328 Days

Nearly one year.

328 days to be exact.

328 days since the terror of another ectopic pregnancy nearly terrified me into submission. Nearly.

Of those 328 days 240 of them we have no longer been just a Duo.

Because For 240 days we have gone from a Duo to a Trio.

Myself.

My partner.

And Our Daughter.

Due September 29th 2019.

Our home and hearts are complete.

All Our Love

A rainbow is worth a thousand puddles.

As the end of the three-month wait draws near to a close I’ve been spending days and nights thinking of all the questions that roll around my head while I should be sleeping at night.

“Am I ready to try again?”

“Do I even want to try again?”

“What if it happens again?”

“What if the doctors are wrong and the methotrexate is still in my system?”

That’s while being ambushed by a barrage of feelings that rolls in like waves.

Sad, angry, miserable, alone.

And I realized, I was never going to know the answers to the questions I had created for myself if I didn’t even try again.

Fear is the theft of joy after all.

But as time passes those aren’t the only thoughts and feelings I have anymore. If anything they’re few and far between the days filled with happiness and thanks.

“What if I have a happy, healthy and joyous pregnancy”?

“What color will be eventually painting the nursery?”

“I wonder if I’ll crave chicken nuggets and ketchup again”

All while being happy, excited and thankfully to the world and everyone in my life that has made this as smooth as possible .

I’ve realized a massive thing, something that I had never considered before.

I have been waiting to return to the old Amy, the one that was excited to grow as a family, fearless in the pursuit of a baby.

But the reality of the truth is that won’t ever happen as I imagined. Ill never is the same person as I was before i knew the kind of misery that comes with loosing a baby, the future we had planned in our head as soon as we saw those two pink lines and the days and weeks that followed before we knew this wasn’t the future the world had planned for us.

And I’m more then happy to accept that.

I’ve grown to learn to be a better, new improved person then the person I was 3 months ago. I like to think growing a little more everyday to eventually become the best form of myself. Someone that will never take any step of the journey to be a family once again for granted. To just enjoy and embrace every second of it. There is no point in fearing the future, it’s a waste of energy that could be used to stop and look for the positives.

Because as hard as it is to accept at times there is a positive in anything if you take enough time to look hard enough.

Now this does not even in the slightest mean that I don’t also spend hours a day thinking about what my child would of become if given the opportunity, who eyes they’d have had, would they be happiest in the company of others like there dad or prefer a little more time alone like me.

But those days and nights filled with love, joy and ecstatic excitement me and my love shared make it all worth while. We now understand a kind of love we didn’t before, the love for a baby albeit one we’ll never get to meet. It has made me a better person for it, and our relationship has been tested and never proven stronger.

And we have our miracle Mew to thank for it. I now see a side of the world i didn’t before you.

The kind that remembers the rainbow after the rain is worth a thousand puddles.

Thank you baby, you touched us both in ways we did not on was possible. your the first thing we think about in the morning and the first thing we think about at night. You mean the world, moon and all the stars to us both, you will forever be loved like no other.

All My Love.

It was going to get better, i just wasn’t sure when.

Having hopefully read 4 of these before you’ve made it to this point I like to think you know where this is going. But if not, this is the penultimate piece in a series of blog posts that relate to my ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage and lose. I understand that these are all very triggering sensitive subjects to many people so fully understand and support any decision to miss out on this particular series. That being said I would like to say that I hope and believe that all of these posts have been done very carefully and respectfully to show the care, love and understanding for these topics I’ve unfortunately had to learn. There are no un-necessary details and nothing that could be considered graphic so please if you feel you’d like to please read the other 4 previous posts from first to most recent titled;

  • “We created a rainbow in a world of clouds, albeit only temporarily.”
  • “We weren’t going to be that 2%, were we?”
  • “You do realize what the drug is for right?”
  • “Surgery wasn’t the end of the chapter I’d hoped”

To me surgery lasted seconds but I am lead to believe in was hours rather then the haze of minutes my foggy mind had believed. I woke surrounded by stranger’s whose faces I’ll always remember. I was relieved to be awake and talking but within seconds a wall of pain hit and I could no control my muscles as they shook as a result of the anesthetic. This was normal but something I wasn’t expecting as one of the faces put an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth to slow down and normalize my breathing that had got erratic and frantic from my excitement to be able to see my loved ones shortly but also the tears that once again creep over my through fear and pain. Within minutes I was given powerful pain relief that made me forget the pain as I tried to get up and out of bed to hurry up what seemed like the longest time to get back to the important people. This wasn’t going to work and I had to wait for my time to come as the “giggles” which was actually the kind of verbal diarrhea that would make my SO proud that wore off. That along with the excitement of telling every nurse in the recovery room that I was a “big girl that wasn’t going to steal the furniture or clocks, no matter how much my nephews would like him or her.”

The time flew to me before I was wheeled back to the ward where I’d see my loved ones. I wanted to see my mum who’d always managed to keep me optimistic no matter how much it felt like I was failure at not only conceiving a child but maintaining the status of a “pregnant women”, she not only did a good job of this but she did the best job anyone could of possibly done in that situation She listened to my ridiculous complaints, remembered every appointment and time whether it be an important on or not, and most importantly held me up when I wanted to crumble many a time. My dad who had absolutely no clue what the heck was going on until my mum rang him hours previous, who still managed to make me smile and laugh till happy tears came the entire time. Even while eating a BLT sandwich next to my bed while I was in the 15th hour of no food because “well to be honest love I’m starving, I’m happy to face to the other way if it helps but its right on tea time”. He’s the reason I get snappy while hungry; we don’t work well on an empty stomach. Obviously not forgetting the love of my life who I would happily of walked over hot coal to see, the man that had been with me the entire time, who’d not only metaphorically but physically picked me up along the way more times then I care to remember. Who was most importantly the man that would always and forever be the father of my baby that was just to precious for this earth.

They were the best medicine I could of asked for in my 24 years of life.

They, and the rest of my family are my everything.

As soon as I was wheeled from recovery into the corridor back to the ward I saw my mum. This was the best thing ever at the time as I bellowed and screamed for everyone to hear “ITS MY MUM.” Who paced down to meet my bed and to stop me waking the entire hospital. I was taken back to the ward where I yapped for the optimum amount of time to my loved ones before they had to leave for the night as visiting hours had finished hours previously and for no fault of there own were only adding to the hype that I had woken in from surgery. With in minutes of saying my good byes till the morning I was going to be transferred to different part of the hospital.

The nurses covered me up as they explained I was just going to on the opposite “private” section of the hospital to free up room for more patients due to only need minimal care till morning. Once again I had a strop because “how would my family find me in the morning” they explained for what must of seemed like the thousandth time to them that my family was already aware I was going elsewhere.

