What are you doing New Year's Eve?

Zooey Deschanel is my ultimate girl crush. I love her.

So the New Year is upon us, once again- my thirty second on this planet (albeit not truly until November). I used to hate new years- my utterly beloved Grandad died on one 18 years ago and so as a teenager, I went out of my way to hate them for a long time. The first new years that I thought was totally kickass was in 2009- my first with Mr P. We spent it in Windsor together- a few days completely alone (had to in those days as we both still lived at home)- we walked through the Park, ate ice cream and laughed at the cat who was sitting on the grass next to the sign telling people to get off the grass.

It was that pre-moving in together extra special time that you have with someone who you already know you're going to spend the rest of your life with. It was good- fresh air, decent food and quality time with not too much travelling.

Now, the following year, we started what has now become a bit of a tradition- we invited my mum, stepdad, nanny, my mother in law and father in law and proceeded to eat a lot of food and get very drunk. This ended with my nan saying to my mum when their taxi arrived that she didn't want the night to end and with my stepdad and my father in law dancing to the Pogues together. This was before the see you next Tuesdays moved in downstairs as the following year we were buzzed at 1am for too much merriment (man alive, am I glad to be away from those total and utter dickweeds!)
Of course, this past new year, we were in Hawaii, bitches (sorry, watching too much Breaking Bad)! So whilst the majority of you were enjoying your NYE, we were sitting on the beach eating our lunch.

Normally, I'm the queen of sunscreen and yes, I do need to use it despite the Asian genes. However, I got so burnt that day- I looked like a lobster thermidor, with serious heatstroke on top! At one point, I was going through so much aloe aftersun, I questioned filling the bath with it...We ended up going for a steak that I could barely eat (way too much salt!!) and then diving into bed to watch The Hangover 2 on repeat with our bottle of Andre (our $7 bottle of Champagne). Suddenly, there were these booms from outside and I ran naked (no material was allowed near my scorched skin) over to the balcony where there were loads of bangs, whizzes and woops coming from over the bay.

It was the Hawaiian new year- Honolulu is one of the last on Earth to celebrate it and we had almost slept through it!

Having never been one for making wishes or resolutions, I didn't make any. Neither did I burn away the bad of the previous year (believe me, there was some crazy stuff that went down!) This New Year is getting capital letters- not because I truly believe that after the strokes of midnight, that all my dreams will come true but rather that I am going to put in a concerted effort into making them come true. With a wish, you have got to let go of the responsibility for making it come true- whilst you can work towards it, there is a little bit of magic as to whether it will happen or not.

As for resolutions, I am heading in the right direction. With a meeting a for Guys scheduled early next year, that feels like things are progressing. Also with the smoking long gone, alcohol is the next thing to go. From January the 1st, I will be dry. I'm also going to make a big effort to train for a 5K and work from that to a 10K- this is huge for me as I really can't run. For a start, I was never made for running- my boobs need structural engineering to keep them in place and I also look somewhat like a rubber chicken- think Phoebe from Friends but I did a few 5Ks a few years back when I was at uni with my fastest time being 22 minutes.

Hope is the main thing that I'm going to channel next year- it has certainly been a bit difficult at times to keep my chin up. However, please don't think me mad in sharing this but I had a very weird thing this time last week- we were on our way to my mum's for one of my brother's thai curries, sitting in the back of a taxi - it felt like the first time I had managed to sit down all day, so I started to doze. It was a weird kind of sleep- more like a meditative calm than a true sleep and P kept waking me up as I had a huge box on my lap that he kept hitting when he tried to squeeze my knee (yes, he managed to do it more than once- each time ending with us both giggling). When P wasn't trying to bosh my mum's Christmas present, I sat there in this trance like sleep. Whilst in one of these trances, I had a vision/dream. I was holding a baby. Not sure how I know but it was definitely my baby. It wasn't in a room, no earthly thing surrounded me, in fact I wasn't anywhere- like almost in a total void but there was a light around myself and this baby that I was holding. There was also a sense of total and utter calm and peace. I don't know whether it was my subconscious saying goodbye to the babies I have lost or whether it was me telling myself that it will happen. Some might even read into it a type of religious or spiritual moment. I really can't put my finger on it but since then, rather that fixating on staying pregnant, I feel like I know what I'm aiming for- a child of my own. For so long now, all I've thought about is managing to stay pregnant past the first trimester but it feels like it has finally sunken in that actually what I'm aiming for is a living breathing, healthy baby.

