Since we arrived 2 weeks ago (or is it 3? My brain is definitely mush) we have literally not stopped. Obviously the reason we are in the UK is for IVF yet frankly an outsider would think we'd just come for a jolly. And a jolly good time we are having too. So far I have stayed with my sister in law, been to the Natural History Museum, visited my sister, brother in law and nephew at their new house and had a lovely family BBQ, stayed at my parents, Rufus (I've dispensed with anonimity as it's too time consuming coming up with psudenyms) started his pre-school and loved it, sister, brother in law and newphew (who has sent me absolutely ga ga with love) have stayed for a week, mother in law has also stayed for 5 days and husband has been here for 2 weeks. We have had simply the BEST time. My Mum has taken on role of Ward Sister and refuses to let me lift a finger which up until today has been a total sham as I have been feeling better than I had been in ages. The injections went brilliantly, I didn't have any side effects apart from the ususal weight gain (which a kindly nurse told me this morning was minimal and I had done very well which cheered me up immensly), oh and some cracking bruises on my stomach but these are covered anyway so who cares. No beard, no manly voice and no violent mood swings. All in all very civilised. I have found the scans fairly easy - lets face it no-one likes being probed with a phalic object (well I am sure many people do like being probed with phalic objects but just not in this situation) by a total stranger but the nurses have been nothing short of amazing and I really don't have any complaints.
Today was egg collection day and has been praying on my mind for this whole process since the dodgy AMH level results. BUT they got a good crop and have just called to say they have a nice number of mature eggs, so now its time to fertilize them (said in voice of country bumpkin as I can't say fertilze or combine harvester any other way). Next step is the biggy - will we find any that are chromosomally normal? It's a major worry and something that we are having to be a bit gung ho about, but luckily we should know by Friday if they are ok and so at least the wait is not too long - and I feel as though we have a chance which is postive. It's nice, I have little phone calls from my embryologist telling me how my eggs are doing which makes me feel very connected. I saw 2 chicks hatch at a farm park this week which stirred all kinds of new life feelings - it was quite magical and I felt and do feel very optimistic for our future. Mind you - egg collection is not quite like the Easter Bunny style of egg collection - it was incredibly painful and I am feeling absolutely shattered now so I am back off to bed for a rest and a catch up with the Archers.
Wednesday 27 April 2011
Tuesday 12 April 2011
Here we go!
A very quick update as the smallest member of the family has jet lag and his Mummy is exhausted! BUT so far so good, the downregulation worked, I have had a lesson in injecting which I think qualifies me for a medical position somewhere, and the drugs kick off tomorrow. Cue deep manly voice and nasal hair.
Wednesday 6 April 2011
Au revoir...
So - two day's to go and we're off. There are two suitcases sitting on my spare bed with some semblance of attire and 'kit' in them, I have lists as long as a toilet roll, some things actually crossed off, most just pending. Today has been spent dashing from a-b, tomorrow will be much the same, and Friday will be an early start (5am - eurgh) as we head to England and for the real nitty gritty.
I had a final counselling session pre-IVF. I think I will keep going when I get back regardless of the outcome as I realise there really is a lot going on in my head that I have not dealt with. Lovely Head Doctor listened to me as I spilled the beans on how scared I am, how the magnitude of everything we have been through over the past 2 years has just hit me like a double decker bus and how I am emotionally drained. I think the best thing she said to me today was that I didn't have to be happy and excited and almost grateful for where we are going and what we are doing all the time. It's ok to be worried and have fears and admit that while this journey is hopefully going to take us to our ideal conclusion, we can be shaky along the way. My husband is being remarkable - I worry that he is holding back and not really sharing with me all his fears as he doesn't want to burden me, but I genuinely believe he is just being pragmatic and strong. Either way, he has surprised me every step of the way on this journey and I love him more and more every step of the way. Whatever the outcome, I will never doubt our strength as a couple or a family and that is a very nice place to be.
My friends and I got together today for a final play date for the little man, who has NO idea what all the fuss is about. As far as he's concerned he's off to see Granny and Poppa, Grandma (and gypsy) his Aunts, Uncles and cousins and go to a new school that he's reliably informed me has a Shark Class and he is going to be the biggest Shark. No idea if it does or not, but that's his take on life at present. He also has no idea that today he was accepted into the school of our choice here in Hong Kong which is a major relief and I wondered somewhat indulgently if it was a sign that maybe our luck might be changing? Hope so. Anyway, the playdate involved a lot of farewells and good lucks and I have a lump in my throat the size of Stone Henge. I really can't ever thank this group of wonderful women enough. They have truly shown me the meaning of the word friends and I am forever grateful. I hope that I can give everyone some good news soon...
I had a final counselling session pre-IVF. I think I will keep going when I get back regardless of the outcome as I realise there really is a lot going on in my head that I have not dealt with. Lovely Head Doctor listened to me as I spilled the beans on how scared I am, how the magnitude of everything we have been through over the past 2 years has just hit me like a double decker bus and how I am emotionally drained. I think the best thing she said to me today was that I didn't have to be happy and excited and almost grateful for where we are going and what we are doing all the time. It's ok to be worried and have fears and admit that while this journey is hopefully going to take us to our ideal conclusion, we can be shaky along the way. My husband is being remarkable - I worry that he is holding back and not really sharing with me all his fears as he doesn't want to burden me, but I genuinely believe he is just being pragmatic and strong. Either way, he has surprised me every step of the way on this journey and I love him more and more every step of the way. Whatever the outcome, I will never doubt our strength as a couple or a family and that is a very nice place to be.
My friends and I got together today for a final play date for the little man, who has NO idea what all the fuss is about. As far as he's concerned he's off to see Granny and Poppa, Grandma (and gypsy) his Aunts, Uncles and cousins and go to a new school that he's reliably informed me has a Shark Class and he is going to be the biggest Shark. No idea if it does or not, but that's his take on life at present. He also has no idea that today he was accepted into the school of our choice here in Hong Kong which is a major relief and I wondered somewhat indulgently if it was a sign that maybe our luck might be changing? Hope so. Anyway, the playdate involved a lot of farewells and good lucks and I have a lump in my throat the size of Stone Henge. I really can't ever thank this group of wonderful women enough. They have truly shown me the meaning of the word friends and I am forever grateful. I hope that I can give everyone some good news soon...
Monday 4 April 2011
Crazy bonkers
Honestly where to start? The past few weeks really have been a whirlwind. It's been more like the lead up to a wedding than the start of IVF! My friends have been phenomenal. I am genuinely taken aback with the love and kindness they have shown me. From a fabulously glitzy dinner in my honour (where being the only one not drinking didn't matter at all), to presenting me with an extremely generous spa voucher, to listening to me when it's all got a bit too much. I am day's away from leaving Hong Kong and heading off on our 5 week journey and I am so sad to be leaving my friends behind as they really have been my support network throughout this whole journey. This baton is about to be passed on to my family - poor them!
It's been a bit of a roller coaster to say the least over the past 10 days, things have reached a whole new level of weirdness. The most defining moment being when I went to the Doctors with what I thought was a chest infection and was diagnosed with Severe Stress. Pardon? Honestly it's taken me a week AND a counselling session to believe this could be true, as I have seriously felt as though I have been on top of it all, but apparently not. The giveaway was the fact I couldn't breath which was apparently my subconscious stress levels showing their ugly heads (I visualise them as some sort of Star Wars ugly monster - lots of tentacles, heads and green slime. Ok, green slime is a bit far fetched but if one has to have an ugly monster it may as well be a good one), oh and panic attacks at night. To be fair I have had the latter for years so that was no big surprise, but the inability to breath was somewhat of an inconvenience. It would seem that my subconscious is telling me that I might have a few issues to deal with and unless I want to spend the foreseeable on tranquillisers and beta blockers which definitely have their place, just not in my life, I should perhaps do something about it. So my doctor very gently but with the air of a Headmaster who shall not be disobeyed suggested a few sessions with a counsellor to give me bit of help (which frankly is what I thought this blog was but clearly not!). Going to see the Psychologist was really quite strange. For as start if felt very American which love them as I do, I am British. We get on with things. Secondly, I was under orders from himself not to be the one asking the questions, I had to answer them. This was really very very difficult as I am fascinated by the workings of the brain (or lack of at times) and how this huge muscle defines our whole being, so to be in a counselling session and not ask all the questions I have wanted to for years was hard. I sat on my hands a lot and bit my tongue. However, I did as I was told and my Psychologist was really rather amazing. I felt so sorry for her - she's 6 months pregnant and there is me talking about miscarriages. Not exactly what you want to hear when you are pregnant yourself. She however seemed unfazed (I hope I have not lead her to have to have counselling?)and what was so fascinating was her ability to draw out things that I have really have locked away, but without realising. I told her how let down I felt by the medical profession and that I was very angry that we had had to endure 6 miscarriages before we got help - in fact I said it felt like I needed to notch up this gross number before anyone would even take us seriously which in my mind is more than a bit off. I was really quite cross at that. I told her how I am so scared to listen to my fears as to do so would make them valid, which would then open up the possibility to this whole process failing. I told her how when I say 'I've had 6 miscarriages' it sounds like a sentence, but when I listen to what I have said it sounds like a nightmare. I have dreams that are just too unpleasant to talk about, yet she listened and didn't suggest I was in anyway a nut job, in fact she said that I was very normal and my coping mechanisms were very normal, but I had to remember that I HAVE had 6 miscarriages, and I need to let my feelings and emotions have a bit of a free reign rather than trying to steer them in the direction I feel is acceptable.
So right now, as I write lists and start to think about packing, organising and getting ready for this journey, I can see why I would have severe stress. I'm quite prone to crying at the moment (just the tiniest glint of realising I will be away from my husband for so long reduces me to a gibbering wreck in world record time) which I daresay could be down to the hormones raging around my body but also just the sheer magnitude of what we are about to undertake and lets face it - the thought of the bulging suitcases and a 13 hour flight with a toddler could reduce anyone to tears. Actually - I'm looking forward to the last bit - I love nothing more than me and my baby cuddled up on a plane seat watching a film and being cosy. I have been having some nosebleeds from the nasal spray - only little ones but they seem to make me cry - what a complete wuss. I cried at some dreadful TV show where a bride chose her dress this evening - that HAS to be hormones or I really have lost the plot.
I think I really am a little bit of a nut job at the moment, but luckily my lovely new Head Doctor has it all covered and what is nice is that I trust her and her instincts implicitly so I hope that for once I can relinquish control for just a little bit and let her try and make sense of my head. I might also ask her to come to the hairdressers with me on Thursday as last time I was hormonal and at the hairdressers I chopped the lot off and dyed it blonde. Big mistake.
It's been a bit of a roller coaster to say the least over the past 10 days, things have reached a whole new level of weirdness. The most defining moment being when I went to the Doctors with what I thought was a chest infection and was diagnosed with Severe Stress. Pardon? Honestly it's taken me a week AND a counselling session to believe this could be true, as I have seriously felt as though I have been on top of it all, but apparently not. The giveaway was the fact I couldn't breath which was apparently my subconscious stress levels showing their ugly heads (I visualise them as some sort of Star Wars ugly monster - lots of tentacles, heads and green slime. Ok, green slime is a bit far fetched but if one has to have an ugly monster it may as well be a good one), oh and panic attacks at night. To be fair I have had the latter for years so that was no big surprise, but the inability to breath was somewhat of an inconvenience. It would seem that my subconscious is telling me that I might have a few issues to deal with and unless I want to spend the foreseeable on tranquillisers and beta blockers which definitely have their place, just not in my life, I should perhaps do something about it. So my doctor very gently but with the air of a Headmaster who shall not be disobeyed suggested a few sessions with a counsellor to give me bit of help (which frankly is what I thought this blog was but clearly not!). Going to see the Psychologist was really quite strange. For as start if felt very American which love them as I do, I am British. We get on with things. Secondly, I was under orders from himself not to be the one asking the questions, I had to answer them. This was really very very difficult as I am fascinated by the workings of the brain (or lack of at times) and how this huge muscle defines our whole being, so to be in a counselling session and not ask all the questions I have wanted to for years was hard. I sat on my hands a lot and bit my tongue. However, I did as I was told and my Psychologist was really rather amazing. I felt so sorry for her - she's 6 months pregnant and there is me talking about miscarriages. Not exactly what you want to hear when you are pregnant yourself. She however seemed unfazed (I hope I have not lead her to have to have counselling?)and what was so fascinating was her ability to draw out things that I have really have locked away, but without realising. I told her how let down I felt by the medical profession and that I was very angry that we had had to endure 6 miscarriages before we got help - in fact I said it felt like I needed to notch up this gross number before anyone would even take us seriously which in my mind is more than a bit off. I was really quite cross at that. I told her how I am so scared to listen to my fears as to do so would make them valid, which would then open up the possibility to this whole process failing. I told her how when I say 'I've had 6 miscarriages' it sounds like a sentence, but when I listen to what I have said it sounds like a nightmare. I have dreams that are just too unpleasant to talk about, yet she listened and didn't suggest I was in anyway a nut job, in fact she said that I was very normal and my coping mechanisms were very normal, but I had to remember that I HAVE had 6 miscarriages, and I need to let my feelings and emotions have a bit of a free reign rather than trying to steer them in the direction I feel is acceptable.
So right now, as I write lists and start to think about packing, organising and getting ready for this journey, I can see why I would have severe stress. I'm quite prone to crying at the moment (just the tiniest glint of realising I will be away from my husband for so long reduces me to a gibbering wreck in world record time) which I daresay could be down to the hormones raging around my body but also just the sheer magnitude of what we are about to undertake and lets face it - the thought of the bulging suitcases and a 13 hour flight with a toddler could reduce anyone to tears. Actually - I'm looking forward to the last bit - I love nothing more than me and my baby cuddled up on a plane seat watching a film and being cosy. I have been having some nosebleeds from the nasal spray - only little ones but they seem to make me cry - what a complete wuss. I cried at some dreadful TV show where a bride chose her dress this evening - that HAS to be hormones or I really have lost the plot.
I think I really am a little bit of a nut job at the moment, but luckily my lovely new Head Doctor has it all covered and what is nice is that I trust her and her instincts implicitly so I hope that for once I can relinquish control for just a little bit and let her try and make sense of my head. I might also ask her to come to the hairdressers with me on Thursday as last time I was hormonal and at the hairdressers I chopped the lot off and dyed it blonde. Big mistake.
Sunday 27 March 2011
Sniff sniff
Today at 7am I started the drugs. Weird. Surreal really - so many months of tests, good news, bad news, tears and laughs have all come together and finally it's not longer all chat - it's actually happening.
