Work

For the last couple of weeks I've been working on new designs for our website non-stop.

I also started using the badge press again last week. Bearing in mind I hadn't made any badges at all in 7 weeks, it was a bad idea to make 100 a day 3 days running. See how good I am at understatements? I ache from head to toe physically and I'm mentally burnt out.

I know what I'm trying to do, and it's futile. I'm trying to avoid thinking, to blot out the inevitable.

Why?

Well, babies are everywhere aren't they? If they weren't we'd all be panicking about the end of the worrrrrrrld *said in mock-hysteric tones*

I love babies, and wee nippers. One day I might like one of my own, yanno :) 

Two of my friends gave birth this week.

I'm thrilled for them, especially so for Lisa, who had the pregnancy from hell. Hyperemesis, SPD, topped off with an emergency C-section. That's a woman who deserves every happiness.

So do I, one day. 

One day.

Perhaps when fate stops playing football with me? 

On another less pitiful note, James and I have decided to use condoms for the next 2 months during which we have to avoid getting me pregnant (allowing me to fully recover). I don't want to bugger up my fertility by going back on the pill for just 2 months, and have us trying to get pregnant again and for it to take ages. Time is getting on. Presuming of course I can still get pregnant. We'll see. 

The health kick is going well. It's been 4 days, so I haven't exactly had much scope to cock up yet. I'm going swimming on Wednesday. I shall be exfoliating myself half to death for the next couple of days trying to get rid of the orange peel skin so the dash from changing room to pool is slightly less hideous.

Well, less hideous than it'll be anyway as I waddle poolside and climb down the ladder like an arthritic beach ball on legs. Thank God it's going to be 7.30 am when I go swimming. Hopefully there won't be too many people in there :)

Still, I have to start somewhere, and looking at it positively, that's the worst I'll ever look on this journey :)

18 cards and an 8 inch scar

I'm the kind of person who has written since I was a small child, and sometimes I say things in jest which actually have a lot of meaning to them, when I stop to think about it.

I posted an album of photos on Facebook earlier today of all the get well/sympathy cards I got after the pregnancy went 'wrong'.

(What exactly ARE you supposed to call it in a case like this?! It wasn't a baby in medical terms, it was a foetus. Was it a death? Was it a medical abortion to save my life? Humph. Grey area).

I put all the cards away this morning after seeing someone else's scan picture, someone who's about as far along as I would've been, had all been well. I decided on the spur of the moment enough was enough and that I had to get the cards out of my sight. I wanted to photograph the cards before I put them away, probably never to be seen again.

I should explain, because it'll make what I say later on make a bit more sense. I was watching a Youtube video yesterday of my favourite actor Tom Hardy, and he was talking about Charles Bronson, the famous British criminal who Tom portrayed in the film Bronson. Tom said he was having a phone conversation with Charles, and he had just split up with his girlfriend, and he told Charles he felt like shit. Charlie said something very true, that sometimes you have to cut a bit of yourself off to protect the rest. He told Tom it might hurt like hell, but you have to do it.

I didn't know what to call the photo album. I was thinking about calling it Con Te Partiro, after one of my favourite songs (which has been sung by many people, but done best by Sarah Brightman and Andrea Bocelli, in my humble opinion) which means 'time to say goodbye'. Then I thought that sounded a bit naff and pretentious, so I thought about calling the album 'Grieving'. In the end I do what I always do when faced with a conundrum - I resort to black humour. I called the photo album 'All I have to show from being pregnant (except an 8 inch scar)' or words to that effect. It's not attention seeking, it's just the truth. No sense beating around the bush. It happened and there's no sense pretending it didn't.

There were 18 cards in the album, hence the title of this blog. It almost sounds like the title of an album, don't you think? It just goes to prove there's poetry in the bleakest of situations :)

That's what I have to show for having been pregnant. 18 cards and an 8 inch scar. Fact.

How am I feeling today? Out of sorts.

Now the Charles Bronson reference comes into play. I've had to do something on Facebook I only do when people really piss me off, and that's hide their posts from my feed so I can't see them. It makes me feel uncomfortable, but I don't want to be deleting anyone. These people I've 'hidden' haven't pissed me off, I just can't face seeing their posts at the moment. They are both women who are pregnant, and both around the same stage as I would be now (give or take 1-2 weeks). One girl posted a scan photo, and as much as I wish her every happiness, I can't be constantly reminded of what I've lost, not now. I can't bear to see at every stage what I would've been experiencing. I felt totally OK today until I saw that post, but as much as I like the girl, I can't keep being slapped in the face.

