Dear Hormones

Thank you for calming the f@ck down and getting back into line.

Jenni's comment on my gloomy post made me stop. And blink. Of course, my hormones went screwy last year in early March. Around George's due date. Mean.

If sore boobs for 5 weeks wasn't bad enough, two periods in one month just was not funny you know. Not even a little bit.

But we'll move past that shall we and I'll promise to stop holding a grudge if you promise to keep to the straight and narrow. Mmmkay?

Good. Now that's all sorted out, if it's not too much trouble, could you do me just one teeny itsy tiny weeny little favour..........hmmm??

Gloomy wednesday

Oh goodness I feel gloomy right now.

I should be pleased that my hitherto haywire hormones have slotted back into a 27 day cycle but I'm not getting it. I even thought of writing them a "thank you" note, but on reflection, I really don't feel all that grateful.

What I do feel is royally pissed off that I got to experience what I mistook for implantation cramps and spotting just exactly like I had with Little P a week before bleeding started. Not. Playing. Fair.

Hmph.

Where's the sodding codeine*.






*for cramp relief not gloom relief

My broken hormones

Last week I had a very vivid dream about bleeding. I have them from time to time: such an endearing echo of baby loss trauma. In this one I began bleeding thick gloopy bright red blood. It filled a pad, it was on my hands and smeared on my top. I asked my Mum again and again and again if it was normal. I showed her my hands but she had no answers for me. The dream scared me awake.

Two days after my dream my period started. On CD 15. Not ovulation spotting but proper bleeding.

My last period was 5 days late, light, long and drawn out.

If my period had stayed as advertised, and I had been pregnant this month my due date would have been George's day. I rather liked the symmetry of that. If. If. If. I hate that I torture myself like this.

I was afraid that the bleeding would get heavier and heavier but, oh thank goodness, it's getting lighter now.

I saw Dr Compassion yesterday and he thinks it's most likely my age but it might be a blip caused by the stress of worrying about Ray's pooposcopy. He took some blood to see if there are any hormones left and also to check for pregnancy. No, no, I really really really don't think I am.

I don't think I have ovulated in the last two months: not even a hint of a line on an ovulation test. I'd like to hope that my body is just taking a break and resetting itself but I have so little hope left and it's stretched so thin that I don't dare. But once again, I don't dare think of the alternatives.

Hopefully my hormones aren't broken yet: just bent out of shape a bit.

Freedom

We buy white toilet tissue. I insist upon it actually.

You know what I'm talking about don't you? Pink, blue, cream or green toilet rolls are utterly useless for the purpose of obsessing about your bodily secretions (please, for the love of all things hormonal tell me you know what I'm on about!)

We  I picked up cream paper by mistake. I only realised it as our items were being scanned. Hmm. Do I grab the toilet tissue, make a dash for it and switch it? Do I admit my obsession to Ray? Of course he doesn't know, why on earth would I tell him that? He copes well enough with me dipping ovulation sticks in pee but I think that some things really should remain unknown in a relationship.

I didn't change it; I stood in line trying to calculate how long 12 rolls would last and then realised that I was indeed barking mad and needed to  s t o p.

So I find myself free from the toilet tissue checking. I've also decided to hide the white knickers at the back of the drawer too and only wear purple, pink, blue and black. (Why do I have no orange knickers?)

I need another obsession, at least until we go to the supermarket again.




ps, this does not mean I am pregnant, I don't think I will ever joke about knicker checking in pregnancy again.

Today I have nothing left

Tomorrow I'll get over it, again and start the plod through yet another month with no baby outside and no baby intside.

But just for a couple of days, at the end of a cycle, I'm a whole mess of jibbering blubbering hope. Of course on the surface I am the picture of calm (ahem) but inside my head... peee-ow... stand back.

These are the in between days when there is a tiny possibility of sunshine even though the general forecast is for rain.

I never realised just how much I wanted to be a mother until I finally met the man I wanted to father my children and heard him say, "I think we'd make good parents". I never realised how much I really wanted to be a mother until our baby died and we met our son. I didn't know how much I wanted that life until the point when I was just 7 weeks pregnant with George and dreamed of bleeding and then woke to bleeding.