That, my friends, is what I'd truly like to achieve by this time next year. It is a wish- not something entirely in my powers to conjure up (otherwise, there'd be a fuckload by now!) but something that with some sensible resolutions, I am working towards.

(Image from http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.co.uk/)

Happy New Year xxx

Do you know what I mean?

Firstly a Merry post-Christmas to you all! I hope you all are in a similar sugar/salt induced coma to the one I am currently wallowing on my sofa. So, since the previous post, lots has happened!

Let's start with the not so great stuff first. Just had a screaming match with a member of my family over the telephone. Well, not exactly screaming but it ended with them telling me to fuck off and hanging up. I am not going to name the person in question but we have been through many years of a difficult relationship- years that I have fought to keep a relationship going with this person. Again, I am not going to go into the particulars of these difficulties as they are in the past but every now and then the testing behaviour rears its ugly head and we're back to the awkwardness. I stood up for myself having been accused of being a liar, a disorganised mess and got told to fuck off for it. There was an issue with a birthday present that I had made for the person in question- a blown up canvas print of a particular print from our wedding photos. It is utterly stunning and looks like it should be used for a tourism photo of Greenwich, however when I received the print back, the colours were distorted- fluorescent instead of stained glass window colours, so I sent it back and apologised to person x for not having it in time for their birthday. When I spoke to person x today, I gave them the date that I would be able to pick the present up to let them know that it was being sorted at which point they accused me of the above. How many times should you allow someone to treat you like this before you actually say enough? Is having a relationship with them, worth the constant fear of their temper and attitude?

The person in question is meant to be coming tomorrow morning, so we'll see whether they turn up and how they behave then. At least it will be on my territory- my house, my rules.

Happier but slightly scary news, I had a lovely telephone call from my GP this evening, just before the close of practice. They had finally heard back from Greenwich who said that Guys would be the people funding the PGD treatment (it's all become centralised rather than all over the place) and that we hit all of the criteria for the funding, which is amazeballs. Mainly because we had already been told by Guys that they would be waiting for the phone call from us to start treatment and that backs up what they'd said. You never quite know if you're being told the whole truth or not and since in the past year, I've moved houses and GPs through all the treatment, it's nice to see the dots connecting. My GP hadn't however realised that we had been to see Guys in the past year for a consultation (mainly to explain why it happens to P but realistically no more than a bureaucratic wank) so obviously there are some missing letters but Guys will have a copy of the one sent to us and it'll be in my folder of doom (several inches thick just for the genes).

I also apologised to my nan today. Harvey, my mum's dog had his hydrotherapy today and my step-dad had to take him for his session (I can't remember if I mentioned that he totally mashed up his leg whilst on holiday in Devon... Going senile!) and so I popped over to chat to my nan who has been up celebrating the holidays with us. She's utterly amazing and I love her very dearly but over the past year's events, I stopped calling her. Not because of anything that she did or said but because I couldn't think of speaking to her without bursting into tears- I never had anything happy to say to her and felt like I was letting her down by not having anything positive to say. I also didn't want to upset her with my rubbishness and inability to stop crying when she lives by herself and so far from us. You can't really tell someone bad stuff over the phone, can you? Anyway, we had a catch up today and when we said goodbye, I said sorry for being such a rubbish granddaughter for not calling for ages. It's several months that we won't get back and I've missed her terribly but I refuse to let that happen again. She's my nanny and I shouldn't allow my crap year to destroy what always has been such a lovely relationship.

This is my incredibly clever and beautiful Nanny:

So many highs and lows in one small day. Going to take Max out with P for a refreshing walk to blow the cobwebs and the emotional rollercoaster away. That's if Max wakes up and I can tear P away from FIFA.

Other than today, Christmas has been its normal uneventful calm self, I have been utterly spoilt by the amazing presents bought for me- UGGs, yoga vouchers and a Kobo Arc HD and I have eaten/drunken my weight in alcohol, sugar and salt!

 

Do you realise?

Ok the original song is by the Flaming Lips and therefore "realise" should be spelled with a "z" but SPELLING, PEOPLE!!!!!

Sorry, I haven't been around for a while- had a few people coming up and asking when there would be another instalment but work has been pretty wickedly wild over the past few weeks. I pulled myself from Facebook for a bit as I found it just too tough to read everyone's status updates about how their Christmas preparations with their kids. After all, we have worked pretty hard at getting one of those kiddlywinks for ourselves by Christmas this year but sadly no baby or bump to show for it. One of those rubbish bits really, can't work hard at it and expect results! Babies come when they come.

