I just wish I could click my fingers and be pregnant. One more click and I have my baby in my arms.
Or a stork? God I wish there were storks. I think they’d give me a good one.
Why is it that the day you get your period is always the day where you’ll see a baby on every corner?!
My mum lost her hearing in one of her ears a few years ago and the doctors never knew what caused it. She was booked in for an M.R.I scan, but ended up not going through with it saying she felt too frightened and claustrophobic. I told her she was being ridiculous, that if its going to help, well she should just bloody do it.
Mere hours after my own M.R.I, I phoned to apologise to her. I now understood exactly what she meant.
The nurses told me to remove all jewellery, piercings and kirbies (bobby pins).Simple right? Not for me. I have a…lets say..intimate piercing that is impossible to remove on my own. I sheepishly explained this and was told that I might need to go home as the piercings can “explode” and rip out whatever part of the body it’s attached to. Then another nurse came, handed me a magnet and told me to hold it against my..well, my coochie… to see if the piercing was magnetised. It wasn’t, so she said I would be safe to go in and there would be no exploding vaginas to worry about!
I put on my gown and answered some basic health and safety questions, then was warned that the IV buscopan that I was about to receive might make my vision blurred, and that on rare occasions, tattoos can heat excessively during an MRI, and if this happens I should push the buzzer and they’ll take me out. So now I’m worried about going blind, having exploding genitals and burning from the inside out. Great. What a morning.
I lay on the bed thing, and 2 boards were placed on top of me and fastened to the bed so that my arms were trapped by my side, rendering me unable to move. I was told I’d be lying under the machine for an hour. An HOUR! As I started to be moved in, I immediately knew what my mum meant – it was horrible. I felt trapped and couldn’t see anything around me apart from the white machine.. They gave me earphones, but it was impossible to concentrate on the music over the hums, and beeps and murmurs of the machine.
About 30mins in, I needed to sneeze. Shit. I’m not supposed to move in here right? It came and went twice, until I couldn’t stop it. Twice. Two sneezes! I tried to stifle it, which only resulted in my eyes watering. I could feel a small steady stream of tears rolling down my face. I couldn’t life my arm to wipe it. Uhoh, now my nose was running. Bogies slowly dripped down my face. Oh god, its going in my mouth, its going in my mouth. I turned my head ever so slightly to try send the snotters off course. Result! They bypassed my mouth and continued rolling down my chin and on to my neck. Crap, there goes my eyes again. More tears were coming. My face was a soggy mess and I couldn’t do anything about it.
Finally, the murmurs stopped and I started to move backwards. The nurses appeared and unstrapped the boards. I could finally lift my hands and wipe my wet, snotter soaked face. It was over.
Or was it? Maybe that was that the easy part?
This time two years ago I was putting last minute touches to my wedding plans. I wasn’t pregnant and didn’t know the pain of recurrent miscarriage. I had no idea that I was about to spend the next two years trying for a baby only to lose it every time. I had no idea I would have started a miscarriage blog and have 100 people reading it. I had no idea I would have to undertake tests, book acupuncture appointments and spend months researching tips on having a full term pregnancy.
I sometimes try imagine myself in 5, 10 years – in a beautiful house, with 2 kids – (stepson and one biological one), financially secure and happy, and then I have to stop myself. I have no idea what the future is going to bring – that’s more obvious to me now than it’s ever been.
So, as I sit in a hotel room waiting to visit Poland for my 30th birthday, all I can do is forget about my past; stop picturing my future and just enjoy my present.
I can’t remember if I’ve already mentioned that I’m a media volunteer for The Miscarriage Association. It basically means if any journalist wants to do a story or something, they’ll contact MA who will then contact me if I’m suitable for it. I’ve only done 2 newspaper interviews – one small piece for the Scottish Sun, and one for the Saturday Herald (out this Saturday if there’s any local folks reading!)
(if it appears online I’ll pop a link on this weekend)
Anyway, the journalist doing the interview asked me what difference – if any – the miscarriages have made to my life. I’d never really thought about that before…Sure, I’m more aware of miscarriages and the struggles of trying to conceive. I know all the statistics, and about all the delightful stages of our cervical mucus, but I didn’t think she wanted to stick that in her article!
I told her that it had made my marriage stronger – in our 2 years of marriage we’ve went through more shit than most do in a lifetime and we’re still here making each other laugh and pulling through it all together… but.. and here’s one for all of us…
How bloody strong are we all? How resilient are we? I’ve became a much stronger person since my losses – I seem to be able to bounce back more than I ever thought possible. We’ve been knocked down so many times and we keep getting back up. We’ve got that end goal in sight and we’re all fighting so hard to get it. I know it’s maybe cheesy but we should all be proud of ourselves. I never thought I would be able to get through all these losses.. I never thought I would be able to keep going, but yeah..I can. And I will!
Only downside? I thought of this answer on the train journey home!