At 39 I had pushed the thought of mummyhood to the very dusty corners of my mind and covered it over with an old threadbare rug. Mother, baby, parent, father, child, mummy, daddy. And then I met Ray.

At 42, at 13dpo I feel it slipping away. How long do we carry on trying for? Or, how much longer can I cope with trying? Could I cope with not trying? We have another appointment with the fertile nurse in February. I wonder if they can or will help us. We can't afford private treatment so this is it.


I think I'm going to rearrange my blog again. I might change it's title. I'm going to wash the kitchen floor. I should be changing nappies not cleaning out a litter box. Must finish some jewellery. I miss the life we don't have. Rice and veg for dinner. Need to change the bed. Distractions.

Disclaimer
These are the ramblings of a premenstrual, hormonally challenged mind and in no way represent said mind's normal state of being. (Well, maybe a teeny tiny bit.) The author is in no way seeking pity but simply spewing said ramblings into space to remove them from the space between her ears. However the odd "Awww" or "Hug" is most welcome.

Drawing on the collected wisdom of the sisterhood

So, dear ladies, I am off to see the ob/gyn again tomorrow, after popping in to have my blood taken to test my iron levels at Dr Compassion's surgery. What fun.

I had a general moan at Doctor Compassion on monday about my age and trying to conceive (and failing) and my growing paranoia concern that something might not be working and he whipped out his computer to see how long I would have to wait for an appointment (we're talking NHS [national health service] here, I had to wait 7 weeks for a podiatry appointment) and lo and behold wednesday was available. I was thinking of waiting another couple of months but hey ho.

So, any suggestions on what I should ask? I do want to know what the evilfibroids are doing because they seem to be twisting and tugging at something but apart from that what should/could I suggest? I'm not sure I'm ready for anything like clo.mid yet but as for testing, I'm open to almost anything!

Of course going back to the maternity unit, to the same floor I delivered George on for only the second time since we lost him might just leave me in an incomprehensible heap of tears on her floor, but I suppose she's used to that so I won't worry about making a fool of myself (or wear too much dark eyeliner).

The scoreboard...

...as you know, currently stands at 2 - 0 (bollocks*)

Not bad I suppose in the trying to conceive stakes since we've only been trying again seriously* for two cycles and I know, I know some of you out there have/had been trying for what feels like forever. However, in my world at the moment, I'm so so SO aware of my biological alarm clock that it feels as if it's shaking itself off the shelf it's ringing so loud. And each unpregnant cycle seems like another step towards menopause or on particularly hormonal days another giant leap towards menopause. I'm going to be 42 in July. Forty-bloody-two! How on earth did that happen? I was 32 just a few minutes ago wasn't I?

I'm working on relaxing (hahaha) and trying to think of things other than babybabybabybaby (hahahahaha). (Or as Sally more accurately put it GeorgebabyGeorgebabyGeorgebaby) I'm doing those visualisation exercises when I can, picturing my womb as welcoming and comfortable and safe safe safe, not wasting any energy thinking about those evilfibroids (oops) and going on an imaginary walk around our house with a new baby, letting him or her know that she or he is welcome, that there is space for him or her in our lives. A good space. Cluttered maybe, but a space nonetheless and one that can easily be cleared. I showed this imaginary our baby where we would put his or her cot in our room, how we would move chests of drawers and wardrobes around in her or his bedroom and where we would keep her or his things.

The other week I received a catalogue from the NCT. I didn't open it and Ray thoughtfully* put it in the bin. A few days later I emptied the bins, fished the catalogue out and hid it under our bed. I've been looking at it occasionally torturing myself with the things I don't need yet allowing myself to dream. I've thrown it out now. Enough. Stop. Wait.

I have some small canvasses and I'm planning on painting them with brightly coloured bugs and trees and flowers and putting them in the drawer.

Hopes and dreams. I'm hanging on to them although my nails are somewhat shredded and bloody.




*sorry my language is becoming bloody awful

*entirely peeing-on-sticks, bicycling-legs-in-the-air-while-Ray-showers-first bloody desperately seriously. That's how seriously.

