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KEEP IT IN THE PHAMLY


On Sunday, we attended temple for Day 49 since Dad's passing. I can't believe he's been gone that long already. Here is my tribute to Dad's life. 

Touched is too soft a word. No, Dad Pham influenced so many people's lives during his 79 years.

We have family in Germany and Australia who wouldn't have the lives they've built if Dad hadn't helped them evacuate when the Viet Cong invaded, or driven a refugee boat out of Vietnam, then spent nearly all his income to help family members.

It's no wonder, even though we had planned a small funeral service and told only relatives and a few close family friends, double the people we anticipated attended Dad's funeral service. The funeral home had to put out seating in their back room. My Uncle said he'd told people it was a private family affair, otherwise there would have been even more mourners.

I wrote a series on Dad Pham's life from Vietnam to Germany to Australia. But I never wrote about him as a person.

Dad was super intelligent and able to process vast amounts of new knowledge quickly, it's how he adapted to multiple new countries so well. He had a wicked sense of humour and impossibly quick wit. He was a wise old soul and spoke very eloquently; people listened when he had something to say. Though, he'd always say many people listen but few understand. 

Above all else, he loved my Mum. He loved her so intensely sometimes I think he loved his children because we're a piece of her.

When I observe my siblings, I see Mum Pham is our kindness, Dad Pham is our sharpness, and both parents gifted us with generosity. Mum gave by serving (nurturing, feeding, listening to others), Dad gave by sharing (knowledge, advice, opening our home). There's a selflessness about my Phamly that I'm proud of and want to pass on to the next generation. The world could do with more Mum Phams and Dad Phams, especially now they're both gone.

Rest in peace beside Mum Pham, Dad. We love you. 

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Dad Pham wanted to keep his send off small and simple. His only requests were his three Phamlings attend his burial in the grave beside Mum Pham. He wanted a low stress affair after the tumultuous and traumatic experience of losing Mum Pham and arranging her interstate funeral.

The thing is, Dad is dead and gone, but we have to live with our relatives and friends. No way could we do as he asked and not allow his siblings and nieces and nephews, and his Vietnamese community to grieve and pay their respects.

Big Brother Pham jail-breaked Dad out of hospital for a day last year so he could attend a big family event when a cousin from Germany came to visit Brisbane. In a way, it was good for our relatives to see Dad's ailing health. It meant when it was time to share the news of his passing, nobody was shocked like they had been when Mum died.

Of course, because Dad wanted to keep it simple, we instead had a funeral service in Brisbane for his siblings and then a burial service in Melbourne for his friends and Mum's side of the family. All during Tropical Cyclone Alfred. His funeral service was nearly postponed and then our flights to Melbourne would have been cancelled had we flown a day earlier. The name plate on his casket needed fixing, the flights we booked didn't go through but luckily we ended up on alternative flights even if they were at godawful hours, our mourning cloths were left behind by the funeral home's transport team and Little Sissy Pham had to brave flooding roads to meet the funeral director to collect them for the burial ceremony. The Brisbane temple road flooded and had a tree fall across it to boot, so we couldn't attend to make an offering after the funeral. Oh, and of course, the taxi we booked to the airport kept getting cancelled by drivers so Big Brother Pham and Sister-Not-In-Law drove ourselves there. I wrote most of this on the plane to Melbourne so, good news, we made it. ...and, yep, Melbourne is having a heatwave.

Part of me likes to think that Dad watched on as we overcame unexpected challenges, shaking his head in disbelief at how we persevered despite the odds to put on a big funeral and burial, when he'd timed his passing with a force of nature that we could have easily used as an excuse to keep things small and simple. It's not our fault, Dad, that you and Mum raised resilient, hard working, emotionally stable, physically able adults. Your Phamlings keep trying until we get it done!

Randomly my uncle's (dad's youngest brother) shoe broke in Melbourne the night before the burial. Luckily shops are open late in Melbourne so we got him some superglue. It's been a bizarre week. I'll write about the Melbourne burial another time.



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Friday night. My brother's name lit up my phone and I hoped it was another trip to hospital but I knew it wasn't because hospital trips are a PhamLe group message. And phone calls are for the words, "Dad's passed."

I held it together long enough to learn the details. Then my voice broke (of course, life being life, I'd just put in my teeth whitening kit so had a lisp during this serious conversation) when I thanked Big Brother Pham for taking good care of Dad these past several years, and in particular the last few years where he was in and out of hospital often.

Dad Pham sold the Phamly home to my brother who built a granny flat at the back of the block. This meant Dad got to spend his final years living with family, seeing his granddaughters grow up, and had dinner with his eldest son most nights.

Thanks to Big Brother Pham, Dad got to live and pass on his own terms. He was at home and chain-smoking to the very end, which is what he'd wanted.

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The egg and sperm collection process was straightforward. The hormone injections were physically challenging but it was the wait for viable embryo news that was mentally challenging because it's out of your hands at this stage. It's up to science and luck.

I had my egg collection on a Wednesday and flew to Melbourne that Saturday to visit Phamly because Little Sissy Pham wanted her son to meet the Aunty we lived with for 2-3 years to finish high school after The Phamly moved to Brisbane. I didn't need to be there, really, but Little Sis is sentimental and wanted me there so why the hell not? I was mega bloated still from the meds but the soreness was gone.