I set my alarm as I have to take four sniffs a day, so am now a walking alarm clock to remind me when to ingest the magic potion. I did the first one in my sleep as I was so tired from a night tossing and turning - my subconscious thinking over the whole IVF process during my allotted seven hours sleep time. Irritating. Anyway, it was a fairly un-momentous moment although I am not sure exactly how I expected to feel? The 12 o'clock snifter was slightly more momentous as that happened in the back of a cab with my son (who has already tried to sniff my drugs - a worry as his favourite colour is pink and a whole host of hormones could send him into a glitterati of girly stuff) and husband. Both looked at me with vague interest, waiting to see what the result would be, which was a nasty taste down the back of my throat and that was that.
The 5 o'clock was far more momentous as I had to hold a sneeze in. I'd been warned about this - the sniffy drug is like gold dust and I don't want to miss a drop so I hopped and wiggled while rubbing my nose to keep the sneeze at bag, eyes bulging out and face going crimson. Sneeze stayed put although it has been threatening to re-appear ever since. So we have the 10pm one to go and that will be day one of drugs. I am taking baby aspirin and some mega folic acid, but only one a day of each of those so all in all its very manageable - as long as I remember to take them.
Obviously the drugs have had no immediate effect (well outwardly), but I have spent all day, and I mean ALL day thinking about babies and our quest to have one. Having just come back from a short trip to Australia to meet my five month old Godson, I am super broody. Spending 4 days with the little nugget has well and truly cemented my desire for another baby and instead of these feelings coming with a health warning - 'Danger - thoughts of pro-creating can lead to serious depression and disappointment' I am not only wishing for it - there is a very definite feeling it is within the realms of possibility that our family of 3 will soon become four, or maybe five...
It's fair to say the feelings are those akin to those I have in September when Christmas is within grasp and I can start listening to carols secretly. Bubble of glee as I think about the future, start imagining our family with a baby in it (or two...). I keep putting us all in scenario's - my son helping me change nappies, my husband doing that lovely thing of falling asleep on the sofa with a newborn on his chest (he did that all the time with our son and it was just the loveliest thing). I know we can't predict the future and I know we have to be prepared for the fact it might not work, but I think that now we have started the process a few positive vibes won't go amiss and why not? If I am going to put my body through this rigorous process, the least I can do is support it mentally. Positive Mental Attitude. I'm all over it.
I set my alarm as I have to take four sniffs a day, so am now a walking alarm clock to remind me when to ingest the magic potion. I did the first one in my sleep as I was so tired from a night tossing and turning - my subconscious thinking over the whole IVF process during my allotted seven hours sleep time. Irritating. Anyway, it was a fairly un-momentous moment although I am not sure exactly how I expected to feel? The 12 o'clock snifter was slightly more momentous as that happened in the back of a cab with my son (who has already tried to sniff my drugs - a worry as his favourite colour is pink and a whole host of hormones could send him into a glitterati of girly stuff) and husband. Both looked at me with vague interest, waiting to see what the result would be, which was a nasty taste down the back of my throat and that was that.
The 5 o'clock was far more momentous as I had to hold a sneeze in. I'd been warned about this - the sniffy drug is like gold dust and I don't want to miss a drop so I hopped and wiggled while rubbing my nose to keep the sneeze at bag, eyes bulging out and face going crimson. Sneeze stayed put although it has been threatening to re-appear ever since. So we have the 10pm one to go and that will be day one of drugs. I am taking baby aspirin and some mega folic acid, but only one a day of each of those so all in all its very manageable - as long as I remember to take them.
Obviously the drugs have had no immediate effect (well outwardly), but I have spent all day, and I mean ALL day thinking about babies and our quest to have one. Having just come back from a short trip to Australia to meet my five month old Godson, I am super broody. Spending 4 days with the little nugget has well and truly cemented my desire for another baby and instead of these feelings coming with a health warning - 'Danger - thoughts of pro-creating can lead to serious depression and disappointment' I am not only wishing for it - there is a very definite feeling it is within the realms of possibility that our family of 3 will soon become four, or maybe five...
It's fair to say the feelings are those akin to those I have in September when Christmas is within grasp and I can start listening to carols secretly. Bubble of glee as I think about the future, start imagining our family with a baby in it (or two...). I keep putting us all in scenario's - my son helping me change nappies, my husband doing that lovely thing of falling asleep on the sofa with a newborn on his chest (he did that all the time with our son and it was just the loveliest thing). I know we can't predict the future and I know we have to be prepared for the fact it might not work, but I think that now we have started the process a few positive vibes won't go amiss and why not? If I am going to put my body through this rigorous process, the least I can do is support it mentally. Positive Mental Attitude. I'm all over it.
Tuesday 15 March 2011
Exciting times.
It's been a manic week one way or another. First of all, I'm off on an impromptu trip to Australia to see a school friend and her boys, one of whom is my Godson and I haven't even met him yet! I have to thank my lovely husband who I think took pity on me during 'sleep gate' and could see that I was a couple of days from combustion, so booked me quick smart on a plane to Sydney. I also think he's looking forward to a few days of uninterrupted sleep himself (she say's as his comments of 'that was a better night wasn't it?' ring in my ears. I had been up 4 times in the night and he slept through the lot). For the record - we are now getting some sort of routine back from our son, but I am still spending far too much of the night awake worrying. I have added schooling worries to the IVF ones - well in for a penny in for a pound and if I am going to be awake half the night 'thinking' I may as well make it productive.
Anyway, while organising the flight, I suddenly realised that I need to start taking drugs pretty smartish. Amusing to see how my mind works - we've been planning IVF since November/December time but it takes me to book a flight to actually realise I am starting it in 2 weeks. Nothing like leaving things until the last minute. I have to admit I have found the whole level of drugs and their administering really quite overwhelming and subconsciously put actually getting the drugs to the back of my mind as I couldn't face it. There are SO many to take and in so many different forms and at different times, I've got myself in a bit of a pickle about it. For the first time in my life I attempted an excel spreadsheet - I thought it would be helpful to put in what drug I need and when I need to take it - it's SO confusing I am permanently going back to check I haven't missed anything out. Anyway, that didn't work as I am hopeless at excel sheets and got myself more worked up than I was before. It all resulted in panic phone calls to Dr UK IVF's secretary (the Doc himself is on annual leave - probably to escape from me for a while) and Dr HK IVF's nurse to see if I could start just one drug here in Hong Kong and the rest when I get to England and at which point I will be given a print out with exact instructions. Phew - both said it was ok and I have to say I slept a whole lot better last night. If you ignore the little man wetting the bed after a nightmare and then shouting for me because his duvet wasn't on properly (!). Seriously - he is his fathers son through and through. Not the wetting the bed bit I should add.
I collected the first instalment of med's from the hospital this morning to start next week, and it's actually really exciting. I daresay it seems strange to say that the prospect of filling ones body with all kinds of hormones, steroids, anti-coagulants and the likes is exciting but really it is. I think I definitely have more Hollywood moments than most - this is where things in your life could be in a film - so for example when my son runs out of school into my arms, if you slow mo'd it down, that could be a scene from a film. Today when I actually held the drugs, it was very Hollywood. Not a blockbuster, granted, in fact I am not sure it would even go so far as straight to DVD - the Hollywood scenes in my life are all destined for the cutting room floor, but none the less it had a real sense of achievement, crescendo, the soundtrack would have been uplifting if it were in a film. As it's real life, none of that happened and the nurse gave me a demonstration in front of about 30 random punters of how to use the nasal spray. Not as glam as Julia Roberts but hey ho.
I trotted out of the hospital full of beans and optimism which I have found hard to find over the past few weeks. In the same way that when one has a miscarriage, all of a sudden lots of other people have them too and it's so horribly sad. Since we have been given the green light to go ahead with IVF if I have heard one failure story I have heard 10. Of course IVF does not mean immediate success and there have to be failures - thats life - but when you are on the start of your journey and full of so much hope its really hard to hear that it's failed for someone else. I now have to warn people that if they have bad stories not to tell me as I really can't bear to hear them. Anyway, today I am not full of doom and gloom but of hope and excitement. I am definitely in the zone where I think we are going to have a baby and I am seriously excited. It's almost like the drugs are the advent calendar, implantation is Christmas Eve and pregnancy test is Christmas Day - well we hope anyway.
So I'm off to Aus to see my lovely friend and her boys (sadly it will be a dry old do as I can't drink obviously, and she is breastfeeding), have some sun, do lots of lovely fun things and when I get back it's time to start snorting. You see - that's not Julia Roberts either. Maybe I need to re-asses this whole Hollywood thing...
Anyway, while organising the flight, I suddenly realised that I need to start taking drugs pretty smartish. Amusing to see how my mind works - we've been planning IVF since November/December time but it takes me to book a flight to actually realise I am starting it in 2 weeks. Nothing like leaving things until the last minute. I have to admit I have found the whole level of drugs and their administering really quite overwhelming and subconsciously put actually getting the drugs to the back of my mind as I couldn't face it. There are SO many to take and in so many different forms and at different times, I've got myself in a bit of a pickle about it. For the first time in my life I attempted an excel spreadsheet - I thought it would be helpful to put in what drug I need and when I need to take it - it's SO confusing I am permanently going back to check I haven't missed anything out. Anyway, that didn't work as I am hopeless at excel sheets and got myself more worked up than I was before. It all resulted in panic phone calls to Dr UK IVF's secretary (the Doc himself is on annual leave - probably to escape from me for a while) and Dr HK IVF's nurse to see if I could start just one drug here in Hong Kong and the rest when I get to England and at which point I will be given a print out with exact instructions. Phew - both said it was ok and I have to say I slept a whole lot better last night. If you ignore the little man wetting the bed after a nightmare and then shouting for me because his duvet wasn't on properly (!). Seriously - he is his fathers son through and through. Not the wetting the bed bit I should add.
I collected the first instalment of med's from the hospital this morning to start next week, and it's actually really exciting. I daresay it seems strange to say that the prospect of filling ones body with all kinds of hormones, steroids, anti-coagulants and the likes is exciting but really it is. I think I definitely have more Hollywood moments than most - this is where things in your life could be in a film - so for example when my son runs out of school into my arms, if you slow mo'd it down, that could be a scene from a film. Today when I actually held the drugs, it was very Hollywood. Not a blockbuster, granted, in fact I am not sure it would even go so far as straight to DVD - the Hollywood scenes in my life are all destined for the cutting room floor, but none the less it had a real sense of achievement, crescendo, the soundtrack would have been uplifting if it were in a film. As it's real life, none of that happened and the nurse gave me a demonstration in front of about 30 random punters of how to use the nasal spray. Not as glam as Julia Roberts but hey ho.
I trotted out of the hospital full of beans and optimism which I have found hard to find over the past few weeks. In the same way that when one has a miscarriage, all of a sudden lots of other people have them too and it's so horribly sad. Since we have been given the green light to go ahead with IVF if I have heard one failure story I have heard 10. Of course IVF does not mean immediate success and there have to be failures - thats life - but when you are on the start of your journey and full of so much hope its really hard to hear that it's failed for someone else. I now have to warn people that if they have bad stories not to tell me as I really can't bear to hear them. Anyway, today I am not full of doom and gloom but of hope and excitement. I am definitely in the zone where I think we are going to have a baby and I am seriously excited. It's almost like the drugs are the advent calendar, implantation is Christmas Eve and pregnancy test is Christmas Day - well we hope anyway.
So I'm off to Aus to see my lovely friend and her boys (sadly it will be a dry old do as I can't drink obviously, and she is breastfeeding), have some sun, do lots of lovely fun things and when I get back it's time to start snorting. You see - that's not Julia Roberts either. Maybe I need to re-asses this whole Hollywood thing...
Monday 7 March 2011
Worry worry worry, must be funny, in a sane man's world.
We got the drug protocol through last night - oh my goodness! A drug protocol is basically the list of drugs that I have to take, in what sequence and for how long. Long is the operative word - I actually can't tell you the amount of injections and pills I have to take as every time I add them up I miss some out and then have to start again but we are well over 200. Wow. I printed off all the information and my husband asked if I was printing the Yellow Pages - it certainly felt that way. I told him he had to read it and he went rather pale - he's still on page 2 of The Beano.
There is so much to take in that last night I went to bed totally overwhelmed and terrified - and obviously didn't sleep a wink. Seriously Mum, you are an amazing gardener and an incredibly good cook and a mean crossword fanatic - could you not have passed those skills on to me instead of your incredible ability to worry worry worry all through the night? I can neither garden nor cook but I can definitely whip your Worry Crown straight from your head. My latest fear is that I have calculated the dates wrong (anyone who knows me well will know that this is not an unfounded worry) and my timings will make everything fail. I have sent a very pleading e-mail to Dr UK IVF asking him to work it all out for me and basically take over as I just cannot bear the weight of responsibility. I think he may be regretting taking us on...
So anyway, in between worry which is taking up the vast percentage of my nights and Nocturnal Boy's activities (oh by the way, I think he peaked with his bad behaviour and he has been absolutely adorable since Saturday so we have revised our thinking and we most definitely want another one of him please) I am quite tired. But I have come up with a new take on this and actually think my old sparring partner Mother Nature is doing me a favour. I think she is preparing me for a new-born. I had quite forgotten the depravity that came with sleepless nights, but she has given me the perfect insight over the past few weeks and while I think she could have waited until I was actually pregnant before this little insight, I can see the logic. Tongue is firmly in cheek.
Anyway, tiredness aside, I have in black and white a prescription on my desk waiting to be taken to the Doctors and a bucket load of pills and syringes to pick up, it's really actually, definitely, completely happening!!
I'm nervous about the amount of hormones and steroids that will be coursing through my veins, but more nervous for those around me than myself, bad luck. I am a little less than excited about the intralipid infusion (to lower my immune system) that apparently takes over 2 hours, but I can at least have it at Mum and Dad's while catching up with Neighbours and Home and Away. All in all it could be a lot worse in terms of medical punishment and frankly, if there is a chance it will work, I would do it all ten times over.
Yes, I think its fair to say that while I am single handedly sending myself grey with this ludicrous and totally time wasting worry, I am very very excited and looking forward to the next step. I have a couple of weeks to wait and then I should have a bottom like a pin cushion (makes a change from orange peel), facial hair to rival Brian Blessed and maybe even the voice to match. My husband can't wait...
There is so much to take in that last night I went to bed totally overwhelmed and terrified - and obviously didn't sleep a wink. Seriously Mum, you are an amazing gardener and an incredibly good cook and a mean crossword fanatic - could you not have passed those skills on to me instead of your incredible ability to worry worry worry all through the night? I can neither garden nor cook but I can definitely whip your Worry Crown straight from your head. My latest fear is that I have calculated the dates wrong (anyone who knows me well will know that this is not an unfounded worry) and my timings will make everything fail. I have sent a very pleading e-mail to Dr UK IVF asking him to work it all out for me and basically take over as I just cannot bear the weight of responsibility. I think he may be regretting taking us on...
