Laying low with five days to go.

I haven’t been on here much at all recently, which is odd, considering it became the first thing I checked in the mornings and the last thing I checked at night, as well as the one thing I read on my rare dinnertime breaks.  It’s not because now I’ve had +hpt that I think I don’t need to or want to or that everything is different now; I’ve become the proverbial ostrich.

I’m finding it hard. Really hard. Each day is feeling like a week and that viability scan in just five days feels like a lifetime away. Time doesn’t seem to be ticking at normal speed! I worked out I’d now be in my two-week-wait if the last cycle hadn’t worked out, and that makes it feel like time has stood even more still – I feel like I’m still in the two-week-wait, which is ridiculous.  I daren’t even say the ‘p’ word still. Self-protection mode has well and truly kicked in and I go through the days almost in denial somewhat. I’m looking after myself, sure, I’m taking my prenatals and all, but until we hear some good news on Tuesday at 9am, I don’t feel like any of it is real or even positive at the moment.

That makes me sound selfish and heartless and insensitive. I know I said on a previous blog that so many thousands of women would like to be where I am right now. But to me, it’s like this: the happier or more excited I become, the higher I climb up a sheer cliff face. If it goes wrong, I’m higher up, further to fall, and not onto a grassy bank – grazes but no permanent damage, like the first miscarriage, where I genuinely believed it would be ok next time – oh no. I’m heightening myself to a level where if I fall, my entire body will be smashed to unrecognisable smithereens upon the harsh, jagged profile of the rock face. Why risk this when I could maybe just break a leg?

I can’t let myself get excited. I can’t look further than the moment I’m in right now. This could all go wrong at any second and how I would get through it all a fourth time, I have absolutely no idea.  We need it to be good news. I need to to be good news. If it’s not, the drive back from the hospital will be unbearable and I cannot take it again. So many hours I’ve spent on that lonely road home with tears streaming down my face and sobs racking through my body – and I can’t take it. I feel like I should get them to scan me, let them say nothing, then when I’m in the safety of my home, phone them and ask for the results.

I’m terrified. No, I’m beyond terrified. I keep thinking that maybe it will be ok but there might not be, and I am dreading the words of, “I’m so sorry.” Because where do we go from there? There’s no explanation, nothing wrong with either of us, so nothing they can do.

People will say to think positively. I can’t. I’m just preparing myself.  I always feel that if you prepare for the worst, then anything other than that is a bonus. I never used to be like this, but after all the experiences we have had to face over the last 2.5 years, I’ve changed beyond recognition and the joy and optimism I used to have has eroded to a very cautious, very careful lady.

The husband and I still high-five each time I feel ill. I feel utterly exhausted, very dizzy (vertigo ‘swoops’) and I’m constantly hungry. I actually feel pretty dreadful (I’m not moaning, by the way, I’m ECSTATIC about feeling rubbish!). But my boobs don’t ache as much, so of course, that plays on the mind.

I just like this one. I want to keep him/her. Until I see proper real evidence of teeny him or her, though, I can’t get attached to something that may be taken from me. I know I’ve done everything I can. It’s now just a case of waiting.

Roll on 9am, Tuesday.

A plea for help. #niaw2015

With it being National Infertility Awareness Week across the pond from me, I thought it’d be good to take part.

For the first time, I’m speaking about everything on my Facebook page. People know we lost one baby, but barely any know we’ve actually lost 3 and have had over a 2 year journey so far.

As part of this ‘talking’ and breaking stupid taboo, I’m posting an article each day, not written by me, but by others.

So if you have a post you think would hit home about infertility, loss or both, something you got a great response to, something that makes the effects of infertility clear, something that proves that infertility is not just simply not just a case of that someone needs to relax, or if you know a post that someone else wrote that really touched you, please can you post a link below?