On Friday, I received a call from the clinic to say of the 19 eggs they collected only 8 were mature enough to progress. Boyfriend Pham and I had opted for ICSI where they inject the sperm into the egg rather than placing the egg into a culture with the sperm to naturally try and fertilise, because we wanted to control as much of the process as we could. However, of the 8 mature eggs, they only injected 2 successfully, another 3 failed to survive the injection because they weren't mature enough and were too soft. The last 3 eggs they put in a culture to fertilise naturally.

It was disheartening to learn less than half the eggs collected were usable and we only had 5 chances at a viable embryo. I kept telling myself that we just need one good one to proceed, even though, mathematical me knows our odds are better with more than one shot. And so, it was a blessing that I had an impromptu trip to Melbourne with my nephew and his parents to distract me. Our next update would be on Monday. The weekend days were fine because they were filled with family, travel and feasting, but when I went to bed at night I missed Boyfriend Pham and was anxious about embryo news.




On Monday, I missed a call while on my way to visit Little Sissy's friend and her new bub. I called back and got the happy news that one of the eggs had developed into a healthy embryo, and there was one more they were monitoring its development. Unfortunately, the other three did not fertilise. They would update me the next day. One out of 19 so far. Sigh. Still, I told myself. Better than none.

The next day, Tuesday, we flew home. Our flight was delayed over an hour so we were stuck at the airport with a 1.5-year-old to entertain. Fortunately, our flight wasn't on time because while we were sitting in the food court trying to convince Nephew Pham that his Happy Meal box was the most entertaining toy in the world, I got a call from the clinic.

I remember this moment so clearly because Nephew Pham was watching me intently while I was on the phone and as I started to smile, he started to smile. By the end of the call, I was grinning from ear to ear and when I happily thanked the scientist for letting me know that we have 2 viable embryos, Nephew Pham read my emotions and started to cheer and wave his arms. It was such a happy memory. We'd doubled our chances for an embryo transfer, and Nephew Pham was cheering for what could be his future cousin!

Two out of 19 is not a great result, but we'll take anything we can get. I'm 39 years old and next year my fertility takes a statistical nose dive, which will make the odds forever not in our favour. I've had friends go through multiple egg collections with no embryos at the end of it. I've had friends who go through egg collections and get 5-8 viable embryos. Results feel random because there are so many factors that impact fertility.

Next up, scheduling an embryo transfer...

Our fertility and pregnancy experience

  1. Fertility is a F-word
  2. IVF hormone injections and symptoms
  3. IVF egg collection
  4. The wait for embryo news
  5. Accidentally, intentionally pregnant
  6. Early pregnancy scans & tests
  7. Early pregnancy symptoms & cravings
  8. Pregnancy and the Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT)
  9. Gestational diabetes rant (For baby!)
  10. Diet-controlled gestational diabetes
  11. When is baby due?
  12. Gender reveals
  13. Hiding early pregnancy
  14. Pregnancy glow (Trimester 2)
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We had our first round of IVF egg collection in March 2023 after 11 days of not-very-fun belly injections for the wannabe mum. We had the option of doing the egg collection knocked out in the hospital or mild anaesthetic at the Life Fertility clinic. I opted for mild anaesthetic at the local clinic because I'm not particularly fussed by a pap smear, colposcopy or any other procedure that some women find invasive and distressing. Also, I am cheap and do not want to pay hospital and anesthetist fees unless I really have to.

On the day, I had to fast since nobody wanted me throwing up from the green whistle (anesthetic) I would have before the procedure. Boyfriend Pham drove us there since I'd be too woozy to drive after and he had to provide a fresh sample of sperm - double duties. I just had to rock up, strip off my bottom half, put on a medical gown with an open back and sit in a chair.

We arrived an hour before my procedure was scheduled, and Boyfriend Pham went first. When they called his name, another guy stood up and also approached the nurse. We were very confused since the guy's name turned out to be Ryan, which didn't sound anything like Boyfriend's name. The nurse took Boyfriend to a private room and checked his name and DOB a half dozen times to be sure she had the right person before he was left to produce sperm.

A half-hour later, it was my turn. I was taken to a second waiting area where my blood pressure was checked. The nurse then walked me through the post-procedural area where I saw a handful of dazed women in recovery chairs. I was quite happy to see them eating snacks. I was hungry. Then I was in the procedure room where there was a chair, screens, trays of medical devices and two friendly nurses. One was there to give me the green whistle and help me through the procedure. The other was there to assist the doctor. A scientist in the room adjoining popped his head in to say hi and let me know he'd be checking the eggs as they were collected.


When the doctor and his student doctor arrived, the nurse gave me the green whistle. I quickly started to feel light-headed and was soon giggling away. The doctor showed me the many follicles I'd grown on both ovaries. Once it was clear I was feeling the effects of the green whistle, the doctor applied the local anaesthetic. The injection hurt a bit but not much.; I barely noticed the procedure had started. The doctor started retrieving the contents of the follicles using needles. A nurse would take each tube to the next room where the scientist would check the contents for eggs and call out the count as we went.

