Impasse

I'm shit at updating blogs.

I'm tentatively emerging from a pretty crap couple of weeks, it has to be said, where i feared I was heading for a meltdown of epic proportions again. I put my feelings down to a number of things:

- A letter from the fertility clinic explaining just how bad DH's sperm analysis was... less than 1% morphology, only 1.6 million sperm per 10ml when the average is 40 million.
- A sudden flurry of pregnancies at work. I mean, literally every woman of child bearing age in that place is waving a bump in my face, it seems!
- My blood results came back satisfactory, or normal.
- I've started to work out just how long i've been trying, and how many people who started trying a looooong time after i did, are now pregnant.
- DH decided that, because DD is at a 'difficult' age, the 2 mcs were probably blessings in disguise, and that actually, he isnt sure he wants another child.

DH is being very defensive, now telling me that as my blood results are normal, i'm 'obviously' going to blame him for my mcs...I've never blamed him, just encouraged him to take multi vits (this is a guy who works night shifts, doesnt eat fruit OR veg, doesn't exercise; in fact the only thing going for his sperm is that he doesnt drink or smoke!)

So it's been a period of uncertainty to say the least. Friends are starting to ask where we are going from here. The answer is, i just don't know. This year is a huge stumbling block to begin with...i dont want to make any decisions until 2013 has safely fucked off for good. Start to finish its been sullied with horrible memories.

Suffice to say, we reached a fairly mutual decision that at 32, i have a little time on my side, and a good idea would be to stop ttc for a few months, then see how i feel about carrying on ttc, or sticking with one child. This decision hasnt been easy, and i still feel stabs of envy at seeing other pregnant women, and the friends surrounding me who are pregnant. One day at a time.

Shite couple of days

I should know not to speak too soon.

After being pleasantly surprised that I was feeling 'normal' (as per my last post), the last few days have been pretty shitty to say the least, and have started to sour my good mood somewhat. It all started with a letter from the private fertility clinic that had started to run tests before my last bfp and subsequent MMC. DH did a sperm test a few days before our good news, and it was last week we got, in writing, the bad results. So how the hell i've been managing to get pregnant is a mystery to me.   It's like 2 miracles happened and then my body decided to fuck it all up. We've been recommended to freeze DH's sperm 'just in case' it deteriorates further, but this assumes we will want to pursue ICSI or IVF, and y'know, i'm just not sure i'm up for that.

Then, on the very same letter, a big list of all the possible tests i need for recurrent MC. Some will (hopefully) be done by the NHS, but if you've been reading my last few posts, you'll know how useless my doctor is, and, it seems he can't even get my blood over to be tested at the hospital without it clotting en route. So, that's where we stand at the moment.

Added to all that bullshit, my work is like Preggo fucking city. I spend my days furtively glancing round corners and rushing from one spot to the next in the hope I don't have to bump (scuse the pun) into any of them, and/or overhear any of their bollocks. Don't ask me why, but in the midst of all this pissedoffness, I decided it was a good idea to log back into my Facebook after a two month break 'just to see the gossip'. BIG FUCKING MISTAKE. Not only were the same people banging on about the same old shit, but literally EVERYONE is pregnant. EVERYONE! So I quickly deactivated my account yet again after a few moments of sado masochism.

In another fantastic example of self love, I went to a family party I promised myself I wouldn't (because DH's heavily pregnant cousin, who conveniently got pregnant at the time of my first mc, would be there). Luckily I was saved somewhat by my skinny SIL, who proceeded to mention (with genuine disgust) at every given opportunity how 'hideously fat' DH's cousin now was. Cruel I know, but I needed the laugh. Upon leaving the party, DH's cousin came over to say goodbye and I managed to somehow escape without having to go near her. Although, in hindsight, she will probably have noticed that it was quite deliberate. Ah well.

Feel better already for my mega bitch rant. This has to be a record for how many swear words I can get into a blog post. Merry fucking Christmas!

Feeling OK and I don't know why.

Before I had my 2nd MC, I said to people, if this was to happen again, it would destroy me. The first one near enough tore me apart, and I had moments of total, absolute craziness. I don't mind admitting that; it was and still is the worst experience I've ever been through.