The journey was going to take 5-10 minutes, as I would be wheeled through corridors to my own private room rather then ward. This was fun for the first 30 seconds before what I can only explain as the worst travel sickness took over. I managed to keep down the no existent food but meant that the 5-10 minutes actually took closer to 30 minutes. I was embarrassed for what wasn’t going to be the only time that night. I got to my room but after what seemed like the longest route possible. I was required to get in to make the 5 steps from on bed to another. That was going to be a piece of cake I told myself. Ohhh how I was wrong. I quickly realized I hadn’t actually moved since waking up, let alone tried to sit up right and get out of bed. I tried to sit up to only be made breathless by the pain of my entire stomach being not only feeling but also the size of a beach ball. The amazing nurses explained that I wouldn’t be able to sit bolt up for a while but actually had to roll onto my side and let my legs fall off the bed and trust my top half would do the same. Even this still sent a red-hot pain through my body and made me yelp. But I had made it into my new bed, which was where I was hoping to stay till morning.

Within less then I hour before I realized that I was so hungry I was happy to eat anything. The nurses spend the entire night keeping me company as I failed to sleep, gets comfortable or even move without them. Even going to the bathroom was impossible without them. I was given dry toast to fill my hunger and peppermint tea to help disperse air that had collected in my shoulder and chest making it feel like there was a brick slowly and painfully crushing my chest. This was also from the surgery; something I didn’t even know was possible but is a result of them filling you abdomen with air to help with the surgery.

It was brought to my attention I was going to need to be got up for a walk after my snack to help with the air and also to help with the movement, this was fine because I realized I needed to wee pretty sharpish. As soon as Id maneuvered my way up with the nurses help walking wasn’t as bad as id imagined. I was constantly reminded to walk up right not like I was looking for pennies on the ground. First things first I needed to use the toilet and fast. I was walked to the bathroom as I was momentarily baffled by the two nurses who continued to stand next to me after being placed on the loo, each holding onto something whether that was my arm or shoulder. That was until I nearly fell to the floor after id realized just quiet how much of your muscles are required to use the bathroom, once again I cried unable to stop the pain. They dried my tears as they got me up and took me back to my bed before my walk. I was given a 5-minute breather before my walk. I held on to one nurse who waked the entire way and plonked me on the sofa as I watch some channel one crap for 15 minutes. I was sweating, uncontrollably sweating, panting like id never done any exercise let alone a 2-minute walk. I was taken to the doors for some fresh air to cool me down with a glass of water before my walk back to my room to get some rest in between the hourly checks and 3 hourly min walks. While stood at the doors we stared at the stars and were lucky enough to see a satellite, this made me eternally happy but I needed to get back to my bed.

I was walked back still sweating and feeling increasing “just a little off”. I used the bathroom one more time before I realized that I was missing my underwear, something i hadnt even noticed until then. The nurse was kind enough to help with those as bending over was impossible. Before I got into bed I was lucky enough to have the catheter removed from my arm as I already had one in my hand for pain relief during the night. The nurse took this out like a pro, until once again I messed it up. The second she took it out my arm I begin to uncontrollably vomit, this took us both by surprise. I was yet again so embarrassed as the lovely nurses cleaned me up, got me changed and washed my hair as she laughed it off as “ well someone had to be the first person to be sick on me, shame it was you, I liked you until then.” The fact that she saw my embarrassment and upset and laughed it off and smiled to make me feel better I will forever be grateful for, these are the kind of people we need more of on this planet. I slept through most the night except the hourly checks and walks. Before I knew it it was my 5:30am and the sun was beginning to come up as I watched the trees through my windows.

Breakfast came fast and so did the excitement as I realized I was going home today. Less then 24 hours after surgery I was going home, and oh how I was going to enjoy it. My SO was prepared and with me before 8am with mum and dad in tow. Despite the unholy amount of pain I was in just knowing I was going home made it all worthwhile.

We just needed the doctor to come round and explain what they did in surgery and we could leave. This was something that had been playing on my mind since I woke up, they are unable to tell you what they did until you are fully aware of what they’re saying; this was usually 12 hours later. For 12 hours I laid there wondering if everything had gone to plan and fine.

Finally the doctor arrived to discuss it. I was not prepared for what was to come.

I was over the moon to hear that everything had gone just as they’d hoped all pregnancy tissue was gone and just as we’d already known so was my left tube that was un repairable due to adhesions and rupture, that’s okay we knew that was coming. That was the best possible out come we thought. That moment was short lived though before the wind was knocked from my sails for what felt like cruelest of times.

“While in there they look around to check the area and to make sure there is no other damage and everything is as it should be, I’m sorry to say that your right fallopian tube has some abnormalities, clubbing towards the end which will add to the infertility. It is highly unlikely to conceive naturally and it would look as thought IUI or IVF may be required. But we will cross that bridge when we get to it. Which because of the methotrexate is 3-4 months time”

There was nothing I could say. Nothing was going to change the outcome and I was not going to let this stop me but that didn’t stop the aches I felt in my chest as the world came rumbling down around me once again.

We then discussed that everything had to go to the lab for testing, this was exactly what i expected.

What followed i did not.

We then had to sign the most heart breaking paper, what we wanted to happen to our baby. Where it was going to go after the world had failed to let us care for it as we’d hoped and imagined. We settled on going to the baby memorial ground to be buried with other babies, this was going to happen at another date where we’d be going with other families going through the same, a small ceremony would be preformed before we said our good byes, giving us a place to remember and visit. Where they were going to be looked after and protected after we weren’t given that chance.

This was the most peaceful choice there was for us, this instantly gave me a sense of comfort in at the time what seemed like the crueliest of worlds.

After that getting discharged and going home happened in a blink of an eye as I failed to understand the feeling of sadness that took over my entire soul and being.

I knew i wasn’t leaving with a baby so why was i still surprised.

It was going to get better, I just wasn’t sure when.

Surgery wasn’t the end of the chapter i’d hoped.

This is part four in a series of blog posts about ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage, and surgery and all the physical and emotional strains that come as a result of this. If you haven’t already I would suggest you read all the previous posts to see how we got to this point. I have done this in as much of a respectful, honest and loved filled way as possible. There is very little and nothing unnecessary that would be considered graphic that being said I would please request you do not read on if any of these subjects could be triggering and upsetting for yourself. Please do not put yourself in a situation of upset.

It was less then 3 hours later after finally getting home after the longest night in A&E before once again I was bundled in the car to take the long route to the hospital to avoid the bumps to stop me crying. I secretly knew I wouldn’t be come home that day.

As soon as we got to the hospital it had started, the world seemingly plotting to make everything as difficult as possible.