In my Facebook absence, I realised that I don't really do very much other than work. Like virtually nothing other than walk the dog or play Sims! It's very much my fault that it has become that way but I need to take steps to change it. My job needs to start coming second to my life as what ever happens over the next few years, I will need to be out of class so that I am less emotionally attached and the thing is, that means leaving my current job as it isn't possible at my school. The job I am going for is a job where I'd be earning more, with more responsibility (but for one area rather than everything!) and working less hours!!!! Yeah doesn't seem right does it? It's almost a little to good to be true. There are downsides but sometimes you've got to just put yourself out there and go for it haven't you?

If I get the post, I will continue the hot bikram yoga that I started in November and I also will head over to the Art Academy to brush up on my skills as it's time I do other stuff than just going to work, working, coming home, working... Also being based in North London, I will have to go through Central to get home so I will be better placed to meet up with friends after work. Is that a glimmer of a life, I can see in the future?! When I walked around the school, I was asked to put in an application form so at least I am something towards what they are looking for.

It's almost the end of the year and whilst this won't be my last post of the year, a friend on Twitter said about how she and her other half had sat down to write down all of the good things that had happened during the year. These are mine.
SARAH'S TOP TEN LIST OF AWESOMENESS FOR 2013 (In no particular order)

1. We bought our first house together and it's freaking awesome! As a then 30 year old, I felt pretty grown up being able to buy a three bedroom house in London within zone 4! It's our very own little nuclear bunker that is a lovely size with a great garden and in such a quiet, calm area.
2. Maxwell Lawson- he is totally the top of this list but he wouldn't have happened if we hadn't bought the house. He is a hyper-intelligent, naughty beast who is incredibly cuddly and lovely. 
3. I stopped smoking. Yes, go fucking me!!!! I haven't smoked for 2 months (bar one last week on Friday but that is another story).
4. I have lost a dress size- by eating more! I am now eating more food and full fat stuff instead of the diet nasty food.
5. I started writing again- I haven't written anything personal for more than an entry or two (so many dead blogs!) 
6. We celebrated our first anniversary- ok not the greatest of years but a year being married to my best mate is not to be sniffed at!
7. We came back from our first ever trip abroad together (NYC, SF and Hawaii), which also happened to be our honeymoon.
8. I managed to finish knitting the second ever thing I have knitted to a pattern in my life!
9. I ran a week-long trip to France for the old Year 6s and it was awesome.
10. My two best friends got engaged (Di and Derek!) and married (Kat and Chris!). 

So yes, it has been a really tough year but good stuff has happened too. I shall be writing everything down that has gone wrong this year and be holding a fire in my garden to burn the bad things that happened in 2013 away as per the Mexican tradition. 

One of my TAs was holding The Secret book and talking about how it had changed the way she thought and when I asked her about it, she said that there was no point in me reading it as I already think positively. That might just be a projection of what I want people to see but it's time to put that into practise. In 2014, we will try to have a baby but if it doesn't happen, 2015 will be the year that we adopt our baby. Positive thinking time. Enough of the negative.

So the plan for 2014- otherwise known as OPERATION GET A LIFE!

1. Have a real baby- no more broken ones, thank you wonky genes.
2. Go back to college to get some more art skills.
3. Write a book.
4. Get a new job.
5. Work on the house- get a loan to do the work needed on the house. Electrics, insulation, porch and some decoration to be completed by December next year.
6. Work on the garden- or rather, get my mum to do it and pay her in wine and dog sitting.
7. See my friends- so many have moved to London now and have I seen them? NO! 
8. Go back to Canada- ok this is a given as I am a bridesmaid but dammit I need to see my girl and definitely need another holiday abroad!

So, a happier look at what went well and an even better if list for next year- can't help it. I'm a teacher!

Who do you think you are?

I feel that this picture sums up my feelings right now.

This is an angry post. You might want to stop reading.

Christmas has been cancelled. After a month of umming and ahhing over how I felt about Christmas, I now want it over. Probably stimulated by a status update on Facebook today. This blog sums up my feelings perfectly: Teething Sucks.

