Appointments/Announcements/Apologies

Appointments/Announcements/Apologies

Everyone around me is pregnant. Or has spent the last 9 months being pregnant. It’s hard. It’s hard to be happy for everyone. I know its totally unreasonable and completely selfish, but I’m really struggling to feign interest and excitement for people.

My social media is filled with bumps and babies. A few work colleagues have been busy thrusting new baby photos in my direction, and I know I’m expected to ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ and ask “what did she weigh”, “was it a long labour” – when really – I couldn’t give a shit. It’s not MY pregnancy, its not MY labour, or MY baby. I’m still waiting here at back at page 1, so take your happiness and shove it.

 OK OK.. I don’t mean that. Not all the time anyway. I AM happy for people, of course I am. I’m not the devil incarnate… I’m not a horrible person. it’s just that my happiness is occasionally overshadowed by my.. well.. jealousy. 

Cos that’s what it is isn’t it? I’m jealous. I can admit it. I’m jealous of the people that have 3 babies or “accidentally ” fell pregnant, or the people that instagram their bumps. It’s bloody hard.

I have MRI appointments and also with a genetics clinic to see if there’s something in my genealogy that’s causing the problems.. I do know that my grans sister had 4, but there was a history of domestic violence there so I’m not sure if it’s linked or sheer coincidence. I’ve said it before.. I’ll take any tests they give me. Give me them all!!

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.

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.

Impatience

Impatience

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I was out buying some stationery yesterday (does anyone else love buying new pens and pads BTW?) and I may have made a beeline for the pregnancy tests…. I may have bought one three, and I may have taken one two.

In the whole 3 times I’ve been pregnant, I have NEVER had a positive until at least around 4 days late. I’m not even

officially late until tomorrow!

It of course was negative – both times. I also never told my husband because he specifically said to me just two days ago “even if you don’t get your period by Tues, DONT test until the weekend”.

The worst part of it all is I still have one left that’s burning a hole in my pocket and I CAN’T PROMISE I WONT USE IT TODAY (In like 30 seconds)

And it’s all in my head…

And it’s all in my head…

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So it turned up yesterday. 26 fucking days. In 15 years I have never experienced 26 day cycle.. but for some reason for the last 2 months; shes turned up after 26 days.

So now I have no idea when I’m ovulating.. I never know what length of cycle my body will decide to have, and if im perfectly honest.. the CM checking is all just a guess at best.

I don’t want to go down the route of ovulation testing for 2 reasons:
1) They aren’t 100% and I worry I won’t use them right, or I’ll miss the surge, or I’ll get a dodgy pack. Whatever. Too many variables.
2) I’m trying not to put loads of pressure on myself, and I feel by testing it’s taking the fun out of everything and adding extra stress to the situation. Does that make sense?

I already feel stressed and as every single web page/family member/work colleague tells me.. “stress isn’t good when you’re trying for a baby.”

It’s been 16 months of constant trying and I’m starting to lose hope. Yes, I’ve been pregnant twice in that time but what does that matter? One of those only made it to 4/5weeks! Doc’s say nothings wrong but this can’t be normal. It can’t be this hard.
I also won’t get any sort of help until I’m 35… Does that mean I have another 6 years of this? At least?

I don’t know if I can deal with feeling like this every single month. Crying.. feeling like a failure. And if one day, I do get pregnant.. can I handle another loss?

Ugh.. it’s one of those days. Again.

Pandoras Box

Pandoras Box

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There’s a box in my living room that I’ve filled with our wedding mementos. It’s actually an old suitcase that we found at a vintage market and used it at the wedding as a place for guests to put their cards in, but It fits in perfectly with the decor in our living room. We have have vintage kind of thing going on.

Now it serves as a holder for said cards, the guestbook, my garter, a copy of the invitations, our vows, my hairband/tiara thing and some other little memories.

As a wedding gift, I bought my husband a pocket watch he’d been eyeing up in the kilt shop and had it engraved for him. I also got a little notepad as a private gift between us that contains; well, notes basically.

Notes like ’10 reasons why I love you’, Where I see us in 10 years’, ‘My favourite memory together’ and other equally as cute and romantic notes.

This tiny little 4″ x 4″ notepad is the sole reason why I don’t look in the wedding box anymore. Until today.