I’ve read so, so many real life, hard-hitting stories that need to be heard. I’d love to share more than just my own.

xx

One Day at a Time

So it’s official. Those lines have come up, many, many times. Darker, every day. Even the Clearblue says I definitely am, 100%, in words, rather than pink or blue lines. But I daren’t say those words myself.  I feel as though if I do, I’ll jinx it, give my body the signal to quit trying. I’m living day-to-day, ecstatic in the morning when my temperature is still high, when my symptoms are still there, then as the day progresses, this gives way to the terror of night times, where I wonder if tomorrow will be the end. If this whole haze I’ve been living since I tested way too early, nearly two weeks ago, may come crashing down.

This sounds crazy. It probably is. And I know there will be many, many people out there who will want to shake me, slap me, tell me to get a grip, enjoy each moment, be happy and stop being such a drama queen.

But I can’t. I know that millions of un-pregnant women would give anything to be in my position and I hope to goodness that this post is not interpreted on a par with those Facebook posts where women moan about the woes of being pregnant. Do not misunderstand me here: I am not moaning. I will never be one to complain about being where I’ve dreamt for years I would be.

Moaning: no. Cautious: yes. Three losses takes the innocent happiness away. Multiple losses ensure that there is no assumption that we will have a live baby at the end of this. There’s no expectation that at our 7 week scan, a heartbeat will be heard. I daren’t even book the scan. If by some miracle that glorious little flicker is seen on screen, I don’t even presume that this will be ok on the next scan and the next, and the next. At this moment in time, I’m still almost feeling bitter when I see pregnancies announced, which I know myself, I KNOW how utterly, utterly stupid it sounds; but I don’t see myself as ‘there’ yet.

It’s like a competitive job interview: everyone else took a 2 minute interview where all they had to do was fill in their name and address on a sheet; they were handed the job of dreams there and then – start date promised for 9 months’ time. They’re delighted, over-the-moon. They’re planning, making preparations.  But the company I applied to? My first round involved wrestling a man-eating crocodile, blindfolded, with a vulture attempting to peck my eyeballs out at the same time, my feet shackled with iron weights, like something from Game of Thrones. The rest of the interview stages look just as daunting, so the idea of getting a start date seems preposterous and almost laughable.

I still dare not allow myself to believe for a second that this could be ok, and because I daren’t admit it, I cannot allow the relief, the happiness, the contentment, to take hold of me. I cannot let my guard down.

Of course, I am not sad. I am not even worried, despite what I’ve written above. I think I’ve accepted that what will happen will happen. This doesn’t mean I’m ok with it, though, if the worst happens. This is why I’m being cautious. I’m keeping my guard up because I don’t want what I have right now to end. I want to experience that happiness that all the other pregnant women I know seem to have; that innocent joy and expectation that this will all end with an entirely different physical pain to the endings I have experienced.

I love this little Easter Egg (as named by the husband, seeing as I ovulated over Easter weekend) so much already, even though I can’t bring myself to say the words that would admit his/her existence outwardly. I don’t wish this blog post to sound as though I am ungrateful: I am as far from ungrateful as you can get. Right now, the husband and I celebrate each teeny, tiny milestone – the ones that many fertiles I have met moan at.  We high-five every time I get a wave of nausea, when my boobs twinge or I knock them and they hurt, each time I have to turn down a cup of coffee or when I’m so tired I cannot physically stand up to do the washing-up. The husband said to me the other night that he didn’t want to sound horrible, but he wished bad morning sickness on me. I just said each time I hurl, we’ll high-five and cheer.

So that’s the way we’ll keep approaching it. Taking each day at it comes. Accepting the fact that nights will be terrifying. Breathing in the contentment when I feel ill. Sighing with relief when my temperature stays up. High-fiving when we get through another day.

I don’t know how this will end. I will never know. But I know I got through today. That’s another day ticked off. Yes, I’m being cautious but I remain hopeful that this will hold a very different, very happy ending.

Come on, little one. Let’s do this.

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#pleasepleasepleaseplease

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Internet cheapie says yes.

