The last two weeks have been kind of a blur. In fact, everything since I got my BFP has been a blur. I think I've been living in a kind of bubble. I've been so scared of things going wrong again that I've been shutting myself away from the things and people I would usually be spending my time focusing on. I haven't even felt able to spend a lot of time on JM where I would normally hang out regularly. I've been scared of being around pregnancy and baby talk in case I jinxed things.
My worries came to a head on Thursday. I spent the morning wandering around like a lost little lamb at work. I couldn't settle anywhere. I ended up sitting in the chapel, by myself, for some time. I used to often spend a few moments gathering my thoughts in there but it's been a while. Several times I passed by the chaplains' office in the hope one of them might be in for me to talk to but the room was empty.
The school where I work is a very special place. I can't really describe it. All kinds of special moments seem to happen and every now and then it's as though the place works its magic and grants you something you've wished for. Which was why, as I sat in the geography office, I wasn't entirely surprised when the chaplain I really wanted to speak to poked her head around the door to see if I was OK. Sometimes in that place people just turn up where you really need them to be.
I asked her if I could talk to her and we walked down to the chapel together. I didn't even really know where to begin. I told her that I was just over six weeks pregnant and that my history of carrying pregnancy to term was poor. It was the first time I'd told someone at work how many miscarriages I've been through. I explained that I had a scan the next day and I was feeling absolutely terrified. I don't think she will ever realise how much she helped, just by listening and letting me talk. She assured me she would be praying for me and keeping me in her thoughts.
The rest of Thursday is like a blur. I remember doing a lot of music work and somehow wandering home, then keeping myself busy with the girls all afternoon. I couldn't bear to do most of the things I usually do. I couldn't bring myself to post on JM even. I couldn't be reminded of babies, pregnancy or losses. I couldn't think or focus on anything.
My husband tried to keep me distracted with a movie that evening but I didn't sleep very well that night. I wasn't really expecting to though. I tried to stay sane through Friday morning, taking the girls shopping as usual and negotiating my way through an unexpected charity gathering in the town where three shop assistants were peddling non-stop on exercise bikes, trying to keep a lightbulb glowing, and a large, booming gentleman belted out 'Bachelor Boy' while dressed in an unnecessary tuxedo. That was before we even got to the comedy town crier announcing the opening of a new shop, some twenty minutes away.
I felt like I was in the middle of a surreal dream as I got home, fed the girls and my husband, and started to get ready. I kept looking at the clock and thinking, "In an hour and a half, I'll know... In an hour and fifteen minutes, I'll know...."
I took a taxi to the hospital. The bus route is easier for getting home than getting there and I didn't want to risk being late and missing my appointment. There are two routes to hospital - the smooth route and the bumpy route, and guess which one the taxi driver favoured?
I spent the whole twenty-five minute journey trying not to throw up. I don't usually get travel sick but with my nerves and the constant supply of potholes beneath the wheels I was in risk of causing an environmental disaster over the back of the taxi. Finally the hospital gates loomed into view and the driver dropped me off.
I wandered into the hospital and couldn't chase out of my mind the bad events that had happened the last time I'd been there. I felt certain this trip would bring more bad news. I couldn't imagine how anything good could come from the day.
I tried to find the EPU (Early Pregnancy Unit) but somehow couldn't seem to navigate my way this time. In the end, I asked a kindly nurse and she showed me the way.
"The EPU is closed today," she said, "So they are doing the appointments here instead."
I peered at the area she'd led me to. Tucked away, totally out of view behind a large board, were three chairs and a hand written sign saying 'Early pregnancy Unit'.
"Oh..." I said in surprise. I felt like I should add something more coherent onto the end of that 'oh' but I couldn't really think of anything to say so I just said, 'Oh' again.
"You'll be called as soon as they're ready," the nurse smiled, and left.
Sitting in this makeshift alley/waiting room I was tucked completely out of view. I started to wonder if I was even in the right place. What if they forgot about me? What if they couldn't see I was there?! I sat forward in my chair and let my leg jut out as far as it would go in an attempt to help me be seen my passers-by.
A couple of women walked by outside having a conversation about using a sieve to drain some tomatoes, realising they didn't have a sieve and swearing profusely. I frowned. I couldn't imaging how not having a sieve could cause anyone such a trauma. I was focusing on the wrong things and I knew it.
Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, someone spotted me there and wandered away and back again several times before finally asking me when my appointment was. i told her, and the time had already come and gone, so she took me away for my scan right away and led me right into the room where I found out I had lost Daisy. My heart just sank. I didn't want to be back there again. Of all the rooms, it had to be that one.
I am very phobic of hospitals and doctors so I got very panicky and started asking a lot of dumb questions about whether I was supposed to take my boots off or not, whether I could get a picture and whether I could leave my belly button piercing in, even though I'd already taken it out.
I genuinely expected to see nothing as she placed the wand on my stomach. A picture appeared on the screen and I saw the shape of my womb and a sac, with something tiny inside it. I have seen a baby that tiny before, but never with a heartbeat.
She zoomed in on the tiny bean and I could see something flickering. My heart leaped into my mouth as I heard her say 'steady heartbeat'. I can't remember much of what I or she did or said after that, but I didn't really need to. My baby had a heartbeat - a HEARTBEAT!!!! I hadn't expected to see one for a second. Not for one moment had I let myself think about seeing a heartbeat.