*not sarcastic

Changes

I feel as if I need to make some changes. To everything, to anything, to myself and to our home. I started with my blog, a simple thing but it felt good to sit down and work things out, to fiddle with and write some code and concentrate. My concentration lately has been, quite frankly, crap. I don't have the tidiest of minds in the first place but now it's getting ridiculous!

I sometimes feel as if I'm sinking into myself. I've been here before and as comfortable as apathy can be I don't want to rest here too long. Dammit I need to pluck my eyebrows and shave my legs and I just can't be bothered. So tomorrow I WILL do it.

I don't really like going out alone these days. I do go out, but I much prefer it when we go out as a team. Then I can hide behind Ray and let him do the talking for us. So tomorrow I'm meeting a friend for coffee (decaf) and I WILL chat about positive things.

I need to get back to me. To the me that doesn't care what anyone thinks. To the me that has enthusiasm for lots of things. To the me that can get things done.

I feel at times like a hormonal teenager having a tantrum on acid. So I'm trying the relaxation-prepare-your-womb-for-conception-your-ovaries-are-beautiful cd and the visualisation of better things and I WILL get to where I need to be.

I just wish I could WILL George back into our lives. Into his life.

The "vibe" thing

I haven't had an awful lot to say these last few days.

I'd like to moan non-stop about my hormones but after a while it gets a bit boring.

I'm beginning another cycle with hope, in a week or so I'll be begging asking you to send those conception vibes my way again. Maybe I should explain the "vibe" thing.

I believe in the power of positive (and indeed negative) thought. I believe I can affect myself by thinking differently. I know this works for simple things because I can consciously send a headache away without drugs (I've managed it with period cramps before, however these days I require narcotics!). I also believe that if we sincerely direct positive/healing/peaceful thoughts someone's way it can affect them and when I leave you a comment wishing you peace, it's nothing fatuous, I'm consciously sending peaceful thoughts your way in the hope that it will help. So I figure if enough people send a bit more hope my way it might just work. It can't hurt can it?

So, dear reader, I crave your indulgence in this matter, i.e. I will probably continue to beg ask you to send conception vibes my way until we get a positive result and I hope you will. I will however ask you not to think of the actual act involved in the act of conception 'cos that would be entirely too weird. Or does mentioning the thing that I don't want you to think about make you think about it even more... *place hands over ears, screw eyes tightly shut* "Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala".

Weird feelings of relief

My period started today. Day 25. Almost normal cycle length. It's usually 27 days or thereabouts but anything not 44 days I'm counting as normal. Normal normal normal. Whoop.

Oh hang on weren't we trying to conceive?

Disappointment rapidly follows relief. I didn't really expect it this month, I don't know why, but I didn't. I hoped and dreamed a bit but not too much at all; just the blink of a hopeful what if.

"You're not quite yourself today are you?"
"Aren't I? I thought I was doing quite well, I've got those hormones under control eh?"
"Yeeees... "
"Oh, I thought you hadn't noticed?"
"Yeeeeees..."

Bloody hormones.

Day 1.

Stuck

I've been staring at this screen for 10 minutes and I can't think of anything even remotely meaningful to write this evening so I'll just remove my kitten blankie and trundle off to bed.

PMS saps brain function as well as fine motor control: I've broken my favourite china cat print teacup and a dish today.

Bloody hormones.

Hormones 1 Barbara 0

So, the hormones won this morning when, upon hearing the local radio newsreader announce her pregnancy to the local world I burst into tears.

Lying in bed, using the duvet cover as a handkerchief, in between sobs this is what came out;

I miss George. I miss the George that might have been. I miss the George that lives in my head. The George who had to be invented in place of the real one who we didn't know as anyone other than the tiny form who sucked his thumb or cleverly hid his face from the sonographers tools. Our funny baby doing somersaults on screen to entertain us.