This may make me sound a hideous person, but it's just self-preservation. Imagine you found out you were pregnant at almost the same time as someone else, but all you've got left is a scar and an increased risk of further ectopic pregnancies, and the other person has a baby growing and a whole new future. Anyone else at any stage of pregnancy I'm fine with, I just can't bear to see what I should be experiencing (if fate wasn't hell bent on fucking me up). The second girl is only a couple of weeks behind the first in her pregnancy, so her scans will be coming up any time soon and I can't face that either. It's better that I stay oblivious until early September, when our baby would have been born, and then I can start to grieve over again.

There's also the feeling that people who are pregnant or who have young babies think I'm some disease they're going to catch and it feels like they're are avoiding me like the plague. One of my (previously thought of) closest friends is someone with a small child and I don't know if it's her own circumstances keeping us apart, or the fact that I can't go anywhere, but there's been almost no contact from her since everything went to hell in a hand basket. Of course, it may well be the case that she doesn't know what to say to me. There are no right or wrong words to say to me.

I don't feel like I can be there for anyone who might need me at the moment. I feel like I'm close to losing my shit (sometimes there's no better way to say it!) and I need to look after myself. Aside from this uber-public grieving, I go about things off the internet in a private way. I don't call people up when I need help, it's just not my way. I don't even call my mum when I need help. I just have to work through things on my own and I don't want to talk to anyone on the phone. If that makes me a bad person, I'm sorry, I'm just cutting off a little bit of myself to save the rest.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I've always liked my French :)

Over the last couple of days I'd felt like I was doing OK. I've only been crying in bed at night instead of being an all-day-long snotfest. I've done a pretty good job of keeping myself busy, with a good book on the go, trashy day time tv and constantly working on new badge designs.

It's only when someone mentions the thing we should all have in abundance to get us through this challenging thing we call life - hope - that I realise suddenly I don't have any, and it was a shock to realise that. I'd thought I was over that. If hope was a biscuit tin, it'd be rattling, empty and vaguely reminiscent of what it used to contain. I just feel empty.

It's only been a month, and I know things will get better - they have to.

I'm just saying how I feel right now.

I'm not going to lie and say I feel enthused about trying to be a mum again. At what point does a person give up? When you've lost one fallopian tube? When you've lost both? When you've had so many miscarriages your heart would break into tiny shards if you had another? When IVF fails? When the adoption system crushes the very last bit of life out of you? When is it OK to say to people "Kindly fuck off with your optimism. I have no hope at the present time."

Some people have been through similar things - either ectopic pregnancies or multiple miscarriages. They, like me, they will terrified that they'll never be a mum. Unless you're walking in those boots you can't possibly understand what's going through my head, no matter how hard you may try. What has happened to me (and countless other women) is the kind of thing which makes people look heavenward and say "Thank fuck it wasn't me!" if we're being honest. No one would choose to go through this. I don't mean to sound pitiful (or pity-seeking) it's just a plain fact. 'Normal' women will be saying "There but for the grace of God, go I!" then get on with their days and lives. This is something I'll carry with me until the day I die.

It's ironic really that I spent so much of my life not just taking my fertility for granted, but totally not giving a shit whether I could be a mum or not. Now it's of the utmost importance to me and so many things are against me. Time is of the essence, and my own body (thus far) seems incapable of incubating a life in the right place.

I am very thankful for all the lovely words (far many more than I feel I deserve) but everyone will have to bear with me until such time that I know I can become pregnant again......although that in itself is only the first piece of the puzzle.

All this said, I know things could be so much worse. For a start, I'm very lucky to still be here to try again. I could have so easily been an obituary. People also have it so much worse than us (it's so easy in my grief to to forget James has been robbed of his chance to be a dad). I was watching a couple who had conjoined twins who were separated by surgeons only to die a month later on the local news earlier. That happened two years ago and they now have a bouncing baby boy. They had the balls to try again, just as one day I will, and their loss is so, so, so much worse than ours. So much so as to make our experience almost insignificant.