So anyway, in between worry which is taking up the vast percentage of my nights and Nocturnal Boy's activities (oh by the way, I think he peaked with his bad behaviour and he has been absolutely adorable since Saturday so we have revised our thinking and we most definitely want another one of him please) I am quite tired. But I have come up with a new take on this and actually think my old sparring partner Mother Nature is doing me a favour. I think she is preparing me for a new-born. I had quite forgotten the depravity that came with sleepless nights, but she has given me the perfect insight over the past few weeks and while I think she could have waited until I was actually pregnant before this little insight, I can see the logic. Tongue is firmly in cheek.
Anyway, tiredness aside, I have in black and white a prescription on my desk waiting to be taken to the Doctors and a bucket load of pills and syringes to pick up, it's really actually, definitely, completely happening!!
I'm nervous about the amount of hormones and steroids that will be coursing through my veins, but more nervous for those around me than myself, bad luck. I am a little less than excited about the intralipid infusion (to lower my immune system) that apparently takes over 2 hours, but I can at least have it at Mum and Dad's while catching up with Neighbours and Home and Away. All in all it could be a lot worse in terms of medical punishment and frankly, if there is a chance it will work, I would do it all ten times over.
Yes, I think its fair to say that while I am single handedly sending myself grey with this ludicrous and totally time wasting worry, I am very very excited and looking forward to the next step. I have a couple of weeks to wait and then I should have a bottom like a pin cushion (makes a change from orange peel), facial hair to rival Brian Blessed and maybe even the voice to match. My husband can't wait...
Saturday 5 March 2011
Sweet Dreams?
I can safely say this week has been probably one of the most up and down in terms of emotional roller coaster. Having had the green light to go ahead with IVF, we were on a major high. It was actually palpable, for an evening my shoulders certainly felt lighter. I went to bed with such high hopes and excitement and a little bit of disbelief that it was actually about to happen. However, that night I had one of the worse nights sleep ever as I tossed and turned worrying about everything and anything. I am not sure how manage to find so much to worry about, but I do. I suppose I replaced the milestone of reaching one hurdle with that of another and all it's pitfalls. So on Wednesday the dreams and worry went something like this: What if they can't find any eggs? What if they can find eggs but they don't implant? What if I die on the operating table as they are harvesting the eggs - that really would make it all rather pointless (yes I realise a ludicrous thought but you try being me and my mind at 4am). Honestly I think I am a nut job at times, why can't I just see things on face value, enjoy the moment and worry about the rest as and when it happens? I suppose this is another layer of my impulsive obsessive nature and also entirely my mothers fault as she has done this night time worrying for years. Anyway the nights sleep was also dramatically reduced by the insistent and thoroughly irritating demands of our son. He is currently in the 'I won't sleep in my bed' phase - which basically means he is up all night, as am I. I am so sleep deprived and fed up of the situation that I have actually told my husband we are completely mad to go ahead with IVF, how could I POSSIBLY cope with number 2 or 3? Because my husband could sleep through the Blitz, he can't quite see the problem. I have explained it to him, several times, I think he got the hint when my eyes started rolling and I resembled a demented horse suffering from colic. As the gangsters would say, 'nuff said.
So here we are now, tired, irritable, me slightly crazed, and generally a bit battered and bruised. We can't even drown our sleep deprived sorrows in booze as we are on the wagon for the foreseeable (for me hopefully for a year or so....). I've been hiking daily to build up the strength to carry a baby and lose the horrible miscarriage weight, eating like a Hollywood actress (slightly bigger portions and I don't think we need to count last nights ribs and chips...small glitch) and generally leading a healthier life. I'm making firm plans for our trip, and this week I should get my drug protocol and we're off. Ooooo it's really scary and more than a lot exciting.
I'm keeping this short as the boys have gone to the supermarket and I want to be firmly in situ, hiding in our bedroom when they get back. I think an hour of catching up on the Archers is definitely what this Nearly Doctor prescribes...
So here we are now, tired, irritable, me slightly crazed, and generally a bit battered and bruised. We can't even drown our sleep deprived sorrows in booze as we are on the wagon for the foreseeable (for me hopefully for a year or so....). I've been hiking daily to build up the strength to carry a baby and lose the horrible miscarriage weight, eating like a Hollywood actress (slightly bigger portions and I don't think we need to count last nights ribs and chips...small glitch) and generally leading a healthier life. I'm making firm plans for our trip, and this week I should get my drug protocol and we're off. Ooooo it's really scary and more than a lot exciting.
I'm keeping this short as the boys have gone to the supermarket and I want to be firmly in situ, hiding in our bedroom when they get back. I think an hour of catching up on the Archers is definitely what this Nearly Doctor prescribes...
Wednesday 2 March 2011
No news is good news...
...although it would be nice to hear all is well. We have still not heard from Dr UK IVF if the Hysteroscopy was ok, and the waiting is pretty unbearable. It reminds me of the 2 week wait between fertile days and pregnancy tests - trying to keep one's mind off the matter in hand always as the opposite effect or costs a fortune in shopping bills. However I have heard being nervous burns off calories. Every cloud and all that. Still, trying to be rational and not my usual impatient self, Dr UK IVF has patients to see other than me (strange concept it not being all about me - rather a drag actually - I much prefer it when I am on the radar) and is probably very busy making lots of little test tube babies so I can forgive this momentary lapse in communication. So, the bubbles stay on ice but I may just open the tonic to go with a gin tonight and soothe the nerves.
Monday 28 February 2011
Turning the corner
As I sit here typing I am reticent about being too positive as from my experience, as soon as we think we are on the way to a positive outcome, something crops up and we come crashing down to earth. However, I have just had the last blood tests back and low and behold they are all clear. Fabulous! To be honest, these were the HIV/Hep A&B, Rubella ones so I knew they would be, but there is something very nerve wracking about waiting for the results of blood tests, however confident you are. These bloods signal the end of the tests and hopefully the start of the treatment.
On a not quite so good note and the potential spanner in the works are the results of the Hysteroscopy, which as a Nearly Doctor I have interpreted, but having learnt my lesson from a few weeks ago when I thought it was game over for us, I am going to exercise caution in my diagnosis. Basically, they did find scarring which is less than ideal, and they also found an Endometrial Polyp which was removed (retained product from the last miscarriage). However, from the little I have learnt so far I think (cautious tone in voice as I type) this can be worked around.
I have sent all the results to Dr UK IVF for his interpretation and shall count down the hours until the working day in the UK starts and he can give us his take on it all, but Dr HK IVF and Gynae think it's all ok.
So there we go. I think we have a little chink of light at the end of the tunnel and without getting too over excited, I am excited! If nothing else, I have no nasty diseases, a fairly clean bill of health, and what stumbling blocks there are in the way appear to be treatable. I saw a little new born baby this morning and for a moment I allowed myself to think that maybe it could be our turn soon, which while a very indulgent thought as there is still so far to go, was nice to be able to do. It seems within the realms of possibilty that we may have a brother or sister for our little man and when I have stopped crying (of COURSE I am crying - this is the best news we've had in months - imagine if Dr UK IVF gives us the green light - I will be a gibbering wreck) I will enjoy this moment. We still have so far to go, our journey is not even half way through, yet this day really is the first when there seems to be a medical reason to be confident (if we gloss over the hysteroscopy results). It's been a long few months and we are totally exhausted by it, and we need to re-charge and get ready for the next steps, but if we do get the go ahead, I think its fair to say there will be a cork popping somewhere in Hong Kong tonight.
On a not quite so good note and the potential spanner in the works are the results of the Hysteroscopy, which as a Nearly Doctor I have interpreted, but having learnt my lesson from a few weeks ago when I thought it was game over for us, I am going to exercise caution in my diagnosis. Basically, they did find scarring which is less than ideal, and they also found an Endometrial Polyp which was removed (retained product from the last miscarriage). However, from the little I have learnt so far I think (cautious tone in voice as I type) this can be worked around.
I have sent all the results to Dr UK IVF for his interpretation and shall count down the hours until the working day in the UK starts and he can give us his take on it all, but Dr HK IVF and Gynae think it's all ok.
So there we go. I think we have a little chink of light at the end of the tunnel and without getting too over excited, I am excited! If nothing else, I have no nasty diseases, a fairly clean bill of health, and what stumbling blocks there are in the way appear to be treatable. I saw a little new born baby this morning and for a moment I allowed myself to think that maybe it could be our turn soon, which while a very indulgent thought as there is still so far to go, was nice to be able to do. It seems within the realms of possibilty that we may have a brother or sister for our little man and when I have stopped crying (of COURSE I am crying - this is the best news we've had in months - imagine if Dr UK IVF gives us the green light - I will be a gibbering wreck) I will enjoy this moment. We still have so far to go, our journey is not even half way through, yet this day really is the first when there seems to be a medical reason to be confident (if we gloss over the hysteroscopy results). It's been a long few months and we are totally exhausted by it, and we need to re-charge and get ready for the next steps, but if we do get the go ahead, I think its fair to say there will be a cork popping somewhere in Hong Kong tonight.
Thursday 24 February 2011
Ow.
Yesterday was Hysteroscopy Day. And Sports Day, which was markedly more enjoyable. Having had an extremely bad nights sleep the night before - although bad nights sleep suggests there was sleep, which there was not - with the little man who has croup, I was most certainly ready for a nice drug induced sleep at The Matilda Hotel. Sorry, hospital. Magazine and book packed, I trotted off for what an onlooker might have assumed was a spa date, so ready for relaxation was I. Upon arrival at the afore mentioned hospital which really does resemble a hotel in parts and has a very nice room service menu, I checked in, went through the obligatory ritual embarrassment of being weighed and 'gosh you don't look XX kg's' from a sweet tiny nurse, was told that my notes now required 3 folders which made me a VIP (which has no benefits sadly) and settled into my room. Here I read a magazine uninterrupted which was bliss, put on the regulation uniform for operations (elastic string pants don't look so hot but for those with a little extra around the stomach region, they are extremely comfortable), had a quick chat with the Anaesthetist who said 'Oh hello again. Well you've been here so often I don't really need to explain this to you do I? How was your holiday in Dubai?'' and went down to surgery. My Gynae was late, she always is but I don't mind in the slightest as I lie on the bed, arms stretched out either side on the rests (ready to be strapped down post anaesthetic but not before - it's against the Geneva convention you know) under a nice heated duvet. Life could be a whole lot worse. In comes my Gynae, quick chat about how she went to Uni with Dr UK IVF and what a small world it was, but I didn't get to the end of the story as the nice white medicine that is injected into my arm takes effect and its night night.
At this point what usually happens is that my Gynae performs an ERPC, I wake up a little bit later, have a nice snooze, order a yummy sandwich and a cup of tea, a bit more magazine reading and then home. Yesterday that did not happen. I woke, felt my head pound and my stomach loop the loop and realised that the day was going to go downhill. While having my routine hysteroscopy it looks like there was some 'retained product' that still hadn't departed the mother ship from the last miscarriage, and so was removed. I have no idea how it all went as I haven't spoken to my Gynae today, but judging from how battered and bruised I feel, I would say she had a lot to do. The procedure was longer than normal and I think the vast dose of IV pain relief added to the all round yuk effect - relaxing it wasn't. In the recovery room one of the nurses was barking at me to breath deeply as I was still woozy, which I have to say was greeted with a bark from me asking her what on earth she expected I would be like having just come round from an anaesthetic. I think she got the point and I was wheeled up to my room. No magazines this time, no mouthwatering thoughts of yummy sandwiches, just lots of swallowing to stop the nausea. It's quite disappointing in a way, if one really does have to go through these little procedures, it would be nice to have a little upside, but yesterday that wasn't to be. I even missed American Idol.
Anyway, after another interrupted nights sleep at home from croup boy, I find myself exhausted and on a bit of an anaesthetic downer, which I always get so is no surprise. The Nurse from my Gynae's office called to say that she would find out exactly what had happened in the procedure, as this could affect our plans for treatment. I am pretty worried that it will hold things up, but to be honest I am so tired that there is a great air of 'what will be will be' about me. I smile at the thought that 2 days ago I was excited that this would be the last hurdle before we can go forward, stupid me for not knowing that of COURSE there would be a hiccup, there always is with us. But I am positive. Positively exhausted!
At this point what usually happens is that my Gynae performs an ERPC, I wake up a little bit later, have a nice snooze, order a yummy sandwich and a cup of tea, a bit more magazine reading and then home. Yesterday that did not happen. I woke, felt my head pound and my stomach loop the loop and realised that the day was going to go downhill. While having my routine hysteroscopy it looks like there was some 'retained product' that still hadn't departed the mother ship from the last miscarriage, and so was removed. I have no idea how it all went as I haven't spoken to my Gynae today, but judging from how battered and bruised I feel, I would say she had a lot to do. The procedure was longer than normal and I think the vast dose of IV pain relief added to the all round yuk effect - relaxing it wasn't. In the recovery room one of the nurses was barking at me to breath deeply as I was still woozy, which I have to say was greeted with a bark from me asking her what on earth she expected I would be like having just come round from an anaesthetic. I think she got the point and I was wheeled up to my room. No magazines this time, no mouthwatering thoughts of yummy sandwiches, just lots of swallowing to stop the nausea. It's quite disappointing in a way, if one really does have to go through these little procedures, it would be nice to have a little upside, but yesterday that wasn't to be. I even missed American Idol.
Anyway, after another interrupted nights sleep at home from croup boy, I find myself exhausted and on a bit of an anaesthetic downer, which I always get so is no surprise. The Nurse from my Gynae's office called to say that she would find out exactly what had happened in the procedure, as this could affect our plans for treatment. I am pretty worried that it will hold things up, but to be honest I am so tired that there is a great air of 'what will be will be' about me. I smile at the thought that 2 days ago I was excited that this would be the last hurdle before we can go forward, stupid me for not knowing that of COURSE there would be a hiccup, there always is with us. But I am positive. Positively exhausted!
