M.R.I

M.R.I

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?

 

 

Bloody receptionists!

Bloody receptionists!

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If I had been face-to-face with the receptionist at my GP surgery today, I would have strangled her. Without hesitation.

Background first – I have been to my GP after every miscarriage, either for a line to hand in at work or a blood test or whatever, so they’re more than aware of my “history”.The ‘on call’ doctor was bloody brilliant – made me feel very reassured and calm. Shame about my own bloody doctor. He has never recommended tests, referred me to anyone, offered me any sort of valuable information or help. I have fought to get where I am in terms of the medical help I’m receiving, and occasionally the early pregnancy unit have helped a wee bit too. I’ve did the research, I’ve asked the questions, I’ve brought up the subject of progesterone/aspirin/acupuncture/further tests. My GP has done bugger all.

Middle part – After my appointment at RMC clinic, it was agreed that I was a “good candidate” for progesterone and the specialist told me I could get this from my ever so helpful GP. I phoned and was quickly dismissed, with him saying he can’t give me anything until he receives confirmation letter from the hospital (yeah cos I quite fancy getting high off the progesterone ffs). Anyway – fine – I guess he has an oath or some bollocks…. but I explained that I was eager to have it so it was all sorted for when I got my next positive test.

Today – I call to find out if the letter has been received and the lovely receptionist says she can check. (re-read that sentence but make sure you say ‘lovely’ with a sarcastic tone). She tells me that it was indeed received – 20 DAYS AGO… She says “there is no further action required” so progesterone hasn’t actually been prescribed yet. I ask her if I can please speak to the GP as I would really like to be assured that I will be able to get this AS SOON as I fall pregnant.  “But you’ve to take it up to 12 weeks pregnant, not now” she says… I’m aware how to bloody take it you stupid woman.. UP to 12 weeks.. not AT 12 weeks!! All I want to know is if it’ll be there when I need it! So I ask again to speak to my GP and do you know what she said to me?! “We recommended you don’t get pregnant until your MRI scan” WE?! WE?!?! Who the fuck are WE?!

I lost it then. I screamed that if she bothered to look at the rest of my notes, she would see I’ve had 5 bloody miscarriages and I WILL be getting progesterone and I certainly wont be taking advice from a receptionist and I want to speak to my GP NOW and not continue this conversation with someone who is completely unqualified to be giving any sort of medical advice!

Honest to God. It never got much better either to be honest. My GP called back and started going on about possible side effects and how the recent medical studies aren’t conclusive. All I want is some bloody drugs for my incompetent vagina. Fuck sake.

When to stop?

When to stop?

I know in my head that I can’t keep trying forever. Physically its impossible, and emotionally -well I don’t know how much longer I can go.

Should I give myself an end date? Should I keep going until I physically can’t? Should I stop when I’m emotionally worn out, or will there be too much damage already done? 

I’ve just began a new cycle. I feel exhausted and its barely even started. 

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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.

Miscarriage & Media

Miscarriage & Media

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!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another loss?

Another loss?

We found out I was pregnant again on the 7th October. 

Hubby and I just stared at each other. Were we really pregnant? Could we celebrate? Could we even be happy?

I’d say I was 60/40. 60% happy, 40% shitting myself. Considering our losses, I’m pretty chuffed with that ratio.

A few weeks passed and I over analysed every symptom.. or lack of. Were my boobs still sore? (hubbys squeeze test never failed!) Was that a cramp? Am I pooping a normal amount? (Yup it genuinely got to that stage)

Last Friday I was walking to meet Nikki after work and i felt…. something… in my underwear. I just knew it wasn’t right. I went to a toilet and there it was… blood.
It was brown,  which I know is old blood blablabla, but that never helped! I rushed to EPAU who told me they could do nothing and to go home. “WHAT? How very fucking dare you?!” I genuinely couldn’t believe what they were telling me. We decided to trot on over to A&E and see what they could do. 5 hours later we left knowing that my HCG was 95 and I was either very early or miscarrying. So basically none the fucking wiser.

Saturday morning, Nikki calls EPAU again. The woman was an absolute saint. Agreed to see me on the Monday morning.

Sunday night comes, and so does the red blood. The little hope i had left was gone. I was in floods of tears yet again.

At EPAU the next morning, I was given a transvaginal scan (eugh) and bloods taken again. The nurse told me that my original levels were too low and to expect the worst.
So I go home, hubby brings in cookie dough ice cream (my second tub since Friday btw) and we lay in bed watching tv and crying. My phone rings and its the nurse. My levels have risen to 148. What. The. Fuck? Now she was telling me it was either VERY early, or it could be ectopic. She wanted me back in on Wed for more bloods. Back in limbo yet again. It’s been the worst part of it all. We’ve dealt with losses before, and theyre horrendous but we know how to get through them. The constant glimmers of hope are whats worse.

I passed what looked like tissue on Tuesday night and Wed morning. Ive had absolutely zero pain throughout everything  (apart from just after the scan, but that was prob cos she was poking around in there). But my miscarriage.. if thats what it was.. was totally painless.
I’ve had my appointment today and now I’m waiting for my blood results. I guess I’m hoping for them to be lower, so we’ll have an answer. If she tells me they’ve risen again I don’t know what the hell I’ll do. I just want it to be over now.

Do you sympathise or do you pity?

Do you sympathise or do you pity?

I hate being pitied. People that tilt their head and lower their eyes if I ask them about their pregnancy. Like they’re afraid to show any kind of excitement incase I throw something at their glowing face.

I despise the “hang in there” and “it’ll happen eventually” comments. One colleague even jokingly said she was going to start a GoFund Me Page for my crushing infertility. (At least I hope she was fucking joking)

When I corrected her and told her I wasn’t actually struggling with infertility she was baffled and questioned “so what’s wrong with you”?.. We’ll luckily for you it’s not my inability to control my temper or reward stupidity with a swift kick to the shin.

Listen, I totally appreciate people that sympathise or empathise with me. People that have genuine questions about miscarriages or the affects they’ve had on me. If you’re one of them then I have all the time in the world, but please do not bloody pity me. Please don’t think I am any less of a woman for not having a child. Please don’t think that I am so obsessed with getting pregnant that it’s the only thing I want to talk to you about. I’m a woman for fucks sake, compliment my hair or something.