Finally getting out the car despite being very squished due the car next to us poorly parking I struggled to hold back the tears as the bleeding got heavier and the pain become even more unbearable as I stood for the first time in 45 minutes. Even with heat packs and all the painkillers possible nothing was touching the constricting cramps that were coming fast and routinely making me sweat till my clothes stuck to me and my knees buckle.

We slowly walked our way to EPAC as I clung onto to my SO for not only emotional support but also physically to make sure my knees didn’t go from under me when the next lot of cramps returned. The sweltering heat continued as we reached the peak of the heat wave. Of course EPAC was in the old building meaning that there was no Air conditioning. As soon as you went from the newly refurbished section to the old building the heat hit you in the face with the force of a revolving door. This only adding to my upset as I was beginning to get even more frustrated and short tempered with every step, despite trying my hardest to remain calm and positive it was failing rapidly.

What was going on?

I’d done everything that they needed to do to prevent this, hadn’t I?

What was going wrong?

When would the pain go?

A million questions rolled round my head as I planned what I needed to ask to get some comfort in what felt like a world of misery.

It was a Thursday this wasn’t usually the busiest day of the week, that being Mondays and Friday so I hoped to be in and have answers quickly.

This didn’t happen. There was already a hall full of women waiting to be seen, many of these women I had seen frequently over the last few weeks and grown to say hello and pass small talk as we waited for our appointments. I couldn’t do this, not today. I bit my lip and dreaded the wait. Thankfully it wasn’t long as I slumped waiting for some sort of relief.

My time had come for my appointment for just bloods to check the HCG had dropped down hopefully to 0 Or this was what the nurses had booked me in for and rightfully assumed was still the case 4 days after they’d seen me, happy, relatively fit and healthy as could be at the time. Which was a shock to them as I slid into the room, sweating and not having slept in 27 hours as this point. I tried to calmly explain that I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand the pain while still sweating and now beginning to silently cry, as it was too much effort to try and stop the tears. All while trying my best to retain the optimism that I was yet to let slide. At this point I shouldn’t be in pain I should be emotionally and physically healing not still in the middle of the methotrexate ending my pregnancy, it should be over by now after not one but two rounds of jabs with the last being a week previously. Once again more bloods were requested but the thought of someone struggling to find a vein while I was already in pain was to much as I broke down an asked if the ones last night weren’t enough. The look I received instantly told me that they had know clue id already been in less then 3 hours previously crying while silently bleeding alone in a dark toilet in the emergency room. Thankfully the lab still had my bloods and were able to add on to what they had already done, while we waited for those to come back a scan was suggested. Once again the idea of someone poking me while already in pain was too much as I stood and once again silently undressed from the waist down and positioned myself on the bed as the nurse and my SO pulled back the curtain. “Now I’m going to go as slow as possible but there is going to be a lot of discomfort, this needs to be done, if there was any other way we could do it you know I would. We need to check something hasn’t changed from what it was earlier in the week” All in the most comforting tone rubbing my knee and swiftly turning the screen away from me.

Less then 30 seconds of agonizing pain and id become numb to it, the world stood still waiting for someone to speak. The nurse’s shoulders drop and face change from the relaxed comforting view Id become used to, to a solemn glazed over look.

Momentary silence confirmed my biggest fears.

“What would you say if I said someone could almost instantly make you feel better, you’d say yes right? Well Good news is there is a whole team of people that are going to make you feel so much better so very soon, just not quiet yet. The bad news is exactly what we didn’t want. Your left Tube looks to have ruptured because you’re bleeding into your pelvis with a large clot measuring at least 15mm, bigger then baby now. Its what making you feel very poorly, and I’m not surprised your feeling poorly. There is a lot of pooling that’s causing the pain. But its all going to be fixed, I’m yet to have let you down right?”

I honestly think I stopped listening half way through.

No!

This can’t have happened that was what all the jabs were for, they’d fixed me.

The on call Gynecologist consultant was called as I cleaned myself up. Minutes later the door opened.

I was crying once again but it wasn’t sadness I believe it was the thought of the terrible journey finally coming to a climax. Even if that was the surgery that I had worked so hard to avoid.

“Don’t mind me in just having a snot bubble panic cry back here while fighting a pair of pants, honestly I think I’m fine now. I can just go home now, do not worry I’m fine.” I spluttered through the curtain while they were getting themselves seated waiting for me to pull myself together.

We sat and chatted about the surgery, what had happened and what was going to happen as I failed to find any comfort while sitting, leaning or standing. I was asked once again to lie on the bed so the consultant could give my stomach a feel to assess the amount of pressure and bloating from the bleeding. The second I laid flat there was unbearable pain that winded me as I struggled to catch my breathe. This time not in my stomach, it wasn’t a cramp. It was an unexplainable shoulder pain the instantly made me squeal out while grabbing at my shoulder and squeezing it to my skin reddened in the hope of any kind of relief, this didn’t come until I shot up right again crushing my already incredibly tender stomach, it felt like a bomb had gone off in my chest.

“Well that answers our question about how much bleeding there is, that pain is the blood upsetting the diaphragm, many women get it but there still no definitive answer of why.”

There was no going back at this point I needed the surgery.

Yet more consent forms came flying my way. They were all read to me and I had to acknowledge and show I’d understand each point, many of which I did not. I acknowledged that a blood transfusion possible and blood group made that difficult, there was no saying that they would be able to save anything let alone everything, and ultimately anything is possible and there are so many risks that I had to sit and listen too while trying not to run away. My biggest issue wasn’t anything to do with the surgery or recovery it was accepting there was no way to save my tube, id had accepted I wasn’t coming out of this pregnancy with a baby in my arms but now I had to have my future chances jeopardized too. I was going to go into theatre with two fallopian tubes even if one of those was holding onto my failed pregnancy just to that little bit too tightly. Yet I was going to wake up with at best, one tube that was hopefully going to work in the future. I hated this. Even now three weeks on I struggle to comprehend why.

Something I hadn’t even considered was what they were going to do with the “pregnancy Tissue”. It was explained to me that there was three choices that I would get explained to me in more depth the following day when surgery was over. This was an upset that I had not even considered.

Knowing that there was an “end” coming soon made me feel instantly so relieved, even the pain had subsided slightly, this made me want to go home. I was feeling better. But no there was no going home today for sure, this upset me. It was 12 now and I was waiting for my mum and dad to arrive. I was taken to a ward and given a gown and compression socks. With in seconds of getting into these and lying down I was given pain relief and hooked up to a drip to make sure my I wouldn’t get dehydrated. This terrified me having the feeling of cold take over my arm and more wire and tubes coming from me. The day dragged waiting to go down to theatre, I was beginning to get nervous and frustrated, making me snappy. That was without the hunger, it has been over 15 hours since id last ate and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could wait for a drink or snack. I just wanted it over and done with now. The surgery was put on hold twice due to much more important surgeries that couldn’t wait but the nerves and sleeplessness was making me aggravated with the people I loved the most. They had waited all day with me after weeks of pain and misery and I was snapping at them, even thinking about that now makes me so upset.