It's natural to pick up your broken pieces, put them back together when you're able and have another go at the thing you want the most. At this moment I can't say when that time will come, or even say with any conviction that it will come, but I can say that life has done nothing but kick the shit out of me in the last few years and I haven't given up yet. As my friend Lee said in an e-mail when he heard what had happened "I just wish I knew what you have done to deserve all this crap that continues to get flung at you."

It doesn't work like that though. Bad shit happens to good people every day of the year. The true grit of a person is how they deal with the crap life sends your way.

Sorry if this all a bit rambling, I've just got a lot rattling around my head.

Picture This: Anaemia & Grief

What is it about us in the Western world that makes us hide our grief away?

When something bad happens in so called 'Third World' nations, they are shown on the TV weeping and wailing openly. I used to think they were mad. Now I think they're onto something. You've gotta get that shit out before it kills you. 

Hence here's a picture of my snotty face after a good cry. 

It's not pretty but it's not the worst thing in the world either. 

I'm still anaemic after a blood transfusion and weeks on iron tablets. 

I've never been pale and interesting, I've always been ruddy faced and harassed looking!

At least I bothered to finish my eyebrows in this one:)

 Compare that to another bare-faced photo where I had a bit of colour

See, pink cheeks!

If I still resemble Casper in a few weeks I'll go to the docs and they might have to inject me.

Yesterday was a good day. I went all day without crying. I can't say every day will be like that but I'll embrace the ones that are :)

Heading down the valley

A throwaway comment I made today turns out to have a lot of truth in it.

You have to go down a lot of valleys to get to the top of the mountain. 

Yep. The way to the top of the mountain isn't straight up. You have to follow the path, wherever it takes you, even if most of it seems downhill, because it's the only way to the top.


Metaphors everywhere :) 


As I said in yesterday's blog, my mum went home yesterday afternoon. I cried all night long. I cried in bed. I'm crying now. Shit. 


I'm not even thinking about the shit that's happened to me. All I'm thinking is she's gone. It's like I'm a 5 year old again. 


She did such a good job of looking after me. 


The slightest thing sets me off. Last night as I went into the bathroom to clean my teeth before bed and saw her stuff wasn't all over the bathroom I burst into tears again. 


James has been really good today. I've been stressing out because we have a house inspection on Wednesday morning and since I got the day wrong last time and they came into a total shit hole (we'd just came back from camping and there was mess evereeeeeewhere) I really want to make a good impression this time. 

So far James has tidied the spare room and a bit of the living room. I've done everything I can at waist height in the kitchen and tidied the stuff in the sun room. It only leaves the bedroom and the living room to de-clutter and a clean in the bathroom and we'll be there, so I think we'll leave things as they are today and do some more tomorrow. James is trying so hard I'm worried about him burning out. 


I sent my brother a text earlier because I haven't heard from him since he came to see me on the day I left hospital. I said I was miserable and couldn't stop crying. He said I have to think about all the good things to come. Right now I don't think there are any. I'm the kind of person who always has to have something short term to look forward to, or else I feel down. I could SO use a holiday now but James can't take the time, we don't have the money since we're saving for the wedding, so it can't happen. I was explaining to James yesterday that it's not the rest of a holiday I need, just the change of circumstances to make life feel less shit. 


As stupid as it sounds, I can't wait to have my first period so I know things are still OK and there's a possibility I might get pregnant again. Even if I do have a period, there's no saying I won't have another ectopic. 


Despite thinking I *just* had a miscarriage in 2003, I now believe (with all my heart) I had an ectopic pregnancy then, too. I was taken into hospital because they thought I was having an ectopic pregnancy. I was pregnant but there was no pregnancy where it should have been. I had EXACTLY the same pain as with this pregnancy loss, in EXACTLY the same place. I was in there for 3 days and had been nil by mouth for 24 hours and about to have a laparoscopy to see what was going on when I was told "We're sending you home." I'd started to bleed and I guess the HCG levels in my blood had dropped enough that they thought it was safe to send me home with sod all explanation about what was happening to me. I was never told if I was having a normal miscarriage or an ectopic. It might sound shocking, but then again, that whole hospital stay was appalling from start to finish. Again, all the pain in 2003 was on my left side so it stands to reason that my left fallopian tube would be scarred and would have compromised this pregnancy. So I have a 2-for-2 record of pregnancies getting jammed up in my left side, (and a 2-for-2 record of getting pregnant and finding myself in hospital). Unlucky, or is my right side of things not working at all?! I'll see when I (hopefully) next menstruate. I don't think I should have too long to wait before I find out, it's been 3 weeks since the op now and I'm pretty sure the returning swelling to my tummy is my usual menstruation-related bladder condition which rears its head each month a week or so before I come on. 