In a bit of a meltdown mode, really. Work has been epically hard recently and I'm starting to think that there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to things. I used to think that things took it in turns to be shit: family, relationships or work. Not usually more than one at once but this has been disproved. Completely. I have an extended Twitter family of fellow broken bits who have had a horrible week of losses and not workers and it just isn't fair.

You can't watch television, you can't get on a bus, you can't walk down the street without children, dammit you can't even go on social media without something mentioning or triggering thoughts about babies. I, for one, know that should I ever be in a situation where I need something to make me fake cry- all I have to do is watch that fucking Tesco advert. Oh watch that family grow up over the years and look the daughter has a baby and they're all happy. Seriously, that can just fuck itself up the bum twice.

Chatting to some lovelies on Twitter today and we quantified it. I would have an almost four year old, a 15 month old, a four month old and a three month old or I would be about four months pregnant. I think I'm allowed to be angry. Obviously not all of those babies could exist according to their ages but none of them do. Knowing about the genetic crap has really done nothing other than being a constant black cloud as what can be done that is a definite answer? I remember thinking it was weird in the past that someone on some kind of medical programme, didn't want to know whether they had a genetic disorder in their future but really, what's the point when it's the inevitable?

Another letter:

Dear Friends and Family with children,

Right now, I truly am entirely jealous of you. You have something that I desire with every part of my being and yet I fail to achieve, time and time again. Believe me, I felt the same when you had long term boyfriends and I couldn't get past 10 months; when you got married and I was living with someone; when you bought your first house and I was renting and now; something that I've almost had and yet haven't quite completed again!

It doesn't seem to matter whether you had problems having those babies, there's this weird invisibility cloak that hides the past. Miscarriages, IVF, no baby? Ah, but we have a baby now! We're fine! Well, except for the fact that my babies keep me awake with their teething, my vomit covered clothes and not having a life. Oh what a horrible life you have, my apologies!

To be honest, I felt the same way when you moaned about boyfriend being a bit of a dick (which you were right about), your tears over not finding the right dress and your complaints about being broke due to having a mortgage. I am not a very nice person: I thought myself better than you in that I could still see the beauty of having those things full stop and that whilst grumbles come and go, the overarching greatness outweighed the bad.

I'm sorry. You probably don't want to be my friend on Facebook, on Twitter or in real life. I understand. I'm a bit of a miserable bitch right now. Let's hope that this is a passing phase a bit like my tears on buses after failed dates; the strops over who is or isn't being invited to the wedding; the worrisome decision to buy a nuclear bunker. I know that I am you, just at a different point. I remember a psychotherapist saying that you can't like anyone until you like yourself and right now, I'm a bit of a failure and it's not even something I can work harder at. I am just very jealous of your success.

Always have been.

Your Rubbish Friend, Sister, Daughter, Cousin, Niece, Granddaughter
x

What is love?

School journey... Five days in Swanage with 40+ kids aged 9 to 10. Some friends say I deserve a medal, wine or donations in honour of a fallen soldier teacher- what have I taken away from it? The feeling that I am not ready to be a parent. Serious self doubt has hit me after this trip and for starts, this is not my first school journey! I went away with Year 4 with my last school and took Year 6 to France in the June of this year. 

There really is nothing better than a school journey. On the one hand, it is a very intense bonding session with other people's children where you come back drained, unable to form sentences and ill. On the other, you get to show the children a different side to their teachers- a side where you are not constantly moaning about the lack of reading they have completed, the times tables they haven't learnt or the homework that has disappeared into thin air... One where they see you hanging upside down from monkey bars, drowning in ball pits, almost sliding arse over tit in the mud or dancing like a wild thing to the Harlem Shake.

So yes, the lack of confidence... I suppose this bit normally happens to people before they have a baby. The moment where just before giving birth, you think, "Holy crap, I don't want this to happen!" Or having brought the newborn home from the hospital, the onslaught of well wishers have disappeared and you think, "What on Earth do we do with this squawking heap of flesh that totally depends on us?!" Obviously, I haven't stolen any babies and my experience is from 8 to 11 year old children. Neither is it as if people generally get a lot of parenting practise before they have a child of their own as most are thrown in the deep end (although, it might make my job a little easier if they did...As my husband says, "#justsaying") After the last 5 days, I worry that I am too lazy to be a mum, not organised enough and a bit too grumpy.