It was around 8:30 when my mum and dad went for a quick walk leaving me and my SO to sit and talking about the day and everything that had happened. I was waiting for the surgeons to come and to go down to theatre. I made my mum and dad promise that I wouldn’t go down before they came back. I was not going until I could say bye before. Less then 3 minutes after they left after being postponed twice and 8 hours of waiting they came to go me. Right that second.

“Okay ill go but you need to wait 5 minutes for my mum and dad to come back.”

“we don’t have time we’ve got to go now.”

This was not going to happen if I had to scream from the top of my lungs I was waiting for them to get back no matter how they felt about it.

My SO phoned my mum while I sneakily announced I need the bathroom storming off and hiding in the toilet until I heard my mum and dad on the ward.

After that there was no choice I had to lie down in bed and get wheeled to theatre. In all honestly I was relieved to know that the pain was only going to get better after surgery and this chapter may finally come to an end. But once again I got myself upset and cried thinking about what was going to happen. It was minutes later I was lying there confirming my name, address and what I was there for before the I had to count down from ten into the deepest of sleep.

I don’t know how long I was under for but it feels like the deepest most restful sleep ever to happen.

The surgery was over but I still had the recovery that was going to be a lot harder then I had initially thought. But this wasn’t going to be nearly as hard as the 18 hours wait for the consultant to come back the next day to explain how surgery went and what exactly they had done while they were in there.

It was yet another knock back we didn’t need.

“You do realize what the drug is for right?”

This is yet another continuation from the last two blog posts, that I would suggest you read first to be able to get an understanding of how we go to this point. They are as titled;

  • “We created a rainbow in a world of clouds, albeit temporary.”
  • “We weren’t going to be that 2% were we?”

All of these are openly discussing miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, and all aspects that surround it. Please take this into consideration before reading ahead and do not continue if any of these subjects are sensitive to you. That being said I believe this has been done with the up most respect with much care and love. There are no unnecessary details and nothing that can be considered graphic. But please take all of these things into consideration; do not continue if any of these are a triggering subject to you.

All My Love.

Once we’d decided that methotrexate was the right choice for where we were at that point it started to get moving at what seemed like a thousand miles an hour, people rushing round all around me in a blur. There were consent forms flying left right and Centre, information coming at me from all angles and not one part of it I was taking in. It then got to the point where we discussed the procedure and what the injections instilled.

It was a lot.

“Now we have to tell you this because Google is a thing and many people Google all the drugs they are given, methotrexate is a drug used to treat some kinds of tumors and a cancers, its primary use is to treat cancers and tumors. But please don’t get the two confused your pregnancy is not a tumor but methotrexate is used to stop rapidly dividing cells. Like a tumor.”

This stopped me in my tracks.

My baby is not a tumor; it doesn’t need to be treated like one. I was panicking and planning my escape with all the nearest exits. In that moment I think my SO saw the fear in my eyes and held my hands, mainly to stop me running I think. All the other side effects where then told to me while my eyes glazed over, thinking about all the things they were going to me and my body, many of these scenarios I had created in my mind never happened and never would have into today modern day medicine. Our biggest enemy is our own imagination.

Many of these side effects were the usual kinds that I had come to expect, stomach cramps, sweats, sickness, diarrhea a bruise where the injections where given. All of these I was expecting, these were “normal and to be expected”. How ever two of the side effects brought me back from the imaginary land I had created where I was going to live happily ever after with my baby and the love of my life, back to the world I was sat in where was were talking about the best way to end my pregnancy and lower my chance of future problems, the biggest of which was fatality.

“Now this is very rare and I’ve never seen it BUT a recorded side effect is hair lose as a result of the methotrexate.” This one upset me a little bit more but once again I just didn’t care. I needed this to be over. The next one however made me very confused, which I was not expecting from something that so far hadn’t affected me nearly as much as I initially thought.

“It causes extreme sensitivity to the sun, this means no extending time in the sun or any better 12-3, always wear sun cream even in cloud.”

Now this wouldn’t usually be much of a problem in the UK considering its reputations of always raining or over cast but this year we were in the middle of a 2 month long heat wave with temperatures of 32 degrees plus and 25 plus at night.

This for some reason this caused me the only emotion I had not had in time it had taken to get to where we were, it made me angry. Ridiculously angry about not only the least controllable part of my life but the world, the sun.

One I had stopped my sulking about the sun and had signed the consent form for this route to be taken, it was time to start. I was then weighed and measured to find out just how much I needed to be given, this seemed weird to me that my body surface area was needed rather then the usual just weight. I stopped my protesting and just let the people that knew what they were doing do there jobs. An hour later I was lying on a bed facing the wall as my SO started his usual verbal diarrhea about the wall art as I was told to brace myself for the injections.

All 5 of them.

I choose to have them given in my hip/buttock as it is the “meatiest” part and what I thought was the least likely to hurt. This was pointless because the elastic band flick of pain was nothing compared to the ache that took over my entire leg and bottom, for nearly a day. It was less then 30 seconds to a minute before I requested a break better the first three to the last two. I took this break to complain once again that my bottom hurt and that none of this was fair. I didn’t even notice the last two because quiet frankly I was complaining once again.

After these were given I was told of what was going to happen to me over the next few days and that I was likely to feel very drained and weak. I then had to wait at the hospital for an additional hour just to check for any unwanted side effects.

I thought that was it and it was over with, I was once again going to be proven wrong.

I was then given an appointment to come back four days later for yet another blood draw to check my HCG, which commonly increases over those three days.

This was exactly what it did.

From 467 to 565.

I had already expected this but it still stung a little more then I had thought it was going to.

But that okay I still had 3 days to get those to drop even though I knew I had no control over it at all. The HCG level needed to drop by at least 15% on those what I assumed to be final bloods on the Thursday.

“ If your feeling okay you don’t need to wait for the results you can go home and I’ll phone you with the results, we expect them to drop dramatically with the bleeding”

I felt okay, I 80% did not think that I needed to wait behind, I felt okay I still had the worn out ache that I had pretty much instantly hit me the needle did, but that I had expected.

I went home optimistic that those numbers were going to have dropped the required 15% that was needed for me to go back to normality and the daily visit was decrease to only weekly until me levels were no longer that of a pregnant person.

This was why I was so shocked to receive the phone call to say once again my levels had gone up from 565 to 606.

What was even happening? From tem minutes previous I was planning how I was going to spend the weekend “recovering” with my SO lovingly and romantically to now where I was crying and planning my next visit for yet for drugs to be pumped into my bum cheek.