I had to put something inside it today and me being me, just couldn’t stop myself from looking at the notepad. ‘Forever Young’ by Audra Mae was playing in the background (I always have music playing while I tidy, and it was stupidly on shuffle today so it never skipped by the emotional ones) and I started to cry. I tried in vain to stop – I had just applied my make up for work so I mean I really tried to stop

There was notes about how my husband was such a good father and he was going to be a brilliant one again to our little one. How we had everything we ever wanted, and life was pretty much perfect. We used to call the baby lentil (because he/she is the size of a lentil at a certain point of pregnancy – I’ve seen a few other people do this), so there was a mention of how I love that he would do anything for me, Kian and lentil.  Just seeing that word broke my heart. Lentil. We never named our baby as the loss was at 12 weeks, but it’s almost like Lentil became it’s name so seeing it written down, it just made everything so real again.

Next week will be 1 year since we lost the little one and although I am in a much better place now, I can’t ever see myself being completely okay. I’ll always have the ‘should’ve been’ dates in my mind and I’ll always wonder why it had to happen.

Guilt

Guilt

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Most of the people that have visited or read my blog know that I’ve recently had my 3rd miscarriage.. my first post described in detail my 2nd MC and I’ve mentioned my third.. however I very rarely share the story around my 1st and that’s because there’s a huge amount of guilt that surrounds it.. but I want to share it here, where I hope I can be open and true.

I was about 21 and hadn’t long discovered my bf at the time had been cheating on me. I took the cheating how most 21 year old girls would – horribly and dependant on going out and getting drunk. When i was with him I was on the pill intermittently which is horrendous I know.

A few weeks passed and it occured to me that I hadn’t had a period in a while. I wasn’t sure how long, but I’d guessed around 2months. I calmly took a test not really expecting much and froze when it came back positive. What. The. Fuck? How did this happen? As a now 29 year old I despise myself for how easily I fell pregnant… so feel free to do the same.

Here’s where the biggest guilt bit comes in. I knew straight away that I wanted to terminate the pregnancy. There wasn’t a shred of doubt in my mind. I had zero finances, I was a student working part time in a night club and I had next to no contact with my ex – the dad. I didn’t want to see him again, never mind have a child with him. Even now, I don’t regret my decision – I planned to do what was right for myself at the time.

Anyway…I went to the doctors, booked an appointment and that was pretty much all I had to do until I returned to take the pills. They didn’t try deter me or convince me to tell the dad (I chose never to tell him). They just said ok and gave me a follow up appointment.

About a week later, I woke up cramping in agony with blood covering my bedsheets. I stupidly went for a bath and the water turned red.I genuinely had no clue what was happening. I barely even knew of miscarriages. I phoned my doctor and she told me to get to the hospital immediately. I phoned a taxi and tried to put a couple of pads in to hold the bleeding.

I sat in the hospital waiting room for about an hour before anyone seen me. I remember everything being cold, clinical and immensely unsympathetic. But that was expected right? After all I didn’t even want the baby anyway.

Without going in to loads of detail, I had to get a d&c about 6 hours later as it didn’t pass naturally. They kept telling me I was wrong and the pain would go but it never did. They finally agreed to another scan and seen that the baby was still inside.
As a result I lost more blood than usual and I was kept in overnight. I was completely alone. None of my family knew and the one friend that did couldn’t be bothered coming with me. It is single handedly the worst I’ve ever been treated at a hospital. The entire time I was there I was sore,terrified and ashamed. I felt guilty for expecting sympathy. This was what I wanted wasn’t it?

The main reason I don’t talk a lot about this 1st MC, is because for me.. I never had to get over the emotional loss. I’m still disgusted at how I was treated. I didn’t want the baby but there was no way I wanted that! For me.. it was more of a physical loss and I don’t like to compare it to my more recent miscarriages.

I wrote this to try explain that a miscarriage is traumatic no matter what. There’s different levels of trauma and no one should treat someone differently just because their MC was more upsetting than theirs. We as women should support each other and our decisions and we should fight to change the attitudes of those around us.. especially the NHS. No one should be treated the way I was. I was a 21 year old naive frightened young woman and they treated me like I was a disgrace to expectant mothers everywhere.

I now know the true emotional pain of a miscarriage and I sometimes wonder if maybe that was my punishment.