I was shaking as she looked around to check everything else was OK, and then came the surprise as she said the corpus Lutem was on my right ovary - I conceived from my dodgy side! With my previous pregnancies my O pain had always been notably on my left-hand side so I knew that side was working well. On my last cycle, the pain was just all over (I was doubled up most of the day) and I had no idea where I Oed from. I've never had any tests done on my dodgy side to see if the cyst that grew around it and twisted it had left a blockage but I guess something at least got through! That was amazing to know!
I was still shaking and trying hard to fight happy tears as I saw the consultant. She booked me in for another scan in 2 weeks, on 7th May, to check how things are going. I am still terrified but the first hurdle has been cleared and I am walking on air every time I think about that little heartbeat.
I left the hospital floating on a cloud. After buying an inexplicably cold ham sandwich in the snack shop (I'd been brainwashed by the positive advertising about their cuisine after not having anything to eat from being too nervous) I started to head out of the hospital grounds to catch my bus home.
As I reached the gates, a car was just turning in.
The numberplate said; M7STY
I literally did a double take. It felt like my heart jumped. I couldn't believe it. I was totally dumbstruck. It seemed like the biggest omen anyone could see. I cursed myself for not having my camera with me and stared at the car as it drove out of view, around the back of the hospital.
Since Friday I've started to get back into the swing of things. I am still a little all over the place and I think I will be until I hit 12 weeks. But now I have seen a little heartbeat flickering, I know my baby is doing its best to stick and grow. May 7th is my next hurdle. Until then, all I can do is keep praying.
Sunday 25 April 2010
Friday 23 April 2010
Breathtaking
After the longest 2 weeks of my life, a lot of worry, stress and paranoia, many tears and living in a bubble, just trying to get to today -
The most beautiful, tiny, flickering heartbeat I have ever seen in my life.
I have never, ever felt so thankful before x
The most beautiful, tiny, flickering heartbeat I have ever seen in my life.
I have never, ever felt so thankful before x
Wednesday 21 April 2010
Tuesday 20 April 2010
My Confession
Although I have been struggling to keep positive this week I did have one moment of weakness a few days ago.
Shhh, I won't tell if you won't.
Shhh, I won't tell if you won't.
Monday 19 April 2010
Nuzzle & Scratch
TV has its place in our household. It's never used as a childminder and we never put it on to sit the girls in front of it and keep them quiet, but we will keep it on in the background for them to watch when they need a break from wrestling on the couch or singing to the guinea pigs (or whatever game they've invented on any given day). We stick to one channel and one channel only. For one thing, I can't be doing with adverts, so we watch Cbeebies, an advertless channel run by the BBC for preschoolers. For another, I cannot keep up with the scheduling of different channels and trying to remember all the best shows on each. Lastly, I just really like the shows. they are fun, innocent and sometimes pretty funny too.
One such example is Nuzzle and Scratch. The characters in question are puppet alpacas who work for the 2 By 2 Any Animal Agency and do badly at any work assignment they are given. However, they always turn things around and come out the heroes at the end. The characters are likable, the stories very funny and the show generally good entertainment. In fact, I started watching it before Angelica and Natasha caught on to it.
However, as Nuzzle and Scratch increased in popularity they were given a spin-off series teaching safety to small children, called Hoof and Safety. We were all looking forward to the series and I for one was disappointed to find it a kind of dull substitute for the original show. The girls, on the other hand, were much more in favour of the spin off and became instant fans.
Now, I am pretty easy to scare and freak out about a lot of things. My DH has banned me from watching anything on TV about what's really in food or dangerous items in the home. I think Hoof and safety fits into this category personally because I was pretty upset to see the balloon animal poke itself in the eye after running with pens and the cartoon alpaca getting frazzled when it tried to switch on the light switch with wet hooves.
However, the programme seems to have had the opposite effect on the girls. We had done a pretty good job of teaching them about safety around the home. Angelica always understood things that were hot and not to be touched. But after watching the episode about hot things hurting she has become obsessed with mugs of tea, hair straighteners and saucepans.
Every time she sees us with a steaming mug of hot drink she will recite the first line of the 'hot drinks hurt' rhyme from the show and attempt to confiscate them from us. She seeks out my hair straighteners (which thankfully I never use) to demonstrate what not to do with them and she constantly fills things with water so she can knock them over and cry "Poor alpaca! Poor alpaca!" Plus, she drives me mad every time I go in the kitchen with her stern warnings about saucepans.
Great. So now I have to undo all the 'safety advice' that Nuzzle and Scratch have passed on to my girls. Thanks a lot, guys! Stick to your day job!
One such example is Nuzzle and Scratch. The characters in question are puppet alpacas who work for the 2 By 2 Any Animal Agency and do badly at any work assignment they are given. However, they always turn things around and come out the heroes at the end. The characters are likable, the stories very funny and the show generally good entertainment. In fact, I started watching it before Angelica and Natasha caught on to it.
However, as Nuzzle and Scratch increased in popularity they were given a spin-off series teaching safety to small children, called Hoof and Safety. We were all looking forward to the series and I for one was disappointed to find it a kind of dull substitute for the original show. The girls, on the other hand, were much more in favour of the spin off and became instant fans.