If only id stayed for the results I could already have them done and be recovering but no id had foolishly believe I was “better”. It was yet another restless nice planned waiting to go back in the morning with me best friend in tow for 5 more shots in the bottom. I found comfort in the fact that no one had ever needed a third round.

The morning came and I was prepared I had water, a charger and I was not going to be left hopeless again.

We nailed that visit we were there early enough to be home before my appointment and even had breakfast before we went in. This was yet another false starts to the ending. Well going along hoping for the ending I was putting all the warning signs that something was wrong to the back of my mind, the extreme cramps, pain while urinating and rectal pressure. These should of all be massive warning signs, but they died down over the next few days so that worry was over.

However the Wednesday came and it came speeding to a head of pain and upset. The day was fine with just the occasional cramp and the pre discussed weird rectal pressure until exactly 6.37pm when I had a cramp that made me stop eating my dinner and just remembers to breathe, it took over my entire body, shaking and sweating. It just kept going and going. But then it passed with some bleeding. I assumed this to be normal but as the night continue the pain continued. Now I am always pretty good with pain and have a relatively good pain thresh hold but these were beginning to stop me in my tracks. With each “round of pain” they began to last that little bit longer.

I decided that I was just going to go to bed and wait it out until my appointment in the morning. It was only a night after all.

That wasn’t how the plan ended up unfolding. I did not get any sleep and gave up trying and started pacing the house while breathing through the cramps. I ended up throwing the towel and waking the SO at 11:30 while huffing and puffing and of course over dramatically wailing and crying.

There was no way I could wait till the morning; I had no choice but to go to A&E for help.

My face dropped as I got there and saw there was a 4 hours wait, thankfully I had to wait seconds before I was whisked off into a room to be hooked up to all the machines and a catheter in my hands incase I needed an medication.

I didn’t need medication because as easy as that we were left alone, exact for an hourly check to make sure my blood pressure hadn’t dropped. No one read the paperwork i was forced to carry for this exact occasion for 3 weeks, no one so much as asked if the bleeding had stopped. Once again i felt alone in a ward full of people, except for the man that had been through and saw more then any partner should ever have to see, for that i will alway been saddened.

It was then exactly to the minute 6 hours later when I was discharged still in the same unable to walk kind of pain because “well its probably just the methotrexate doing its job” after getting a rather patronizing “You do realize what the drug is for, its to stop the pregnancy, that’s the pain, you know that right”.

We went the long way home just to avoid the bumps that caused me to cry.

I wanted it to be over and that was what the pain was but in my heart of hearts I knew that wasn’t the case. I didn’t sleep when I got home at 6am before my appointment at 10am, we just lied there, in silence as once again he stroked my hair and wiped my tears.

We weren’t going to be that 2% right?

This blog post will be a continuation of yesterdays post so please if you haven’t already please read that one first, which is titled “We created a rainbow in a world of clouds, albeit temporary”. I’m still saddened to say the same warning applies, that this is a blog post openly talking about ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage and all aspects surrounding it, there is no graphic or unnecessary details, it is done respectfully with much care and love. But please, please, please do not continue if any of these topics upset you.

As I waited for my SO to get home from work for our emergency scan, tried to convince ourselves that it would be a sneaky opportunity to too see our little miracle early while secretly knowing in my heart of hearts it wasn’t going to be the joyous occasion that is portrayed in all the pregnancy announcements that fill my feed.

“Better late the never I suppose.” I snapped the second he opened the gate. I instantly regret my aggressive tone I accidently took on, know that he doesn’t take it personally but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

It seemed to have taken the longest time in the world to get to the hospital, the journey that we normally listen to the radio, discuss the day and enjoy. This time we sat in silence brains racing trying to think about what we were about to learn and every possible scenario that could play out.

All except the hand we were dealt.

We finally got the hospital and raced to EPAC, slightly to late to get there on time, even if we picked up the pase. Id made this journey many a time but it was the first time with SO in tow. He made it very clear he had under estimated the journey from the car park to the other side of the hospital.

We made it and sat outside the room waiting for the previous women to leave. The second a women left that room, sometimes alone, sometimes with the partner their face told you everything you needed to know. There was either a smile their grazed their faces making them glow or there was nothing, their eyes empty as they struggled to lift their feet. I saw more women leave that room with there worlds crashing down there I did with a glow.

I was pleased to see our usual nurse come out to meet us when the door opened. She rubbed my shoulder and told me we would be fine either way, she put us both slightly more at ease.

“Well there is no question about it your definitely pregnant your HCG has come back 73, which is positive but a little low but hey we all know you’d have ovulated a little lately making that normal for you.”

This felt like a weight of my chest, for a little while.

We continued to chat for a few minutes before it got time to do the scan. It took what seemed like ages before she spoke again other then the occasional check that the pain was bearable. When she turned the screen we knew. He squeezed my hand and continued rambling on with the verbal diarrhea that he took on in uncomfortable situations, this always made me smile no matter how much I complained about it; I secretly love it about him.

I was handed a box of tissues and told to get dressed in my own time and then we’d discuss the scan.

“It was inconclusive, this is not out of the ordinary for this early, but it does mean that at this point it is a Pregnancy of an unknown location, there is a pregnancy in there I’m just no sure where yet.”

We both sat baffled, hoping to have seen our miracle but only seeing an empty uterus and a tiny cyst, had I dreamed the last week?

We talked about what this meant at this point.

  • Early pregnancy that was just so little we couldn’t see it yet. Which was what we thought we most likely considering the late ovulation and low HCG.
  • Early-threatened miscarriage, which would explain the spotting but seemed unlikely due to have a nice intact lining.
  • And least likely ectopic pregnancy that was located somewhere else which was causing the pain, only 2% of pregnancies ended this way so statistically was the most unlikely. The Scan showed nothing where the pain was so this was put to the bottom of the list. For a short time.

It was decided that I would go home to rest and go back in 72 hours for another blood draw and we’d hopefully learn more from those bloods and we’d go from there. This was only the start of the traveling back and forth in silence, tears or anger. We discussed what was going to happen and worked out what HCG level was needed to be for a viable pregnancy. We researched every possible option and result from what we knew so far. We both hoped and prayed, we maintained a foolish optimism.

We needed for the HCG to have doubled in the 72 to hours for it to look like a viable pregnancy. A dropping HCG would suggest an early miscarriage. A slowly creeping or plateauing HCG could mean ectopic pregnancy but we didn’t need to worry about that, its only 2% of pregnancies, we weren’t going to be that 2% so that one doesn’t matter to us, right?