Once the doctor was done and gone, the nurses packed up while I sat there for a little bit. I was still lightheaded but felt OK to walk so told the nurse I was ready to get dressed. They provided pads in case there was any spot bleeding but I'd worn my period undies so didn't need one. In the recovery area, I sat in a comfy lounge chair, applied a heat pack to my lower belly and stared longingly at the packet of potato chips I was given but couldn't eat because I was too tired.

At some point, the doctor walked through with another patient and called out that I must be OK because I was smiling. I don't know what I was smiling about - maybe dreaming of eating. After a short rest, I told the nurse I was ready to go home. She gave me a take-home heat pack and instructed me to take Panadol at home if needed for the pain. Boyfriend Pham greeted me in the main waiting area and I made him do a pit stop at a fish & chip shop where we dined in with my little heat pack and a funny walk. At home, I curled up on the couch and took some Panadol. I was a bit achey but it was similar to a bit of bad period pain. Nothing major.

One more thing worth mentioning is the anaesthetic makes you mega constipated so make sure you have poop-friendly foods like prunes.

All up we retrieved 19 eggs, which I'm told is on the higher end of the scale. Though, what matters most is the quality. That will come in my next post about the wait for embryo news.

Our fertility and pregnancy experience

  1. Fertility is a F-word
  2. IVF hormone injections and symptoms
  3. IVF egg collection
  4. The wait for embryo news
  5. Accidentally, intentionally pregnant
  6. Early pregnancy scans & tests
  7. Early pregnancy symptoms & cravings
  8. Pregnancy and the Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT)
  9. Gestational diabetes rant (For baby!)
  10. Diet-controlled gestational diabetes
  11. When is baby due?
  12. Gender reveals
  13. Hiding early pregnancy
  14. Pregnancy glow (Trimester 2)
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After spending 2022 trying to figure out why we weren't pregnant, we started this year trying to make viable embryos.

2023 did not start off well for me. In January, I had my initial IVF appointment and had to get some blood tests. In February I had a hives breakout that wiped me out and then because my immune system took a beating, I immediately got a cold as soon as I started to overcome my allergy symptoms, followed by a bout of food poisoning. The worst part was, during the initial appointment, my new fertility doctor was baffled as to why my previous doctor put me on thyroid medications when my blood results showed I had normal thyroid function. Serenity now! 

I had to delay my egg collection because my blood results came back with a high level of a stress hormone, which was explained away by my allergies but we still had to wait until I was well enough to begin the IVF medications. The nurses sent my script to a specific pharmacy in Spring Hill, Brisbane. I could either pick it up in person or have it couriered. I opted to go get it and I'm glad I did because the pharmacist ended up stepping me through the injection process. I still watched instruction videos but I always feel better with in-person demos. 

There would be 10-12 days of injections depending on my cycle and when the doctor was available for consultation. Keep in mind when reading the below that there are different types of IVF hormones and doses - it's all catered to your specific needs so don't read this as a standard medication plan - it is what was best for me.



I had 11 days of Ovaleap 600IU injections to grow my follicles and increase the number of eggs to increase my chance of having some healthy eggs. I did not enjoy the injection pen. It had a sliding mechanism that made it go from 1 to 100 in speed, and the sudden shot of fluid into the belly hurt. This one gave me bruising most of the time.

From days 8-11, I started a second injection of Ganirelix / Orgalutran 250mcg to stop my eggs from being released from their follicles. This medication came with a slightly bigger needle tip but thankfully was a regular push syringe so I could control the speed at which I injected myself. By now, I was very bruised and tender so while I don't think this one bruised me, I was achy overall from the pen injections.

I am grateful my cycle meant I could get my scan on Day 11 and I skipped the last day of injections. On Day 11, my doctor did an ultrasound to confirm the meds had worked a treat and I had many follicles on both my left and right ovaries. He booked me in for an egg collection two days later. The night of the scan I injected myself with 2 syringes of Decapeptyl exactly 36 hours before my collection was scheduled.

Even though I dread the thought of doing another IVF round, the bruising and tenderness were probably the best of the side effects from the hormones. I experienced every common side effect listed on the warning labels and the severe and rare side effects as well. My symptoms ranged from standard bloating and gas to redness, soreness then my favourite: hives on my chest and neck. I contacted the clinic about the hives and ended up taking antihistamines and an ice pack. After the first couple of days, my body adjusted and the hives went away.

The scariest side effects were on the night of Day 8 when I first injected the Ganirelix. I injected myself at 7am each morning, and by 3pm that day I was feeling nauseous and bloated. By 6pm I was short of breath and had developed huge cankles to the point where when Boyfriend Pham came home, I got up to greet him and he said, 'Whoa, I think you should sit down.' So I did. I sat back on the couch and elevated my legs and pondered whether this was the rapid weight gain that I was meant to seek immediate medical help for.

I decided that if I went to emergency now on a Friday night and I wasn't in immediate danger then I'd wait around for hours while people with more urgent health issues were seen before me. So I would go in the morning after some sleep. I'm glad I did because I woke up to find my swollen legs and ankles had started to deflate. The next injection of Ganirelix didn't have the same side effects so I assume my body had just needed a bit of time to adjust to my new hormone levels.

As always, if you have any questions about my experience, feel free to email me via the email icon top-right if you aren't comfortable commenting. 