Now, I am pretty easy to scare and freak out about a lot of things. My DH has banned me from watching anything on TV about what's really in food or dangerous items in the home. I think Hoof and safety fits into this category personally because I was pretty upset to see the balloon animal poke itself in the eye after running with pens and the cartoon alpaca getting frazzled when it tried to switch on the light switch with wet hooves.
However, the programme seems to have had the opposite effect on the girls. We had done a pretty good job of teaching them about safety around the home. Angelica always understood things that were hot and not to be touched. But after watching the episode about hot things hurting she has become obsessed with mugs of tea, hair straighteners and saucepans.
Every time she sees us with a steaming mug of hot drink she will recite the first line of the 'hot drinks hurt' rhyme from the show and attempt to confiscate them from us. She seeks out my hair straighteners (which thankfully I never use) to demonstrate what not to do with them and she constantly fills things with water so she can knock them over and cry "Poor alpaca! Poor alpaca!" Plus, she drives me mad every time I go in the kitchen with her stern warnings about saucepans.
Great. So now I have to undo all the 'safety advice' that Nuzzle and Scratch have passed on to my girls. Thanks a lot, guys! Stick to your day job!
To Tell or Not To Tell?
That was the question I'd been pondering in the run up to the summer term starting today. Two and a half weeks ago the spring term ended and that very night I got my BFP. Two and a half weeks on, I still didn't know whether to tell anyone yet or not.
I have done it both ways. I have shared my joy with the colleagues I consider good friends and then had to give them bad news later on. I have also kept quiet, not had a chance to share my happiness and not known what to say when asked why I've not been myself. Initially I thought that I should at least wait until after Friday, but I felt like I needed some prayers and hope on my side before the scan so I told three of my closest friends. I am very glad that I did. Their reactions helped to put aside some of the negativity that's been hanging over me since my doctor's appointment two weeks ago. It just gave me a boost to see happy smiles instead of sympathetic ones.
There were good points and bad points to being back at work today. On the plus side, I really do love my job and the people I work with. It was great to see them again and to catch up with their news. On the down side, I missed my family so much. I had been used to waking up and greeting my girls, taking them for walks, enjoying my time with them and just having the chance to spend some time with them where every second of the day isn't planned out to the last second to fit everything in.
The greeting when I walk through the door is always worth it though. I love the big hugs and cuddles and all the excitement, or the smiles when they wake if it's nap time. Angelica has recently outgrown her nap so I got home just in time to play some silly games, making faces in the mirror, turning her toy duck into a superhero and - her current favourite - the 'What noise does *something* make?' game. She loves to play that both ways round - either making the noise or humiliating us by getting us to make the noise.
It started as a simple game, along the lines of "What noise does a cat make? or "What noise does a car make?" Now it's somewhat more elaborate with dumb combinations like "What noise does a pigeon at a football match make?" (The answer to that is 'Cooooo! Cooooo! GOOOOOAAAAAL!') It's all very silly and great fun - for us, let alone Angelica!
I did enjoy being back at work today, but I am very glad I am home to spend a fun evening with two very silly girls who always make me laugh.
I have done it both ways. I have shared my joy with the colleagues I consider good friends and then had to give them bad news later on. I have also kept quiet, not had a chance to share my happiness and not known what to say when asked why I've not been myself. Initially I thought that I should at least wait until after Friday, but I felt like I needed some prayers and hope on my side before the scan so I told three of my closest friends. I am very glad that I did. Their reactions helped to put aside some of the negativity that's been hanging over me since my doctor's appointment two weeks ago. It just gave me a boost to see happy smiles instead of sympathetic ones.
There were good points and bad points to being back at work today. On the plus side, I really do love my job and the people I work with. It was great to see them again and to catch up with their news. On the down side, I missed my family so much. I had been used to waking up and greeting my girls, taking them for walks, enjoying my time with them and just having the chance to spend some time with them where every second of the day isn't planned out to the last second to fit everything in.
The greeting when I walk through the door is always worth it though. I love the big hugs and cuddles and all the excitement, or the smiles when they wake if it's nap time. Angelica has recently outgrown her nap so I got home just in time to play some silly games, making faces in the mirror, turning her toy duck into a superhero and - her current favourite - the 'What noise does *something* make?' game. She loves to play that both ways round - either making the noise or humiliating us by getting us to make the noise.
It started as a simple game, along the lines of "What noise does a cat make? or "What noise does a car make?" Now it's somewhat more elaborate with dumb combinations like "What noise does a pigeon at a football match make?" (The answer to that is 'Cooooo! Cooooo! GOOOOOAAAAAL!') It's all very silly and great fun - for us, let alone Angelica!
I did enjoy being back at work today, but I am very glad I am home to spend a fun evening with two very silly girls who always make me laugh.
Saturday 17 April 2010
Nothing Exists Beyond Friday Lunchtime
I am not very good with waiting. I am also a worrier. That combination doesn't go well together. I can wait patiently for many things in honesty; I can wait for Christmas or a special birthday, I can wait for the next concert at work or for payday to get something I've had my eye on a while. But there are certain things where the wait drives me pretty crazy.
I am not doing well waiting for my scan next week. With every day that passes I'm feeling more wound up and increasingly worried. Now I am remembering why I have refused early scans in the past, despite my history. Of course, it fits that the time I want one the GP did everything she could to stop me getting one.