My HCG had gone from 73 to 86. I was textbook, creeping up suggesting an ectopic pregnancy. We had a million questions but couldn’t find the words to verbalize even a mutter. But the scan showed nothing on the right hand side, I repeat nothing was seen on the right hand side where the pain was, we doubled checked there it was clear. The left seemed fine but the pain wasn’t there so it didn’t matter as much did it? That side was always a nuisance anyway due to the ovary being slightly higher and making it harder to see the fallopian tube occasionally but it looked fine.

This was not happening.

It was decided id go home to once again to rest for another set of bloods on the Saturday to see what was going to play out, we’d finally have answers. We were still thinking about how we’d decorate a nursery in between thoughts of how we’d continue to manage if it turned out our miracle was over before it had even been brought into our arms. It was going to double, I needed it to double normally, please double normally.

Saturday came in a heartbeat. The hospital was busy but I only had to wait minutes not hours before my bloods were taken ad whisked off into the onsite lab for answers. This was much to the disgust of the women in the next cubicle hissing, “I’ve been here ages, she looks fine send her home. I’ve got five kids to look after, what she got? Look at he she’s fine. Taking up precious room, it’s a disgrace”. I just didn’t have the strength to talk let alone argue with a stranger over who was the worst off, chances are if your in hospital it isn’t a stellar day for anyone, even if they look “fine” there world maybe crumbling. We got home and waited for the phone call, I paced round the house complaining about waiting but secretly dreading the seconds my phone would bell.

It was 4:30 when I got the phone call.

“HCG has gone fore 86 to 147 so not a perfect double but it’s looking optimistic, the last lot may have been an anomaly, we just don’t know yet. Pop back to EPAC on Monday for another set of bloods. Good luck but please remain realistic.”

We took that in but heard “everything is fine don’t worry”. Why? I do not know. And by we I mainly mean me. SO took on remaining realistic while I lived in the clouds with ridiculous optimism. I lived in a daze struggling with the continuing pregnancy “symptoms” that were slowly getting worse as the days went on with the HCG increasing, albeit slowly from 147 to 308.

With that came an increase in pain, more of a cramping then a localized and bleeding which seemed to imply it was beginning to resolve itself. This made me feel slightly better, knowing the misery maybe coming to the end, little did we know the end wasn’t even in sight yet. It was too hard to continue to love and bond with a baby we knew we wouldn’t get to put to bed at night, every second it continued our hearts broke a little more.

It was another set of abnormal rising bloods before we got our definitive answer “ abnormal rising indicating ectopic pregnancy”.

And with that we had a scan, which then located our precious who hadn’t nestled into my womb to make a home like we needed but had actually snuggled happily into my left fallopian tube. We were given the option to look at the scan or not. I needed to see what we created; I wanted to see our baby. My SO agreed this was what we wanted to see. It was so tiny, just a kidney bean to look at in size just snuggled peacefully, at 7 weeks and 3 days we’d seen our miracle. It wasn’t the joyous occasioned we prayed for. It didn’t make it any less special to us.

It was Friday the 13th of July when we were given the choices;

  • Wait and see if it was going to resolve itself, HCG was still rising steadily which made the consultant believe wasn’t going to happen, this option was taken off the table as quick as it was put on it.
  • Surgical intervention to remove the pregnancy, this was usually used later in pregnancy when fallopian rupture was a risk, it also meant the lose of the tube containing the pregnancy. At this point I wasn’t at risk of this as long as I continued to rest, no long distances, or heavy lifting.
  • Medical management. Which is an injection of methotrexate given in a muscle. It is a medication used to stop cells from rapidly dividing to stop the pregnancy progressing until the body resolves and reabsorbs.

This started a long talk about what was best to do between my SO, my mum and myself. It was decided at this time the best choice would be medical management, the terror was real but it was the right choice for me at the time. It was under an two hours before the first injection was given.

It seemed like the end.

Even if we didn’t get to make a place in our home for it we’d always have a place in our heart for our miracle, it wouldn’t be forgotten and was certainly always going to be loved as much as it had been from the second we’d seen those two pink lines.

That was our baby to love.

All My Love.

We created a rainbow in a world of clouds. Albeit temporarily.

Okay…

So as you may have noticed, or maybe not, that’s fine to, we are all busy. It has been exactly 50 days since my last blog post.

And if it been 50 days since that, then it has been exactly 36 days since I found out I was pregnant with our ever yearned for miracle baby.

I am beyond proud, pleased and heart warmed to have been given that experience, albeit it for what seems like a heart beat that was never meant to last. That being said I am also devastated to even have to say this but the following series of blog posts will include but not graphically, distastefully or unnecessary the discussion of; ectopic pregnancy, miscarriage, surgery and recovery.

As with all my posts please, please, please do not continue to read if any of these topics are sensitive, triggering or upsetting to you. I fully understand and would never want you to cause yourself any unnecessary heartache.

The following blog posts will be split into a series just to make it easier to process because it has been a long while with a lot going on.

They are as follows.

  • Finding out I was pregnant and the lead up.
  • Ectopic pregnancy diagnosis.
  • Methotrexate (spoiler alert it didn’t work).

And last but by means no least

  • Recovery and the future.

The months of May and June were hectic, as it always is. It seems like everyone I have ever met has a birthday in June, including the most important of all, Mine. This particular month was a little a bit more chilled then it could have been, for a change. The last week of May we’d been told that it looked like the Tamoxifen had failed to work to make me ovulate, once again. All scans show little to no follicle growth with only 1 that looked even slightly okay but still nowhere near what we hoped. Later in the month the progesterone bloods showed a very low level, which indicated I hadn’t ovulated. We were upset but quiet frankly were not shocked due to just how tiny that tiny little follicle was earlier in the month.

I did not ovulate.

Or so the scans, tests and bloods lead us, including our nurses and doctors believed.

We were going to be proved wrong.

We planned the next cycle, including increasing Tamoxifen to 40MG, more scans and bloods with additional monitoring. With a new optimistic plan in place I dusted of my shoulders, shrugged it off and “gave up” TTC for that cycle and just rolled along that month.

This particular month was the least “TTC” friendly month it had been, at this point months leading into years. There were birthday drinks, a mini holiday with the in laws, birthday break where we went to oxford and walked so many fabulous miles for my birthday and as always I ate everything I shouldn’t and enjoyed every second. I loved it. I laughed, smiled and loved so much more then I had in months.

All while complaining about my lead balloon swollen boobs but secretly loving that extra cup size, requesting so many different kinds of pickle and chicken nuggets at 11:30pm, all except my ever loved pickled onions that for some reason made my stomach churn.

Fast forward to the day after my birthday when I realized.

“Huh wasn’t I supposed to have a period at some point.” Once again forgot about it and started a YouTube documentary on the perfect time to have children. This made me broody and needy. So thought, what’s the harm in confirming this month negative.