Our fertility and pregnancy experience

  1. Fertility is a F-word
  2. IVF hormone injections and symptoms
  3. IVF egg collection
  4. The wait for embryo news
  5. Accidentally, intentionally pregnant
  6. Early pregnancy scans & tests
  7. Early pregnancy symptoms & cravings
  8. Pregnancy and the Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT)
  9. Gestational diabetes rant (For baby!)
  10. Diet-controlled gestational diabetes
  11. When is baby due?
  12. Gender reveals
  13. Hiding early pregnancy
  14. Pregnancy glow (Trimester 2)

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Fun fact: Boyfriend Pham sent me the 'how is prangent formed' video while we were office buddies and we both laughed deliriously - who knew we'd be trying to get prangent together a few years later. I was clueless about how is prangent formed when Boyfriend Pham and I first started trying beyond the general birds and bees talk. By ‘trying’ I mean we stopped avoiding pregnancy. My first GP doctor said to try for 6 months before seeking help. My second GP said to try for 12 months. All in all, we tried for over a year before getting a referral to see a fertility specialist. 

The first fertility specialist we went to was part of the Monash IVF group as one of my friends was using Monash IVF at the time and recommended them. She put Boyfriend Pham and me through a bunch of blood tests. Boyfriend Pham did a sperm test and I had the fun experience of having contrast fluid shot up my uterus in a hysterosalpingography (HSG) X-ray to see if my fallopian tubes were blocked. All our results came back good. There wasn't anything obvious stopping us from falling pregnant naturally.

After 8 months, I still didn't know why we couldn't become pregnant. Even though there's a lot of information out there about fertility and ways to boost fertility, I figure there isn't much research into the root causes of infertility because IVF exists as a workaround.

We were given the option to do artificial insemination as a next step, but during the paperwork process, the fertility specialist encouraged me to jump straight to IVF because I was 38 and about to turn 39 soon. Age 40 is an egg quality cliff for women better to sign up for IVF now in case it took a while. She specialised in private IVF but knew money was a concern for us so told me to get a referral to a bulk bill IVF clinic.

I went home and picked a bulk bill IVF centre based on location. I'd heard good things about Adore Fertility but they were across town, and I wanted convenience so I picked Life Fertility in Bowen Hills as it was closest to home. I read reviews that had mixed vibes about Dr Glenn Sterling, but I figure I'd judge for myself when I met him. At my first appointment, I realised why he may rub some people the wrong way. Dr Sterling has a great sense of humour and is big on Dad jokes, which is allowed because he's a father. I can see how some couples felt he was disrespectful or confronting for making light of a serious life situation. However, I love that he can share his medical knowledge while making me laugh because I'm someone who prefers to laugh at uncomfortable things than stress or cry. I really enjoyed the humour and the lighthearted way he explained how my body works and the somewhat daunting process it was about to go through.

It wasn't until we started IVF that I began to understand the timing, logistics, and magic that goes into creating life.

Next time on Keep it in The Phamly... IVF hormone injections and symptoms. Spoiler: I did not have a good time.


Our fertility and pregnancy experience

  1. Fertility is a F-word
  2. IVF hormone injections and symptoms
  3. IVF egg collection
  4. The wait for embryo news
  5. Accidentally, intentionally pregnant
  6. Early pregnancy scans & tests
  7. Early pregnancy symptoms & cravings
  8. Pregnancy and the Glucose Tolerance Test (GTT)
  9. Gestational diabetes rant (For baby!)
  10. Diet-controlled gestational diabetes
  11. When is baby due?
  12. Gender reveals
  13. Hiding early pregnancy
  14. Pregnancy glow (Trimester 2)
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Someone at work asked me if my parents were strict growing up as Asian parents are known to be. It got me thinking. They were both the youngest of 10 children so by the time they were going through childhood their parents would have been less strict. Mum wasn't strict in most ways, but she was dead set on getting school educated.

Mum Pham was the book smart parent. She was studious and disciplined, and a qualified pharmacist (though the communists wouldn't give her a degree because she refused to serve in their army). Growing up all the pressure to study and go to university came from Mum. Dad Pham? Not so much for formal education. He once got in trouble with my Aunty when he suggested our cousin (her son) may be better off doing a trade. She was so outraged by the notion, she didn't talk to Dad for half a year.

I never really thought about why Dad Pham was so much more relaxed about education than Mum and most other Asian parents. That is, until one day, in one of his reflective moods he told me about how he failed forward into the navy.

At school, he ranked 130-something out of 134 for language. He gave so few shits, he didn't bother to remember exactly how low he scored. Now, Dad is not a dumbass by any means. He is actually more intelligent, calculating and strategic than Mum Pham in most ways. But he was too smart for formal education - because it was too easy for him, he got bored. Big Brother Pham would one day follow in Dad's footsteps - he was too smart for boring bookish study.

Dad joined the navy because he didn't have many other options. In the navy, with all the hands-on practical training and studies, Dad actually ranked 24, which was pretty high up there. His own life experience is why he's open to children doing trades or anything hands-on. Books aren't for everyone. Though, books turned out to be for me; they were definitely not for Big Brother Pham. Little Sissy Pham was somewhere in between - I think she'd have excelled at a sport if we could afford sport, but instead being poor forced her down the study route.

Even though I am a book nerd, I believe you should learn life your own way. Whatever suits your interests and skills is what you should pursue. Otherwise, you either won't be happy or won't excel in what you do... or both. 