I've been trying not to talk about this too much, but then when I bottle up it it comes out in angsyt bursts, and usually to the wrong person or at the wrong time, or over something completely different. So I am going to try to get this all out here and then maybe I will be able to get to Friday without it exploding again.
I don't feel pregnant. I look at my cheapies every night and see the line nice and dark, and then I think, if I'm getting such dark lines why don't I feel pregnant? I had a craving for tomatoes for about a day and I've maybe woken up to pee in the night once, but that's about all.
I have heard all the cliches, I've even tried telling them to myself. I know every pregnancy is different but I also know that with my girls the pregnancy was stronger from the word go. Both times before I even got my BFP I knew I was pregnant and instantly I was bombarded with symptoms. Most women get the first trimester exhaustion but because I already suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I was hit hard. There would be times I'd call in sick to work because I couldn't get out of bed. And there was the hunger - my appetite increased by about 200%. I'd be eating so much more than normal because every morsel of food and every speck of energy was going to support the tiny but strong baby that managed to stick.
I've never had that feeling when I've had a loss. Even last year when I carried my baby to 11w6d I never had the strong onset of symptoms. I had some queasiness at first and some exhaustion but I had just gone back to work after the summer holidays so that could have influenced it.
When I look back, the thing I find hardest is that I gave myself the luxury of positivity. Even though I'd had an early loss back in May once I'd seen the tests get darker I believed that everything was going to be OK. Even though I didn't have the exhaustion and huge appetite or any of the things that had set the pregnancies with my girls apart I believed that I was going to be bringing a baby home in May this year. I committed to being positive. I even looked at maternity clothes and baby clothes. I looked at cribs and planned when I would be taking maternity leave. I thought if I kept up my optimism then it would help somehow. I think it was because I kept hopeful that losing Daisy hit me harder than before.
So now I find myself anxious, pessimistic and cold. I can't get attached and I can't relax. I can't think about anything beyond next Friday. It's like anything beyond 1.13PM next Friday doesn't exist. The universe will cease to exist. That's if the cloud of volcanic ash that's already covering the UK doesn't do us all in first.
I can see three possible outcomes for next Friday. The first would be the best case scenario; that I will go in and they'll scan me and a little flickering heartbeat will make my spirits soar. The second will be that there's no baby; an empty sac, no heartbeat and no hope. The third scares me more than the second - it's the thought of inconclusive news. Maybe there will be a baby but no heartbeat. Maybe the baby will be measuring too small, even though I know my dates. Maybe there'll be an emergency and they will turn me away. The thought of not having a definite answer scares me more than anything.
I know that worrying about it won't change anything and that it's not good for the baby, but if you are a worrier you can't change that just because others tell you that you should. It's not like I don't already know that stressing isn't good for me or the pregnancy but until someone invents a time machine to bypass the next 6 days there's nothing I can do about it.
I don't want to be negative. I want to spend this pregnancy enjoying every second, taking belly pics and joining in on my DDC, sharing the news with friends and planning to bringing a baby home in time for Christmas. But until next Friday I'm going to remain under the radar and quietly panicking.
I am not doing well waiting for my scan next week. With every day that passes I'm feeling more wound up and increasingly worried. Now I am remembering why I have refused early scans in the past, despite my history. Of course, it fits that the time I want one the GP did everything she could to stop me getting one.
I've been trying not to talk about this too much, but then when I bottle up it it comes out in angsyt bursts, and usually to the wrong person or at the wrong time, or over something completely different. So I am going to try to get this all out here and then maybe I will be able to get to Friday without it exploding again.
I don't feel pregnant. I look at my cheapies every night and see the line nice and dark, and then I think, if I'm getting such dark lines why don't I feel pregnant? I had a craving for tomatoes for about a day and I've maybe woken up to pee in the night once, but that's about all.
I have heard all the cliches, I've even tried telling them to myself. I know every pregnancy is different but I also know that with my girls the pregnancy was stronger from the word go. Both times before I even got my BFP I knew I was pregnant and instantly I was bombarded with symptoms. Most women get the first trimester exhaustion but because I already suffer from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome I was hit hard. There would be times I'd call in sick to work because I couldn't get out of bed. And there was the hunger - my appetite increased by about 200%. I'd be eating so much more than normal because every morsel of food and every speck of energy was going to support the tiny but strong baby that managed to stick.
I've never had that feeling when I've had a loss. Even last year when I carried my baby to 11w6d I never had the strong onset of symptoms. I had some queasiness at first and some exhaustion but I had just gone back to work after the summer holidays so that could have influenced it.
When I look back, the thing I find hardest is that I gave myself the luxury of positivity. Even though I'd had an early loss back in May once I'd seen the tests get darker I believed that everything was going to be OK. Even though I didn't have the exhaustion and huge appetite or any of the things that had set the pregnancies with my girls apart I believed that I was going to be bringing a baby home in May this year. I committed to being positive. I even looked at maternity clothes and baby clothes. I looked at cribs and planned when I would be taking maternity leave. I thought if I kept up my optimism then it would help somehow. I think it was because I kept hopeful that losing Daisy hit me harder than before.
