Pause.

Pause.


There’s been a distinct lack of posts on here this year so far with this only being the third. I’ve been feeling a bit indifferent and detached from writing and I’ve felt as though I’ve been a bit inside my own head, unable to put in to words how I feel.

So how do I feel? Well where do I start? The last time I checked in we had just met with our fertility specialist and we seemed to finally be on the right path with clear plans for us to move forward with.

I had my HSG (hysterosalpingogram) procedure, or a ‘tube flush’, where a catheter is placed inside the cervix, dye is pushed in to the womb and up in to your tubes while under an x-ray to determine whether there are any blockages. Top Tip; if you ever have to do this do not read up about it online first. The horror stories gave me anxiety. For someone who took out their own coil (long story) I should not have been worried at all. The nurses made me feel at ease, even with my legs akimbo, they reassured me that it would be completely fine. The procedure lasted no longer than 30 seconds with 5 seconds of sudden ‘cramping’ which I was told would happen and soon subsided when the dye stopped being pushed through. I felt an overwhelming sense of pride when the nurse told me I had the perfect v-shaped womb, as if I had any sort of influence over it. It was good news, no blockages, nothing to be worried about. So off I waddled, with the ugliest NHS sanitary pad between my legs, to go get cleaned up and get on with my day.

We had already booked our next appointment with the fertility specialist to discuss the results of the HSG and next steps when the pandemic hit the UK and everything started grinding to a halt. So it came as no surprise that two days before we were due to visit the clinic all fertility appointments were cancelled. Of course I completely understand that everyone’s health and safety comes first but to have another set back is disheartening. I was under no illusions that this journey would be difficult but Jesus take the wheel I didn’t expect a pandemic to be thrown in to the mix.

So yeah, that’s where we are at. Everything is on hold. It’s been oddly refreshing to have a little bit of a break between tests and appointments and medications. It’s been nice to just be ‘us’ and enjoy our time with each other, without any added pressure. It’s incredibly hard to explain but you tend to forget yourself when you’re so focused on treatments and next steps.

The time will come when clinics will open and the cycle will start again. But until then I’m using this opportunity to reduce my caffeine and gin intake, relax and just breathe.

What to expect when you’re not expecting?

What to expect when you’re not expecting?

Expect to be given mixed messages. Expect your emotions to be all over the place. Expect to leave appointments slightly more confused. Expect to laugh. Definitely expect to cry. Expect everyone in the world to get pregnant around you (or so it feels). Expect more doctors to see your bits ‘n’ pieces than you’ve had hot coffees in your lifetime.

Just don’t expect it to be easy.

Yesterday we had the pleasure of finally meeting our fertility specialist. After some initial questions about lifestyle, health and just getting to know us she had a look at the tests we’d had already. Until now our treatment has been relatively straight forward. A few blood tests here and there, a couple of scans, sperm tests, 6 cycles of medication and many trips to the doctors surgery. We have never really been given any cause for concern except my blood tests appeared to show my hormone levels aren’t quite right during ovulation.

However, within 5 minutes of meeting our specialist she diagnosed me with polycystic ovary syndrome or PCOS. She explained that our GP should never have prescribed clomid at all, let alone let me take it without constant monitoring with blood tests and ultrasounds. Morgan’s results aren’t as straight forward as originally made out and require a few lifestyle changes. Plus, just to top it all off, we should have been referred 11 months ago considering the length of time we have been trying.

*cue a stunned and confused couple of Bloomers*

It’s incredibly frustrating to find that the last 11 months have essentially been a waste of time. We have spent the last 11 months riding an emotional rollercoaster, constant up and downs, wondering when or if it will ever end. What is really alarming is that a medical professional has wrongly advised me to take medication which could have made the situation worse. It also means that our specialist now cannot prescribe it (to be used in the right way with regular checkups) as it should only be taken for 6 months in total.

However we did get a couple of positive points from our appointment:

– Age is definitely on our side. The specialist explained that as we are both 30 there is plenty of time to try various treatments.

– PCOS is a road bump, not a stop sign. The blood tests I have had clearly show I am ovulating every other cycle. It can be treated with medication and the one saving grace is that the clomid I have been taking may have actually helped in this particular instance.

– The weight I’ve lost already definitely helps our situation and speeds the next steps up by around 4 months.

So what happens next? I need to have my tubes flushed, I have to have more blood tests, Morgan needs to take vitamins and stop vaping, I should stop drinking coffee and alcohol and I need to drop 2 more stone. We have multiple appointments over the next 4 weeks to get this show on the road and I’m actually feeling pretty positive. I’m ready to draw a line under what has happened already and move on to the next stage of this process.

So what should you expect when you’re not expecting? Just expect the unexpected. Anything can happen, good or bad. You’ve just got to roll with the punches, pick yourself up and keep going.

Fingers crossed we’re now in good hands

4 days late…

4 days late…

That’s how long it was before I was woken up with cramps at 5am this morning. 4 long days of silently hoping this was the one, that we would be starting the New Year with some amazing news.

I hadn’t told my husband that my period was late until yesterday. I didn’t want to say it out loud for fear of jinxing it but I dragged him in to the pharmacy to buy some tests ‘just in case’. I told him I wouldn’t do it until the morning, that I’d give it one more day. I guess I just saved myself £10.99. Every cloud and all that.

This news, or non-news, shouldn’t come as a surprise to me. Our third round of Clomid was quickly followed by a bout of pneumonia which had to be treated with some very strong antibiotics. Let it be known that there is nothing less sexy than someone coughing up their lungs constantly.

Yet this time I feel completely betrayed by my body.

I don’t know whether it’s because I knew this was our third and final round of Clomid, or whether I was hoping for some sort of Christmas miracle, or whether I consciously hoped to be pregnant before I turned 30 in a few days. Maybe it’s just that I don’t like to feel like I’ve failed at something.

This just means that the start of 2020 is going to look very different to how I imagined. Don’t get me wrong, we both knew this was a possibility, our doctor outlined next steps in our last appointment to prepare us. I just hoped we wouldn’t have to start the year with more trips to the fertility specialist. It also means I definitely have to shift those last 14lbs before we move forward.

The last two years have been incredibly difficult but Morgan and I are most definitely stronger for it. He keeps me going with his positive outlook on life and is overwhelmingly supportive no matter what. Whilst I’d rather not be on this particular pathway I’m glad I have him by my side, keeping me going when it is all too easy just to say “I give up.”

So for now I’m going to stick on some sad music, have a little cry, get it all out of my system and then I’m going to relax and enjoy the festive season. I have birthday celebrations planned over the next couple of weeks, too many Christmas parties to attend and I intend to eat and drink my way in to the New Year.