I told Ray how wonderful and terrible it is to look at George's photo and see his daddy in that little face. I haven't said this to him before. Ray said that perhaps I shouldn't look at his photo so much. But I can't NOT look. If I don't look I feel as I might forget. George feels so very far away. He says it's hard for him to not look but he doesn't because it hurts too much. He still feels anger. He wants another chance. It's not fair, there is no fair, we deserve some fair.

We talked about other far-too-private-for-a-blog stuff, drank tea and held each other for ages while being stomped on by two frantically brutish kittehs and finally got up at *gulp* 11am!

Bloody pms hormones make everything just that bit more sharp/heavy/painful/irritating/difficult/oh what e v e r.

Then I opened my email and read something quite delightful which cheered me up no end. Thank you silly girl!

A little later we went out and as we passed Ray dragged me to the jewellers to buy us two clip charms for my Pandora bracelet. Damn damn damn but I love that man!

I'm ok now.

Really.

Honestly.

Probably.

I think.

The deal

Dear Hormones, ovaries, follicles, womb and evilfibroids (boo)

If you will just play nicely and straighten yourselves out for a few more months and allow me to conceive, carry and give birth to a living baby made with love who I can take home in a car seat and not in a tiny box I will give you full permission to wreak whatever havoc you will with my body afterwards.

Put me into premature menopause, give me 45 day cycles, hell give me 55 day cycles, give me a hairy chin and a humped back I don't give a shit! (well maybe I do give a shit about the last two)

But please, for the love of all things... all things motherly. Let me have one living child (twins would be nice too but I'm not sure there would be enough room for them and the evilfibroids so, you know, moderation and all that).

Lots of love and hugs and all that (and even more to you out there for letting me know that my paranoid death fantasies are perfectly normal)

(coming soon; Dear sperms {pun intended})

I made a new one!

I finished all of the orders from the website now and I'll be posting tomorrow! For a sneak preview of some of them, pop over to my shop and have a look!

I made a new necklace too!



In other news. I peed on a stick today, checking for early signs of ovulation, ready and willing to "get busy" in the name of newbaby making. A little too early for testing really, but hey, desperate times and all that. It's bloody scary I can tell you... but I'm sure you know that.

We thought we had evilfibroids to blame and then *poof* we're told there's nothing in the wrong place. I'm going to wrap myself up in cotton wool for this pregnancy, and even that won't guarantee us a real live breathing baby at the end of it. But when when when we have our livebaby at home I'll be getting those bloody fibroids removed if I have to do it myself with a spoon. Yes indeedy. Uh huh.

Ladyparts on parade

At 2.10 today for some reason I checked my diary. Evilfibroidscan monday, Dr appointment wednesday. George's due date thursday, telephone interview with occupational therapist friday. What what what? Evilfibroid scan monday... monday at 2.15... noooooooo... it's 2.10... Sh*t, f@ck, Bo&&ocks!!! How on earth had I mistook monday for tuesday!

Panicked call to Ray... shaking hands... oh hell... must wash ladyparts... contact lenses... makeup (yes, for some reason I had to put on some makeup) ... appointment letter... go go go.

15 minutes later (don't ask me how) Ray dropped me off, drove off to park and I dashed through the doors of the maternity unit and called the huge elevator that 133 days ago took me from one floor to the next on a bed to deliver our dead son. I got out at the floor of the delivery suite and turned in the opposite direction to the sound of babies crying with new life towards the assessment clinic. Breathing deeply, shaking mightily, hoping that my appointment hadn't been cancelled, hoping the place wasn't full of pregnant women, I approached the desk. It hadn't been, it wasn't. Phew!

I saw the nice smiley midwife from the early pregnancy assessment unit who had beamed her huge torch into my ladyparts several times during my pregnancy, who had made a special trip to see us and George after his birth and had told me how beautiful he was while hugging me tightly and crying for us. This is a big maternity unit in a big hospital but she remembered me and rushed over to give me a big hug. I of course burst into tears and she took me by the hand and led me to a private waiting room. We had a lovely little chat, then Ray arrived to a hug from her and she went off to make us cups of tea.