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Someone asked recently if Dad Pham was still by himself after it came out in conversation that Mum was no longer with us. Dad has remained single since her passing in 2011 and has no interest in finding another love or companion. He says Mum was a devoted wife. She took us to see Dad every evening on the bus when he was hospitalised numerous times throughout our childhood. She never complained when he sent all their money back to his family in Vietnam.

Mum Pham had a quiet strength that wasn't obvious if you didn't truly know her. She was always so loving and generous, she'd come across as a bit of a pushover to strangers she went out of her way to accommodate. But it takes strength to be that open and vulnerable and give to others, especially when times are tough or relationships soured - she never turned away anyone in need. If anything, she held them closer.

Mum Pham bestowed all three Phamlings with her quiet strength. I'm proud when people tell me I'm a quiet achiever. It's often given as critical feedback to be more assertive and vocal, because extroverts rule the world (and look where that's led us). I'll always prefer to be a good listener like Mum than a fancy wordsmith any day. 

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Dad Pham had been in love withs someone else before he met Mum Pham.

On one of his reflective days, he told me a bit about her. They met at the US Culture Wellness Centre in Vietnam. He said she has a round face like Mum Pham, like me. That made me laugh. Boyfriend Pham has taken to calling me moon-face because in a moment of self-doubt, I wondered if he and I looked similar in anyway. I don't want to be one of those couples who look like siblings. He reminded me I am Vietnamese, and he is Australian. Also, the only thing we have in common is I have a big round face, and he has a small round face. We only have moon-faces in common. Phew.

Dad told me after the American war in Vietnam he had to flee and he asked his first love to come with him. But they weren't married so it was improper and she chose to stay with her family rather than flee. He loved her and would have married her if he'd stayed.

The two of them got in touch a number of years after Mum Pham passed. They started off with snail mail, then I was given an email address and started scanning Dad's handwritten letters and sending them. There was back and forth for a time while they caught up on each other's lives since the war. Eventually Dad does what his schizophrenia always does, and he moved onto the next phase and stopped writing. He didn't see the point since he would never go back to Vietnam, and she would never come to Australia.

Mum Pham used to speak of another woman Dad met while he was a refugee in Singapore. They parted ways because she left for America and Dad didn't want to go there. Instead, he went to Germany where he became an interpreter and met Mum Pham.


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No, I'm not pregnant. Little Sissy Pham is! Well, was by the time I got to posting this. She popped in October, and I can confirm having watched her pregnancy journey from start of this year until now that pregnancy glow is utter crap. It's like the adult version of learning Santa isn't real. Why do people try and make out like the rawest, weirdest, grossest human experience is all rainbows and glitter? It's not. It's a mess of life- and body-changing hurdles that you overcome or suffer through waiting for it to be over. And it doesn't end once the baby's born. It just keeps going and going.

Maybe in the past social norms pressured generations of parents into pretending everything was absolutely splendid because that was a sign of good parents to-be. Or maybe the patriarchy prioritised male everything so beyond impregnating women, they didn't give a crap about what women went through until it came time to deliver the baby. The middle 8-9 months in between is glossed over.

When Little Sissy Pham shared that she was pregnant (a huge tell at my birthday this year when the wine fiend had mocktails with me), I called my future nephew a parasite and people were appalled. It's not factually accurate since they're the same species, but reproduction sure looks and smells a parasite. Little Sissy's body was a host to this fetus and its placenta, which were literally trying to suck the life out of her for the entire pregnancy. She was constantly sickly, exhausted, uncomfortable and oh so whiny the whole time, because her uterus was the only thing defending her against the horrible parasite growing inside her.

I'm sure some women truly enjoy being pregnant. I've yet to meet any, but they probably are out there. Mum Pham always told us kids all three pregnancies were easy, but I was too young to ask her if she enjoyed being pregnant. Now I'll never know whether she was one of these unicorns who enjoys pregnancy, or forgot how awful the experience was by the time I was old enough to speak to her about it, or if she straight-up lied to my face because she wanted grandchildren.

I've yet to meet someone who loved having their energy, blood and nutrients drained out of their body.  Mostly I hear of friends and now Sibling complaining a lot and loudly. Is it 'cause we are a softer generation? Used to creature comforts and low pain thresholds? Or is it because now society is starting to listen to women's opinions, this 'real talk' is no longer behind closed doors? In any case, pregnancy sounds horrible and I'm amazed humans have reproduced so much considering the general grossness of the experience from conception to birth.

Nephew Pham probably won't be so thrilled at being called a parasite once he's old enough to understand the word. And probably equally unimpressed that now he's on the outside of Little Sissy Pham's body, I call him a leech because he sponges off her and his dad. 

To all the parents out there, I salute you for enduring such a nightmarish life experience. I don't understand why anyone does it more than once but I'm glad my parents did, otherwise, they would have stopped at Big Brother Pham and I wouldn't be here to feel dazed and confused by the circle of life.

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Pretty much every older Asian lady in my life wears a jade bracelet, and I’ve come to the realisation that I am now that older Asian lady to my nieces. I broke the cheap jade bracelet Mum Pham gave me a couple of years ago, and I was reluctant to wear the high quality bracelet I inherited from Mum because, well, I broke my last one. Mum’s one is dense and has flecks of black and a swirl of brown on a dominantly green and white band. It’s definitely in a different league to the one I used to wear when it comes to quality.

