It only seems like yesterday it was New Year’s Day, I was sobbing in the bath wondering what direction my life was going in. Feeling incomplete, a failure, broken and exhausted.
Fast forward to today. I’m preparing my hospital bag for Monday, washing and ironing all Baby Bloomer’s tiny outfits ready for his arrival in the next few weeks. I often finding myself just sitting in his nursery, talking to my ever-expanding bump, telling him how much we can’t wait to meet him.
I was hopeful this time would come. I had faith. But part of me resigned to the fact that I might not ever reach this point. Now it’s here I feel completely unqualified to become a mother. At times I feel like an imposter in my own life. Albeit a grateful, excited, slightly apprehensive imposter.
It’s a completely alien feeling to be head over heels in love with someone you have never met. You communicate in regular reminders that his home is getting increasingly cramped by the day. You already know his sleeping pattern, the foods he likes and dislikes, the music he enjoys listening to. You know deep in your heart that you’ll never love anything or anyone as much as you love the tiny human growing inside you.
It’s been 49 weeks since I published that New Year blog post. 49 weeks since I wrote the following: “’2020 is going to be my year’ I keep telling myself. But what if it’s not? What if I’m sat in the bath January 1st 2021 writing the same ‘woe is me’ post because abso-bloody-lutely nothing has changed once again?” Little did I know just how much would change and how quickly. Life certainly does come at you fast right?
If I asked you what you were doing at 5am on May 3rd 2020 would you know? I certainly would and it is a day I don’t think I’ll forget for the rest of my life.
I was sat in the bathroom, distracting myself from looking at the pregnancy test I had just taken, trying not to take a sneak peak for fear of jinxing it. It took me 20 minutes for me to pluck up the courage to put my phone down, take a deep breath and wonder over to the shelf where I placed it while it worked it’s magic.
Before we delve any deeper into my story me give you a bit of background for all those who are new to this blog. My husband and I had been trying to make little Baby Bloomer for 29 months at this point. We’d tried it naturally, we tried medicine, we’d had countless blood tests and scans and sperm counts and doctors appointments. I had my tubes flushed and still nothing had happened. Our next appointment with the fertility specialist was booked for 2nd April 2020 but the pandemic hit the UK and it was cancelled. It felt as though luck was not on our side at all after endless bad news, rearranged meetings and negative pregnancy tests.
*cue humming B*Witched – C’est La Vie to myself*
Back to May 3rd. At this point my period is 4 days late which isn’t unusual. My cycle, for the most part, fell between 28 and 32 days. Those extra few days you spend just waiting for the inevitable to happen. But something felt different this time. I had a bottle of Prosecco the night before and got pickled far too quickly, my boobs felt heavy and ridiculously sore and I was beyond exhausted. Despite this Morgan encouraged me to wait as long as possible. So I waited until the very next morning and here we are, caught up with the story.
I don’t think I actually believed it when I first saw the bright blue plus sign on the pregnancy test. I grabbed the box to make sure it meant what I thought it meant. There was absolutely no mistaking it, we were pregnant! I grabbed the stick and ran to the bedroom shouting for Morgan to wake up. I jumped on the bed and practically waved the test in his sleepy face, shouting ‘we’ve bloody done it’ much to his utter confusion. Realisation set in, he saw what I was shouting about and crying over, gave me a hug, told me he loved me and then said ‘get some sleep.’
Needless to say, with the adrenaline and excitement pumping throughout my body I was not going to be going back to bed any time soon. And if I wasn’t sleeping, neither was he. I downloaded a bunch of apps, ran internet searches for everything pregnancy related and started reeling off facts and figures and comparing the size of our little Baby B to various teeny tiny animals and foods.
I’ve never felt anything like it in my life. The feeling is completely overwhelming when you have been waiting so long for everything to just fall in to place. So many concerns and worries creep in to your mind. Did the bottle of wine I guzzled the night before make the baby boozy? What if the test is faulty and actually there’s not a little water bear in there? (Seriously, Google what a water bear is because that’s the stage we were at on May 3rd and the name has stuck with us) How is this pregnancy going to work during a pandemic? Will the cats get on with the baby?
We agreed I’d take a second test the next day and for now we would relax, put our phones and apps down and just enjoy this moment together. Our little secret growing inside of me.
For everyone who has read my posts, followed our journey, sent amazing messages of support over the last year since I started this blog, all I can say is thank you. Fertility issues are tough to deal with at the best of times, but when you bare all on the internet for the whole world to read and open up about an extremely sensitive subject, there is just no where to hide. You’ve all been incredible and we are ridiculously lucky to have so many amazing friends and followers who have helped us along the way. The next stage of our journey has begun and we are going to let you all join us for the ride. So buckle up and get ready because we’re in this together!