Eventually I was called for the scan. My Ob apologised for making us wait... ahem. The technician remembered me from before too. Ray carefully moved his chair so that he had no view of the proceedings down in the ladypart area and gave me his hand to squeeze and by golly it got squeezed today. First a vaginal scan. Not so bad. 2d 3d 2d 3d. Then the big light, the peering, the catheter and the saline. It took three tries to get the catheter to stay in and after the first two uncomfortable tries I became dreadfully dizzy and the Ob was almost ready to give up and order a hysteroscopy which would have meant a general anaesthetic and possibly a night in hospital... no no no! I bravely (or cowardly) agreed to one more try and so she got a whopping huge speculum and... eee ooo ow... it worked!

The results? Well, the evilfibroids are still there. But they couldn't find anything poking into my uterine cavity. They all appear to be either on the outside or in the wall away from the endometrium which, according to the sonographer, was "beautiful" *beams with uterine pride*. Fallopian tubes fine, no problems with the ovaries and 17 follicles spotted. 17 sounds wonderful but I have no idea about these things, is it good? I'm not going to become Octomoms rival am I? The sonographer then told us that since I'd had a "good clean out", we should perhaps "get busy".

Catheter removed, dripping saline, I padded up and got dressed.

I expected there to be a need for surgery but my Ob thinks the chances of scarring outweigh the benefits of removing the fibroids now, definitely after a pregnancy but not now. She was really pleased for us. I think I was in shock. I asked some more questions about things I remembered her saying on the day George was born. She reassured me that these weren't concerns and she gave me a prescription for a mega dose of folic acid.

I think I was hoping for one big fat obviously truly evil fibroid to point my finger at and curse in rightious indignation for killing my son, but it wasn't there. I had my finger ready but it wasn't there. In the end there seem to be no real answers as to why George died. Sad? Happy? Both?

Pregnancy is going to be terrifying now anyway so perhaps there's no point adding to it with evilfibroid fear. Thousands of women have fibroids, some much much bigger than mine and then manage to carry a baby successfully. I think I can, I hope I can, I hope I can. I can say one thing for definite. I won't be carrying the added stress of that job into our next pregnancy, uh uh, nope.

Time to get busy then I suppose, *glances lecherously in Ray's direction*

A different sort of two week wait

Dr Compassion signed my sick note for two more weeks and is happy to carry on doing that. Two weeks, not a month? He wants to keep an eye on my emotional state. Yes, once again I got the sad-puppy-dog look and, "how are you?" and once again there were the tears. I don't know why it happens with him, when anyone else asks how I am I don't cry, they get the truth, but I don't cry. I think it's because I associate that chair in that room and that concerned face with my pregnancy and all the problems I had during it.

He worries that I'm not sleeping but no thank you, no more sleeping pills, he tentatively mentions antidepressants and seems relieved when I refuse. I tell him I'm going to see a counsellor on monday (yes, finally) and he seems pleased. I'm so glad my regular doctor wasn't available that one day and I was given an appointment with him by default.

We sent off a swab to make sure that the strep b is under control (I think it's gone I hope it's gone it must be gone) and he gave me the choice of taking the swab myself or letting him do it. Ummm... let me see... I went off to the toilet and swished that long cotton bud around feeling like a medical professional, well no not really but feeling glad someone else wasn't getting access to my ladyparts. He's never been there, I think it might change our relationship. I've got enough of that particular sharing experience coming up in two weeks time when I will be back at the hospital exposing said ladyparts to the world once again... well, no, maybe not the world but it surely feels like it sometimes.

The letter.

So I read the letter. It was nothing we hadn't discussed before. It didn't dissolve me into a puddle of tears. Apart from all the technical information the first sentence made it all more human. "the sad loss of her baby at 20 weeks of pregnancy." It did mention that my fibroid-uterus measured 14 weeks on 16th December, 6 weeks after losing George. I don't know why, but that fact made me breathe deeper. On that date of my last scan the three evilfibroids measured 66mm (submucosal), 55mm and 50mm (intramural). I am carrying three small nectarines. The biggest bastard evilfibroid was indenting into George's gestational sack.

"Barbara has been reassured that the pain she is experiencing is a normal result of post-pregnancy fibroid shrinkage and continuing degenration" I'm reassured? Oh.