Tuesday 22 February 2011
The calm after the storm
It's been a funny couple of weeks. Funny ha ha and funny strange. After a flurry of activity and emotions, all of a sudden everything calmed down and life became normal again and with it I experienced the funny strange emotions. They are all centred around my son. I am no different from any other Mother in my total obsession with him. I love him so much that it the phrase 'it hurts' rings true, it really DOES hurt. A strange thing really that something so good would hurt but there you go. Anyway, our son is the best thing that has happened to my husband and I and we feel blessed to have him (gosh that sounds so American). He has however spent the past 2 weeks testing our love, his behaviour so bad that a non relative would definitely have put him up for adoption, but we grit our teeth, consult Super Nanny and live to see another day. The 'bad' behaviour has been a sleep issue. He's nearly 3, in a big boys bed and potty trained at night. I think these are pretty amazing landmarks for a toddler and I am immensely proud of him. The night time toilet training he did himself, we had 3 wet beds and he has been dry for nearly a month now. The staying in the big boys bed, well thats a different matter. We have had 2 weeks of what I can only call torture. He puts a new born baby in the shade with his nocturnal activities. One evening I had to put him back to bed 21 times in the space on an hour and a half, I rather lost the will to live. Little did I know that the next hour and a half would see me repeat the action a further 20 times, and I would be up a grand total of 15 times during the night. Unlike a new born who cries, you feed them, they may cry some more but you know that at some point they will go to sleep and if they don't you can be hard as nails and turn the monitor off, this one talks back. Ours talks back in Charlie and Lola (brilliant children's TV show, not so brilliant at 3am) talk, which goes something like, 'I will not ever ever completely not actually go to sleep. Ever.' (foot stamp). I can honestly say the sleep depravation and frustration took me to new lows and I wondered if we were doing the right thing by trying for another baby? I truly felt as though I was getting the whole mothering thing so dreadfully wrong that to it would be utter madness to go through it again. The long nights reminded me so much of the early months when our little boy was a baby, where I could go for 3 nights with 90 minutes sleep (he had horrendous reflux) and I really did nearly combust. I crashed the car instead which was the slightly more dramatic result of the situation, but apparently I didn't do enough damage to get any serious sympathy. Irritating. I will know for next time that a bent bumper doesn't cut the mustard. Anyway, I have been having little niggling doubts about IVF. Our life has become (pre night time wake ups which we hope are a teeny blip) very very easy. Our son was a dream on the sleep front, sleeping for up to 14 hours some nights (to the envy of my friends but they do concede that having had 15 months of shocking sleep when he arrived, we were due a break!), he is great fun to have around, holidays are relaxing and so much more enjoyable now that he is able to join in on the fun stuff. I suppose what has happened is we have become selfish and we are enjoying where we are now. We are happiest when it's the 3 of us on adventures, cooking, having dinners, playing, being a family and I would be lying if the thought didn't creep into my mind that perhaps this was fate gently suggesting we leave things as they are. Don't upset the apple cart. With the recent challenging behaviour, I have honestly questioned my ability to be a mother to another child. I know that all Mum's have times where they doubt their skills, so I don't think I am unusual in that respect but I suppose it's weird to hear it from someone who is trying everything under the sun to have another baby, but there are times when I am just not sure I am cut out for this. I have never really been very confident in my child rearing - I openly admit that I made a total hash of our son's first few months with my constant desire to be a Gina Ford Mum which backfired horribly. So why on earth do I think it's a good idea to do it again? But this shouldn't be misconstrued as me not wanting a baby, on the contrary, as Lola would say, I really actually desperately ever ever do want a baby, I am just rather scared the baby might not want me!
I think what is happening is that we are getting closer to D-Day as it were, and the nerves are kicking in. I would give anything to have a newborn baby and cuddle him or her to sleep, to experience that wonderful time again, sleep depravation and all, I'm just beginning to get the terrors that it won't work and so naturally I am going into survival mode which is allowing myself to think that a future just the 3 of us is good and could be sensible. But as we know, I am not great at sensible, and when I have had the terror moments I do tend to feel the teeny bubble of excitement well up again at the thought of another little person in our house. I suppose for us its like being first time parents again, and all the doubts are those that normal parents have only we have a bit more insight into what's coming. I wake up from horrible dreams where I have had to call my husband in Hong Kong and tell him it didn't work, his disappointment really really being too much for me to take. I have little flashes where it's worked and I am pregnant and that is the news I am telling him - its all a bit of a muddle right now to be honest. Fundamentally I AM excited, and I did feel great excitement yesterday when leaving the doctors having done the last round of blood tests, a quick swab test (horrible) and will be having a hysteroscopy on Thursday to make sure that everything is ok internally. Honestly, I can't wait, I will be under General Anaesthetic for an hour which will be the best sleep I have had in weeks! It's all coming together and finally it IS happening. Hopefully in a month I will be starting hormone therapy and perhaps then, when the wheels are in motion I will truly be able to allow myself to indulge in some serious baby hopes.
The funny ha ha by the way was my friend being told by her OB that 'breastfeeding is for poor people in Calcutta.' It's made me smile all week....
I think what is happening is that we are getting closer to D-Day as it were, and the nerves are kicking in. I would give anything to have a newborn baby and cuddle him or her to sleep, to experience that wonderful time again, sleep depravation and all, I'm just beginning to get the terrors that it won't work and so naturally I am going into survival mode which is allowing myself to think that a future just the 3 of us is good and could be sensible. But as we know, I am not great at sensible, and when I have had the terror moments I do tend to feel the teeny bubble of excitement well up again at the thought of another little person in our house. I suppose for us its like being first time parents again, and all the doubts are those that normal parents have only we have a bit more insight into what's coming. I wake up from horrible dreams where I have had to call my husband in Hong Kong and tell him it didn't work, his disappointment really really being too much for me to take. I have little flashes where it's worked and I am pregnant and that is the news I am telling him - its all a bit of a muddle right now to be honest. Fundamentally I AM excited, and I did feel great excitement yesterday when leaving the doctors having done the last round of blood tests, a quick swab test (horrible) and will be having a hysteroscopy on Thursday to make sure that everything is ok internally. Honestly, I can't wait, I will be under General Anaesthetic for an hour which will be the best sleep I have had in weeks! It's all coming together and finally it IS happening. Hopefully in a month I will be starting hormone therapy and perhaps then, when the wheels are in motion I will truly be able to allow myself to indulge in some serious baby hopes.
The funny ha ha by the way was my friend being told by her OB that 'breastfeeding is for poor people in Calcutta.' It's made me smile all week....
Monday 7 February 2011
Don't panic Mrs Mannering...
...My father used to say that to my mother when she was mid panic, still does. This could be a clue to my somewhat highly strung nature - it is inherited from my mother. When in doubt blame Mum.
I however don't like the term highly strung as it sounds like a horse that is basically a rotter but to be kind people call it highly strung. What they mean is it's a lunatic. I like to call such a personality trait impulsive, and when one moves on from the terrible calamities being impulsive tends to be associated with, it does have many good attributes. Those of us with an 'act now think later,' disposition tend to do quite a lot of exciting things in our lives because we don't think about the consequences. We have an awful lot of fun and when not stressing, enjoy life to the max. Sadly, one of the not so good attributes of an impulsive nature is to see things entirely on face value and not necessarily spend time gathering the full facts. It means we spend a vast part of our lives apologising and admitting we were wrong. It also means that when we are furnished with the full facts, we can somewhat obsess, see ALL the pitfalls and retreat into a world of doom and gloom. My husband calls me Health and Safety because when I do actually take a second to digest a situation, I find so many potential death traps, pitfalls, looming disasters that I become a neurotic stress ball, worthy of the phrase 'Don't panic Mrs Mannering.'
All of this leads me back to the blood tests. On an impulsive persons face value they were bleaker than bleak and worthy of a bottle of wine, straw and then another. Which is what we did. Example one of an impulsive persons propensity to admitting they were wrong. While knowledge is power, a little knowledge wrongly administered can be the root of many a downfall. My obsession to interpret information and know all the facts immediately, instead of waiting for the actual trained expert to explain them is a clear example of this. I got it wrong. I am also beginning to adjust my opinion of Google, or rather my use of it, and think perhaps we might have an armistice. While it is clearly full of useful information, it is also full of snippets of potentially scary information, which digested the wrong way can definitely cause undue upset and worry. Which is where this Nearly Doctor fell foul. It would seem that my blood tests were indeed a bit bleak in the fact that one would obviously prefer not to have any issues, but in relation to IVF, according to Dr UK IVF who is flying so high in our estimations at present he is not far off Sainthood, they are actually not so bad.
I do indeed have some problems with my immune system - it is super active and tends to attack any supposed 'infection' with the force of a crusade. This is actually not a bad thing according to Dr UK IVF, because it means that I am healthy (like having super powers I think was the analogy he used which irritated my husband horribly as he does not have these super powers, but made me smile a lot) and my body is less likely to get anything nasty. It's bad news for any embryo as that is deemed a threat by my white blood cells, but with a little tweaking and some very clever medicine that will 'calm down' my immune system, we can hopefully control this when it comes to implantation time. I will probably have this for life, although there are no studies that can prove or disprove this as yet.
My blood clotting mutation (such a horrible word) is genetic, so I blame my parents entirely, but with steroids, asprin and some whopping doses of super powered folic acid (being shipped as I type) it can be controlled. I am at risk of Thrombosis, stroke and coronary disease, but now that I know this, I can control it.
During our phone call with Dr UK IVF he said that he was actually pleased with our results. This is a funny one, and I was not sure entirely how to take it but as he said, now that we know about all of this, we can treat it and he said his feeling was a positive one. When we ended the call, my husband and I sat silently on the sofa for a minute. We had just had what seemed like the first positive news in a long time, and a teeeny tiny part of me began to think that actually this might work. Which then obviously turned to fear. What if this is our one piece of good luck and we have just used it up and now the IVF will fail? Silly really to have such an irrational thought after good news, but as I am sure it is clear by now, I do have a very active imagination and my mind really is not under my control at all times. Luckily I have a husband who can go some way to controlling me and talking sense, of which he did, telling me to stop being so pessimistic and be pleased we have good news. Which is where I am now. Pleased, optimistic, a bit nervous and not overly looking forward to the next medical bit of this journey which is another general anaesthetic in a couple of weeks to do a Hysteroscopy and check that all is well in the mothership. As we know, GA's are actually not remotely horrible for me, I quite like them, but it's another investigations that could throw up another problem. But that is a couple of weeks away, right now the sun is shining, we had another successful night of big boy pants in bed, my walk this morning was stunning, and we are being grateful for the fact that we are even able to go down this journey, have these tests, try and find a solution as so many people are not as fortunate as us in their quest to have a child, and that must just be unbearable.
I think I might try and slow down a little, take things more in my stride, be a little more relaxed, less impulsive, perhaps try the 'think now, act later' approach to life. Don't fancy my chances but you never know......
I however don't like the term highly strung as it sounds like a horse that is basically a rotter but to be kind people call it highly strung. What they mean is it's a lunatic. I like to call such a personality trait impulsive, and when one moves on from the terrible calamities being impulsive tends to be associated with, it does have many good attributes. Those of us with an 'act now think later,' disposition tend to do quite a lot of exciting things in our lives because we don't think about the consequences. We have an awful lot of fun and when not stressing, enjoy life to the max. Sadly, one of the not so good attributes of an impulsive nature is to see things entirely on face value and not necessarily spend time gathering the full facts. It means we spend a vast part of our lives apologising and admitting we were wrong. It also means that when we are furnished with the full facts, we can somewhat obsess, see ALL the pitfalls and retreat into a world of doom and gloom. My husband calls me Health and Safety because when I do actually take a second to digest a situation, I find so many potential death traps, pitfalls, looming disasters that I become a neurotic stress ball, worthy of the phrase 'Don't panic Mrs Mannering.'
All of this leads me back to the blood tests. On an impulsive persons face value they were bleaker than bleak and worthy of a bottle of wine, straw and then another. Which is what we did. Example one of an impulsive persons propensity to admitting they were wrong. While knowledge is power, a little knowledge wrongly administered can be the root of many a downfall. My obsession to interpret information and know all the facts immediately, instead of waiting for the actual trained expert to explain them is a clear example of this. I got it wrong. I am also beginning to adjust my opinion of Google, or rather my use of it, and think perhaps we might have an armistice. While it is clearly full of useful information, it is also full of snippets of potentially scary information, which digested the wrong way can definitely cause undue upset and worry. Which is where this Nearly Doctor fell foul. It would seem that my blood tests were indeed a bit bleak in the fact that one would obviously prefer not to have any issues, but in relation to IVF, according to Dr UK IVF who is flying so high in our estimations at present he is not far off Sainthood, they are actually not so bad.
I do indeed have some problems with my immune system - it is super active and tends to attack any supposed 'infection' with the force of a crusade. This is actually not a bad thing according to Dr UK IVF, because it means that I am healthy (like having super powers I think was the analogy he used which irritated my husband horribly as he does not have these super powers, but made me smile a lot) and my body is less likely to get anything nasty. It's bad news for any embryo as that is deemed a threat by my white blood cells, but with a little tweaking and some very clever medicine that will 'calm down' my immune system, we can hopefully control this when it comes to implantation time. I will probably have this for life, although there are no studies that can prove or disprove this as yet.
My blood clotting mutation (such a horrible word) is genetic, so I blame my parents entirely, but with steroids, asprin and some whopping doses of super powered folic acid (being shipped as I type) it can be controlled. I am at risk of Thrombosis, stroke and coronary disease, but now that I know this, I can control it.
During our phone call with Dr UK IVF he said that he was actually pleased with our results. This is a funny one, and I was not sure entirely how to take it but as he said, now that we know about all of this, we can treat it and he said his feeling was a positive one. When we ended the call, my husband and I sat silently on the sofa for a minute. We had just had what seemed like the first positive news in a long time, and a teeeny tiny part of me began to think that actually this might work. Which then obviously turned to fear. What if this is our one piece of good luck and we have just used it up and now the IVF will fail? Silly really to have such an irrational thought after good news, but as I am sure it is clear by now, I do have a very active imagination and my mind really is not under my control at all times. Luckily I have a husband who can go some way to controlling me and talking sense, of which he did, telling me to stop being so pessimistic and be pleased we have good news. Which is where I am now. Pleased, optimistic, a bit nervous and not overly looking forward to the next medical bit of this journey which is another general anaesthetic in a couple of weeks to do a Hysteroscopy and check that all is well in the mothership. As we know, GA's are actually not remotely horrible for me, I quite like them, but it's another investigations that could throw up another problem. But that is a couple of weeks away, right now the sun is shining, we had another successful night of big boy pants in bed, my walk this morning was stunning, and we are being grateful for the fact that we are even able to go down this journey, have these tests, try and find a solution as so many people are not as fortunate as us in their quest to have a child, and that must just be unbearable.
I think I might try and slow down a little, take things more in my stride, be a little more relaxed, less impulsive, perhaps try the 'think now, act later' approach to life. Don't fancy my chances but you never know......
Sunday 6 February 2011
Nothing in life is easy...