Although I very much need to hear I CAN become pregnant again, I'm going to be terrified to try. What do I do if it happens again and I lose my right tube? I know everyone is going to say "Think positively" or "Worry about that when it happens" but I have to prepare myself for the possibility that I'm just not meant to have kids. If I *do* become pregnant again I'll be able to have an early scan at about 6 weeks and have my bloods measured every 2 days, and if it is another ectopic they should be able to use drug treatment to 'get rid' of the pregnancy and save the fallopian tube. I know I'm getting ahead of myself here, I just have to mentally prepare myself for these possibilities. I have to be strong enough to try again in the first place. 


In the meantime, I have to bear in mind that my age and my weight are against me in all respects. I need to start losing weight (and I want to do it for the wedding anyway) with the view of getting myself down to a weight sufficient that my primary care trust will give me IVF if it's necessary. If I haven't managed a 'viable' pregnancy by the time I'm 40, I feel like I may as well give up. I'm 37 in 3 months. 


I know time will tell what will happen. I may have to be a crazy old cat lady if I can't have kids.

Thank God for balsam tissues

(I pinched this picture from Google images).

Thank God for tissues with balsam or aloe vera in them.

My mum went home a couple of hours ago and I didn't even manage to get the door fully closed before I started crying. I just shut it enough so that she couldn't see me crying (I didn't want to upset her, she didn't want to leave as it was) and fell into James's arms sobbing. 

She did everything for me. She even watered my plants. She got up this morning, washed all the bedding she'd been using and hung it up to dry before I even got up. She brought me a cuppa in bed this morning because she knew it was her last chance.

If I asked her to do something, she'd either do it straight away or keep it in mind and do it a few minutes later. Because James has always got his head in the pc with his headphones on I have to ask him to do something several times and usually end up doing it myself anyway when 2 hours later I'm still waiting. 

When he is in the present (and not off killing trolls in some fabled land) he's very good. He helped me in and out of the shower this morning and dried my legs and all my toes individually. Bless! 

I feel so miserable I just can't stop crying. I'm a veritable snot factory.

I've made up two playlists on Spotify. One is called 'Smash Shit Up' and is full of Devildriver, Slipknot, Slayer and all that ilk, and the other is called 'Songs To Cry To' and is full of soppy crap which makes me want to bawl. I hope they help, since I can't jump up and down on things.

WHAT is it to grieve?

To me, grieving is a process I shall describe thus:

It's like slicing open your abdomen to bring out the things we want to keep hidden really, but we know deep down have to be aired and faced or they'll fester inside and kill us. So -almost despite ourselves - we pull out our intestines and put them on a table. We poke through the stinking mess with a pencil, unravelling yards of slippery intestines. We stare at them. We want to talk about them all the time, as if enough talking about it will make it seem real, because really we're still in shock that this thing has happened to us. After enough* time, we start to see the order of things, the way they should be pieced back together. So we shove everything back in, hoping it's going to be all right, and we patch ourselves back together as best we can, although it might be messy rather than pretty. Afterwards, we shouldn't hide the scars of it, because although we might like to forget it all happened, it did, and like it or not it shaped us in some way.



*enough? It might be weeks, years, a lifetime. No one can tell you the length of your grieving is wrong. Whatever time you need is enough.

Talking about grieving is easier than doing it though.

Future blogs about my ectopic pregnancy will be here

For anyone who comes along at any time in the future who isn't reading my other blog (where I originally posted all of the blogs listed below) here they are: the full story of my ectopic pregnancy. For anyone who's already read the following blogs, just ignore this list.

