"Hey, Mummy! A good idea, maybe... go to the cafe and eat biscuits!"
"No, sweetheart."
"Oh. Maybe later."
"No, not later either."
A pause.
"Maybe later later."
Another pause.
"We'll see."
Saturday 11 September 2010
Daisy
One year ago today I saw two very beautiful pink lines. I'd thought my period had started the day before but when the bleeding became watery and started to fade I was confused. I didn't expect that this was implantation bleeding. This wasn't the light brown/pink spotting I'd heard of, this was proper, heavy red bleeding. When I took an internet cheapie test that night I was only really doing it because I am an HPT addict, I didn't expect to see a faint line. But I've seen plenty of evaps on those tests so I dipped a second and the same thing happened. Finally I broke open the First Response tests I'd bought that day to 'cheer me up' and look forward to the next cycle, feeling that I would for sure be wasting one. The resulting beautiful pink line made my heart soar.
I only had 11 weeks and 6 days with Daisy. I was one day short of the fabled 12 week milestone when I lost her. I had never before, nor since, bonded so quickly during pregnancy. Not with my girls, or this time, or any other loss. I don't know why. I remember going to bed the night I got my positive test, just laying there with a huge grin across my face, bonding with her instantly.
You know the feeling when something terrible has happened and you awake in the morning with a blissful moment of ignorance before you remember? Well, for the first and last time I experienced the opposite of that. I woke up with no memory of my positive test the night before for a moment or two, then I recalled what had happened and the grin spread across my face again. The grin didn't leave my face for weeks.
On some level, I think I knew that she wasn't going to make it. A few weeks later I started spotting which came on and off for a few weeks. I knew that things were not good. I did not call my doctor or the hospital. I did not want to have a scan.,find out she had passed and then wait for days or weeks to miscarry. I had been through that before. I wanted to have every moment that I could with her, still maintaining that hope that she would make it.
On November 5th, the bleeding suddenly increased. I knew then that my time with her was coming to an end. The next morning I woke up in blissful ignorance for a few moments, then felt the pad I'd had to wear the night before and my world came crashing down. As I called the hospital and arranged a scan for that day I already knew what the answer was going to be. I knew I was not going to be getting any good news that day.
Today, I am fighting tears. I'm going to be doing the same for the first couple of weeks of November.
I only had 11 weeks and 6 days with Daisy. I was one day short of the fabled 12 week milestone when I lost her. I had never before, nor since, bonded so quickly during pregnancy. Not with my girls, or this time, or any other loss. I don't know why. I remember going to bed the night I got my positive test, just laying there with a huge grin across my face, bonding with her instantly.
You know the feeling when something terrible has happened and you awake in the morning with a blissful moment of ignorance before you remember? Well, for the first and last time I experienced the opposite of that. I woke up with no memory of my positive test the night before for a moment or two, then I recalled what had happened and the grin spread across my face again. The grin didn't leave my face for weeks.
On some level, I think I knew that she wasn't going to make it. A few weeks later I started spotting which came on and off for a few weeks. I knew that things were not good. I did not call my doctor or the hospital. I did not want to have a scan.,find out she had passed and then wait for days or weeks to miscarry. I had been through that before. I wanted to have every moment that I could with her, still maintaining that hope that she would make it.
On November 5th, the bleeding suddenly increased. I knew then that my time with her was coming to an end. The next morning I woke up in blissful ignorance for a few moments, then felt the pad I'd had to wear the night before and my world came crashing down. As I called the hospital and arranged a scan for that day I already knew what the answer was going to be. I knew I was not going to be getting any good news that day.
Today, I am fighting tears. I'm going to be doing the same for the first couple of weeks of November.
Friday 10 September 2010
Health and Labour
"Do you know what triggered your Chronic Fatigue Syndrome?"
I hate answering questions about it. I hate talking about it. The more I ignore it, the less I have to acknowledge it. But that's what I was there for, to talk over with the consultant how my ME/CFS has prevented me from having a natural birth with my girls. My first ended in a c-section, the second was a VBAC which I was only able to achieve with the help of the ventouse (suction).
"Yes, it was glandular fever," I answered, "I was recuperating from a laparoscopy to remove endometriosis at the time."
"And how long have you had Chronic Fatigue?"
"Eight.... well, eight and a half years," it didn't feel like that long. Yet at the same time, I can't really remember what things were like before.
I found my appointment with the consultant very stressful this week. I hate talking about my health beyond a quick "I'm not too bad" or "I'm feeling a bit relapsy this week." I'm sure to others it must seem like I am moaning about it all the time though because I can never really say "Yeah, I'm feeling good!" when they ask. Tired is situation normal, but I don't often explain much beyond that.
In my first pregnancy I was made to feel as though it was unimportant. A lot of emphasis was put on the fact that pregnancy is tiring for everyone and why should I be any different? I wasn't taken seriously at any step of the way and I ended up taking maternity leave as early as I was legally allowed because I couldn't cope with work.