After MC #2, I truly expected the world to implode and that I'd end up needing psychological help. The 'benefit' of foresight though (as if there could be any benefit to this), is that I was expecting the worst after effects to play themselves out. And as such, I put a few strategies into place. The first was taking myself straight off Facebook. Ignorance is indeed, bliss. I instructed DH not to tell me ANYTHING, and after the meltdowns he's witnessed over the last few months, he was happy to go with it.

Secondly, I have avoided baby and/or pregnancy talk of any kind. At work, people know not to discuss it around me, and if it happens to come up, the subject is swiftly dropped or redirected by one of my colleagues. (I'm lucky, I know!) The other thing that makes me wonder is the anti depressants I'm on. If they are producing this feeling of almost-normality then they must be a wonder drug, and I wish I hadn't been so bloody minded after MC #1 and just given myself a helping hand rather than suffer all those months of abject misery.

Although I am enjoying this 'normal' feeling, I know that the minute we make the decision to start TTC again in earnest, I'm probably going to turn into crazy lady again. For now, that decision is on the back burner, and I think I need to take care of myself and make sure I'm psychologically steady before I do it to myself again. Plus the thought of being pregnant utterly terrifies me at the moment.

Plodding on.

Blood testing...

So yesterday I finally got in to get my bloods tested. I'm still not sure this will achieve anything given the uselessness of my doctor. I fully expect the bloods to come back 'normal', even if they're not, simply because there'll be nobody at my doctors who can accurately interpret them.

Added to this, my incompetent doctor (who incidentally doesn't understand the difference between a counsellor and a mental health nurse), actually somehow managed to order the wrong blood tests for me yesterday, so I had to tell the nurse taking my bloods exactly what I needed to be tested for.

Cue a phone call from my doctor's surgery last night telling me that they hadn't taken enough bloods and I would need to go back for some more. So, drum roll please, this is what I am (supposedly) being tested for, though it's anyones guess what will actually come back:

Cardiolipin antibodies
Hba1c
Lupus
Thromophilia
Thyroid

I don't know whether there's any more I should be having or whether this is a good starting point? I also do't know where I should go after this should I get the ' normal' results, or, as my doc likes to put it, ' no further action'.

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I've been wanting for some time to put down in posts the blogs that I read regularly and that have really helped me through the last few months.

www.babyhopeful.com is one such blog that I found through Twitter, which highlights the trials and tribulations of trying to conceive, as well as dealing with miscarriage and infertility issues. There's also some hugely informative posts about such things as sperm morphology which I have found invaluable. It's also been good for me to be able to read about the emotions and feelings associated with what I, and so many others have been through, and to know that I'm most certainly not alone.

There are so many other blog posts I'd love to give a shout out to, but will be seeking their permission before I do so.

My pregnant best friend

So, um, yeah. One of my closest, best friends is pregnant.

This is not just any friend. This friend is my DD's godmother. She was one of my bridesmaids. She was the one who came with me to the scan that revealed my first MMC in February. She was one of the very few people who sat with me while I spewed out the horrible truth about how I really felt, who came over to my house just to sit with me, who would pull me away from situations where I was faced with a pregnant lady, who would really listen and get me to breathe and talk me out of my moments of madness. She told me she didn't want to try for a baby until I was pregnant again because she didn't want to hurt me any more than I was hurting already. Of course, I told her not to be ridiculous, and I remember a few months ago, she texted me to tell me that she and her OH were thinking of trying for a baby and she would understand if I couldn't speak to her any more (I mean, this was how bad she must have thought I was coping to even suggest that).

Fast forward a couple of months. I found out I was pregnant again in August. Naturally, she is one of the few people I tell in real life. She was overjoyed, relieved even, because she too, was pregnant, just a few weeks ahead of me, and she didn't know how the hell she was going to tell me. We have a few weeks where neither of us dare to believe it's happening. She's terrified because she has seen what could potentially happen, I'm terrified because I know first hand what can happen. And deep down, there's that niggling voice saying 'There's no way the both of you are going to get out of this okay, and it's going to DESTROY your friendship'.

Her scan was 2 weeks ahead of mine. She texted me to tell me she was fine and she'd been put a week ahead of her dates. And then the gut wrenching, sick feeling again. You know what happened the next week. I texted her and she came straight round, sobbing. We sat and cried together. She told me that she wanted me to be a big part of her baby's life, but she would understand if I had to stop seeing her, or if not, I had to tell her if things were too difficult for me and she would keep away until I felt stronger. Which would be okay, you think.