I suppose that being a mum is a bit like being a teacher in that generally, you only remember the moments of sheer brilliance or laughing at when it went so wrong that you were waiting for an official to come and take away your licence for being an adult. The other normal bits kind of melt away into nothingness- the moments where two seconds later you can't remember why you were disappointed with their behaviour but you have to keep the grumpy face on for a bit longer or where a voice continuously grinds on you. There is always that moment when that irritation turns into hilarity, like when they make a silly song about where they're staying or about someone washing their wellies (*cue:"Wicked Welly Washer" going through my head for the rest of the day or "Land Yachts... Only £9.99... It's so cool... Buy it now!") The songs will remain in memory whereas the naughtiness becomes forgotten.

In other news, I am now 31 years old (odd years tend to be better than even years) and I went to Guys for allergy testing (I am now allergic to the world). They had the same home telephone number on file from when my Mum and Dad came for genetic testing. I received a letter from Guys this morning and there was a hint of panic on opening it (could it be about the PGD?) but it just turned out to be a list of stuff about my allergies and how I am to avoid eating any fresh fruit, veg or nuts, have pets or generally live. Bloody Guys. They are the root of all evil...

Why do I keep counting?

I am trying to look after myself at the moment, kind of start from scratch and undo some of the negativity that's been hanging around the air like a bad smell. One of the steps I have taken, is to start meditation to try to become more mindful and grounded. Only started yesterday so it's all very new but I have been using this app on my iPhone. It is only ten minutes everyday but today's meditation (that I completed on a bus home) had me completely zoned out. After arriving back at home (not on a cloud), I saw my Kundalini yoga video which I had bought after miscarriage number 4 to try to become a little more channeled and decided that after seven months, I was going to have a go. There were points where I couldn't stop giggling as Max found it utterly bizarre to have me on the floor and so kept sitting on me or put his nose right against mine, which when you are trying to concentrate, was hugely funny! I also had a knock at the door during the final exercise from the lovely Ocado man so once I put everything away, I went back to finish off before a knock at the door from P... So maybe I need to pick my yoga times a little better?

You needn't worry. I'm not going back to my crazy Catholic stage- the rosary beads and the charms disappeared at uni. Although, who didn't love that the storm last week was named St Jude? The patron saint of lost causes. Definitely one of those right now. I'm just trying to become more centred and focused as I have never been either of those things. I flit, I flee, I fly! Half a job here, half a job there.. a bit like my reproductive capabilities eh?! As a friend of P's once said when he first met me, "She's very smiley and fun but I wouldn't want to be there when the laughter stops!" I have clutched at religion as a support during the difficult times, after all, it's nice to have some kind of parental figure who, if you are the best you can possibly be, will take that pain away from you in the next life. I remember that when the Catholic phase was in full swing, someone brought up where miscarried babies go to and the priest said that they have instant acceptance into heaven as they are completely pure and when you die, you get to meet them all. Whilst I was teaching Buddhism to my class recently, I had a quick search to see what Buddhists believed about miscarriage and found that Jizo Bodhisattva is one of the most loved figures of Japanese Buddhism. Jizo is the protector of children, firemen, expectant mothers and travellers. Most of all, he is the protector of stillborn, miscarried or aborted infants as he hides them in his robes to protect them from demons and guides them towards salvation.

So where does that leave someone who feels that these are awfully nice stories but nothing more than a story? I think it's probably best to look to Aaron Freeman and his idea of why you want a physicist to speak at your funeral:
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know that all your energy, every vibration, every Btu of heat, every wave of every particle that was her beloved child remains with her in this world. You want the physicist to tell your weeping father that amid energies of the cosmos, you gave as good as you got.
And at one point you'd hope that the physicist would step down from the pulpit and walk to your brokenhearted spouse there in the pew and tell him that all the photons that ever bounced off your face, all the particles whose paths were interrupted by your smile, by the touch of your hair, hundreds of trillions of particles, have raced off like children, their ways forever changed by you. And as your widow rocks in the arms of a loving family, may the physicist let her know that all the photons that bounced from you were gathered in the particle detectors that are her eyes, that those photons created within her constellations of electromagnetically charged neurons whose energy will go on forever.
And the physicist will remind the congregation of how much of all our energy is given off as heat. There may be a few fanning themselves with their programs as he says it. And he will tell them that the warmth that flowed through you in life is still here, still part of all that we are, even as we who mourn continue the heat of our own lives.
And you'll want the physicist to explain to those who loved you that they need not have faith; indeed, they should not have faith. Let them know that they can measure, that scientists have measured precisely the conservation of energy and found it accurate, verifiable and consistent across space and time. You can hope your family will examine the evidence and satisfy themselves that the science is sound and that they'll be comforted to know your energy's still around. According to the law of the conservation of energy, not a bit of you is gone; you're just less orderly. Amen.
I like that. Whilst there is all this uncertainty and I could be making deals with a god to get me that elusive baby, along comes science and reason to remind me that I don't need to.