In labour, I repeatedly made it known that I have a long-term health issue that needed consideration. I cannot forgive nor forget the patronising response that one midwife gave me as she snapped, "ALL women get tired when they're in labour and THEY all manage it."
I still boil over with anger when I think about it. I had been living with ME/CFS for five years and I knew my body. I had been in labour for 24 hours and my muscles had stopped working. I couldn't push because I couldn't move. I couldn't even raise a hand. The treatment that I received in labour left me even more terrified of hospitals and the resulting relapse lasted for months and months. I did not enjoy the first 6 months of my eldest daughter's life because I spent a lot of them in bed.
I chose a different hospital when I had Natasha. I finally found a GP who not only took me seriously but had a great deal of knowledge about CFS and referred me to a hospital that were supportive of patients in this situation. They were far better than the hospital I'd had my eldest at but even so some mistakes were made in the handling of my situation when it actually came to labour.
When my appointment came around this week and it was time to make a decision about whether to try for a another VBAC or to opt for a cesarean I knew it was going to be a tougher decision this time around. My health has deteriorated over the last year and a half, it's been a gradual process that I have tried to reverse to no avail. I have been slowly dropping more and more hours at work and upping my freelance work but even working a very low number of hours a week has proven harder than it has for many years. With a heavy heart I am leaving the job I have loved for six and a half years when my maternity leave begins.
I have been worried about discussing my labour options because I know neither is going to be an easy option. I don't want to worry about recovering from major surgery, but I don't want to go through another 24+ hour labour and have no movement left in my body by the time I come to push.
I was nervous of going through the things that went wrong last time; that strapping me to monitors right away caused my contractions to slow and labour to be extended, and not allowing me to eat in case I needed another c-section meant I had no fuel for my body to use. I went through the story of my labour with Natasha and found out that the consultant was actually the one who delivered her! I couldn't remember for the life of me what he looked like but he had her labour notes there and realised he had performed her ventouse-assisted delivery! I thanked him profusely - everyone else was preparing me for another c-section and he was the only one who was prepared to try suction first.
I told him that I know my body and I know if I have another long labour my muscles will give up working long before the time comes to push. I was worried that he would push (no pun intended) for a c-section or that things would just be a repeat of last time, but this is what he said:
"Here's what we'll do: if you can get through the labour, we will have tools on standby to assist you with suction when you get that far. I understand you cannot push on your own. As long as your baby is in this position (he then demonstrated with a scale model of a pelvis was was kind of funny) and you can get that far on your own, we will help you out right away."
I was totally blown away. I expected struggles and arguments as I've had every step of the way with my health over the last decade, but he gave me 100% the support I needed. I almost burst into tears. I couldn't say 'thank you' enough times.
My baby was not so grateful and led the doctor a merry dance when he was trying to check his heartbeat, constantly kicking the probe and moving into another position. My girls used to do exactly the same!
I have 6 more weeks of work, and after that I can concentrate on building up as much health and strength as I can for labour and delivery. For the first time I feel genuinely supported and more positive about my baby's birth process. Now I can look forward to meeting my little guy instead of worrying about the process of getting him here because - this time - I know what I can expect.
I hate answering questions about it. I hate talking about it. The more I ignore it, the less I have to acknowledge it. But that's what I was there for, to talk over with the consultant how my ME/CFS has prevented me from having a natural birth with my girls. My first ended in a c-section, the second was a VBAC which I was only able to achieve with the help of the ventouse (suction).
"Yes, it was glandular fever," I answered, "I was recuperating from a laparoscopy to remove endometriosis at the time."
"And how long have you had Chronic Fatigue?"
"Eight.... well, eight and a half years," it didn't feel like that long. Yet at the same time, I can't really remember what things were like before.
I found my appointment with the consultant very stressful this week. I hate talking about my health beyond a quick "I'm not too bad" or "I'm feeling a bit relapsy this week." I'm sure to others it must seem like I am moaning about it all the time though because I can never really say "Yeah, I'm feeling good!" when they ask. Tired is situation normal, but I don't often explain much beyond that.
In my first pregnancy I was made to feel as though it was unimportant. A lot of emphasis was put on the fact that pregnancy is tiring for everyone and why should I be any different? I wasn't taken seriously at any step of the way and I ended up taking maternity leave as early as I was legally allowed because I couldn't cope with work.
In labour, I repeatedly made it known that I have a long-term health issue that needed consideration. I cannot forgive nor forget the patronising response that one midwife gave me as she snapped, "ALL women get tired when they're in labour and THEY all manage it."
I still boil over with anger when I think about it. I had been living with ME/CFS for five years and I knew my body. I had been in labour for 24 hours and my muscles had stopped working. I couldn't push because I couldn't move. I couldn't even raise a hand. The treatment that I received in labour left me even more terrified of hospitals and the resulting relapse lasted for months and months. I did not enjoy the first 6 months of my eldest daughter's life because I spent a lot of them in bed.