But here's the problem. This is the friend who, on finding out I was pregnant with DD, was so excited that she collected a big box of gifts and clothes that she gave to me when I was 8 weeks pregnant (ahhh, the ignorance of innocence!)She was the friend who would sit with me eagerly talking babies and getting involved in everything to do with the pregnancy. When DD was born, she would come round and help me (I was and still am not naturally maternal, though she undoubtedly is). She would even take DD for a walk in her pushchair while I rested. As DD has gotten older, she's gotten increasingly close to her Auntie GG, who comes round to see her and play with her and read her stories. If there's anyone I wouldn't have minded getting pregnant, it was her.

That was until all this happened. I feel awful saying it because I love her to bits, and truly, deep down inside I am happy for her. I can sense her pulling away. Not to be nasty, I know, but because I know that she too can sense that being around her hurts me. She texts my mother to ask after me mostly, occasionally DH. Sometimes she will text me but often waits until I text her, which I'm finding it harder and harder to do.

I want to be there to support her like she supported me. I want to get excited for her, I want to ask after her scans, I want her to be able to talk to me about her symptoms and her feelings and everything, but I just can't. I can't face it, and I just feel like the shittiest, most horrible person. I miss her. I know that I could call any time and she would be there but something stops me. I don't know what the answer is to any of this.

Perhaps there is none. I just know that this feeling won't go away, and I really really want it to.

Shit happens

I feel like i need to check in. So much has happened since I last wrote:

I went back to work.
I managed to get anti depressants from the doc, which i've been taking for the last 2 weeks.
I've lost 3 pounds.
I have blood tests booked, although i'm holding out no hope that they will find anything to explain why this has happened twice.

I'm not sure what to write other than i'm still here, putting one foot in front of the other.

Although i have moments of happiness, and im getting on with life, it feels like everything is a shade duller than it was before, like my innocence, my feeling that good things happen to good people, has been snatched away. Life just ain't like that. Shit happens...and it doesnt matter whether you're a good person or whether you're a mass murderer. The concept of karma, getting what you deserve, none of it makes sense to me any more...

I know people turn to cliches at times like this e.g 'God only gives you what you can handle', like i must be a really strong person or whatever, for dealingwith this shit twice. I'm not strong. It coud have been anybody. But it just randomly happens to be me.

I'm really struggling with this. It's changed my world view, my beliefs. Everything.

Statistics

Google has dredged up some interesting statistics. Bear with me:

Chance of being involved in an air crash: 1 in 11 million

Chance of dying in an air crash: 1 in 29 million

Chance of getting 5 and the bonus on the National Lottery: 1 in 2.3 million

Chance of a miscarriage in any pregnancy: 1 in 4

Chance of 2 consecutive miscarriages: 1 in 25

Chance of 3 consecutive miscarriages: 1% (don't ask me why this wasn't a 1 in whatever)


I'd like to start by saying I hate flying. (Stick with me on this, I am getting to the point) When I tell people this, they either fervently agree with me or start spewing the statistics, ahh you have more chance of being knocked over in the street etc etc. When you look at the statistics there, you'd be forgiven for thinking that it would be near enough IMPOSSIBLE to be involved in a plane crash. But people do.

Let's look at the National Lottery now. People are quite willing to part with cash knowing full well it is IMPOSSIBLE to win. Okay, maybe not IMPOSSIBLE but let's be honest, it isn't likely. But people do win.

Now to a more common statistic.  Miscarriage. Now most women who have had more than one pregnancy will have experienced this- anyone who hasn't has been unbelievably lucky. Statistics reassure most women that after one, they are pretty safe, with the rate for 2 in a row dropping considerably.

Thinking back to my brief conversation with a consultant on Thursday, I was told that the likelihood of me having another miscarriage straight after this was only 1% (i'm no mathematician but i imagine this percentage would represent quite a number of women nationally per year, at least into the hundreds, perhaps more).

Perhaps i'm being particularly obtuse here, but statistics mean absolutely nothing here do they? In simple terms, these things either happen to you or they don't. Chances and probabilities don't even come into it. So i will continue to avoid flying, cos some poor sod will end up on a doomed flight ( and why wouldn't it be me?) and continue to play the lottery (cos it works both ways).

And the next pregnancy...well i'm just not sure yet. At the minute it feels a little like playing a game of Russian roulette with my life. I know the odds are with me, but someone has got to be in that 1%.