So now I find myself anxious, pessimistic and cold. I can't get attached and I can't relax. I can't think about anything beyond next Friday. It's like anything beyond 1.13PM next Friday doesn't exist. The universe will cease to exist. That's if the cloud of volcanic ash that's already covering the UK doesn't do us all in first.
I can see three possible outcomes for next Friday. The first would be the best case scenario; that I will go in and they'll scan me and a little flickering heartbeat will make my spirits soar. The second will be that there's no baby; an empty sac, no heartbeat and no hope. The third scares me more than the second - it's the thought of inconclusive news. Maybe there will be a baby but no heartbeat. Maybe the baby will be measuring too small, even though I know my dates. Maybe there'll be an emergency and they will turn me away. The thought of not having a definite answer scares me more than anything.
I know that worrying about it won't change anything and that it's not good for the baby, but if you are a worrier you can't change that just because others tell you that you should. It's not like I don't already know that stressing isn't good for me or the pregnancy but until someone invents a time machine to bypass the next 6 days there's nothing I can do about it.
I don't want to be negative. I want to spend this pregnancy enjoying every second, taking belly pics and joining in on my DDC, sharing the news with friends and planning to bringing a baby home in time for Christmas. But until next Friday I'm going to remain under the radar and quietly panicking.
Friday 16 April 2010
Ten Whole Years
Wednesday marked the day my DH and I celebrate as our anniversary. It's not our wedding anniversary - that's in July - but 14th April 2000 was the day we told each other how we felt. It seems almost unbelievable that a decade has passed. We had a very special evening on our anniversary night, watching back video clips from the last few years and reliving many adventures we've had along the way.
We have a very unusual relationship and by rights we probably shouldn't have even met since we lived at opposite ends of the country. We most probably shouldn't still be together when I think of all the obstacles in our path. For one thing, there's the fact that I'm gay. It's a topic I would have had to mention sooner or later. My husband is actually the one who helped me to come to terms with my sexuality as I was so far into the closet that I probably had about twenty coats hiding it from view. I can't pretend we've never had any negative comments because some people have been unpleasant in the past, but we are happy and confident in our relationship and that is what matters. I think some people are just supposed to be together no matter who they are. we'd probably have fallen in love if he'd been an elephant and I'd been an ant, although the size difference would have made reproduction impossible.
Then there was the distance. Living through five years of a long distance relationship was not easy and I shed many tears over every goodbye. I shudder to think how much we spent on train fares or how many hours we spent travelling back and forth. I do have fond memories of the excitement and anticipation building up, buying newspapers to read on the journey and then never looking at them because I was too busy staring out of the window, desperate to get to my destination or cooking carefully-timed pasta to be ready the second he arrived at the door.
There were so many other things that should have stopped us meeting in the first place, but I am forever glad that we did. Over the last few years we've said goodbye to four/five hour train journeys and built a home and family together. We have two very precious girls, three adorable guinea pigs, we even had a ghost at one point. We may never have been the most conventional couple but we are happy and content. The last ten years have sped by because they have been full of smiles and laughter.
Love isn't always easy and relationships can be hard, but it is a risk worth taking. Here's to the next ten years and all the adventures that come our way!
We have a very unusual relationship and by rights we probably shouldn't have even met since we lived at opposite ends of the country. We most probably shouldn't still be together when I think of all the obstacles in our path. For one thing, there's the fact that I'm gay. It's a topic I would have had to mention sooner or later. My husband is actually the one who helped me to come to terms with my sexuality as I was so far into the closet that I probably had about twenty coats hiding it from view. I can't pretend we've never had any negative comments because some people have been unpleasant in the past, but we are happy and confident in our relationship and that is what matters. I think some people are just supposed to be together no matter who they are. we'd probably have fallen in love if he'd been an elephant and I'd been an ant, although the size difference would have made reproduction impossible.
Then there was the distance. Living through five years of a long distance relationship was not easy and I shed many tears over every goodbye. I shudder to think how much we spent on train fares or how many hours we spent travelling back and forth. I do have fond memories of the excitement and anticipation building up, buying newspapers to read on the journey and then never looking at them because I was too busy staring out of the window, desperate to get to my destination or cooking carefully-timed pasta to be ready the second he arrived at the door.
There were so many other things that should have stopped us meeting in the first place, but I am forever glad that we did. Over the last few years we've said goodbye to four/five hour train journeys and built a home and family together. We have two very precious girls, three adorable guinea pigs, we even had a ghost at one point. We may never have been the most conventional couple but we are happy and content. The last ten years have sped by because they have been full of smiles and laughter.
Love isn't always easy and relationships can be hard, but it is a risk worth taking. Here's to the next ten years and all the adventures that come our way!
Monday 12 April 2010
The Odd-Sock Saga
You are unlikely to ever see my girls in a matching pair of socks. This is a fact.
I can't remember the last time I was able to keep one of them in a matching pair. I think there is some kind of strange sock vortex at work here, where one of a pair gets sucked into a black hole within moments of being placed on a wriggling foot. I genuinely have no more logical explanation for it. They just seem to vanish into thin air.
Goodness knows what people think when we go out of the house. There will be Angelica with one pink sock and one blue sock, while Natasha has one striped sock and one dotty one. Strangers must think we are a family of scruffy fools, but they have no idea how challenging it is to live in a household with a sock vortex, removing half the family's socks!