I chose a different hospital when I had Natasha. I finally found a GP who not only took me seriously but had a great deal of knowledge about CFS and referred me to a hospital that were supportive of patients in this situation. They were far better than the hospital I'd had my eldest at but even so some mistakes were made in the handling of my situation when it actually came to labour.
When my appointment came around this week and it was time to make a decision about whether to try for a another VBAC or to opt for a cesarean I knew it was going to be a tougher decision this time around. My health has deteriorated over the last year and a half, it's been a gradual process that I have tried to reverse to no avail. I have been slowly dropping more and more hours at work and upping my freelance work but even working a very low number of hours a week has proven harder than it has for many years. With a heavy heart I am leaving the job I have loved for six and a half years when my maternity leave begins.
I have been worried about discussing my labour options because I know neither is going to be an easy option. I don't want to worry about recovering from major surgery, but I don't want to go through another 24+ hour labour and have no movement left in my body by the time I come to push.
I was nervous of going through the things that went wrong last time; that strapping me to monitors right away caused my contractions to slow and labour to be extended, and not allowing me to eat in case I needed another c-section meant I had no fuel for my body to use. I went through the story of my labour with Natasha and found out that the consultant was actually the one who delivered her! I couldn't remember for the life of me what he looked like but he had her labour notes there and realised he had performed her ventouse-assisted delivery! I thanked him profusely - everyone else was preparing me for another c-section and he was the only one who was prepared to try suction first.
I told him that I know my body and I know if I have another long labour my muscles will give up working long before the time comes to push. I was worried that he would push (no pun intended) for a c-section or that things would just be a repeat of last time, but this is what he said:
"Here's what we'll do: if you can get through the labour, we will have tools on standby to assist you with suction when you get that far. I understand you cannot push on your own. As long as your baby is in this position (he then demonstrated with a scale model of a pelvis was was kind of funny) and you can get that far on your own, we will help you out right away."
I was totally blown away. I expected struggles and arguments as I've had every step of the way with my health over the last decade, but he gave me 100% the support I needed. I almost burst into tears. I couldn't say 'thank you' enough times.
My baby was not so grateful and led the doctor a merry dance when he was trying to check his heartbeat, constantly kicking the probe and moving into another position. My girls used to do exactly the same!
I have 6 more weeks of work, and after that I can concentrate on building up as much health and strength as I can for labour and delivery. For the first time I feel genuinely supported and more positive about my baby's birth process. Now I can look forward to meeting my little guy instead of worrying about the process of getting him here because - this time - I know what I can expect.
Sunday 5 September 2010
Thumb Alert!
I have the unluckiest thumb in the world. Fact.
No one has a more unlucky thumb than I do.
Yesterday two horrible accidents befell it. First of all, I trapped it in the bathroom door. It was thanks to Angelica suddenly deciding she hadn't quite dried her hands thoroughly enough after cleaning her teeth, doubled back on herself into the bathroom while halfway out the door, I tried to stop the door from closing on her and ended up screaming as my thumb came away as the injured party from the experience.
Now, I have a fairly high pain threshold but I am not ashamed to admit I screamed. A LOT. My thumb has several interesting colours going on now, and is significantly thicker than the other one.
My thumb's unfortunate day didn't end there though. Having spent several hours with my thumb sticking out at a funny angle, trying not to let it touch anything, I wet to put something in a cupboard. I don't know how the following event occurred exactly, I have tried to work out what happened next but I can't. Somehow my thumbnail caught on the shelf and ripped right across. Once again I screamed. A LOT. I then panicked and ran around trying to smother the bleeding tip of my finger with plasters and antiseptic and the lower part with witchhazel and bandages.
I'm telling you, my thumb might as well have a number 13 tattooed on it. I just hope its unlucky streak is coming to an end!
No one has a more unlucky thumb than I do.
Yesterday two horrible accidents befell it. First of all, I trapped it in the bathroom door. It was thanks to Angelica suddenly deciding she hadn't quite dried her hands thoroughly enough after cleaning her teeth, doubled back on herself into the bathroom while halfway out the door, I tried to stop the door from closing on her and ended up screaming as my thumb came away as the injured party from the experience.
Now, I have a fairly high pain threshold but I am not ashamed to admit I screamed. A LOT. My thumb has several interesting colours going on now, and is significantly thicker than the other one.
My thumb's unfortunate day didn't end there though. Having spent several hours with my thumb sticking out at a funny angle, trying not to let it touch anything, I wet to put something in a cupboard. I don't know how the following event occurred exactly, I have tried to work out what happened next but I can't. Somehow my thumbnail caught on the shelf and ripped right across. Once again I screamed. A LOT. I then panicked and ran around trying to smother the bleeding tip of my finger with plasters and antiseptic and the lower part with witchhazel and bandages.
I'm telling you, my thumb might as well have a number 13 tattooed on it. I just hope its unlucky streak is coming to an end!
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