Towards the end of her time, Mum Pham had become weak and lost blood flow. She stopped wearing her jade bracelet because it was too heavy and cold. She started to carry it around in her money pouch. You know the money pouches that you’re encouraged to use overseas so pickpockets can’t get at your goods while you’re vulnerable in a foreign land? Mum wore that all the time and it was stashed with cash, jewellery, . I’m trying to picture when I first noticed and I think she started wearing it after we got robbed in Australia, and she lost family heirlooms and other valuables.

Anyhoo, back to the bracelet that spent a year or so following Mum around in her money pouch. After she passed away, it spent over 5 years in Mum’s make up / jewellery box that I’d inherited. I recently decided it’s silly not to wear Mum’s bracelet out of fear of breaking it. I’m sure Mum would rather I wear it so I remember her whenever I glimpse it or clang it on something, or whenever I fall asleep on it funny and my wrist aches the next morning, or whenever I hug Boyfriend Pham too tight and it jabs him, and I’m reminded he’s never met Mum but if he did she probably would jab him and tell him to eat more of whatever delicious feast she’s served up. It now lives on my right wrist just like it used to live on Mum’s. This photo is from 2004 on Big Brother Pham's birthday - seafood stir fry noodles with a side of chicken soup.

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Mum Pham was always a little fragile even in my early memories with her. Once upon a time, according to old photos she was young and - well, ‘fit’ might be an exaggeration. I suppose she was more ‘physically able’ because she was slimmer, but she preferred to walk and sit rather than run and jump. She kept her figure when Big Brother Pham was born but when I happened, she ballooned and couldn’t drop her pregnancy weight. Yup, I ruined Mum’s body with my pho cravings from inside her belly.

Dad Pham was always invincible from as early as I can remember. Dad has always been super fit because he was active as a kid - his favourite past time was swimming and playing at the beach, even when it meant a good beating when he got home because he’d skipped all his meals and curfew to stay in the water. Dad had a black belt in taekwondo, and could never sit still for long when we were growing up - he’d pace up and down the hallway while Mum and kids watched TV on the couch. And did I mention he was in the navy for most of his young to adult life?

On one of my Sunday visits with Dad this year, I noticed he was struggling to open a glass Moccona coffee jar. His fitness is finally fading in his mid-70s, though I think if Mum Pham was still around he’d be fighting fit because he needed to take care of her. Since the heartbreak of losing her, he’s aged dramatically. It’s like love kept him young in a very real way.

It’s jarring to see Dad Pham is now old and frail; it feels like it happened overnight. Luckily Little Sissy Pham and I are better equipped to aid him having learned from our experience with Mum’s ailing health. I replaced his glass coffee jar with one that has a plastic lid so it’s easy to open and close. It’s the little changes in what he’s capable of that remind me he’s not invincible anymore.
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I take Dad Pham to the local lake every week so he can sit and watch me walk around the lake. Once upon a time, he would have been able to join me but these days he’s not that mobile so he sits on his favourite bench with a hot coffee in his Contigo Travel mug, and waves to me when I’m close enough to see his arms in the air.

I wear a Nike cap for sun protection on these walks. One day Dad looked at me pensively and said, “Nike is an expensive brand. You’re fortunate.” For a man who wore $1-$5 apparel, footwear and accessories most of his life, a $21.95 Nike cap on sale is a luxury.

Dad revealed he felt responsible for the charity bin clothes and hand-me-downs we wore growing up, because parents always want the best for their children and it was his duty to get that for us. I told him it doesn’t matter - it taught us to appreciate the nice things we have now, and we wouldn’t have gotten to where we were without him.

As a kid I didn’t know any different; we went to a public primary school where there were lots of kids in the same boat. Then as a teen, I knew I wasn’t trendy but I also didn’t care so it never impacted me to wear my brother’s old jeans and baggy tees. Though, now I think upon it, my older cousins seemed to like gifting us clothes. Maybe it bothered them.

Dad’s happy that we have nice things these days. Like always, we wish Mum Pham was here to enjoy the good lives she and Dad helped us build.
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Before Mum Pham managed an epic house move on her own, and before Little Sissy Pham was sleepwalking off trains; Dad Pham was flying solo in Brisbane. He came up to house hunt. The Phamly was moving away from Melbourne to get a fresh start and Dad was looking for a new home to rent.

He wasn't have much luck though. A family of 5 - two adults on the pension and three high school and uni aged students. We had no income except for government support. Being Vietnamese probably didn't help - Brisbane folk were openly racist back then.

Out of options, Dad went a different tactic. He went to the real estate, inspected a couple of houses in the morning, went home and called Mum Pham and asked her to call in all favours to pull together a house deposit. Because we have amazing family and friends, she managed to get the $10k (yeah, I know, that kills me) they needed in addition to their measly savings, and my cousin was willing to be their guarantor. That same afternoon, Dad went back to the real estate and bought what has now been our Phamly home for nearing two decades.

Yes, you read right. Dad Pham bought a house because he couldn't rent one on his pension. As he says, only in Australia. What a lucky country to live in.