I'm having a HyCoSy scan, not the HSG. And apart from one being ultrasound and the other being xray, as far as I can tell the major difference is that we get the results straight after. But whatever they call it, it's still someone poking about and peeking into my ladyparts yet again.

I have NO dignity left, hell if some healthcare type were to say, "spread 'em" I would probably quite meekly comply. I have lost count of the numbers of latex covered fingers that have prodded and peered around said ladyparts*. A particular image of a lovely smiley midwife with a huge torch springs to mind. That same midwife came to see me, Ray and George just after his birth and hugged me so tightly, telling me how beautiful my son was.

*I'm not a prude and I can use technical terms, yes I can; vagina, vulva, uterus, see. I was given a bed bath by a teenage nursing assistant whilst in hospital the second time and she shyly asked me if I could manage to wash my ladyparts by myself... er, I have two cannulas in each arm, hooked up to a bag of blood, a rehydrating drip and a pain killing drip (the other cannula was a spare)... umm... I don't think so. Anyway, I thought the term was rather twee and sweet. Much like myself... ahem.

Where was I? Oh yes.

So what scares me most is having the scan and being told, "Oh my, how on earth did you get pregnant in the first place, it's such a mess in there".

What I'm hoping for is, teeny tiny day surgery, zapped/strangled/sliced evilfibroid, maybe some nice diamorphine after please? Pregnant a month after. No problem! Whoopee!

Yeah right, most likely somewhere in between.

And this pic just for your information (I only have one uterus by the way):

Appointments

The obstetrician called this evening. Yes, I know you forgot me but thank you for calling. We consulted our diaries, compared appointments and cycles and scheduled a 3d scan with a squirt of dye for 2nd March. A sort of HSG. With a possible hysteroscopy look-see just for the sheer fun of it. Nothing moves fast in the good old British national health service but a nudge here and there to the right secretary seems to help.

Evilfibroids, we're coming to get you on 2nd March. 3 days before George's due date. Just when I want to be visiting the hospital.

I moaned about my infection, ok yes, I cried at her about it and she's going to call my Dr and tell him to prescribe two weeks of more antibiotics. Oh joy. This will be round 4.

I wish I could have this test next week but at least I have a date and at least it isn't exactly George's date. I'll take the least of anything at the moment, it's been a bad day: (see previous post).

Tomorrow will be better.

Punished.

I'm being punished for my rebellious thoughts of trying for a baby too soon by a sharp twisty stabbing pain in my lower left side. I think it's an evilfibroid letting me know that my uterus belongs to them and there's no room for a baby. Yet.

Oh but they don't know what's in store for them do they? Bwahahahah. <-evil laugh.

I know it's nonsense but there's a lot of non-sense in my head these days.

I think they forgot about me at the hospital because yesterday I spent quite a while trying to explain to three different secretaries that I'm supposed to be getting an appointment for tests. There was a lot of umming and ahhhing followed by, "I'll just put you through to". With each phone call I felt I was getting closer to the inner sanctum of gynaecological wisdom. Maybe not. I'm still waiting for the last secretary to call back. She promised.


Today I think I'm losing it, but not in an entirely bad way.

Dating

Dates I'm dreading in 2009:

Whatever date I'm scheduled for the it-sounds-like-an-HSG and possible-evilfibroidectomy.

Every day between 5th and 9th of March and probably the days before and after. The 9th was George's first due date, and the 5th was the adjusted date based on his healthy growth. I'll be booking holiday time as soon as I get back to work.

Mothers day.

Fathers day.

Each time day 28 of my cycle rolls around and I start bleeding.

20th October, George's birthday.

Every other day I will just:

Miss George.

Love Ray.

Search for tiny moments of pure joy.

Carry on putting one foot in front of the other.

Except for the dates I am looking forward to:

The day when two pink lines appear or the digital ones that say "pregnant" (I used four "two pink lines" tests and one "pregnant" test with George. I couldn't believe it had actually happened!).

The day we take our new baby home with us.

The day we get married. (not an actual date yet)



Today and every day I'm in love and loved.