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.
Monday, 28 February 2011
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.
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