As soon as the bumper pack arrived, I ran upstairs with my trusty pee cup. Second morning urine. Couldn’t even wait until 2pm (but of course I’ll do another one then…).

My boobs are definitely swollen (not even caused by my constant prodding to see if they still hurt – husband seems to be offering to check them himself quite often…). I can’t stop looking at them. Being quite a slim girl, I’ve not really been blessed in the chesticle department, so any growth is instantly noticeable. And I LOVE it, it’s like all my Christmases and Birthdays have come at once. If it didn’t hurt to jump up and down, I’d do it all day because my boobs properly bounce…Pahahaa!

As well as the boob situation, I’ve been a bit ‘swoopy’ dizzy over the last few days (I have migraneous vertigo which tends to only come when my hormones are out of whack – used to be awful when on the pill!) and I’m hungry. All. The. Time. I’m a little bit irritated and snappy but to be honest, the husband should count himself lucky; after mating, the Black Widow Spider kills her partner by eating him alive, and I haven’t done that…yet.

My only worry is that I awoke in the night with the most excruciating abdominal cramps ever. It was honestly akin to the discomfort of my hysteroscopy (without analgesia or anaesthetic…thanks, NHS cuts…;) ) or really terrible period pain, which seems to have snuck back in to my adult life in the last 6 months. It was a stretchy, sting-y, ouch feeling, which passed after 15 minutes but it was agonising. I had visions of af coming in the night and waking up in a red sea of disappointment, broken hopes and negative hpts… but then again, I can often be dramatic, my mind working over-time when it’s the middle of the night and I’m half asleep. And there’s no spotting this morning.

I never get any of this before af. Occasionally shooty-sharp-pain through my nipples, plus a warning by way of a tummy that wants to poop constantly, followed then by Her arrival next day, which is followed by me having rage for 2 days solid. But none of that. I’ve still got little cramps now and again but nothing bad.

I’m excited and terrified and still disbelieving all in one.

Still not counting my chickens until Monday.

#pleasepleasepleasepleasebeit!

And if it is… #pleasepleasepleasepleasestickaround!!! 4th time lucky?

Who am I kidding?

Of course I was going to test. I am the world’s worst at exercising willpower. I’m actually slightly ashamed of myself.  Not only did I go and buy a bumper box of cheapies from Amazon this morning which will arrive tomorrow, I also happened to just stroll into my local supermarket, take a left turn down the exact aisle that tests are on, stand for a minute attempting to locate a pack, then suddenly found myself home and peeing on it before I even really realised. I didn’t even go out to buy any! I was only going to the bank!

So, I couldn’t get hold of a First Response test to compare and keep it all scientific and fair-test, etc, so I did one at 2pm today and I’ll do the other at 2pm tomorrow. Then I can compare once and for all.

I checked the official Pregnyl leaflet online which says that false positives are a risk for up to 10 days after injecting Pregnyl 5000mIU. It’s now been 12 days. I’m 10/11dpo – either way, I’m out the other side.

My temperature is still up, too – 98.1 this morning, which is staying a whole degree above my pre-ov temps and about a 0.5 of a degree above my post-ov normal temps.

The saga continues…

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9dpo. Is this possible???

I spotted this morning. Tiny pink watery stuff. Freaked out. Got my progesterone blood tests back. 44, which is 8 above the average of 36. The thoughts started: should I test?

So knowing I had one hpt in the house, I peed on it. Stupid, I know. But best to remove temptation, while it’s waaayyyyy too early, I suppose…or so I tell myself. Best to get a negative while I KNOW it will be negative, than to get a negative when I’m hoping for a positive. Plus it was my last in the house and I’m not going out and buying more, therefore removing the multiple pees I’m likely to do once 13dpo (expected arrival of af).

BUT THEN IT CAME UP WITH THIS.

How?? Is this a false positive? I’m only 9dpo. Too late for the Pregnyl trigger to still be in my blood? 10 days says the official Pregnyl leaflet, and it’s 11days since I injected it. :-O

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