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.
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.
Today marks the start of new beginnings. The time to reflect on the past. The amazing highs, the almighty lows and all the bits in-between. The time to share resolutions you’ll set with good intentions but struggle to keep beyond the first month. A new day, a new year, a brand spanking new decade.
So why do I feel so damn flat?
Let’s just say 2019 was character building. I’m a stronger woman after enduring challenge after challenge whether personal or work related. But I’m tired. Tired of getting my hopes up, tired of constantly putting a smile on my face and muddling through, tired of pretending everything is ok when actually it’s not.
‘2020 is going to be my year’ I keep telling myself. But what if it’s not? What if I’m sat in the bath January 1st 2021 writing the same ‘woe is me’ post because abso-bloody-lutely nothing has changed once again?
This isn’t a cry for help by the way. I’m just feeling particularly sorry for myself. Maybe it’s because my period started yesterday? A fabulous way to end the year *virtual thumbs up*. A middle finger from Mother Nature. I mean, at least it was bang on time though. No pissing about like last month. Note to self: I must remember to remain thankful for small mercies and avoid constantly sounding ungrateful. Repeat after me ‘you are healthy, you are happy. You are healthy, you are happy.’
This month, more so than last month, I had completely convinced myself we were pregnant. That the spotting I got Christmas Day and Boxing Day was a sign that 2020 was going to be ‘The One.’ I had obsessively Googled implantation spotting, timescales, cycles. Thoughts constantly whirring around my head for 6 days. Wondering how I go about cancelling the consultation we have booked with a specialist in January. Staying up until 5am reading post after post telling me not to get my hopes up until I’d done a pregnancy test after my period was due. Looks like one of my resolutions needs to be ‘follow other’s advice’ because I did the exact opposite.
Yes, 2019 had it’s struggles but life would be boring if everything went the way we want it to right? 2020 will no doubt have its own hurdles to overcome and we will get through whatever is thrown at us.
But today I’m a little down so I’m going to get back in my pjs, drag the duvet to the sofa and watch back-to-back rom-coms before I have to head back to work tomorrow. Let me wallow in my hormonal sadness for a few hours and then I’ll be as right as rain.
So cheers everybody! Here’s to 2020! New Year, Same Me. Just 34lbs lighter and a little more exhausted.
I mean, how can we not right? It’s pretty imperative in the grand scheme of baby-making. Yet you find yourself over analysing something that you once found so natural. You try not to become defined by dates and ovulation sticks and medication and blood tests but it’s hard when your whole life seems to be broken down in to 28 day cycles. Trust me, I found out the hard way that there’s nothing less sexy than saying ‘babe, I’m ovulating, let’s get to it’.
It’s difficult and after months of trying to convince the most ridiculous things will go through your mind.
Should we have sex every day or every other day? Because, frankly I don’t think I have the stamina for every day. I’m pushing 30 years old and my hip hurts and it’s hard to fit that in plus work, plus the gym, plus a two hour bubble bath.
Should we have sex in the morning or the evening? It’s a toss up between morning breath or being too tired after a long day at work.
Should I lay down afterwards and not move a muscle for fear of ruining our chances? What if I knock a sperm off-course?
Do I dare risk going to the toilet after? I mean, I once heard that if you don’t you’ll definitely get a UTI and as someone who has dicky kidneys I donot need that in my life.
Shit, I missed my vitamins, I’ve probably messed it all up anyway.
Realistically, some of these points are valid and may have a small impact on your chances of conceiving. But you could follow all the hints and tips in the world and you’re equally as likely to get knocked up after chucking up your pill post vodka fuelled drunken bunk up.
At the end of the day making a baby should still be fun. It should be romantic and passionate and giggly. It should be spontaneous, flirty, sexy, wild, adventurous, slow, sensual. It should be absolutely whatever you want it to be so long as it’s not micromanaged. You’ll drive yourself crazy following all the pointers on ’10 Top Tips to Conceive’ or ‘Sex Positions GUARANTEED to Make You Pregnant’. You’ll judge yourself for the smallest things and blame yourself when really, what you’re doing is perfectly fine.
I’m going to enjoy this stage. It’s not a process, it’s life and like I said in an earlier post I don’t want to be defined by my body.
Remember ‘O’ isn’t just for Ovulation, it’s also for Orgasm. Or in this case, it’s for Oversharing.