We've just come back from a week's holiday in Chiang Mai and Bangkok. It was awesome. So absolutely amazing I could wax lyrical for hours about it, but it doesn't really have a huge amount to do with our IVF journey. Well, apart from the fact that we had a week doing exciting things like trekking on elephants through the jungle, riding horses, darting around in tuk-tuks and for me, eating my considerable weight in rice paper rolls - none of which could have been done while I was pregnant. It was the exact tonic (gin and....) we needed to not think about anything medical or baby related. Of course we did, we had one or two chats over a glass of wine (I lifted the no alcohol ban for the holiday) about numbers of embryo's we would implant, names we might like (or not - we disagree on almost every name which is thoroughly irritating for me and a new sport for my husband), and we dared to think that we might be a step closer to success. Error. We landed back in Hong Kong and like every other irritating traveller who has spent more than 30 seconds out of contact from their friends or colleagues, I turned my phone on the second my foot stepped off the plane (I abjectly refuse to join the hoards of uber irritants who have to turn their electrical device on the second the wheels touch tarmac, just before they take their seat belts off even though it clearly says do not. Grrrr. My husband is one of them and for the record you are all rather sad). It took a while before the e-mails came in, but before we'd reached passport control, they had made their presence in my inbox. Most importantly there was a very important mail in it from our specialist in the UK, our blood tests were back and attached. Now, as we know, I am a nearly doctor so assumed that interpreting them would be child's play if you'll excuse the pun. Not quite as easy - I must have skipped that lecture - but the chart of tests, their outcome and any possible treatment was easy to interpret even if I didn't know what I was being treated for. Oh, and a give away that it might not be as brilliant reading as the exceptionally good Agatha Christie I had read on holiday was Dr UK IVF's sentence; "there is a LOT going on in your system!!!!" I did point out to my husband that 4 exclamation marks from a medic, who in my experience as a whole are generally not disposed to humour, did at least make me smile although I am still not sure why. Our Dr is in fact a rather human sort and one that I like a lot so I chose at present to believe these exclamations mean there could be a glimmer of hope, because until we speak to him tomorrow night, we are somewhat in no mans land and frankly I am beginning to feel the waves of panic lap over me.
The long and the short of it is I have rather a lot of blood issues, that regardless of the Chromosomal abnormalities, mean no pregnancy can possibly survive in my current state (according to my husband I have to say here that this is still to be confirmed by an actual doctor and not just a nearly one. Pedantic if you ask me given the blood report but none the less...). My liver, kidney and protein are all excellent which came as a very welcome surprise, sadly I have a matching DQ a Genotype with my husband, which means basically we are damaging the embryo before it implants. Then I have 'Grossly Increased' TH1:TH2 Cytokine Ratio's - ie my own immune system is killing all embryo's as they limp along in a pregnancy. Add to that a Heterozygous mutation in my PAI-1 Polymorphism and MTHFR readings - ie blood clotting disease (oh - and regardless of babies I am at a much higher risk of stroke or heart disease - in fact I think I am now classified as a risk. Nice) which means that my embryo's can't really take much gloopy blood from me - not that they would want it as its full of mutations - so therefore survival would be tough. Please know if you are reading this and have the same results that this bleak and poor synopsis has to be officially interpreted, but with the aid of Google, I am certainly aware of the pitfalls of the above. It's not looking good. However, as we know, I decided a while back that I would try and look at the positives not the negatives, and alongside each result in the chart was a treatment which would suggest that there could be something we could do. Honestly speaking, I am either in total denial or a bit simple, or indeed spot on, but I still believe our Dr UK IVF can help us and that we will have another baby. I have to think that - my resolve if I gave myself an inch of speculation would dissolve and I am not sure I could get it back. I am also so incredibly grateful that Dr UK IVF gently eased us towards having these tests done (they are eye wateringly expensive and I suppose if you get a negative report back one might feel inclined to think it was not money well spent. In our case I think it was the best two thousand pounds we ever spent), as if we had not and not embarked on the medication needed to try and over come the issues, our IVF attempts would have been undoubtedly unsuccessful.
I suppose where you find me at this actual time in my life is somewhat scared at my own mortality as well as my chances of having a baby. This journey was supposed to be about having babies, but now I find myself in a situation where I not only have to face the fact that this might not be possible, but that I have issues with my health that are not, how shall we say, inspiring. When one does receive bad news about ones health it does rather shake the emotions up and strange, over dramatic and probably entirely irrational thoughts do pop into the grey matter. Obviously I realise I am not going to die (one hopes that won't crop up in our chat with Dr UK IVF.....?) and these results do not in anyway suggest that, but as I said before, when you involve science in a medical process, you have to be prepared to not entirely like the results that are generally unequivocal. I thought our tests would show up at worst that both my husband and I had a Chromosomal problem and that we would need to screen our embryo's in a bid to find a good one, but instead not only do I keep having Chromosomal miscarriages it would seem that Chromosomes might not be the only reason - I am the not so proud owner of a body that rejects babies, which for one so desperate to have them seems rather cruel wouldn't you say? Mother Nature and I are officially back to no speaks.
I am trying really hard to keep it all together, not panic and keep sane. We did a family hike today which was stunning, and like our holiday, I enjoyed the company of both of my boys. I adore my boys. If that is what I have to settle for, it's not settling, it's an honour to have them both in my life and I am blessed to have them. Does it then make me a bad person for crying for what I want and feeling desperately unhappy? I'm really not sure. Today is not a good day. Lets hope tomorrow brings something a little more cheerful. In the mean time, my husband is cooking our first BBQ of the year, he bought me crisps to cheer me up, my baby is doing his first night in his big bed without a nappy and I am about to have a glass of wine. Sod the ban, there are times......
The long and the short of it is I have rather a lot of blood issues, that regardless of the Chromosomal abnormalities, mean no pregnancy can possibly survive in my current state (according to my husband I have to say here that this is still to be confirmed by an actual doctor and not just a nearly one. Pedantic if you ask me given the blood report but none the less...). My liver, kidney and protein are all excellent which came as a very welcome surprise, sadly I have a matching DQ a Genotype with my husband, which means basically we are damaging the embryo before it implants. Then I have 'Grossly Increased' TH1:TH2 Cytokine Ratio's - ie my own immune system is killing all embryo's as they limp along in a pregnancy. Add to that a Heterozygous mutation in my PAI-1 Polymorphism and MTHFR readings - ie blood clotting disease (oh - and regardless of babies I am at a much higher risk of stroke or heart disease - in fact I think I am now classified as a risk. Nice) which means that my embryo's can't really take much gloopy blood from me - not that they would want it as its full of mutations - so therefore survival would be tough. Please know if you are reading this and have the same results that this bleak and poor synopsis has to be officially interpreted, but with the aid of Google, I am certainly aware of the pitfalls of the above. It's not looking good. However, as we know, I decided a while back that I would try and look at the positives not the negatives, and alongside each result in the chart was a treatment which would suggest that there could be something we could do. Honestly speaking, I am either in total denial or a bit simple, or indeed spot on, but I still believe our Dr UK IVF can help us and that we will have another baby. I have to think that - my resolve if I gave myself an inch of speculation would dissolve and I am not sure I could get it back. I am also so incredibly grateful that Dr UK IVF gently eased us towards having these tests done (they are eye wateringly expensive and I suppose if you get a negative report back one might feel inclined to think it was not money well spent. In our case I think it was the best two thousand pounds we ever spent), as if we had not and not embarked on the medication needed to try and over come the issues, our IVF attempts would have been undoubtedly unsuccessful.
I suppose where you find me at this actual time in my life is somewhat scared at my own mortality as well as my chances of having a baby. This journey was supposed to be about having babies, but now I find myself in a situation where I not only have to face the fact that this might not be possible, but that I have issues with my health that are not, how shall we say, inspiring. When one does receive bad news about ones health it does rather shake the emotions up and strange, over dramatic and probably entirely irrational thoughts do pop into the grey matter. Obviously I realise I am not going to die (one hopes that won't crop up in our chat with Dr UK IVF.....?) and these results do not in anyway suggest that, but as I said before, when you involve science in a medical process, you have to be prepared to not entirely like the results that are generally unequivocal. I thought our tests would show up at worst that both my husband and I had a Chromosomal problem and that we would need to screen our embryo's in a bid to find a good one, but instead not only do I keep having Chromosomal miscarriages it would seem that Chromosomes might not be the only reason - I am the not so proud owner of a body that rejects babies, which for one so desperate to have them seems rather cruel wouldn't you say? Mother Nature and I are officially back to no speaks.
I am trying really hard to keep it all together, not panic and keep sane. We did a family hike today which was stunning, and like our holiday, I enjoyed the company of both of my boys. I adore my boys. If that is what I have to settle for, it's not settling, it's an honour to have them both in my life and I am blessed to have them. Does it then make me a bad person for crying for what I want and feeling desperately unhappy? I'm really not sure. Today is not a good day. Lets hope tomorrow brings something a little more cheerful. In the mean time, my husband is cooking our first BBQ of the year, he bought me crisps to cheer me up, my baby is doing his first night in his big bed without a nappy and I am about to have a glass of wine. Sod the ban, there are times......
Sunday 23 January 2011
A weighty subject
I love my husband. I have just come back from the most frustrating walk ever (lots of pot holes and bins mid pavement which interrupted my bottom clenching power walking), weighed myself, and quelle surprise I have not lost an ounce in weight in the whole 2 weeks and 1 day of my new fitness regime. Feeling mightily hacked off, I read a mail from my husband that amongst other things said, "just got up to speed with your blog.....I cant believe I am still copping grief re the plane ride home! I think you need to mention that you told me to take the seat and that I came back repeatedly to see if you wanted to swap...." I should be cross that the bit he finds most newsworthy is that, and not the emotional stuff, but I have to admit it tickled me rather - and his comment, "point of criticism.... what bit of anonymous do you not get Ana Boulter??" Whoops - I had been planning on doing this anonymously but as you can see I forgot.
Anyway back to the point - having been back to back pregnant for 18 months, its fair to say I am twice the woman I was. My hips and ribs have widened in preparation for each pregnancy and never quite gone back in, so we're not getting off to a brilliant start. A hormonal trip to the hairdresser after miscarriage no.6 resulted in my long brown hair being chopped off and replaced with short blonde locks. All well and good but as my head is now disproportionately small to the size of my large, rotund body, I look ridiculous and the short hair only helps accentuate that. A 34B is a thing of the past and more likely to be a motorway junction number than a bra size for me. Then there's the fact that I have been almost on bed rest since October 2009 - if you have had one miscarriage every subsequent pregnancy comes with a 'do not even breath too hard' warning and exertion is most definitely not advised. Its a bit hard with a toddler to stick to the rules entirely but it does mean that any gym ambitions were dead and buried, which to be honest wasn't something I mourned much. I was quite good at 'what the hell, I'll be pregnant and much fatter than this soon so yes please I'll have the cheeseboard for pud,' in between pregnancy's. Then when pregnant, there is the carb ambush that happens at around 5 weeks and doesn't go until around 12-16 weeks which is basically is Mother Nature (we're gently re-building our relationship - if she can make my cycle return to 28 days and therefore fit in with the flights back to the UK for the IVF then we might be friends again) making sure that any thoughts of weight control during pregnancy are banished before they even started. As if its not depressing enough to not be pregnant, my stomach that used to be famed among friends for its flatness looks as though it is hosting a party for at least 2 babies, my bottom could house another 3 or 4, and for the first time in my life my cheekbones that used to be relatively prominent and my only source of pleasure in my face are nowhere to be seen. I am in the words of Marjorie Dawes from Little Britain's Fat Fighters, FAAAAAAT.
I will never reveal my weight to anyone, if my husband found out what I weigh I would be mortified and go into hiding. I was so concerned that he would see the horrible truth when we were being weighed at our IVF appointment I made the nurse cup her hand around the paper where she was writing the dreaded figure. Poor woman looked like a child trying to hide the answers to a spelling test, I was on the scales poised to rugby tackle her to the ground if she so much as let the light spill through her fingers and reveal the true horror. However, I can reveal that I am over a stone heavier than when this whole debacle started - in fact I am a stone and a half heavier but the extra 7lb really does make it seem hopeless and I am resigned to the fact that unless I have some surgery to remove a buttock, a stone is realistically all I can hope to lose between now and April. And that's pushing it.
So, I have been on a mad quest to shift the fat which has basically resulted in my own ritual humiliation. I power walk every day, looking like a total idiot (I am not allowed to run because of bad back and dodgy pelvis). On day one I was seen by no less than four of the uber glamorous mothers whose children are in my sons class. They are the type who wear skinny jeans that are baggy on them, hair is always blow dried and perfect by 7am, if they wear make-up you can barely tell so perfectly is it applied. I tend to drop my son off with a touch of the previous days mascara under my eyes making my shadows darker than they already are, wearing one of my husbands jumpers over leggings in an attempt to cover the horror of my bottom and thighs, head hanging as low as it can so that I am not recognised, ready for my walk. I did think about teaching my son to say 'bye bye Granny' to me when he goes into school therefore deflecting attention from my true identity, but as my mother would consider it a disaster if she hit 8 stone and would fit in perfectly with the glamorous mums, I realise that would never cut the mustard. Plus even though she is hobbit sized she is pretty fierce when she wants to be and would kill me if she found out my deception on her next visit out here.
So, I drop the little man off at school and begin my walk which according to my physio should last no longer than 30 minutes. I don't think she has quite grasped the urgency of the weight loss, so I do 45-60 minutes. When I first started I was passed TWICE by a Chinese woman in full make-up, pearls and very smart walking kit. Buns of steel, and frankly a body I would kill for. On her second passing I got a closer look and realised she was probably around 80.
I do love my walking though, when I am not dodging anyone I know. I listen to The Archers, which recently has been more of an emotional roller coaster than my life - some idiot in the BBC decided to kill off Nigel Pargiter, one of the best characters, and it has been harrowing listening. Brilliantly done but not ideal if you are already on an emotional precipice. I have cried my way around my walk on many occasions for poor Nigel. Mind you, it does rather put things in perspective and if I think we are having a hard time I only need to think of poor Elizabeth and her children who now no longer have a husband or father. Dreadful (and an example of how I tend to talk about fictitious characters or famous people as though it was real life and they are my friends - don't start me on Giuliana and Bill Rancic). I do clinical pilates twice a week and have just started horse riding again (we really need to keep this from my phsyio - given that running is a no go she would likely strike me off her books if she found out - I got a roasting from my mother in law on this subject too so the less said about the gee gee's the better), so you would think that I would be dropping some weight. I eat dust and drink air - ok not true but I do eat a low calorie diet, I am not drinking alcohol but I am drinking the equivalent quantity (i.e a lot) of chinese tea's that allegedly boost your metabolism. As a Nearly Doctor I know the only way to shift weight is to eat less and exercise more, so I am doing both. I think I have found perhaps the first flaw in being a Nearly Doctor as opposed to an Actual Doctor - I obviously missed the lesson that talked about the flaws in this theory, of which from personal experience there are clearly many. I do think I would like a little sign to carry around that say's 'fat for medical reasons.'
Despite the distinct lack of weight loss, I am not giving up, I will definitely continue the regime as if nothing else I am enjoying the newly found scenery and beauty of Hong Kong that I didn't even know existed before (how dreadful is that - we've lived here for 5 years!) and despite getting lost on the trails quite regularly, when I do stick to the beaten track I am building up a few walking 'buddies' who nod and smile as they pass - at my random outfit probably. I do feel better for the exercise and while it does not seem to be having the effect of restoring my body to its former mediocracy, it is at least filling my time while my son is at school and my house feels empty. I have some 'me' time to think about whatever I like, which for the past week has been our sons dreadful behaviour since starting school (do we really want to do IVF? I can barely cope with the one I have!) although he has been making me laugh a lot so I can forgive him a bit. He asked me last week if he could take his 'massive big poo' to school to show Miss Eileen? How can you not laugh at that?