My operation

Some more hospital stuff and photos

In hospital and just after

A shopping trip too far

It's starting to sink in now

From now on I'll be blogging anything to do with the after-effects of what's happened to me on THIS blog, rather than on my main blog (here) as that is mainly for shopping and frivolous stuff (not that there will be much in the way of shopping now we're saving for the wedding!)

THIS blog page used to be titled 'Leah Mummy' but I've now changed it to 'Will I Ever Be A Mummy?' because I want it to be a place for other people in the same sort of position to find me to talk to.

Everything I have to say henceforth about the whole situation will be here, as I want my other blog to be about 'lighter', happier things.

Well, that dream has died

For any of you not aware, I lost my baby and almost lost my life on Thursday. I'm not going to go into a blow by blow account in this blog, but I will at a later date.

Long story short, I had an ectopic pregnancy. The hospital had already decided to admit me and operate (after about 12 hours of waiting around) when my fallopian tube burst and I was rushed into emergency surgery. I lost 3 litres of blood and came so close to death.

It's 4am and I've had maybe half an hours sleep. Trying to maintain comfort when your abdominal wall has been sliced through is a joke. Trying to sit up in bed, I resemble a dying fish in a bucket, flailing this way and that trying - and failing - to find a way of sitting up where it feels like my innards are NOT being scooped out with a meat hook. I have to sit bolt upright in bed or else my throat - red raw from being intubated - gives me hell and I cough endlessly, hurting my poor tummy even more. I'm currently sliding down the bed, making staying upright a battle of head and neck muscles digging into metal bedframe to try to keep me up, a stupid task but as attempting to sit up straighter or reach for something leaves me utterly spent for ages, you can see why I keep up this ridiculous pantomime. I begin to slide down the bed after approximately 10 minutes in bed and only have the strength to try to sit up about once an hour, so for the majority of the time I'm in DEEP discomfort.

My skin is so stretched full of fluid that tears and weals are appearing which leak fluid. I have them all over my back and on my bum.

I'm so fucking hot all the time. This ward is hotter than Hades. I can't even wash downstairs myself as I'm sewn up so tight I feel like I'm 3 inches shorter & my arms no longer reach. I had to get my mum to wash my front and back clefts (hehe, love that word!) today.

All in all I'm THOROUGHLY fucking miserable and can't wait to feel better. I'm sure once I feel less like microwaved death I'll start to mourn the loss of baby.

James is distraught at nearly losing me, as are all my family. I heard my dad was going to give up smoking so I could spend more pregnant time with him. It's little things like that which remind me we've ALL lost something wonderful.

A good day! Dentists & midwife

Today has been a good day.

I haven't felt tired today. Today is a sickie feeling day instead. I seem to get one or the other, which is a lot better than both at once.

I was due to have a tooth out today but the dentist decided to clean it up a bit and put a temporary filler in instead. That suited me as I wasn't too keen on having the tooth out now I know I'm pregnant. I was also booked in for a air polish and now sport super sparkly clean teeth.

Not having my tooth out left we with some spare time so I headed off to the doctors over an hour early (I would've been early anyway) and got seen early, which was nice.

The midwife was nice. I'd been dreading a lecture over my weight, but the midwife didn't say anything about it. I grabbed the bull by the horns and said "Obviously I have a big problem with my weight, and I want to minimise the damage." She said she doesn't recommend trying to diet (or maintain) during pregnancy and just to be sensible. Lots of lean meat, plenty of fruit and veg, enough calcium for baby and a small amount of carbs.

She gave me some literature to read about the scans and tests for Downs Syndrome and said she'll be in contact about the scan, which will be with her. 

All in all it was much better than I expected! I've been very happy since :)

I think this baby might be an only child ;)

My quality of sleep as I knew it has gone.

Last night I went for a pee 5 times in the night. My boobs always hurt. I'm always hot. I can't get comfortable in bed no matter how hard I try. I kept having to blow snot out of my orifices and I only had a decent sleep between 7 am and 11 am when James had gone to work and I could use the whole bed to flail around in to try to get comfortable. I went to bed at 1am so that's 6 hours of tossing and turning, getting up for a pee then trying to get comfortable after, with the occasional lucky snooze in the middle. I can't even get comfortable on my sofa any more, and that used to feel like a big leather hug.

And I know it only gets worse! Hahaha. I think my body is trying to get me used to the sleep deprivation of late pregnancy and new motherhood.