The letter that is being sent to my GP by Mr L came through the post on Saturday- there was an instant sinking feeling, that we won't get a go on the NHS. It reads:
Dear Wrong New Name of GP, 
I  was very sorry to hear that Sarah has had a further complete miscarriage at the start of September. As you know she has undergone genetic counselling at Guy's and St Thomas' for her balanced chromosomal translocation of chromosomes 9 and 18. She has now had five miscarriages.
Options that have previously been discussed with her have included adoption, egg donation and assisted conception with pre-implantation genetic diagnosis. having done research and given this some serious thought, she would like to proceed with assisted conception  with PGD on the basis of her chromosomal imbalance.
I would therefore be most grateful if you could refer her to the Greenwich and Bexley Commissioners to apply for funding for this treatment. I am unable to directly refer from this clinic. 
Many thanks,
With kind regards,
Yours sincerely,
Mr L
Just feeling a bit shit that we have had to get to this point. It's not as if it will definitely work either. A family member has offered us a loan if we get turned down for the funding but £9000 is a lot of money for no definite answer.

Urgh. Enough. Day three of the meditation tomorrow... Hopefully, I can reach that chilled point again.

Or there is that bottle of wine!

Where is my mind?

As Mr L's appointment approached, I have felt myself falling into an abject state of fear. Lots of panic attacks and behaving strangely- I talk really fast and my arms and legs get a really fizzy sensation. Bloody cortisol! I entirely screwed up a lesson observation but my head said that he wanted me to do for him... either way, he bought me chocolates and said he'd rip it up, thankfully. Just struggling to stay sane. As I said at the weekend, everything sets me off at the moment- new baby announcements, baby shoes, prams, bumps, baby shampoo commercials.

I was a proper bag of nerves this morning. Wriggling on my chair like a naughty child waiting to see the dentist. Gasping for breaths, sighing like a damsel in distress. Horrible. Really, really horrible. It wasn't an easy appointment. Especially since we think we will have a go at PGD. Mr L isn't sure if we will get funding for it as it is still so new but I can't bear the thought of being 40 and thinking, "Why didn't we have a go?" As previously addressed, when you adopt, there are bits that you miss out on.

It is scary. Lots of jabs- not that I'm scared of injections- just hate bruises!!! No definite baby outcome. Got to have a go though.

PGD is no definite baby. To be completely honest, all it could possibly be is a faster way of creating a child than naturally. It doesn't improve the outcome just the odds in that you have to go through the IVF bit of artificially producing eggs by over stimulating the ovaries. Realistically, there is a chance that every single one of those eggs could be completely buggered (or more scientifically, have really wonky chromosomes) and whilst they will create embryos, they won't create babies. We're looking at about 18% of the embryos either being normal* (*spits afternoon glass of wine across the laptop) or balanced chromosomally. The thing it can offer is reduced losses and as there is no question as to my ability to actually carry a baby, we're looking at good odds at having a "live birth".

Can you imagine a normal baby? One without a chromosomal problem that doesn't directly affect them until they try to have babies themselves. Seems bizarre but even as writing this, I guess for the majority of people that is a given. Believe me, I truly believe that there can be very little worse than finding out that there is no reason for infertility and I am glad that both Guys hospital and my parents were honest with me about the wonky chromosomes and hey, I got off lightly with only one pair, not both sets. It is hard though, imagining starting your adult life without this dark cloud of recurrent miscarriages hanging over your head.

So, fingers crossed that the NHS give us a go before we have to sell the puppy.

Mr L said that we would still keep a rolling appointment going until the day comes where I can ring him and say that I am pregnant and ready to start some happier appointments. Poor man, I barely stepped inside his room before I wept! Let's hope that day comes. I really believe that 2014 has to be better than 2013. 2012 was utterly kickass but 2013 has sucked my soul out through my nose. 2014 is where it will be. Either the start of IVF or the start of adoption papers. Maybe on some other astral plane, even a natural baby to fluke life right out of the water!