And on that note - it could be so much worse, my friend has Giardia and hasn't lost a lb. Now that really is something to complain about.
Anyway back to the point - having been back to back pregnant for 18 months, its fair to say I am twice the woman I was. My hips and ribs have widened in preparation for each pregnancy and never quite gone back in, so we're not getting off to a brilliant start. A hormonal trip to the hairdresser after miscarriage no.6 resulted in my long brown hair being chopped off and replaced with short blonde locks. All well and good but as my head is now disproportionately small to the size of my large, rotund body, I look ridiculous and the short hair only helps accentuate that. A 34B is a thing of the past and more likely to be a motorway junction number than a bra size for me. Then there's the fact that I have been almost on bed rest since October 2009 - if you have had one miscarriage every subsequent pregnancy comes with a 'do not even breath too hard' warning and exertion is most definitely not advised. Its a bit hard with a toddler to stick to the rules entirely but it does mean that any gym ambitions were dead and buried, which to be honest wasn't something I mourned much. I was quite good at 'what the hell, I'll be pregnant and much fatter than this soon so yes please I'll have the cheeseboard for pud,' in between pregnancy's. Then when pregnant, there is the carb ambush that happens at around 5 weeks and doesn't go until around 12-16 weeks which is basically is Mother Nature (we're gently re-building our relationship - if she can make my cycle return to 28 days and therefore fit in with the flights back to the UK for the IVF then we might be friends again) making sure that any thoughts of weight control during pregnancy are banished before they even started. As if its not depressing enough to not be pregnant, my stomach that used to be famed among friends for its flatness looks as though it is hosting a party for at least 2 babies, my bottom could house another 3 or 4, and for the first time in my life my cheekbones that used to be relatively prominent and my only source of pleasure in my face are nowhere to be seen. I am in the words of Marjorie Dawes from Little Britain's Fat Fighters, FAAAAAAT.
I will never reveal my weight to anyone, if my husband found out what I weigh I would be mortified and go into hiding. I was so concerned that he would see the horrible truth when we were being weighed at our IVF appointment I made the nurse cup her hand around the paper where she was writing the dreaded figure. Poor woman looked like a child trying to hide the answers to a spelling test, I was on the scales poised to rugby tackle her to the ground if she so much as let the light spill through her fingers and reveal the true horror. However, I can reveal that I am over a stone heavier than when this whole debacle started - in fact I am a stone and a half heavier but the extra 7lb really does make it seem hopeless and I am resigned to the fact that unless I have some surgery to remove a buttock, a stone is realistically all I can hope to lose between now and April. And that's pushing it.
So, I have been on a mad quest to shift the fat which has basically resulted in my own ritual humiliation. I power walk every day, looking like a total idiot (I am not allowed to run because of bad back and dodgy pelvis). On day one I was seen by no less than four of the uber glamorous mothers whose children are in my sons class. They are the type who wear skinny jeans that are baggy on them, hair is always blow dried and perfect by 7am, if they wear make-up you can barely tell so perfectly is it applied. I tend to drop my son off with a touch of the previous days mascara under my eyes making my shadows darker than they already are, wearing one of my husbands jumpers over leggings in an attempt to cover the horror of my bottom and thighs, head hanging as low as it can so that I am not recognised, ready for my walk. I did think about teaching my son to say 'bye bye Granny' to me when he goes into school therefore deflecting attention from my true identity, but as my mother would consider it a disaster if she hit 8 stone and would fit in perfectly with the glamorous mums, I realise that would never cut the mustard. Plus even though she is hobbit sized she is pretty fierce when she wants to be and would kill me if she found out my deception on her next visit out here.
So, I drop the little man off at school and begin my walk which according to my physio should last no longer than 30 minutes. I don't think she has quite grasped the urgency of the weight loss, so I do 45-60 minutes. When I first started I was passed TWICE by a Chinese woman in full make-up, pearls and very smart walking kit. Buns of steel, and frankly a body I would kill for. On her second passing I got a closer look and realised she was probably around 80.
I do love my walking though, when I am not dodging anyone I know. I listen to The Archers, which recently has been more of an emotional roller coaster than my life - some idiot in the BBC decided to kill off Nigel Pargiter, one of the best characters, and it has been harrowing listening. Brilliantly done but not ideal if you are already on an emotional precipice. I have cried my way around my walk on many occasions for poor Nigel. Mind you, it does rather put things in perspective and if I think we are having a hard time I only need to think of poor Elizabeth and her children who now no longer have a husband or father. Dreadful (and an example of how I tend to talk about fictitious characters or famous people as though it was real life and they are my friends - don't start me on Giuliana and Bill Rancic). I do clinical pilates twice a week and have just started horse riding again (we really need to keep this from my phsyio - given that running is a no go she would likely strike me off her books if she found out - I got a roasting from my mother in law on this subject too so the less said about the gee gee's the better), so you would think that I would be dropping some weight. I eat dust and drink air - ok not true but I do eat a low calorie diet, I am not drinking alcohol but I am drinking the equivalent quantity (i.e a lot) of chinese tea's that allegedly boost your metabolism. As a Nearly Doctor I know the only way to shift weight is to eat less and exercise more, so I am doing both. I think I have found perhaps the first flaw in being a Nearly Doctor as opposed to an Actual Doctor - I obviously missed the lesson that talked about the flaws in this theory, of which from personal experience there are clearly many. I do think I would like a little sign to carry around that say's 'fat for medical reasons.'
Despite the distinct lack of weight loss, I am not giving up, I will definitely continue the regime as if nothing else I am enjoying the newly found scenery and beauty of Hong Kong that I didn't even know existed before (how dreadful is that - we've lived here for 5 years!) and despite getting lost on the trails quite regularly, when I do stick to the beaten track I am building up a few walking 'buddies' who nod and smile as they pass - at my random outfit probably. I do feel better for the exercise and while it does not seem to be having the effect of restoring my body to its former mediocracy, it is at least filling my time while my son is at school and my house feels empty. I have some 'me' time to think about whatever I like, which for the past week has been our sons dreadful behaviour since starting school (do we really want to do IVF? I can barely cope with the one I have!) although he has been making me laugh a lot so I can forgive him a bit. He asked me last week if he could take his 'massive big poo' to school to show Miss Eileen? How can you not laugh at that?
And on that note - it could be so much worse, my friend has Giardia and hasn't lost a lb. Now that really is something to complain about.
Letting the dust settle
I have often sat on the plane leaving London to come back to Hong Kong in a slightly melancholy mood but excited by the prospect of going home. We adore our life here in Asia and we are extremely fortunate in all that we have, but the one thing that the ex-pat life cannot provide is family. Our trip to Nottingham had been another example of how much I miss mine and wish I could be closer to them. My sister had extremely kindly given birth to her first son a week early so that I could see him, which I like to think was Mother Natures attempt at making amends. My sister might say that it was Mother Nature swapping her dislike from one sister to another as she had the most heinous birth, but nonetheless we were incredibly fortunate to meet the little man who bias as I am, really is adorable. It was poignant as my sister and I had shared a due date, as I had so often wished for (to the point where I was trying to get her to plan her conception at the same time as us. She steadfastly refused for many months which is nothing short of selfish, but then as luck would have it, we had exactly the same date. Now how about that for spooky?!) but as we know, for us it wasn't meant to be. I think it becomes easier as time goes on to see the babies - the 'could have beens' and it also makes it easier if the baby is born to a close friend or relative. I no longer look at them and think, ' I wonder what ours would have looked like,' or 'that could have been us,' as I did so much in the beginning, but I would be lying if there isn't a touch of sadness and a little reflection. Having said that, when the new babies start screaming and I see the familiar tired lines etched on the faces of the mothers, I do wonder if we should be doing IVF at all or just being happy with the fact that we at least get sleep these days?!
On this trip which had frankly been an emotional roller coaster, I was so very sad to say goodbye to my family, knowing I would miss out on seeing the baby achieve so many milestones, and sad that our son who for some reason loves babies would miss out on being close friends with another cousin. My sister in law has a son 6 months younger than ours and I often wish the boys could play together. If we can't have another child for whatever reason, a cousin would be the next best thing.
Still, you can't spend your life wishing and we do have a great life out here in Honkers as the local expats affectionately call it, and I must remember in times of self pity that I do have a live in helper and haven't picked up the iron for 5 years, so life isn't really that bad. But on the flight back I did feel very sad and low. I must interject here that it wasn't helped by the airline upgrading my husband and leaving my son and I to turn right, which just about had me running for the emergency exit. Seriously, what kind of person decides that its ok to split a family up and move the husband to the top of the hierarchy and into business class? I was so cross I promptly cried, then unleashed my full anger on my jammy husband who had left the sanctity of his little booth to come and braved walking into economy to see if there was anything he could do. Yes darling, swap seats would be a start. Husband retreated quick smart to his flat bed and I endured the worst flight I have ever had, totalling a mere ninety minutes sleep as my son, who got a good 5 hours, kept falling off the seat, which was made for a midget and not a regular sized toddler, let alone a posterially challenged middle aged hormonal woman. Still, as I couldn't sleep I did at least have 13 hours to mull over the events of the past week and indeed 2 years, and as the drinks trolley had stopped serving many hours ago, I could do this through very sober eyes.
Stupid as it sounds, one of the hardest things I am coming to terms with is facing the fact that we are having problems. I am well aware that 6 miscarriages would suggest things aren't going too well, but before we had taken the IVF plunge, it did seem as though there was a possibility it could work out by itself and we could gloss over any technical hitches. Slight head in the sand syndrome. Ok, massive head in the sand syndrome. I suppose it must be like an addict admitting they have a problem, once you say it out loud its real, as soon as you start having treatment its really real. I am not one to think too much about stuff as my thoughts have a tendency to confuse me, and I also have the attention span of a dead newt, but when strapped in a tiny airline seat with a 16kg child asleep on your legs (well I should say leg singular, I had lost the feeling of one of them somewhere over Amsterdam and was not sure it would ever regain consciousness) with sleep was as far away as the final destination - some 6 thousand miles - there was nothing to do but think.
I haven't really discussed the miscarriages in much detail - in the blog or indeed as they happened. I definitely talk about them on a fairly one dimensional level, and with the risk of sounding very hard and cruel, I didn't really do much crying when they happened, so to the outside world I think I came across as quite a cold fish. I am not sure if I am or not, I was most certainly sad when they happened, but sitting on the plane staring into space I realised that I have learnt quite a lot about myself throughout this process. I think in essence I don't like to go too deep and the reason for that is I am quite an emotional character and I don't have brilliant self will. I think if I allowed myself to really digest in it's entirety what has happened, I might not be able to pull myself out of a fairly dark place. I also feel that there are so many other dreadful things happening to people in the world, some of whom I am friends with, that in the grand scheme of things our problems are not quite as bad as they could be. Life can be very mean to the people who least deserve it. So I am not saying I am shallow - I hope I am not - but I am not sure that thinking things over too much is necessarily a good thing. For me anyway.
I don't know if I have become more religious - well actually thats a lie, given that I wasn't even a tiny bit religious before we got married, and then decided that there was perhaps more to the whole Big Book than I had previously thought, I am considerably more religious but a long way off the level that would grant me a pass into the inner sanctum of worshipers. However, I definitely do think a lot about why things happen. I did for a long long time blame myself for the miscarriages. I blamed the fact I used to smoke, the fact I am not adverse to a glass or wine or two (my maiden name was Boulter and my nickname was Two Bottles Boulter. Ahem). I thought each miscarriage was punishment for something I had done in the past. I once drove passed a cat that had been hit on the road, but I didn't stop to help it. If I had, would the cat be alive now and was I being punished for letting it die? In fairness I don't know if it did die, but you can see where I am going with this. I would see a correlation with the smallest indiscretion and our misfortune. I then started to think I was very ill, that I had polycystic ovaries, that I had ovarian cancer - not helped by the millions of e-mails circulating at that time raising awareness for ovarian cancer, bowel cancer, fingernail cancer, you name it. I would google the symptoms and be convinced I had each one and that is why I was not getting passed 8 weeks of pregnancy - not even worrying for a second that I might actually be ill, just more that the illness was rudely getting in the way of my pro-creation.
I have definitely mentally covered more or less every sub topic to be found on the subject of miscarriage, loss, fertility issues and probably in a far more dramatic way than is really necessary. I suppose emotions are really the only thing in life you can't control - you can make sure that they are tempered for the outside world to see, but there is very little one can do to actually try and influence them when alone with them. Well, thats how it works for me, and during the 13 hour plane trip to Hong Kong I had some 'quality time' with my emotions, which was interesting at best! I'm not sure I would recommend it - certainly not if during this time one of the most pressing thoughts is 'I wonder what my errant husband is up to now in business class' but it definitely gave me perspective. I resolved that as soon as I forgave my husband for abandoning me in economy, we would attack with vigour and excitement the road ahead, and perhaps it was time to let the events of the past be exactly that, the past.
On this trip which had frankly been an emotional roller coaster, I was so very sad to say goodbye to my family, knowing I would miss out on seeing the baby achieve so many milestones, and sad that our son who for some reason loves babies would miss out on being close friends with another cousin. My sister in law has a son 6 months younger than ours and I often wish the boys could play together. If we can't have another child for whatever reason, a cousin would be the next best thing.
Still, you can't spend your life wishing and we do have a great life out here in Honkers as the local expats affectionately call it, and I must remember in times of self pity that I do have a live in helper and haven't picked up the iron for 5 years, so life isn't really that bad. But on the flight back I did feel very sad and low. I must interject here that it wasn't helped by the airline upgrading my husband and leaving my son and I to turn right, which just about had me running for the emergency exit. Seriously, what kind of person decides that its ok to split a family up and move the husband to the top of the hierarchy and into business class? I was so cross I promptly cried, then unleashed my full anger on my jammy husband who had left the sanctity of his little booth to come and braved walking into economy to see if there was anything he could do. Yes darling, swap seats would be a start. Husband retreated quick smart to his flat bed and I endured the worst flight I have ever had, totalling a mere ninety minutes sleep as my son, who got a good 5 hours, kept falling off the seat, which was made for a midget and not a regular sized toddler, let alone a posterially challenged middle aged hormonal woman. Still, as I couldn't sleep I did at least have 13 hours to mull over the events of the past week and indeed 2 years, and as the drinks trolley had stopped serving many hours ago, I could do this through very sober eyes.
Stupid as it sounds, one of the hardest things I am coming to terms with is facing the fact that we are having problems. I am well aware that 6 miscarriages would suggest things aren't going too well, but before we had taken the IVF plunge, it did seem as though there was a possibility it could work out by itself and we could gloss over any technical hitches. Slight head in the sand syndrome. Ok, massive head in the sand syndrome. I suppose it must be like an addict admitting they have a problem, once you say it out loud its real, as soon as you start having treatment its really real. I am not one to think too much about stuff as my thoughts have a tendency to confuse me, and I also have the attention span of a dead newt, but when strapped in a tiny airline seat with a 16kg child asleep on your legs (well I should say leg singular, I had lost the feeling of one of them somewhere over Amsterdam and was not sure it would ever regain consciousness) with sleep was as far away as the final destination - some 6 thousand miles - there was nothing to do but think.