Despite all this moaning, I still want this baby. I'm just saying how it is. I knew it wouldn't be easy, but I didn't realise it'd be so hard right from the beginning.

Today I have the dentists at 2, then the midwife at 4.15. Wish me luck!

How the f*ck am I going to cope in heavy pregnancy?

I can't sleep.

Every time I lay down I can feel snot rising up my throat choking me. My throat is so sore (quite possibly from clearing it every 10 seconds) that it feels like I've gargled with razor blades. My tits feel like monkeys have been using them as a play park for the last week. They are so sore. I'm going to have to start wearing a bra in bed as every time I turn over I feel like sandpaper is being rubbed over my nipples. You could fry eggs on my tits, they're that hot, and my nipples would sizzle if I licked my fingers, I swear!! :) It's all part of the rich tapestry of pregnancy :D

I've been laying in bed trying (and failing) to get comfortable for 2 hours and have given up. There's only so much staring at the ceiling I can do. It's not like I can read in bed with James next to me. I can't even have the hall light on to navigate my way to the bedroom when I go to bed. His eyes are so sensitive to light we can't even use a night light to light the hall, even that piddly amount of light will wake him up. So if I'm really restless, there's no point staying in bed slowly going insane with boredom.

I have to wonder how the hell I'm going to cope with later pregnancy when I'm the size of a house and my tits are like the Hindenburgh in duplicate. I can only hope our new bed is more comfortable than the mattress on the floor we've been sleeping on for the last 8 months. Our old bed was SO uncomfortable (and bent up in the process of moving) that James could never face putting the bloody thing together again.

Our new bed comes on Friday and I hope (pray) it's comfortable.

I'm sipping a honey and lemon drink and hoping I feel better soon. If I don't feel sleepy soon I may have to bash myself over the head with the nearest heavy thing, which appears to be a box of Quality Street. What a way to go - death by chocolate!

At least my sense of humour is still functioning - it may be the only bit that is :)

I'm an afterthought

I hope James doesn't see this.

I'm really glad my side of the family is stoked about my pregnancy, because James's side don't really seem to give a toss. He just spoke to his mum on the phone for about 20 minutes. She asked him no end of questions about how he's doing, how his work is yadda yadda yadda ad infinitum and I thought she was going to get all the way through the call without mentioning me and the baby at all.

Almost.

Right at the end she asked how I was feeling, almost disinterestedly. I don't know if she was even listening to the reply. James wants to go there next weekend and it's going to be a strange contrast from being with my family recently who were all as pleased as punch and dead excited, to a couple who live and die in their own bubble of two.

I know different people think differently - and of course I'm going to be more excited than other people because I'm the person carrying this child - I just don't want to think that one lot of the child's grandparents couldn't give a fuck.

Maybe it's just my hormones.

Yo Yo Emotions

Friday was a really awful day for me, the worst since I've been pregnant. I was just so tired and down.

Yesterday was a better day. I felt less tired and I had my hair cut, which always perks me up. 

I have some kind of mild cold, with a very sore throat, headache and silly dry cough. Despite that, I feel much better in spirit than I did on Friday. I seem to have arrived at the weepy stage. Everything sets me off. I can have a good old cry and feel fine moments afterwards.

It was nice to put some make up on yesterday and look nice as my skin is grey and horrible. I look forward to the 'glowing' middle trimester. I also can't wait to get past the superstitious 12 week mark so we can start buying things ready for baby. 

It's only 2 days until my first midwife appointment. Scared and excited!

:(

I'm not having a good day today. I'm just so tired. I was too tired to move my lips to sing earlier. When I realised this I had a good sob. 

I know baby's doing great, the hormones just got the better of me. I felt better once I'd got it out.

I hardly ever look forward to going to bed but I can't wait to get to bed tonight 1. because I'm tired and 2. because I'm bored shitless.

I bought a swimming costume online today from Bon Prix who do cheap clothes and a cheap maternity line too. There's a link to my swimming costume here because I'm too knackered to screen shot and edit.

It's well worth a mention that Bon Prix do a plus size range as well, and many of their 'normal' lines go up to a size 28.

I can't wait for 12 weeks to start feeling human again! I've only known I'm pregnant for 10 days and it feels like a lifetime, hehe!