Half of the problem is the follow-my-leader mentality the girls have. When one of them does something, the other one has to copy. So one of them will remove a sock, then the other will remove a sock. One of them will hide their sock down the back of the couch, so the other one follows suit. Before you know it you have two bare-footed children and a whole drawer full of mismatched socks to contend with!
I have tried looking for the missing ones but they have clearly skipped off into a parallel universe. I have dug around between sofa cushions, around the back of furniture, in the toy boxes, you name it, I have looked there. Occasionally a sock will reappear in the most unlikely of places, like behind the toilet or on a shelf, with no apparent way of getting there. At a loss for any other explanation I think I am sticking to my sock vortex theory until proven otherwise.
So next time you see someone out on the street with a toddler wearing mismatched socks or a child who has one stripy foot and one dotty one, spare a thought for their family - they may be living in a sock vortex too!
I can't remember the last time I was able to keep one of them in a matching pair. I think there is some kind of strange sock vortex at work here, where one of a pair gets sucked into a black hole within moments of being placed on a wriggling foot. I genuinely have no more logical explanation for it. They just seem to vanish into thin air.
Goodness knows what people think when we go out of the house. There will be Angelica with one pink sock and one blue sock, while Natasha has one striped sock and one dotty one. Strangers must think we are a family of scruffy fools, but they have no idea how challenging it is to live in a household with a sock vortex, removing half the family's socks!
Half of the problem is the follow-my-leader mentality the girls have. When one of them does something, the other one has to copy. So one of them will remove a sock, then the other will remove a sock. One of them will hide their sock down the back of the couch, so the other one follows suit. Before you know it you have two bare-footed children and a whole drawer full of mismatched socks to contend with!
I have tried looking for the missing ones but they have clearly skipped off into a parallel universe. I have dug around between sofa cushions, around the back of furniture, in the toy boxes, you name it, I have looked there. Occasionally a sock will reappear in the most unlikely of places, like behind the toilet or on a shelf, with no apparent way of getting there. At a loss for any other explanation I think I am sticking to my sock vortex theory until proven otherwise.
So next time you see someone out on the street with a toddler wearing mismatched socks or a child who has one stripy foot and one dotty one, spare a thought for their family - they may be living in a sock vortex too!
Thursday 8 April 2010
Condemned before Trial
All pregnancy loss is unspeakably tragic. Whatever the circumstances it is always going to be an event that changes your life. Whether you have lost one pregnancy or suffered recurrent pregnancy loss (RPL) you can never quite get over it, even when it doesn't consume your every waking thought any more. It is still there, bubbling under.
I have tried to start this entry several times but I've found it hard to try to express what I want to say in words.
When you have been through the loss of a pregnancy then the next BFP you see if a bittersweet event and for every ounce of joy there is one of fear too. For those who have suffered repeated miscarriages the balance becomes tipped increasingly toward the side of fear each time. Recently I realised the one big difference between suffering one miscarriage and experiencing RPL. When you have had one loss you worry about it happening again. With RPL, you expect it to.
I have had a pretty rotten week to be honest. The flu has taken its toll and I dare say getting a BFP in the middle of it didn't help because if one thing is guaranteed to lower your immune system it's pregnancy. With a combination of needing some assistance fighting off the flu and needing to register my pregnancy I made an appointment with the local surgery on Tuesday.
I saw a doctor I hadn't seen before and she did little to give me any hope or encouragement. Taking a quick pregnancy history and drawing a morbid little diagram in front of me of where my girls fitted into my losses she refused to give me the hospital referal yet, telling me there was little point if she would have to cancel it again and that if I was "still pregnant in a couple of weeks" to come back for the referral.
Right then I lost all hope and confidence I had left of carrying another pregnancy to term. I have been struggling to believe I'm going to bring a Christmas miracle home with me as it is. After everything that has happened I really don't expect a successful pregnancy. But the phrase the doctor used cut me up like a knife. It was the kind of thing you say about some unpleasant ailment, like to come back in two weeks if your cough hasn't gone yet.
In November I had my most traumatic loss. I was 11w6d and I had actually started to believe I was going to bring home a baby at the end of it. The scan confirming the baby had stopped growing a couple of weeks earlier is one I have replayed time and again since, as though I could somehow change the outcome. In the days and weeks that followed both the hospital and my usual doctor had confirmed a need for an early scan the next time around and early care. The one thing that kept me going was knowing that this time the medical professionals would be on my side.
Tuesday just wiped that out. I ended up going over her head and contacting the hospital directly. They have offered me a scan two weeks from tomorrow. I will be 6w 3d which is earlier than they usually offer, which worries me too in case they can't see anything. I have a whole new 2 week wait ahead of me.
In the meanwhile I see everyone mentally preparing for the worst again. I feel paranoid to say this but for every time someone congratulates me I can see a flicker of pity and worry cross their face, as though they've already written it off as another loss.
I look at my beautiful girls as they play rough-and-tumble across the couch and I wish I could ask them what made them so strong. How did they make it? Why were they so hardy? What's their secret?
Whatever it is, I am praying my bean has it too.
I have tried to start this entry several times but I've found it hard to try to express what I want to say in words.
When you have been through the loss of a pregnancy then the next BFP you see if a bittersweet event and for every ounce of joy there is one of fear too. For those who have suffered repeated miscarriages the balance becomes tipped increasingly toward the side of fear each time. Recently I realised the one big difference between suffering one miscarriage and experiencing RPL. When you have had one loss you worry about it happening again. With RPL, you expect it to.
