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.