- THE END -

If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more
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Little Sissy Pham was a serial sleepwalker growing up. Most of the time it was harmless episodes like she'd stand up from the couch where she'd fallen asleep and bend double over trying to look for her slides, which were by her feet but in dream land she couldn't see them. Other times were a little scarier like when she'd try to open the front door, though luckily in dream land she couldn't see the deadlock was still locked. The worst was when she'd try to walk out onto the balcony in her sleep. Big Brother Pham caught her that time, and held the door shut while she tried to get out.

Well, that was the worst episode until the last time she sleepwalked. It traumatised her so badly it scared the sleepwalk right out of her.

Mum Pham and her three Phamlings were on a train from Melbourne to meet Dad Pham in our new home, Brisbane. It was the middle of the night and Little Sissy Pham and I were seated next to each other across the aisle from Mum Pham and Big Brother Pham. When the train stopped at a station near the border of NSW-QLD, Little Sissy Pham got up and sleepy me let her out thinking she was going to the bathroom. I flopped over and went promptly back to sleep without realising she was in a sleepwalk.

Little Sissy Pham blinked awake when a horn sounded. She felt disoriented like she was in a dream but fully alert. Where was she? What was she seeing? A train pulling away from a train platform. A train she was meant to be on. She looked around and there were a handful of other train passengers who disembarked but they all left shortly because it was the middle of the night in an isolated regional train station. She was lost.

Little Sissy Pham had no phone, no phone numbers, and no idea where she was. Luckily payphones were still a thing back then, and the phone at that station worked. She called 000 who directed her to the nearest police station, which was a long time away for a 15 year old waiting alone in the middle of the night.

The cops eventually arrived and drove her to their station where they interviewed Little Sissy Pham and couldn't believe her predicament. She didn't have a number for Melbourne because we moved and disconnected the line, and she didn't have a number for Brisbane because we didn't have a number there yet. The young officers tried to keep a straight face but she could hear them laughing at her outside the room. Eventually a senior officer arrived to weigh up the options, and he determined the best plan was their only plan - get Little Sissy Pham back on that train.

They called the trainline and had it stopped, while an officer sped through the regional NSW at 180km/h to get Little Sissy Pham back on the train. It was all very dramatic and Mum Pham got the shock of her life when police officers boarded the train and approached her. She thought she was in trouble for letting us smuggle our cats onto the train, but turns out it was about the daughter she didn't know was lost. Needless to say Little Sissy Pham was devastated none of us had noticed her missing when she was safely returned to the train. After the worst night of her life, she never sleep-walked again.



- THE END -

If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more
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Little Sissy Pham and I are very same-same but different. So when Google Photos' face couldn't figure out if we were the same person in our baby photos it got me thinking...

Little Sissy Pham was an accident. Mum Pham and Dad Pham made her 2 months after I was born. I, on the other hand, was planned. And by 'planned' I mean Mum Pham gave up on her dream of being a pharmacist because re-learning everything again in German and working under racist employers was not for her. Instead, she went off the pill and made another baby: me! So while Little Sissy is a happy accident, I am a symbol of a refugee woman's defeat.

Despite our different reasons for being, we had the same lives growing up and are pretty much the same person. Well, in our values and principles. On paper, we aren't alike at all. She's a homeowner who's worked in the public service since forever and has a consistent personal style - I can pick things up in a shop and say, 'This is very you.' I chop and change constantly - rental homes, jobs and personal style.

But our calm energy and the positive vibes we give off are very similar. So similar in fact that even though we don't look alike - I take after Mum, she takes after Dad - people often mistake us for one another. And I don't think it's a casual racist thing; well, not all of the time.

Being less than a year apart, we are super close. We have the same sense of humour and sometimes our in-jokes carry on so long we don't even remember where they originated. We have lived in different cities but always emailed and messaged to stay in each other's lives. Then when we both ended back in Brisbane, we lived at home together, then moved out together, and commuted to work together, and would meet for lunch when we both worked in the city, and timed our exits to catch the same bus home together.

So to answer your question, Google Photos, we are the same person even though we're different people.


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There are two main things I remember about The Phamly's move from Melbourne to Brisbane. The first is I had to give up my upright piano because it made more financial sense to sell it to pay to help move the rest of the household than to pay even more to move the heavy item. Adult me now sees why my parents decided to sell it, but at the time teen me was very emotional and upset, and swore to never play piano again. What a little shit I was, I've since forgotten most of my piano training.

The other thing I remember because we repeated the story so often because it's hilarious. We caught the train from Melbourne to Brisbane because back then air travel was way more expensive compared to land travel. On the ride, Mum Pham sat next to Big Brother Pham and I was seated next to Little Sissy Pham. At a train stop in rural NSW she got up to go to the toilet. Being the responsible, caring sister that I am, I flopped over into her seat and promptly fell asleep.

Next thing I know, I wake up because the train has stopped and there's a fuss up ahead where policemen have come onboard our carriage. They start walking down the aisle and everyone is confused wondering what the hell is going on. When the cops stop at Mum Pham, the expression on her face is priceless. I've never seen someone look so shocked yet guilty. Unbeknownst to everyone else there are cats on the train. Our cats.

We smuggled Cuddles and Tigger Pham onto the train in our carry-on because no way was my immigrant mother paying to fly these furballs to Brisbane and no way was this attached teen letting her give our cats away. We cut off the top of a rectangle laundry basket and placed it inside a black bag, and our petrified kitties huddled in there quietly for most of the ride. At one point Cuddles, the braver of the two crawled out while we were both sleeping and was walking about. Little Sissy caught her before anyone else noticed.