My 2nd ERPC and an interesting revelation.

I woke up yesterday morning not at all worried about my ERPC but rather the days, weeks and months that are to follow. What is a simple, painless operation when compared to the horrible emotional pain of the future? My first ERPC I was absolutely terrified. I'd never been under general anaesthetic before and the thought of never waking up again crossed my mind a few times. After the operation, I joked with the nurses that I'd like them to come and put me to sleep every night! What a wonder of modern medicine that stuff is- absolutely awesome.

After that first ERPC though, I was naive to what was to follow, and at that point I still had feelings of hope that I'd be pregnant again fairly soon and that this was just an anomaly, something that every woman goes through. Granted, I was upset, but the relief I felt once the operation was over and the ambivalent feelings I had immediately afterwards made me think that it wouldn't take me long to get over it- how wrong I was. A second consecutive miscarriage actually blows all that out of the water. I'm not stupid enough to think that, just because I feel okayish at the moment, that it's going to be like that in 2- 3 months time. I'm terrified of going back to that anxious and depressing time I was stuck in before.

Before I went down to theatre, I had several visitors- nurses, an anaesthetist, a registrar and a consultant. The registrar had said to me that I would be able to have blood tests given the circumstances of my miscarriages. But when the consultant who would perform the operation came down to me, she seemed confused as to why I would want the tests- 'it will probably be okay next time', and reminding me that the NHS don't usually test until there have been 3 consecutive miscarriages. Now anyone who has had a miscarriage will know that even one is enough to destroy you if you let it, 2 is unbearable- I wouldn't even like to imagine what 3 or more would do to a woman. I think the NHS do a fantastic job. For the second time, I could not fault them yesterday. I was treated with courtesy and care and looked after very well. But I think this whole policy on miscarriages just isn't right. To me 'probably' means nothing.

I have felt a lot groggier and 'spaced out' after this ERPC than the previous one, where I was back on my feet in no time. I woke up yesterday in the recovery room next to a little boy who was just coming round. I remember bursting into tears for this poor kid, saw the shadows of his parents moving into the room, then blacked out again. I woke up on the ward where my husband was waiting for me, had the best cup of tea I've ever had in my life, forced down a sandwich and was ready to go. The registrar came up and told me that there was a slight complication in that there was a 'laceration' on my womb which had been stitched up and that I would need antibiotics and a suppository to ensure it didn't get infected. I was assured that I wouldn't be affected by it, and it wouldn't jeopardise a future pregnancy.

Another MMC...

Title says it all.
I haven't posted for a while as I'd found out I was pregnant on the 15th August and didn't want to jinx the pregnancy by talking about it. That plan clearly didn't work.

Due to a possible progesterone problem, I'd been given progesterone pessaries to use up to 12 weeks. I had a scan at 5 weeks, everything good. Then a scan at 6 weeks, everything good, and a heartbeat! DH didn't want me to have another scan until my 12 week dating scan, but last week I started to feel very anxious and ill at ease and didn't feel like I wanted to wait the 3 weeks til my dating scan. With little J, I had a very sicky pregnancy. She really knocked me about, but this pregnancy, like the last, was sickness and nausea free. Despite people telling me 'every pregnancy is different', something didnt sit quite right.

However, I had been bouyed up by the statistics- it's hugely unlikely to have 2 miscarriages in a row. So off I went yesterday to a private clinic where i was told the bad news. I knew by their silence that it wasn't good. Two sonographers and a consultant confirmed what had happened and I just lay there and sobbed. My first thoughts were, 'how the hell am I going to get through this again?'

The last few months have been the worst of my life. The month that I chilled out, thought perhaps I'd stick with one child, was the month I got pregnant. And now I've lost it again. Why do that to me? If i'm not capable of having another child, then why did my body play another cruel trick on me and land me straight back to square one? Not just that, but by a cruel twist of fate, a very very close friend of mine is just a couple of weeks ahead of what I would have been, having a normal, healthy pregnancy. For the second time, I am forced to sit and watch.

