20 cricket a Commonwealth Games sport and thanks to Jupiter’s Casino I’m going to put that question to the great West Indian batsman, Sir Viv Richards in the very near future.

I met Viv Richards when I was a kid thanks to a competition run by the Australian Women’s weekly. I went to a training camp where the newly minted World Series Cricketers taught a few hundred Aussie kids how to play my favourite sport.

I had the finer points of batting shown to me by my favourite batsman ever, Sir Viv.

My bum could have fallen off and it wouldn’t have distracted me from what Viv was saying then and now when he commentates on 20/20 cricket.

My bowling tutor was also my favourite bowler in the world, Michael “Whispering death” Holding. Also, a man whose cricket commentary I have soaked up since like I’m listening to Gandolf.

My wicket-keeping coach at that training camp was Rod Marsh who up until recently was the head of the Australian cricket selection panel.

Old Iron gloves taught me how to drop catches behind the stumps brilliantly. He was the man who lay down on the grenade that was the Hobart cricket Test. I’ll forever admire that bloke for that and if I ever get to interview the champ I’m going to ask him to take the blame for how bad I turned out too.

My teammates in my indoor cricket team would say “what an unholy waste of information that coaching was” I would simply say to that “Well call me Sean Marsh-mellow” but it lit a cricket blaze in me that you’d need a squadron of elvis firefighting helicopters to put out.

As I said, I’m going to ask the great man “Can 20/20 cricket become a brilliant Commonwealth Games Sport and I will faithfully report Sir Viv’s answer on 1029 Hot tomato.

QLD Cows

Flan: Cow corner at Car-rara

You know that feeling when you come up to the giant roundabout near Carrara markets and there’s 28 “carrs” in front of you and traffics at a complete and utter standstill?

I do. I also know how different it feels to look out the passenger window and see the cows that have been there for donkey’s years.

It makes me think that Cows must get the irrits at being talked about in donkeys years but let’s not get bogged down here.

It’s a free country and I don’t blame whoever owns the cows and the land they live on for attempting to do whatever they like with it. I say you can never have enough badminton centres but I’d also like to see the theme park in Katie Perry’s latest film clip built there too. Perhaps reasons why I will never be Mayor.

However, that little bit of country in the city makes me feel different. Happier somehow.

We are heading toward final approval of 1550 apartments on that site, and let me say straight up that if it happens I would love that work to go to Gold Coast tradies who right now have to drive up the M1 chasing the many dollars it takes to feed a family good Aussie beef these days.

However, there is something a bit special about that spot. Cows next to a major arterial.

I live in Mudgeeraba because it gives me that same feeling of country in the city.

EJ was telling me this morning that if this new development gets built small boats must be made available and reserves of food in case of flooding. It sounds like they’re preparing for an evacuation on the scale of Dunkirk.

We are having Gold Coast City Councillor Bob La Cowstra on the show to say why he voted against this development.

I personally think we could develop and preserve space for some cows.

Would it be too weird to have a sculptor create a herd of bronze cows to live on that paddock forever?

If we did, how long would it be before someone painted QLD on them at State of Origin time?