Had someone in fact seen? Had they reported us to the authorities? How much trouble were we in if the police was involved? All this was racing through Mum Pham's head when she was looking up at the cops who had asked for her by name.

To her great relief, they didn't know about the cats. They were on the train to return her youngest daughter who had sleep walked off the train in regional NSW with no home address or forwarding phone number because we had left our old house, and nobody thought to give us kids the new address or contact details for Brisbane because we didn't plan on anyone getting lost off the train.

Mum Pham aged a couple of years that night and Little Sissy Pham was so traumatised she never sleep walked again after that night. Tune in next time for the saga that was returning Little Sissy Pham to the train. That's another entertaining story for some regional file, not so much for Little Sissy Pham.



- THE END -

If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more
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I visit Mum's grave in Melbourne whenever I am in town and have car to drive out west to lay flowers and pray to her. Mum was never big on flowers, but leaving food there to rot is against the rules and also just wrong. The memorial garden is peaceful and well-maintained. Flowers that begin to die are removed by the groundskeepers so the cemetery is kept nice and fresh for grieving visitors.

I make the trip and lay the flowers to show my respects, but I don't feel connected to Mum in the graveyard. I feel connected to her when I find myself standing with my hand on my hip while I stir food in the stove like she used to. I feel connected when I wash my face in the morning and glimpse myself in the mirror looking like Mum Pham - except that she looks a bit blind because she can't see much when she takes her glasses off to wash her face, whereas my LASIK laser eyes are tired from not enough sleep.

I feel connected to Mum on Mother's Day when we celebrate with Dad Pham because it always falls near his birthday. This year it happened to be his birthday. We celebrated by making Dad one of his favourite dishes - bánh cuốn. But then because he'd spent his morning mopping the kitchen for Phamly feast, he was fast asleep before we got to dessert. That's OK, I'll be back this weekend for our tradition of sleepovers, and 5am wake up calls for the Eurovision Finale.


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Mum Pham's side of the Phamly are mostly in Melbourne. Whenever I'm back in town, I try to visit my Aunty in Sunshine because it's a trip we did every Sunday with Mum and Dad Pham. Two buses, the 402 from Kensington to Footscray, then the 220 or 410 to Sunshine. Now that I'm all grown up, live comfortably above the poverty line, and have more confidence on the road than I should, I roll up in a fully insured rental car.

Back in the day, my Auntie's house was full. Another aunty and uncle lived there with their family of three. My cousins were in their 20s then and setting up their lives. Then on Sundays Uncle 10 and his family of three, and another cousin with his family of four. The Phamly feasts we have now are nothing on the triple table spread Aunty had in her kitchen.

Us kids would play in the backyard - roller skating, hopscotch, ball games; help pluck herbs in the giant herb garden; pick fruit from the fruit trees, or play tag running circles inside the house. Then whenever our piano teaching cousin had free time, he'd give each of Phamlings a piano lesson.

I never asked Mum Pham if she enjoyed living in Melbourne, but I imagine she would have even though that was when our Phamly struggled to stay above the poverty line. Mum lived for Phamly, she moved away for her own Phamly but she would have thrived being so close to her sisters and brother.

These days, everyone is grown up and spread out. Some have passed away. The big feasts are a thing of the past. Now are visits are quiet, civilised chats over a meal or three. Aunty catches us up on the last year or years of life in Melbourne, and we catch her up on Queensland relatives. Aunty always makes my favourite che dau trang (a sweet rice, black eyed peas and coconut dessert), and regrets that I am vegetarian. "Such a waste." Little Sissy Pham gets a delicious beef noodle salad. There's no such thing as a Phamly catch up without food.


- THE END -

If you want to start from the beginning of Phamly history, read:
Part 1 - O Captain! My Captain! Dad Pham's navy days during the Vietnam War.
Part 2 - P.O.W. Viet Cong Re-education Camp Dad Pham's time as a prisoner of war.
Part 3 - Living with Viet Cong Mum Pham's experience with communism.
Part 4 - Boat People Dad Pham seeks refuge after the war.
Part 5 - Finding Faith Dad finds peace.
Part 6 - When Herr met Frau - Dad Pham meets Mum Pham.
Part 7 - Life in Germany: the early years - Dad Pham sets up life in Germany.
Part 8 - Life in Germany: the later years - Dad gets sick, Mum steps up.
Part 9 - Getting ready for Australia - Mum Pham is on a mission.
Part 10 - Coming to Australia - My first memories of Australia.
Part 11 - Live in Brisbane the first time - The story of why we left Brisbane.
Part 12 - Moving to Melbourne - First impressions.
Part 13 - Life in Melbourne - Dad Pham - The good old days.
Part 14 - The Other Phams - Our neighbours in Melbourne were Phams too.
Part 15 - Life in Melbourne - Mum Pham - Our Sunday Phamly traditions began in Melbourne.
Part 16 - Cats On A Train - Moving to Brisbane
Part 17 - Sleepwalking Scare - Moving to Brisbane continued
Part 18 - A House in Brisbane - Moving to Brisbane continued some more
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      • In loving memory of Dad Pham

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