I've been to the EPAU at my local hospital today and luckily I can get in for an ERPC tomorrow morning. Last time, I was terrified of going under general anaesthetic. This time, I think I will be grateful for the oblivion it provides. And I also know that the ERPC process is less painful and traumatic than the emotional recovery in the months that follow. I fear for myself. I had begun to take strides towards recovery, was beginning to enjoy life again. I was finding some meaning from what had been an horrific experience. What the fuck am I supposed to learn from having it happen twice? What kind of a 'message' am I supposed to take from this, other than a big 'fuck you' from the universe? I guess one thing I have learned is that hope is dangerous.

Another thing that plays on my mind is the number of coincidences:
My last MMC was discovered on 1st March.
This MMC was discovered on 1st October.
My last MMC, the dating scan was 2 months exactly after discovering I was pregnant. Same with this one. My last MMC, the dating scan was due to take place when I would be exactly 12+2- so was this one- on the same day of the week at exactly the same time.

There is no longer the urge to be pregnant again straight away, like there was after the last MMC. I think it would be incredibly foolish to do this when I don't know for certain there isn't something wrong. Given the fact that I was under the care of a fertility clinic, it was hinted today that the consultant may decide to do some tests. I hope this is the case as I need answers. If not, we will have a long hard think about whether it warrants private testing or whether we should accept our lot and be grateful for the wonderful, healthy daughter that we have.

This time, I announced on Facebook; some might question this decision, but I did it for several reasons. People that know usually think twice about what they say to people. Being able to talk about it openly actually helps me. People have messaged me privately to tell me that they, too, have been in the same situation.

I know no-one in real life (until now) that had had 2 miscarriages in a row. Again, i'm faced with people that don't say ANYTHING. I try not to get upset about that, I know that sometimes people don't know what to say. But once again I've been overwhelmed by the care shown to me by people I don't know, alongside my best friends. For those who have a problem with the sharing of my experiences- this isn't all about you. Be glad.

I will update you all when I have more to tell. Thank you for your support. You can't know how much it means, and you've kept me afloat.

Today was my due date...

September 15th was the date I was given at my 8 week scan back in January. It's the only date I was ever given. At my 12 week scan, my baby was dying, so I never reached the point where I had an 'official' due date. It feels very strange and almost surreal to be here. I've been building up to this day, so it surprised me when I asked my DH last night if he knew what day it was today and he turned around and said 'Sunday'. He's not mentioned it, asked me if I'm okay, nothing. Perhaps it's 'his way', but it's made me realise quite keenly that I am the only one who it affected so deeply. Perhaps that's a mother's way.

I don't know what I expected for today- fireworks, the world to implode, I'm not sure. Instead, there was nothing. The day started, and has ended, like any other. Others who have been through miscarriage told me that often the build up to a due date is much much worse than reality, and it's often the 'hump in the road' we need to get over to heal properly. That said, I can't imagine I will ever forget this date and will mark it on the calendar for the rest of my life.

A text from a good friend this morning reduced me to tears. I sat upstairs on my own and sobbed. So many of my friends who have experienced this (and some who haven't), have reached out to me today and it's meant so much that people have thought about me and understood the loss I feel. I surprised even myself by my tears; it's amazing that even though a chunk of time has passed, grief still holds such a power over me. After telling myself to breathe, I picked myself up and got on with my day.

Keeping busy is a Godsend. I often wonder how people get on with grief when they are alone with their thoughts all day. My job means I don't have time to think, and I will drown myself in my job until this month finally goes away. I've got through half of it already, and I haven't fallen apart. I know for many reasons, a lot of my online friends are struggling with September too, or just with life in general. Without their support, their wise words, their encouragement, I know September would be a much harder month. I lit a candle for my little one today. When I lit it, I remembered all the other little lives that so many of us have lost, too many to mention. I hope and pray that we all get the happy ending we deserve.

The eve of September...my due date

Today is the last day of summer. I should have been huge by now, waddling around, taking it easy, ready to welcome my second child into the world in a couple of weeks. Instead, I'm readying myself for the start of another academic year, when now I should have started maternity leave proper.

I have dreaded September since that fateful scan on 1st March. As each month has passed, I've been reminded, painfully, how the world keeps on spinning. I've seen pregnant women walking around and i've compared myself to them (Would I have been that big by now? How come my baby was taken and not theirs? How come they are onto their 2nd/3rd/4th child and they don't seem to have any problems?)

Every time I think of September, I think of it as a hurdle to get past; it's a big red flashing sign in my head. I have dreaded this month so much that I don't know whether I'm going to have a break down this month, or whether the thought of it will be worse than the actual reality.