I haven't really discussed the miscarriages in much detail - in the blog or indeed as they happened. I definitely talk about them on a fairly one dimensional level, and with the risk of sounding very hard and cruel, I didn't really do much crying when they happened, so to the outside world I think I came across as quite a cold fish. I am not sure if I am or not, I was most certainly sad when they happened, but sitting on the plane staring into space I realised that I have learnt quite a lot about myself throughout this process. I think in essence I don't like to go too deep and the reason for that is I am quite an emotional character and I don't have brilliant self will. I think if I allowed myself to really digest in it's entirety what has happened, I might not be able to pull myself out of a fairly dark place. I also feel that there are so many other dreadful things happening to people in the world, some of whom I am friends with, that in the grand scheme of things our problems are not quite as bad as they could be. Life can be very mean to the people who least deserve it. So I am not saying I am shallow - I hope I am not - but I am not sure that thinking things over too much is necessarily a good thing. For me anyway.
I don't know if I have become more religious - well actually thats a lie, given that I wasn't even a tiny bit religious before we got married, and then decided that there was perhaps more to the whole Big Book than I had previously thought, I am considerably more religious but a long way off the level that would grant me a pass into the inner sanctum of worshipers. However, I definitely do think a lot about why things happen. I did for a long long time blame myself for the miscarriages. I blamed the fact I used to smoke, the fact I am not adverse to a glass or wine or two (my maiden name was Boulter and my nickname was Two Bottles Boulter. Ahem). I thought each miscarriage was punishment for something I had done in the past. I once drove passed a cat that had been hit on the road, but I didn't stop to help it. If I had, would the cat be alive now and was I being punished for letting it die? In fairness I don't know if it did die, but you can see where I am going with this. I would see a correlation with the smallest indiscretion and our misfortune. I then started to think I was very ill, that I had polycystic ovaries, that I had ovarian cancer - not helped by the millions of e-mails circulating at that time raising awareness for ovarian cancer, bowel cancer, fingernail cancer, you name it. I would google the symptoms and be convinced I had each one and that is why I was not getting passed 8 weeks of pregnancy - not even worrying for a second that I might actually be ill, just more that the illness was rudely getting in the way of my pro-creation.
I have definitely mentally covered more or less every sub topic to be found on the subject of miscarriage, loss, fertility issues and probably in a far more dramatic way than is really necessary. I suppose emotions are really the only thing in life you can't control - you can make sure that they are tempered for the outside world to see, but there is very little one can do to actually try and influence them when alone with them. Well, thats how it works for me, and during the 13 hour plane trip to Hong Kong I had some 'quality time' with my emotions, which was interesting at best! I'm not sure I would recommend it - certainly not if during this time one of the most pressing thoughts is 'I wonder what my errant husband is up to now in business class' but it definitely gave me perspective. I resolved that as soon as I forgave my husband for abandoning me in economy, we would attack with vigour and excitement the road ahead, and perhaps it was time to let the events of the past be exactly that, the past.
Wednesday 19 January 2011
The meeting- part two
Before we were called to our appointment, I took the time to have a look at the people we were sharing the waiting room with. It was strangely calming to see people just like us, sitting in their little sections, reading magazines, drinking coffee, smirking at tests. I felt like we were part of a club – the Assisted Pregnancy Club. Not quite the same as the Mile High club – neither are groups I would like to join, but the former we have found ourselves involuntarily fully paid up members of. The latter you could not pay me enough to become a member of.
Sometimes (a lot of the time) I feel like I stick out like a sore thumb. In the company of my friends in Hong Kong I am one of the few mums with only one child. When their second children were small babies it didn’t seem to matter, but now that they are growing up, having their own play dates with the siblings of the children that are my sons age, I feel more and more like I am the odd one out – being left behind. People are announcing pregnancies at a rate of knots; so far I have shared due dates with 3 people, 2 of whom have gone on to have their babies, one of whom is still pregnant. I have watched their their bumps grow, heard the stories of their births and wondered what it was I did in a past life to not only lose our babies, but have to watch other people follow the path we were at one time on? Luckily they are all people I love dearly so after the initial upset, it’s easy to forget our loss and focus on their joy and enjoy their little bundles, but Mother Nature doesn’t know that and I think she could have been a little more lenient.
As our son grows up, more and more milestones remind me that this is not how we planned it. For example, he has just started pre-school. He goes 5 mornings a week for 3 hours. He loves it. I hate it. I had always thought that by this time in our life, he would be at school and I would be at home looking after a new baby. Never did I think that I would be coming home to an empty house. Silence and emptiness do nothing to help the mood, which I suppose is another reason I am blogging. It gives me something to do.
Anyway, back to the meeting room and I felt at ease and ready for our appointment. When Dr UK IVF came to call us in I was immediately a fan. He was a normal, nice, family man who frankly could have been a banker, accountant, brain surgeon, or any other profession that did not require looking at my private parts and talking about periods and cycles. It can be exceptionally uncomfortable and embarrassing discussing such personal aspects of your life with a stranger, but Dr UK IVF immediately made us feel relaxed and I only semi cringed when I remembered the fully comprehensive questionnaire we’d filled in and I knew he’d read. Words like period (which sends my Dad scurrying into his study faster than Jenson Button to the chequered flag) and sperm were just words, and it was easy to be frank with him. The AMH levels were discussed immediately – and again we were reassured that the test is not entirely reliable, I had had it 2 days after my ERCP which could have impacted it, and anyway it didn’t matter as I had a good number of follicles.
Then we got down to the nitty gritty. Dr UK IVF talked us through the process of IVF and of Array CHG - Chromosomal screening. I tried very hard to take it all in but there was so much to listen too and I have to be honest, I wanted to fast forward that bit and just have it done. Again, slap dash as Mum would say, impatient. He used lots of long words and had a flow chart, which for a stay at home Mum was about the most intellectually stimulating topic of conversation I’d had in a long time and I was struggling to keep up. I understood the timeline of injecting hormones into myself to control the ovaries and then a week later start injecting a stimulating drug to make the ovaries ovulate, more blood tests at this point and daily or alternate day scans to see what’s up (brilliant – my friend the probe makes his entrance again). A different type of hormone is injected a week after the ovulating injections, and then 36 hours later I have my eggs harvested. It sounded fairly invasive and intense but when it comes to all things medical I am no shrinking violet and am more than equipped to deal with any of this. I’ve spent more or less my whole life under the watchful eye of some doctor or another mainly due to degenerate discs in my back, hospitals don’t scare me, in fact I find it probably a bit too easy to sign myself over to the men and women in white coats. I couldn’t keep track of the number of injections but I knew it was a lot and I may be doing them myself, but as a Nearly Doctor that’s no biggie and I’d already been injecting myself with steroids for the last pregnancy so I could tick that off the list. The bit of the process however that started another wobble was the egg harvest. Rewind to AMH levels and 6 miscarriages, all chromosomal abnormalities, and here’s our next roadblock. Will they get any eggs? Will they find one that they can use? Will they all have gone bad? What if we do all the injections, complete the process and find we’ve got nothing to work with? Even as I type this I start to panic. When you involve scientists, there is no hiding from the truth. Dr UK IVF was saying that there was a problem and we needed to find out what it was before we could possibly have success. A list of 20 blood tests was put on a sheet of paper in front of us, testing literally everything. My chromosomes, my husbands, my liver function, protein level’s, HIV, thyroid, a blood clotting disease that I had already had tested the previous summer and come back with a ‘mutation’ which is the most hideous word. Some that I cant pronounce and have no recollection of what they were, but one tested my immune system which is a dreadfully scary test to have – have I got cancer? Is there some deadly disease coursing through my body that I do not know about? I felt like I was being bombarded with too many issues to deal with, the major one being the IVF, the secondary one being my general health. To date, not all of the tests have come back, luckily the ones that have are ok, we have 3 more weeks to wait for the full compliment to be in and we will know what we are dealing with, totaling 9 weeks of the unknown. I wake up in the night in a total panic from a dream where I am being told I have some horrible disease, or that its not possible to go ahead with the IVF, or on a really bad night, both. The waiting is intense. I was so worried our hedonist lifestyle in Hong Kong (over here we are all very lucky to have live in domestic help – babysitters are not a problem which means going out is very very easy. Add that to an extremely social ex-pat life and you have a recipe for dialysis) and the impact it would have on our chances, I swore I would not drink between then and the treatment, which I have stuck to if you ignore Christmas that got rather in the way a week after we returned. I found and still find myself making deals with God – I’m not even particularly religious but I prayed and pray, asking that if He would help us get through this I would do charitable work, go totally organic, be kind to even the most irritating people and generally turn myself into a modern day Mother Teresa. I think God probably has the foresight to see that with all the good will in the world, that’s pushing it a bit but I hope he sees that I am trying to adopt a more tolerant and caring approach to life.
I had 20 vials of blood taken that day, my husband had 5. The upside said the nurse, was that I could have a Kitkat afterwards to bring my sugar levels back up. I don’t like chocolate, so my upside was somewhat of a let down.
We left our appointment with a potential time of April for IVF, when hopefully all the ‘retained product’ of the last miscarriage had gone. We had tones of literature to read about Array CGH (more about the technicalities later as I feel this is a ludicrously long blog and very confusing!). I was allowed to exercise again, and I resolved to get my back and pelvis (somewhat shot from my last pregnancy) in tiptop condition, lose the stone or so I had put on throughout the pregnancies, and we would treat our bodies like temples. In the car on the way to Heathrow we were quiet and reflective. More than ever we had been made aware that IVF is not a given, it is a delicate and fragile process that has no guarantee’s. It is not always the answer, as I had naively thought, and for the next 4 months we would be in no mans land. For a control freak such as me, getting to April was going to be another test. Because even thought we’d had 6 miscarriages, Mother Nature thought we could do with another test. She and I are on no speaks by the way, although I try as part of my bargaining with the Big Man to believe she does mean well.
The meeting - part one.
I should explain that I grew up in a small village (well town now, but when I grew up we didn’t have quite so many new houses and Range Rovers) just outside Nottingham. I also went to University in Nottingham. I do like the area but I do feel as though it has a tendency to draw me back when I would perhaps like to be somewhere else. Take University for example. I studied Broadcast Journalism. A fairly new course, it was available in Nottingham or Bournemouth. I liked the idea of the seaside and my sister was in Southhampton so I thought it could be fun to go to Bournemouth, but all those nice advisers that guide you through the UCAS forms as they were then, said resolutely, ‘Nottingham is the best course, it’s industry recognised and you will be extremely lucky if you get in.’ Makes it quite hard then to say you’ve chosen a stick of rock and deck chair over journalistic brilliance, so I chose Nottingham. All my friends packed their cases and went off to a life of student digs in glamorous places such as Oxford, Manchester, Leeds, Hull - ok I realise that is stretching the glamorous bit – but none the less their adventures started in new cities, mine was 15 miles away from Mum and Dad and frankly, dull. Anyway, my advisors were irritatingly right, it was the best course and I did do quite well out of it.
Fast forward quite a few years and here I am back in Nottingham to start another milestone in my life, IVF. Dr HK IVF had said a couple of weeks earlier, in tones I had heard many years before, ‘There are two centres you can do this, New York have a gold star lab and are fully proficient in the process and have very high success rates. Or there is a place in England you could go to. Have you heard of Nottingham?’ Have I heard of a place called Nottingham? Just call me Robin Hood. Not to be put off, I immediately and vocally voted New York; I could see myself and our son walking around Central Park, amusing the locals with our very British accents and being signed up as the next Piers Morgan (ok that’s ridiculous) while my husband made a name for himself as a banking Guru on Wall Street. Interrupting my day dream was Dr HK IVF who went on to say, ‘The Doctor in Nottingham is the pioneer in this treatment, the world leader. He trained the guys in New York, so they are good, but he has the best lab and why would you go to someone who had been trained by the best when you can have the best?’ or words to that effect. Exit New York stage left, hello Nottingham. But every cloud and all that, Mum and Dad, or Granny and Poppa as they would be in this role, were nearby and we could stay with them and they could help with the little fellow. Having not ever been able to rely on Grandparents as we live in Hong Kong, my first experience of being able to share the load was this trip, and I really do have to interrupt the flow at this point and say thank goodness we did chose Nottingham. When the going got tough and I needed a moment, Mum and Dad stepped in and took control, our son thought he was a King and had the best holiday ever, and I allowed myself to be looked after by my parents. We hadn’t even got as far as discussing the actual treatment but I knew that if we did go ahead, there would be no way I could do it in New York, I needed my Mum and Dad as my husband would be in HK for most of the slog having to work. He was happy knowing that while he couldn’t be there to hold my hand, Mum and Dad could. It also made me realise that our baby hopes were our whole family’s baby hopes, I can see now how hard it is for my parents and my mother in law to see our struggle. Being a mum, seeing your child or children go through difficult times is just unbearable, at any age.
So, here we were, not in New York, in Nottingham meeting our doctor for the first time. First things first and I had to have a vaginal scan. Not something I would ever put my hand up for, in fact when I had our son, I was more terrified of having an internal than I was of giving birth. I am a prude and I do not in any way like lying on a bed, legs akimbo while some stranger puts a phallic shaped object in a place I like to keep private. I also have a brilliant ability to be wearing odd or holey socks on such occasions; which adds to my deepening embarrassment. On this occasion it was two nurses who were doing the deed, one a trainee (brillant). They were incredibly kind, ‘have you had this done before?’ Oh yes, just about a billion times, mainly to tell me my baby is no more, to confirm my infertility is a first. You can see my mood was darkening and I was beginning to panic. We all fell into an uncomfortable silence and the probing began. The nurses wanted to see the state of my uterus, fallopian tubes, and ovaries and count the follicles on each ovary, which would give a good indication of how many eggs we might get. Or not, seeing as I had decided it was all a waste of time. It took forever to get there, first of all we got to a junction, turn left to left ovary, right to right ovary, but there was an obstruction. Retained product from my last ERCP. That’s nice. A visible reminder of the reason we are here – my babies don’t survive. My eyes prickled a bit so I started making jokes, which bless them they laughed at when I am sure they were really thinking, ‘we’ve got a right nutter here.’ We finally got to the left ovary and the nurse began counting. This is where the IVF handbook would have come in handy as I had no idea what she was counting or why. Luckily she explained that she was counting follicles, and God love her said ‘oh that’s nice, you have 11 on this side.’ I didn’t say a word. She then did a quick detour around the retained product and started on the right side. ‘Wonderful, you have 12 on this side. You have very nice ovaries, they are a bit small but all good.’ Pardon? You said wonderful? What does that mean? Well, they explained, that’s a good number of follicles which should lead to a good crop of eggs. Que?? (In total Manuel from Fawlty Towers style – seriously – I do turn into a total idiot in times of stress) But I have a lower than low AMH – this cannot be right? I told them my ‘score’ and they too looked puzzled, it was indeed odd to have that score, my history and these ‘nice’ ovaries. Not to worry, they said, forget the AMH score, this is good so far.