I have had a pretty rotten week to be honest. The flu has taken its toll and I dare say getting a BFP in the middle of it didn't help because if one thing is guaranteed to lower your immune system it's pregnancy. With a combination of needing some assistance fighting off the flu and needing to register my pregnancy I made an appointment with the local surgery on Tuesday.
I saw a doctor I hadn't seen before and she did little to give me any hope or encouragement. Taking a quick pregnancy history and drawing a morbid little diagram in front of me of where my girls fitted into my losses she refused to give me the hospital referal yet, telling me there was little point if she would have to cancel it again and that if I was "still pregnant in a couple of weeks" to come back for the referral.
Right then I lost all hope and confidence I had left of carrying another pregnancy to term. I have been struggling to believe I'm going to bring a Christmas miracle home with me as it is. After everything that has happened I really don't expect a successful pregnancy. But the phrase the doctor used cut me up like a knife. It was the kind of thing you say about some unpleasant ailment, like to come back in two weeks if your cough hasn't gone yet.
In November I had my most traumatic loss. I was 11w6d and I had actually started to believe I was going to bring home a baby at the end of it. The scan confirming the baby had stopped growing a couple of weeks earlier is one I have replayed time and again since, as though I could somehow change the outcome. In the days and weeks that followed both the hospital and my usual doctor had confirmed a need for an early scan the next time around and early care. The one thing that kept me going was knowing that this time the medical professionals would be on my side.
Tuesday just wiped that out. I ended up going over her head and contacting the hospital directly. They have offered me a scan two weeks from tomorrow. I will be 6w 3d which is earlier than they usually offer, which worries me too in case they can't see anything. I have a whole new 2 week wait ahead of me.
In the meanwhile I see everyone mentally preparing for the worst again. I feel paranoid to say this but for every time someone congratulates me I can see a flicker of pity and worry cross their face, as though they've already written it off as another loss.
I look at my beautiful girls as they play rough-and-tumble across the couch and I wish I could ask them what made them so strong. How did they make it? Why were they so hardy? What's their secret?
Whatever it is, I am praying my bean has it too.
Saturday 3 April 2010
Strange Days and HPTs
The last few days have felt incredibly surreal. I am still waiting to wake up from this extraordinary dream.
On Wednesday I had what I could only describe as a really rubbish, rotten day. One thing after another went wrong, not least of which being the arrival of AF in the afternoon. I cursed under my breath as I wiped and found blood, and over the next couple of hours it became heavier, thick and red. I had put all thoughts of a BFP out of my head the week before. It had all felt too big and too dark to handle any longer. I was still disappointed when the witch showed up but I had expected her.
What I hadn't been expecting was that a few hours later she had almost disappeared again. The bleeding had trailed to some watery, orange spotting. I didn't know what was going on but the exact same thing happened last month; I had heavy bleeding then a day of spotting before the witch returned full-on. I thought that the same thing was going to happen again but - more out of habit than expecting to see a line - just before bedtime I got out a FRER and POAS. After all, I hadn't even had a chance to take an HPT before the witch arrived and I get really annoyed if I can't at least POAS once in a cycle.
I had no expectation of a line. I had no thoughts of seeing a positive result at all. But when I looked down I could see the faintest whisper of something, barely there at all. I had actually never seen a line so light. I thought maybe it was an indent line, but it didn't look like one. I was pretty sure I was seeing things but just to be sure I took out a cheapy and dipped it.
The line that came up was a little darker than the FRER. I started to shake and my heart began racing. No matter which way I turned the tests I could still see the line. I remember thinking to myself that maybe that's how you tell if there's truly a line or not - if you have to turn it every which way to see the line then it's probably not a BFP, but if you turn it every which way and you can still see it then maybe it's truly there.
I had one blue dye test left. Now, I am happy to call them my nemesis. I have waged war against them. But if it was going to give me a prettier line and more certainty that I was seeing a BFP then it would be worth it. So I dipped my Clearblue Easy and waited. I could see a cross start to appear very quickly, although bizarrely the result seemed to fade instead of get darker. Nevertheless, as the dye moved over the test a very faint line remained.
I was in a state of shock as I crawled into bed. I'd gone in the space of 12 hours from bemoaning the arrival of my period to seeing what looked like very faint lines on some tests. I couldn't believe it. In fact, I genuinely doubted my eyes. When the next morning came I took another FRER and got a line about the same as the one the night before. I was 9DPO now and the last FRER I saw at 9 DPO was much darker. Now my hopes were sinking again and I could feel another chemical pregnancy about to happen.
I spent the morning in a daze, torn between wanting to tell my husband so much and not wanting to tell him until I knew for sure that I wasn't just going to lose it again. I have seen too many lines fade away before they have a chance to get darker. Getting a BFP doesn't bring the same joy that it did before I knew what it was like to lose a pregnancy. There is joy, of course, but the fear is overwhelming.