Now of course we have every kind of pregnancy test in the house any other time but on this occasion we had one. One pregnancy test is most defiantly out of the norm for us. So I did it. Heard my SO get home popped it on the sink and forgot all about it. Now it was about half an hour to 45 minutes after we chatted and discussed the day that I got up and went to go for a shower, where id half an hour earlier peed on a stick and forgot about it because “not sure what’s going on with my memory but I could forget my own shoes half way to the shop lately”. Got up stairs and much to my amazement there was two pink lines blazingly glaring at me from the sink. The excitement was overwhelming for 30 seconds before I thought

“Shit it’s been here ages, it’s probably an evaporation line”.

But I continued to run at full speed down the stairs only to be met by my so who had heard the squeal followed by the running and assumed the worst. Squealing whiles flailing a used slightly warm used pregnancy test “don’t be gross you’ve peed on that” then silence for seconds that seemed like minutes.

“Holy sh*t. There is two lines not just the one”.

We hugged, smiled and laughed. I explained that Id forgot about it so needed to do another just to be sure but with them both being so clear as day it was unlikely to be an evap.

I speed walked to the shop to buy a two pack. A little disappointed they only had a cheapie pack of a different brand but so excited to see those two lines again.

As soon as I got home and peed again. We didn’t see those two bright pink lines we had seen just minutes earlier. We saw one bright pink line accompanied by a faint not nearly a strong shadow of a line compared to the branded as the other test.

We both said nothing and squinted at the test just that little bit longer.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have got our hopes up,” I said in the tiniest voice that had ever come from me.

“Come on let’s go to bed and test again in the morning, it’ll be fine. Come on cheer up buttercup” he said clearing up the constant mess that infertility had made our life at times.

6:10am came and went. I got up and did the other test. It was just as faint, you could barely see it and as easy as that the pregnancy dream was over, for 3 hours while I waited for the pharmacy to open at least.

I wasn’t giving up that easy.

So as the hours dragged I thought of every possible outcome of peeing on yet more stuff.

As soon as those doors opened I was barreling through them to buy a two pack “just to be sure”. “Good luck either way” the women on the till told me as I forced a smile. Ripping the packet open while walking across the lawn, I had no time to waste I had to be in work in 3 hours, and I needed to be sure.

Unlike the other three tests we weren’t looking for two lines we were looking for 1 line and a cross. I didn’t need to wait the three minutes as suggested, within seconds there it was. A line and a cross. One line decidedly lighter then the other but definitely a line and a cross that was clear as day, no squinting required. I waited another hour and did the other test. It was still there. A line and a cross, slightly darker then the test an hour earlier. This was not enough I needed to be sure so I did the kind of test you must be pretty sure your pregnant otherwise your just weeing on sixteen pounds. A clear blue digital that literally spells it out for you. I did it. There it was in words.

“Pregnant 1-2weeks.”

I text Mitchell to tell him, I know this isn’t how anyone should find out there going to be a father but I knew he wouldn’t want to wait till this evening and wanted to know immediately. He was over the moon and excited just a much as I was, even if it was only set to be for a short while. I text my mum because well I just had to tell her, I wanted to scream it from the roof tops but deep down knew not too. It was our little secret to love. I felt good for an hour but still had a feeling that something wasn’t right, I felt like something was wrong. I expressed these feeling to my SO who suggested I phoned and spoke to the nurses and told them my feelings. Why hadn’t I thought of this? It seemed so obvious now he’d said it.

I rang and spoke to our usual nurse who like us was shocked but reassured me that everything was probably fine and just very early and it was just a lot to take in in 24 hours. I was pregnant and tried to embrace it. This was the Friday at this point after the first positive on the Wednesday so we choose to embrace it while taking every precaution to protect the life we’d worked so hard to create. I stopped with the poached eggs I was craving, started my vitamins again and went back to eating properly and getting 8 hours sleep. We were happy, joyous and finally going to the family we’d longed to be.

This wasn’t enough.

The Monday came and I woke up to cramps, and much to my surprise and concern a tiny bit of spotting. “Spotting in early pregnancy is fine, it will be FINE.” I kept telling myself. As the day progressed the cramping become more localized to the right hand side (remember that, the right hand side). I rang the doctors to tell them who once again reassured me was fine but they’d fit me in just to have a check. So off I went with the company of my best friend who will continue to be amazing for through this entire journey. A wonderful nurse checked me over and wasn’t too alarmed by the spotting but was a little worried by the cramping on the right hand side and decided it was best to have a early scan the following day at EPAC with my usual nurse. She took my bloods ready for the nurse the following day. This made me feel a little more at ease. I went home to wait. I knew something was wrong but we choose to be happy and excited between the waves of fear.

We had created a rainbow in a world of clouds.

Tuesday the 3rd of July, the following day was the day it all started to change.

And For That, To My Body I Am Sorry.

Yesterday while i was trying to do some work, once again to take my mind off of the fact that this cycle scan showed once again no follicles of any sort worth having. I had a thought, a thought that was running round my mind a thousand miles an hour until i had to do something about it.

“What exactly have i put myself and my body though since starting my “medically assisted TTC” journey.

And as fast as that i was scrowling mind boggling maths on to the back of someones discarded receipt like a questionably uneducated scientist.

So here are my once again, questionably uneducated scientific findings.

  • Ive taken at least 275 tablets, including at least one daily vitamin. One form of Clomiphene at two different strengths, 50mg as well as 100mg that did as much as witch craft and dreams as well at 2 different strengths Tamoxifen, 20mg and soon to be 40mg at once again two which, for me at least have the success rate of a wish upon a star.
  • Been for 13 invasive internal scans, while counting the ceiling tiles and planning dinner and how I’m gunna get to work on time.
  • Had 13 sets of blood drawers ranging between either 1 to 8 vials at a time, that always leave me getting some serious looks from strangers questioning my life choices.
  • Been sick at least 6 times, Once daily for a rather awful cycle of migraine induced sickness from Clomid.
  • And last and by no least had 1 Hysterosalpingogram that involves a catheter through your tiny cervix that then has a balloon blown up to create a seal and then a saline solution pumped though said catheter flooding your Fallopian tubes to check for blockages and abnormalities. All while being held by the ankles told to lie still while a SO tries to break the tension by making vagina puns. Which to be honest could be used as a medieval torture devise that made me sick out of my nose.

What a busy few months…

Now I know and fully understand that isn’t a lot compared to many other women who are a lot further into this then myself and I am in no way complaining. But that being said it’s also a lot more then the rest of the planet that smile and giggle at the thought of the conception of there first child, where as myself and many other have a check list of jabs, drugs and probings that often don’t even work and yet we continue.