Honestly I could have cried, but I still had the undignified process of getting off the bed in just my socks and a woolly jumper, if I had started crying they may have felt compelled to hug me and that would have been highly awkward. A week of thinking I was infertile and our IVF dreams were dashed, and one cheeky probe into the hub, and all is well? I resolved to ask Dr UK IVF as soon as we were in his consulting rooms, but for now it was a mad dash back to the waiting room to tell my husband the good news. And to find out how he’d been doing…
Our IVF centre in Nottingham is rather nice. We are paying privately to have this done, and its sweet the effort they have gone to to make us feel at ease. They have lovely coffee, every magazine you could hope for (including Good Housekeeping which is my absolute favourite), nice newspapers for the men and a whopping great plasma screen TV which sadly let the side down as it was showing Jeremy Kyle. Still, it was as comfortable environment as you could hope for, given the other 4 couples and I knew we were here to have our bits poked and for the men, to produce a sample. Schoolgirl smirk. Honestly, neither my husband nor I know why we smile at this part of the process in a very childish manner but not at my internal scans, but we do. I trotted back from my scan to convey the good news about my nice ovaries, but there was no sign of my husband. He must be doing his sample. While I waited, the room filled up with men who I had not seen when we first arrived, they must have been whisked away to 'perform.' I was gratified to see that they all came back with a small grin and their wives struggled to keep a straight face too. I realise we were all probably behaving in a very adolescent manner, but sometimes its the little things that keep you going. I settled down to Good Housekeeping and then my husband came back, smirking a little. This is not his blog so I won't reveal the details of his part of the appointment, but all was well. He was delighted at the ovary news, we giggled nervously at the first chink of light in the process, and waited for our name to be called.
Holidays and hormones
I am sure there is handbook out there that prepares you for the challenges of IVF before you embark on it. We haven’t read it if it does exist, so we are learning the hard way that the road to IVF is not only full of potholes, there are quite a few dead ends and it is unbearably long.
First of all on our journey, I had a blood test taken in Hong Kong a couple of days after my ERCP for the last miscarriage, to determine my AMH levels. It’s a nifty little test that can tell a woman what her ovarian reserve is, simply put – how many eggs you have got left. As I had got pregnant every time we tried and had 6 pregnancies in the last 18 months, I was fairly sure mine would be ok and therefore didn’t give it a moment’s thought. I was more concerned with the sub zero temperatures the UK was experiencing at the time. As we have lived in Hong Kong for 5 years we are officially pathetic when it comes to the cold and my wardrobe is not sufficiently equipped to deal with such temperatures.
The trip had been organized in a rush – which I am sure my mother will say is the story of my life. Impatient. Can’t possibly wait. Thing is, when you already have a child and you are trying for another the age gap between brother and brother/sister becomes an obsession. There are those that will say having a bigger age gap is brilliant as the older child will cope far better with the baby, but for the couple trying, every month that passes is a month separating the children and their potential friendship further. Love any sibling as I hope my son will, I have no doubt that if I am still trying when he is 7, a newborn who will become a toddler who will become an irritant is not what he would like – and you can’t really blame him. He wants a playmate now, and in an ideal world, we want that for him too. Our doctor in Hong Kong had played a blinder and contacted the Doctor in England who was the world leader in this field – they’d gone to Uni together - and he had agreed to see us. He had one appointment before Christmas and even though that meant uprooting my son and I last minute and flying to the UK alone, my husband joining later as he had that rather large commitment called work – we accepted the appointment. We already had a holiday booked to Dubai for a couple of weeks before, and so we went on that full of hope and optimism. The downside was the fact that hormones and an exercise ban for the past 18 months have taken their toll on my body and I have gone from relatively acceptable in a bikini to definitely not. However, fat and all I had a week to soak up the sun, be with my family and enjoy life without thinking about babies. Which I did, if you ignore the tears around the pool as I realized my son was pretty much the only child staying at the hotel who didn’t have a brother or sister to play with. There were a few misty eyed moments as the lovely proud pregnant lady rubbed her tum in her bikini – although it’s debatable if I was sad for my lack of bump or my definite collection of bumps plural that made up my wobbly thighs and tummy. But I could have a glass of wine, which was nice (should be for the amount they charge for alcohol in Dubai – criminal) and I was grateful that I was able to spend quality time with our fast growing up little man.
Restored and recharged I flew to England.
First thing that happened; an e-mail with my AMH results had come in overnight, and I woke up on the first morning to read that lo and behold, this fertile creature that I envisaged myself to be, was in fact verging on infertile. My score was 3.62, which is interpreted as low fertility. So low that some IVF clinics won’t even let you through the door. Fast as you like, I was googling madly to interpret the results and see what the prognosis was. Bad. Awful. Not even a tiny bit ok, just dreadful. My poor Mum, who was struggling to come to terms with the whole IVF process already “just explain it to me one more time darling” got the brunt of my horror with incoherent ramblings through a torrent of tears, which I swiftly followed by a panicky e-mail to a friend of a friend - who happens to be an embryologist (you never know when your friends careers will come in handy, but at some point they all tend to. Even my friend who is a taxidermist) - asking for her view. My husband was 8 hours ahead in Hong Kong – so he got a hysterical call from his wife. Well his answer phone did – he was at a meeting, which just left me alone with my thoughts, which with an imagination like mine is a dangerous place to be. I felt physically sick. I was in England to have IVF that can screen for Chromosomal problems, which would in turn result in a successful pregnancy and we could complete our family. Yet here I was in my thermal PJ’s, jet lagged and cold, husband other side of the world, facing the stark reality that my baby making days were over. I cannot describe the feelings I had. As dramatic as it sounds, I honestly felt like part of my world had ended - and this fear of IVF not working has never gone away. For the first time it was abundantly clear that this was not a guarantee, far from it - we could end up spending a tonne of money, investing a year of our lives, and putting my body through a rigorous medial trial, all for nothing. I felt such a stab of disappointment - and I still get that same breath taking panic. It tends to wake me up in the night in a dripping sweat, and more regularly than I should admit. Stupid thoughts that shouldn’t even be in your subconscious surface at these times of panic. Should we look into adoption? Is this fate saying enough’s enough, just be content with the son you already have? Would my husband leave me for a woman who can have children? For the record he said no, unless she was a movie star in which case he said it would only be fair to consider his options. I felt numb. On that occasion, my saving grace was my son, who roused from his bed, gave me a sleepy smile and when I asked him if Mummy could have a cuddle, he obliged - wrapping his chubby little toddler arms around me. I went from despair to gratitude fairly smartish - we do have a son and we are so incredibly lucky. Yet when the lovely warm fuzzy moment had passed, reality started to sink back in again. As wonderful as he is, we DO want to have another child, this was not supposed to happen. I'm not brilliant at being down in the dumps or negative - I get rather bored with the whole glumness - probably because I have a very short attention span and it bores me, so after a little while of woe is me I did what is now predicable. Google.
It appeared with further investigation (well past page 5 of the search results) that all might not be lost – an e-mail from my embryologist friend confirmed this. The AMH test it appears has flaws, and while my score was undoubtedly low, it was not necessarily the end of the world. Women with lower scores had responded very well to the hormone stimulation drugs and produced just enough eggs to proceed. I’d been pregnant 6 times in 18 months for goodness sakes – surely that was proof enough?
We had a week to wait before our appointment and it was frankly an uphill struggle. I dealt with it by taking advantage of the exchange rate being in my favour and emptying all of my favourite UK shops of their wares. I didn't really want to talk about it - and when the nasty niggle of AMH levels, infertility and general despair crept back into my mind, usually after my son had gone to bed; I helped them disappear with a dose of red wine and British TV. Doctors should actually start prescribing that as a cure – it really does work. For a little while anyway, just long enough to gather one’s sanity back and at least create a calm exterior.
We had 5 days until my husband landed and 7 days until the appointment. I can honestly say it was one of the toughest weeks of my life. I did a lot of soul searching, a lot of secret crying and more praying than I think I have ever done in my life. When my other half, and I mean that literally not figuratively -I really don’t work without him - arrived, he did as he always does, calmed me down, talked rationally, and shared the burden away from me. We had a wonderful weekend, and by Monday, D-Day, we set off for our meeting.
Tuesday 18 January 2011
The road to IVF has rather a lot of speed bumps....
I'm doing this to save my friends sanity. They have spent 18 months listen to me talk about miscarriages, blood tests, IVF, petri dishes, vaginal scans and other such niceties. I am almost like a touring biology teacher, except I don't really know what I am talking about. So, I have decided to blog - which is a medium unknown to me and will probably end in disaster but none the less, it's worth a try. I am not sure what the outcome should be - is it a cathartic experience for me? A crutch for others who could be going through the same thing or really as simple as stopping my friends going insane with my constant babble about babies and my inability to have one? Well I suppose time will tell... To get to where we are now, and start blogging in the 'proper way' - according to Wikipedia anyway - i.e daily updates and insightful comments (mental note: must work on insightful) I need to go back a little and explain what's been going on in my life. The long and the short of it is I have had 6 miscarriages in 18 months, so now the husband and I are embarking on the great IVF journey. We hope it ends well which will make it great but for now we will call it the long IVF journey. It has to earn it's greatness. I have to mention here that we are already the parents of a 2 1/2 year old son, who was born not only naturally but I was on the pill. I know. As my sister would say, bonkers. I remember distinctly being told by my gynae after my 3rd miscarriage that a patient of her's 'had 6 miscarriages and then went on to have 5 children.' Not being able to face the thought of 6 miscarriages - nor 5 children now I come to think about it, I went on a major internet search to 'find a cure' ( I like to give myself 10 out of 10 for trying - you'd have thought if there were cure it could be found on google). When that failed, I cried pittifully at my acupuncturist office. I'm not brilliant at public displays of emotion, and frankly was mortified with myself. She pulled out the name of a truly wonderful IVF specialist who worked at the Prince of Wales hospital here in Hong Kong, and so our journey took a left at the Multiple Miscarriage sign and followed the directions for IVF. Our problem was unravelling to be a Chromosomal one - too many chromosomes in the embryo therefore making it 'incompatible with life.' Chromosomal abnormalities make up about 70% of miscarriages in the first trimester, it's incredibly common to have one. Some women don't even know they have had one if they are not trying for a baby - it can just seem like a late, heavy period. Given that I was peeing on sticks and monitoring my fertile days as fervently as a soldier on sentry duty, I knew every time at 3 weeks that I was pregnant - could probably have even told you the exact time I conceived. As probably could most of my friends given that nothing is sacred when you are trying for a baby. At this stage in the game I had had 2 ERCP's for miscarriages, both revealed Chromosomal Abnormalities (47 XX + 16 for the last one) and one that passed naturally, so we could only speculate as to why that had happened. The obvious solution was chromosomal. I had done my own personal diagnostics as a Nearly Doctor would. To clarify, I think I could be a doctor I just didn't have the A* maths and biology GCSE's required, but if you could be such a thing as Nearly A Doctor, I would be one. I had read about chromosomal screening, but from what I knew it wasn't available in Hong Kong, and even if it were, would it help us? So we went to see the IVF specialist with a feeling of doom mixed with a hint of hope. We thought he would either tell us we had a problem that couldn't be overcome, or that we could start IVF there and then and in 9 months we would have a beautiful baby. As it happens, he didn't tell us either. He said the same as my gynae, 3 miscarriages is technically bad luck, not enough to warrant Chromosomal screening, which at the time he didn't think we could do anyway, so the only thing for it was to get back on the horse and try again. Joy. So the routine of making a baby resumed - it is routine for all those who are trying will know - romance is absolutely out of the question, marks for technical ability and speed of sperm range from 1-10, all post coital chat is centred on if that was 'the one,' while legs are positioned firmly in the air, cycling as though it were the Tour de France. All of this while trying not to feel too desperate at the thought that we were now in the high risk miscarriage category and subsequent pregnancies were highly likely to end in the same way. It does rather take the fun and to a certain extent the point out of it all, and is definitely one of those times where a real life remote control would have been useful - fast forward to the happy ending, if fate decrees there will be one. We ARE lucky in that I fell pregnant 3 more times, but it sadly took me to lose all three babies before our IVF specialist said 'enough's enough, we need to do IVF.' He said that two days before our 6th baby's heartbeat fluttered it's last, the ultrasound still showing the tiny but visible beat, yet I was already planning the ERCP. I must say at this point - he was not being remotely cruel, he knew us well and knew how I always needed to have the next plan of attack to focus on - otherwise I would focus on the present day reality of yet another baby gone. However, I will never forget the feeling of horror when I got home and realised that I had given up on this life before it had - what kind of mother was I? How utterly dreadful to mentally check out of the situation before it had even ended itself - did this baby not deserve hope and the support of its mother? In hindsight I see that wasn't the case. I just simply couldn't bear to say goodbye to yet another due date, cancel another already mentally planned christening and to look my husband in the eye and see his sadness. I find that almost impossible - one of the hardest things to deal with. Its a very strange feeling to see the man who protects you, provides for your family, shoulders the burden of responsibility for you when you can't, struggle to make sense of it all. Seeing this big strong man whom I love with all my heart, cry, is at times too much to take, because like it or not, there is part of me that thinks I have failed him. The echoed words of my gynae telling me 'I had a woman who had 6 miscarriages......' rang in my ears. The thought back then that was so abhorrent - to have 6 miscarriages - was now a reality. So, you can see how I could not let the grey mists descend. Instead I chose to put the all too familer wheels of recovery already in motion, turned into the archetypal Brit - stiffened my upper lip - came home and did what any Nearly Doctor would do in times of crisis - googled for a solution. My search didn't come up with much apart from lots of miracle stories of women who had had similar situations to us and their babies had survived. I did let a tiny glimmer of hope back into my heart, but I think deep down I knew it was over. Two days later and another scan showed that the heartbeat had stopped and we were devastated. This pregnancy had been a physical and emotional test of every ounce of strength we had had and we were exhausted. I had been injecting steroids into my stomach daily, had continual morning sickness and I was so tired I was beginning to forget things. We'd had scans twice, sometimes 4 times a week. Both of us were drained and felt as though the past 18 months had come together for one final blow. The loss of all 6 pregnancies hit home and we really did feel desperately sad and unhappy. Our only option was to see if we could find somewhere that did Chromosomal screening, which luckily for us they do in the UK. So we picked ourselves up, booked some flights for 3 weeks later and embarked on our IVF journey. |
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