I haven’t blogged in bloody forever. Even my husband commented that I’d stopped writing – and he’s never even read my blog! Truth be told, I have no idea what to write about now.
Okay, that’s a bit of an overstatement. I still have things to say, I'm just wary that it’ll just be moaning about random stuff now! You see, I’m completely exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. We’ve been through – and are still going through – the biggest rollercoaster that life has thrown at us so far, and I feel like some days it’s just all too-consuming again.
So, let’s go back a bit.
Last you heard, we had our positive test. We’d had our viability scan. All was well with Baby B. All IS well with Baby B, I assure you. I just wish I could assure myself. With everything that IVF and infertility has done to us, I can’t shake this niggling feeling that something is going to go wrong. Expectant parents worry through pregnancy, and that’s normal. I just feel like my anxiety is even more heightened because the cargo I’m carrying is so extra-precious (and yes, I will toot that horn – IVF babies are fucking miracles!).
After our viability scan, my nausea really kicked in hard. And secretly, a few of us at work were all going through the same thing! We kept an eye on each other, raiding each other’s snack piles whenever we felt peckish, and checking up when we knew one another was looking a bit peaky. That’s the bitch about “morning” sickness – it's all day, every day. It would usually take a few dry biscuits to help ease the sickness, but of course when you’re poorly the last thing you want to do is cram a few Rich Teas down! I struggled a lot, but tried not to moan because we were finally in the position we wanted to be in... This was all part-and-parcel of the pregnancy package! I found sea-sickness bands to be helpful at times, but hard to cover up in work unless I was wearing long sleeves – not easy in June! My first lot of blood tests also showed I was slightly anaemic, so was put on iron tablets. Not nice. Do not google side effects.
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| Cat naps - taken weeks apart - but the tiredness continues! |
When I was 8 ½ weeks gone, my mum and I travelled from Plymouth to London to see our all-time favourite band, Bon Jovi. We had such a fab time for the first couple of days – cramming in as much as we could in such a short time frame! We revisited the same restaurant we went to at my Hen Do (Sticky Fingers), sampled delicate cakes at Peggy Porschen, and walked miles trawling up and down the shops. I even shot up one of my progesterone injections in the toilets in Harrod’s - classy! But let me tell you, visiting one of the busiest cities on Earth in the heat of the Summer whilst you’re in the early stages of pregnancy is no easy ride. The stench is unbearable – cigarettes, traffic fumes, food stalls – my god it was HORRENDOUS. Our hotel was next to a Middle-Eastern restaurant that had shisha pipes on every table outside, and I would have to run past it, holding my breath when we returned to our hotel for my frequent daytime naps! I fully took advantage of my bloated belly and nabbed the “Reserved for Pregnant Ladies” seats on the Tube, even though I knew full well it was just puffy from all the food I was consuming. Any chance to nap was golden, and a carriage full of sweaty commuters wouldn’t stop me from catching 40 winks at any given opportunity.
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| Baby's First Concert - Bon Jovi, of course! |
On the morning of our last day, whilst out shopping in Westfield, we received unexpected news that my grandad Alf – mum's dad – was poorly and had suddenly taken a turn for the worse. We were told to come home as soon as possible as it didn’t look good. We raced across London as fast as the Tube and a taxi would allow us, back to the hotel to grab our bags and check out, and then across to Paddington to catch the next train back to Devon. We made the 14:02 train at 13:58, got back into Plymouth at 17:30, and grandad sadly passed away at around 18:30. I was devastated for my mum, and the guilt at knowing that she didn’t get more time with him has been eating me up. I know we should be lucky that we made that train and she got to see him before he went, but I’ve since heard that the reason we weren’t told sooner was because they didn’t want to cause me any stress that could harm the baby. I’m stuck in a vicious circle of feeling guilty for my mum, but relief for my baby – and yes, of course I know what my mum would say, but it doesn’t stop my mind from thinking it.
The weeks that followed were bittersweet and sad. I was still battling constant nausea, fatigue and anxiety – all while going through the motions of grief for my grandad. We had our dating scan a little too early at 11 weeks, and then had another at 12 weeks to check the nuchal translucency (this checks for signs of Down’s, Edward’s and Patau’s Syndromes). This was the day before grandad’s funeral, so our ‘announcement’ to the family ended up being at his wake (even though most people knew at this stage, the cat was just officially “out of the bag” at this point!).
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Top: 11 weeks
Bottom: 12 weeks
Baby grows so fast - what a difference a week makes!
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My anxiety still played heavily on my mind, and isn’t much better even now if truth be told. Although the doctors told me that the chances of our baby having any of the above syndromes were very low, I held onto the part that said there was a “1 in 1,500” chance of it being there. That seemed a high chance to me still, and I didn’t like the odds of those statistics. When I voiced these concerns to some people I got laughed at, and I felt completely belittled for that reaction. After everything we’d been through, why was it so hard to understand that I would of course think that something bad would happen to us? We’d already fallen victim to infertility. We’d already fallen victim to a miscarriage. We seemed to be that “1 in...” statistic so far for other huge things – perhaps it would be this, too? I felt like my worries had no validation and I was mocked for it.
You may be reading this thinking “for god’s sake woman, just ENJOY BEING PREGNANT!” And that would have probably been me saying that not too long ago. But I’m this side of the water now, and things aren’t all rosy just because it seems we’re getting our happy ending. A sentence I keep repeating to others to explain my thought process is that “I am under no illusion that come January, I will be holding my healthy, happy baby in my arms.” I follow a fellow IVF warrior on Instagram who tragically lost her twins at 21 weeks. One of my friend’s cousin went through hell after her baby died mere days before her due date. My old manager experienced a stillbirth in the eighth month of her pregnancy. I am fully aware that these are extreme circumstances, and I am fully aware that it could happen to anyone. Including me. Including you. Including anyone!
But the overriding message that I want to get across is that my feelings are valid. I should not be mocked for the way I feel. I’m aware that, of course, my mind is going to the worst-case scenario for a lot of things, and that I should be trying to enjoy my pregnancy after all the heartache we’ve been through. But take a step in my shoes. Tell me you wouldn’t feel the same way?
My emotions were validated just after our 12-week scan when I experienced two bleeds within four days of each other. Because I'd already had my scan, I wasn't allowed another one, and after frantic ringing-around to my GP, midwife, and an NHS helpline, all they could suggest was a fetal heartbeat check via my GP surgery (which they detected quite quickly, and thankfully baby's heartbeat was nice and strong). I was gutted to learn that between weeks 12-20, there's essentially not much they can do. A rather heartless locum explained what I would go through if it was indeed a miscarriage, and I stopped her mid-conversation to tell her I would know what it felt like as I'd already experienced one. Of course, if it was the worst - there's nothing they can do to stop it. They found no reason for the bleeding, and it stopped within a few hours. But seeing fresh, bright red blood is not something that should be normal in ANY pregnancy - so always get it checked out! We decided to pay for a private scan a few weeks later, just to ease the anxiety. 8 weeks is a long time to go without a scan!
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| My 12-week bump - a huge milestone for us to reach! |
I really hope the second trimester is a happier time for J and I. I deserve to enjoy this pregnancy – being able to carry my own baby was the reason we decided to pursue IVF before adoption – and I fully intend to get my shit together. I’m already taking steps to better my mental health, such as going back to acupuncture and starting Pilates for Pregnancy. And writing should get me in a better frame of mind, too – so stay tuned - I will write more soon!
Thanks for staying with me so far, I know you’re probably thinking I’ve got a few screws loose now. God help this child!
KEB x
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