I took another FRER in the early afternoon and the line was no different, no darker. I started to go crazy, and by now I was certain that there would be no good news ahead. I began to drive myself mad until in the end I wondered if the FRERs were bad and although it seemed unlikely I set off to the shops to buy my new test of choice: a Predictor. Now, Predictor seems to be a European test. It used to be far more widely available, now I can only find them in one shop. I bought one and set off straight to the toilets in the shopping centre. I'd only been holding for a couple of hours, which I realised too late as I was already watching the dye head across the test.
I have never felt such a swell of joy and love sweep through me to see the colour pink appear before my eyes. It was the most beautiful line I had ever seen.
I felt like I was on a high as I set off for home. Now I was starting to believe that this could be a sticky bean. A pale FRER started to get me worried again that night, as did the negative digi the next morning. In fact, getting a negative digi at 10DPO made me start to think that maybe this wasn't a sticky bean after all. I weas on the verge of tears most of the day.
But later on I took one more FRER and the line had made a bold leap. I couldn't believe how clear the line was now, and so I took my courage in both hands (well, maybe in one hand, I had an HPT in the other) and took a digi just before bed.
I finally got to see that word again.
Pregnant.
It was the most beautiful word in the English language.
On Wednesday I had what I could only describe as a really rubbish, rotten day. One thing after another went wrong, not least of which being the arrival of AF in the afternoon. I cursed under my breath as I wiped and found blood, and over the next couple of hours it became heavier, thick and red. I had put all thoughts of a BFP out of my head the week before. It had all felt too big and too dark to handle any longer. I was still disappointed when the witch showed up but I had expected her.
What I hadn't been expecting was that a few hours later she had almost disappeared again. The bleeding had trailed to some watery, orange spotting. I didn't know what was going on but the exact same thing happened last month; I had heavy bleeding then a day of spotting before the witch returned full-on. I thought that the same thing was going to happen again but - more out of habit than expecting to see a line - just before bedtime I got out a FRER and POAS. After all, I hadn't even had a chance to take an HPT before the witch arrived and I get really annoyed if I can't at least POAS once in a cycle.
I had no expectation of a line. I had no thoughts of seeing a positive result at all. But when I looked down I could see the faintest whisper of something, barely there at all. I had actually never seen a line so light. I thought maybe it was an indent line, but it didn't look like one. I was pretty sure I was seeing things but just to be sure I took out a cheapy and dipped it.
The line that came up was a little darker than the FRER. I started to shake and my heart began racing. No matter which way I turned the tests I could still see the line. I remember thinking to myself that maybe that's how you tell if there's truly a line or not - if you have to turn it every which way to see the line then it's probably not a BFP, but if you turn it every which way and you can still see it then maybe it's truly there.
I had one blue dye test left. Now, I am happy to call them my nemesis. I have waged war against them. But if it was going to give me a prettier line and more certainty that I was seeing a BFP then it would be worth it. So I dipped my Clearblue Easy and waited. I could see a cross start to appear very quickly, although bizarrely the result seemed to fade instead of get darker. Nevertheless, as the dye moved over the test a very faint line remained.
I was in a state of shock as I crawled into bed. I'd gone in the space of 12 hours from bemoaning the arrival of my period to seeing what looked like very faint lines on some tests. I couldn't believe it. In fact, I genuinely doubted my eyes. When the next morning came I took another FRER and got a line about the same as the one the night before. I was 9DPO now and the last FRER I saw at 9 DPO was much darker. Now my hopes were sinking again and I could feel another chemical pregnancy about to happen.
I spent the morning in a daze, torn between wanting to tell my husband so much and not wanting to tell him until I knew for sure that I wasn't just going to lose it again. I have seen too many lines fade away before they have a chance to get darker. Getting a BFP doesn't bring the same joy that it did before I knew what it was like to lose a pregnancy. There is joy, of course, but the fear is overwhelming.
I took another FRER in the early afternoon and the line was no different, no darker. I started to go crazy, and by now I was certain that there would be no good news ahead. I began to drive myself mad until in the end I wondered if the FRERs were bad and although it seemed unlikely I set off to the shops to buy my new test of choice: a Predictor. Now, Predictor seems to be a European test. It used to be far more widely available, now I can only find them in one shop. I bought one and set off straight to the toilets in the shopping centre. I'd only been holding for a couple of hours, which I realised too late as I was already watching the dye head across the test.
I have never felt such a swell of joy and love sweep through me to see the colour pink appear before my eyes. It was the most beautiful line I had ever seen.
I felt like I was on a high as I set off for home. Now I was starting to believe that this could be a sticky bean. A pale FRER started to get me worried again that night, as did the negative digi the next morning. In fact, getting a negative digi at 10DPO made me start to think that maybe this wasn't a sticky bean after all. I weas on the verge of tears most of the day.
But later on I took one more FRER and the line had made a bold leap. I couldn't believe how clear the line was now, and so I took my courage in both hands (well, maybe in one hand, I had an HPT in the other) and took a digi just before bed.
I finally got to see that word again.
Pregnant.
It was the most beautiful word in the English language.
Friday 2 April 2010
What a difference a day makes
On Wednesday 'AF' arrived.
24 hours later I was looking at something very different.
EDD 14th December 2010
Apparently my body doesn't do implantation spotting, just implantation gushing.
I am in shock, overjoyed and very, very scared.
24 hours later I was looking at something very different.
EDD 14th December 2010
Apparently my body doesn't do implantation spotting, just implantation gushing.
I am in shock, overjoyed and very, very scared.
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