Will my issues with bumps-the-same-size-as-mine-should-have-been now change to babies-the-same-age-as-mine-would-have-been? I feel like i'm on uncharted territory. The one good thing is that, from the end of July, I have been feeling better in myself. From around May, my mood had taken a total nosedive. I was bitter, angry, anxious. Although to some extent those feelings still lurk around, I've noticed little things I've started to do that I couldn't do before. I held a baby (!), when I couldn't before even look at one. I started thinking about life with only one child, and whether it really was something to be upset about. I started living my life again and getting involved in outside interests instead of sitting in my house on my own.

I've not made any plans for what I will do on my actual due date, which is 2 weeks tomorrow. Part of me thinks perhaps I need, for my own sanity, to not mark it in any way. To get on with life and forget it, lest I get dragged down again the way I was a couple of months back. This is my greatest fear. But equally it feels wrong to not mark that little life in some way. I'm not sure the date will have any significance for anyone other than me. My DH's way of dealing with things is to just get on with things and not contemplate too much.

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I took my daughter to the library this morning. She usually picks books very haphazardly (often the first ones she finds!). Today she did her usual thing, then picked up another book from a different pile and handed it over to me. It was called 'The Bump', and it was a little tale about where 'she' came from and how her mummy grew to love'her'. Its quite a clever little tale, with the child at the end realising the story is all about them.

It almost feels like the timing couldn't be better. Again, I'm reminded of the blessings I have in having her and how I have the sheer luck in having a healthy child to love and love me back.

It is this that will carry me through what I know is going to be a difficult month.

Being thankful for what I have...

I remember a time in the not too dim and distant past. I've been married before. My ex husband was not a very nice person shall we say, but I was young, I wanted the marriage to work, and at 26 (!!!) I believed I was too old to find anyone else and that I'd better hurry up if I ever wanted kids. We'd been together for 5 years when we finally, stupidly, got married- after that we tried for 8 months for a baby before we finally, inevitably broke up. I was convinced I had a fertility problem, and I remember saying to the universe 'I just want ONE child, just ONE. I won't be greedy, I won't ask for anything else. I just want to know what it's like to be a mum!'

Fast forward a few years and I am blessed to have a beautiful 4 year old daughter. But until recently I'd completely forgotten this 'bargain' i'd made with the universe until I found myself asking again ' I just want ONE more, I just want her to have a sister or a brother. Then I swear, my life is complete and I won't want anything else'.

The above quote by Epicurus is something that I've called to mind time and time again in the (almost) 6 months since my miscarriage. I've never been a particularly positive person, but if any good has come from the miscarriage, it's the realisation of the good that is around me already, and the blessings I already have.

My daughter is healthy, and clever and gorgeous and I am a mum. How many people have I met in real life or on the internet who would give their right arm to say that? Even if the worst happens, and I 'only' have my daughter, then that should be enough for anybody. I am truly, truly blessed to have her. I don't think until my miscarriage and the stark realisation that her birth (and the birth of any child) was a true miracle, did I really appreciate what I had.

Tonight I remember the FACT that what I have now was all I once hoped for- a child, a good job, a loving relationship, a house that I love, friends that I love.

Whilst I still mourn what I have lost, this loss has also taught me a lesson about life.

The problem with School Holidays

When parents have moaned about long school holidays in the past, I've always been a bit sneer-y (is that a word?!)

For a start, I'm a teacher, and I make no apologies for the fact that I live for my holidays, and trust me, we all work so bleedin' hard during term time that we actually need them, for our sanity and health. As well as this, it gives me a block of time with DD who I see precious little of during term, and she gets her 'real' mum back, someone who's not rushing round like the proverbial blue arsed fly.

So in the past when people have moaned that they have to have their own kids for a whole six weeks, I've rolled my eyes and thought, you know what, you chose to have them. Some people would give their right arm to have kids to moan about!

That was until this year. I'm not one to sit around every school holiday and I'm usually fortunate enough to have a couple of holidays or short breaks lined up. This year however, we had a four day break right at the beginning of the holidays and the rest of the time it's been me and DD, as Mr Anon works nights and needs to sleep for the majority of the day. In practise, this has meant trying to keep an almost 4 year old quiet during the day (not going to happen), or taking her out to inevitably expensive, overcrowded places.