We continue to complain and moan about our bodies not doing just one thing right first time. Simply forgetting all the other things our bodies do so perfectly every day that give us the opportunity to try and continue despite being pumped full of chemicals and hormones day in and out.

And for that, to my body, I am sorry. I forget the tremendous amount of pressure and physical pain and discomfort you go through on the daily. Usually all placed upon your shoulders by myself. And unlike my you never complain. You get up everyday without a moan, maybe an ache but you continue.

I just don’t say it enough Thank you, you really are perfect for me.

Lets not forget the turtle and the hare.

I swear i’d forget my head if it wasn’t attached, and thats without pregnancy so we’ll just call it what it is “trying to do too many things at once, and realistically half a**ing pretty much every job there is to do that doesn’t relate to planning or organising the next cycle”.

So I’ve been so just to excited for the new game plan that i completely forget to even tell you what it is. Its been decided that the best next route for us as well as the least invasive would be a different kind of tablet to hopefully induce ovulation.

And i’m all for it.

After the failure of 50Mg as well as the 100Mg clomidifene it was discussed without me primarily and then with my input as well as my OH in what i wanted and thought was best for my body but also my mental health. The mood swings of the previous two months had been not only physically but awfully mentally and emotionally draining for us both. I fully recognise that not only was i a demon to be around the week of but also the following week as well and no matter how much i tried to control them i really couldn’t. Just like a sneeze the more you tried to hold it in the bigger the out burst, before you knew it i was crying over the fact banana’s and brocolli come wrapped in plastic when realistically they didn’t need to be and that i had no emotional connection to the film “Marley and me” like some sort of cold hearted dragon. Safe to say it that day will go down as a confusing valentines days for us both.

This months new medicine is “tamoxifen 20Mg.”

Tamoxifen works similar to Clomid in the way that it aims to make me ovulate. At a lower Mg it does have a slightly lower chance of doing anything that was a worry to me as i hadn’t even ovulated with the 100mg Clomid so what was 20mg going to do?! It was then explained that actually there wasn’t that much of a difference.

But then came another blow, although the mg can be increased monthly we’d know with in the first month if it would agree with me, it’ll either be fine or side effects will be next level.

This made me nervous.

Then the next and i quote “Now don’t be alarmed but the primary use of tamoxifen is to treat and prevent breast cancer, but thankfully for you it also has a large side effect of pregnancy. And of course you only need it for pregnancy so it is now also used as a fertility treatment”

And you know as well as i do that they only reason she told me this was because google exists. The first thing you do when you get new medicines of any kind is google them and all the side effects on the huge often unforgiving internet and i can tell you if you google tamoxifen the rates of pregnancy isn’t great because unlike Clomid it isn’t its primary use. Don’t get me wrong still one hell of a lot better then no medication at all and we know that from experience but was still a bit of a let down.

I was embarrisingly underwhelmed until once again our angel nurse who comes to all our appointments came to the rescue and said with a smile;

“Lets not forget the turtle and the hare, you maybe slow out the blocks with set backs but we try and try again, we can increase Mg’s monthly, with usual monitoring scans and progesterone bloods we will keep going. But ultimately you are our priority. we want you happy”

So thats exactly what i’m doing.

This is a new plan and i have my faith in it.

And most importantly I shall remain the happy turtle in a world of hares.

We may only be starting with 20Mg but 20mg’s may all we need to find our rainbow.

All My Love

 

 

 

 

 

 

Hang on? What?

So while I’m organising and mapping the next cycle I’ve forgot to mention where we’re going from here and more importantly how we’ve got here.

So how’d we get here.

After the first cycle big fat failure of not even a slight increase in the chance of ovulation we upped the Clomid to 100mg at bed time rather than the 50mg we’d tried he previous month with little signs of progress. Fast forward to cycle day two I was so optimistic and prepared so I took the two 50mg Clomid at night time with a pint of water and plodded off to sleep like every other night. Albeit with a slightly higher feeling of imminent pregnancy. Ohhh the naivety.

Fast forward 3 hours and I’m in bed lying there fearful of sleep though the night terrors. And that’s without the sweats, migraines, shivers and fever. But I’ll be damned if I was letting a few nightmares and eye floaty inducing migraines let me give up. So I slept. Well I tried. I lied there till morning holding my head while the SO rubbed my backed and tried to comfort to little avail.

I woke up and optimistically phoned the hospital to book my CD16 scan in the hope of seeing at least some sign of ovulation. All booked and ready to go. Phoned the doctors to book the CD21 Progesterone bloods, i’d done everything I needed to do. I had a spring in me step while recording every time I had to take a tablet to even slightly Curb the migraines, Rennies for the indigestion and heart burn. At not one point was this a red flag to me. I’d got so used to recording everything that I was writing it all down while obliviously forgetting to take a step back and relies that all this things were red flags.

  1. Migraines
  2. Night terrors
  3. Sweats
  4. Fevers
  5. Sickness
  6. Moods swings

All of those should have been a warning but nope I shrugged them all off as just minor issues on the road to making my family. So for some reason I was whole heartedly baffled when the nurses instantly told me to stop.

Hang on? What?

“I’m fine, I can see out my other eye. The migraines are only when I’m stood and the night terrors pass off really quickly when you realise your fine…And the sickness well that’s not even an issue is it?”

“Im sorry but these are all signs and signals that your body’s not responding. We can’t risk these being permanent, this cycle has to be abandoned, we’ll send a consultant letter with an revised plan ASAP but for now I’m sorry, I’m hear all day, any questions just phone”. She said it all while I squinted my eye and balled my hands in the anger that I’d failed myself. I was devastated. It was supposed to be simple. Something it was all turning out not to be.

But by some stroke of luck the phone rang less then 45 minutes laters. The exact amount of time I’d needed to cry, get dressed and get ready to continue at work like nothing had happened.

It was the fertility secretary number.

“I’m back, I know it’s short notice but we can do a revision and review appointment tomorrow if you’d like, I know it’s short notice but it’s better then the 2/3 weeks for a letter if you’d like”

“Yes yes a thousand times yes, I can do that, we’ll be there.”

I phoned the OH, organised his company and told Work I wasn’t coming in.

As fast as my world had crumbled it had been rebuilt but one nurse who’d worked her magic and jigged appointments and plans to get us in and ready in less then 48 hours. She was and still is an angel.

We were in and out with new medicines and a game plan in less then an hour. Including weighing, bloods and the ever growing confusion over my height. We were and will continue to be ever thankful for all the nurses, consultants, and many other people that continue to work tirelessly to get us to where we aim to be.

So no matter how fast the world crashes down just remember it can be rebuilt at the hands of an under appreciated angel that works her a** off to get you where you aim to be in a heart beat.

All My Love.