And for some reason, DD has chosen this particular point in the year to develop a tweenager attitude...the tantrumometer has been cranked up a few notches and I've literally felt like tearing my hair out a number of times. Nothing I do seems to entertain her, or make her satisfied. I'm running out of money...and ideas. The weather has been rubbish (British summertime...need I say more?), so even trips to the park have been off the cards. My with-child friends are all at work so we can't even meet for coffee while the kids tear strips out of each other. I always feel a bit guilty about dragging DD out with my childless friends, as they don't really want to hear 'Mum...mum...MUUUUUM!' while they try to have a conversation with me.

For the first time ever I am beginning to see the dilemma of the average parent. 

What's your opinion on the long summer holidays?

My Fertility Journey

Hello again.

I realised yesterday after writing that I hadn't really revealed much about myself in my first blog post. Perhaps I need to explain why I'm remaining anonymous. I work in a secondary school, and while I don't intend to write anything inflammatory, offensive or rude that wouldn't befit my job role, I do want this blog to be somewhere I can write about 'private stuff' that I wouldn't want just anybody (and particularly the kids at school) to know about.

So where to begin. I think I might as well start with the situation that has prompted me to begin my own blog. 

First up, I am a mum to an almost 4 year old daughter- something which, in light of events this year, I never fully appreciated until now. She was an accident (to this day I do not know how she came to be, given the circumstances), and so, when I came off the pill in April 2012, I presumed number 2 would come along just as easily. Not so.

While people around me seemed to fall pregnant at the drop of a hat, I waited month after month for that elusive BFP. Finally in January 2013, a breakthrough! I got my much awaited BFP on New Years Day- a sign that 2013 was my year! I had a scan at 7 weeks which showed a heartbeat and I settled into the pregnancy, much more laid back than first time round.

The date of my 12 week scan came through in late February. I'd already been told as a heartbeat had previously been seen, there was a less than 2% chance of miscarriage. And anyway, miscarriage happened to other people. So when the sonographer turned the screen on and showed me a baby lying there not moving, I went into shock and, I realise now, denial. On the notes, she wrote '10+5 with only a FAINT heartbeat'. I was measuring more than a week behind but I was sure of my dates. They wanted me to come back the following week to check if things had progressed.

To this day, I do not know how I managed to drag myself into work for the remainder of that week. I was in a daze for much of the time, but deep down I think I knew. I knew.

I couldn't wait a week. I had to know. So I booked a private scan. I remember the sonographer telling me he was sorry. I didn't cry. I asked for a photo of my baby. It looked like a baby. I could see its facial features, a button nose, it's little arms and legs. I've added this photo onto here- to me this poor baby existed and I wanted to remember. I did not fall apart. I remained calm while others cried.

I didn't know it then, but it wouldn't be that easy. I've always prided myself on my non emotional, practical mind, but life set out to teach me other lessons, and it's been a brutal few months. I could not imagine at that point the profound effect this would have on my life. I feel only now, 5 and a bit months later that I'm emerging out of the other side. But that journey will probably be left to other blog entries.

Which brings me to where we are now. Well, despite people telling me (perhaps in the hope that it would bring me some comfort) that I'd be pregnant again before my due date (which happens to be one short month away), I'm not. Since the MC, I've identified through charting that something isn't quite right with my cycles. My own doctor is worse than useless, so me and the Mr decided that we'd go private to find out just whats going on. And I guess that's where I am now.

Never, ever forgotten x

Losing my blog virginity

So, hello world!

I feel rather like I have to start off like a good book would. To create an arresting opening, you need to create questions that need to be answered, an interesting character or characters, an enticing setting and establish a genre.

Unlike your average half decent novel writer though, I don't actually have all those details to hand (well, perhaps apart from the interesting character ;-) ) . Truth is, I'm not sure quite where this blog is going.

I wanted to write about my experiences of miscarriage and grief because I thought it would be cathartic.

I wanted to write about my views on life and things I see in the news, because sometimes you can't fit everything you want to say on Facebook or Twitter.

I wanted to write about the little things that amuse, delight or interest me.

I wanted a place I could come and have a moan anonymously.

And here I am, feeling the pressure because I'm an English teacher and I should know how to write and what to write, for Goodness sake.

So I guess in this first 'chapter', I'm leaving you all on a bit of a cliffhanger. Who knows what happens next?