Sunday 29 December 2013

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

Friday 27 December 2013

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!
 

Saturday 21 December 2013

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!

Saturday 7 December 2013

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

Saturday 23 November 2013

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...

Monday 4 November 2013

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!

Tuesday 22 October 2013

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!


Saturday 19 October 2013

Why does my heart feel so bad?

To quote a Manics lyric: I look to the future, it makes me cry.

P showed me the photo he has as the lock screen on his phone (yes, the replacement for the third- and here's hoping, final- phone). It's a picture from our honeymoon, the first night in New York, in our hotel room where I am doing an impression of Nick from New Girl - "Freeze frame! When I'm up in the air and the legs are up there!" This is it...
So you can look at this photo and be hit by the fact that my husband organised a kick-ass honeymoon- starting with Christmas in New York! Oh yes, we did the horse and cart through Central Park, the Empire State building and all that jazz, in New York. At Christmas. It was an amazing holiday- we fell in love with San Francisco and relaxed in Hawaii.The other way to look at this photo is the fact that I had miscarried for the third time two weeks before this photo was taken and somewhere between San Francisco and Hawaii, I fell pregnant again... only to miscarry, again.

I hate this photo and every other photo taken of me this year as it dates to either being pregnant or miscarrying. All the photos from my best friend's wedding, the photos from the honeymoon, photos from 2013 in general are all reminders of how shit things have been!

It's funny when reading back in the blog and seeing how bumps used to make me sad but babies didn't and how the bitterness has now moved on from seeing babies to seeing baby clothes. It was all I could do today to not howl in the middle of M&S on seeing a tiny pinafore dress and stripey t-shirt. The analogy of baby crack could not be more accurate- how something starts as being wanted and ends up being needed. Hearing a couple discussing the Father Christmas key that they would hide under grandma's door mat as she didn't have a chimney for him to come down for their young child. Urgh. My body felt like it had been struck by the flu- a dull ache in every bone in my body.

The thing is, not being able to have a baby doesn't just affect P and me. There are our friends, siblings, parents and grandparents who want someone new to add to the family. There is an immutable pressure that comes after getting married- everyone looks for that moment when you say no thank you to the alcohol or a little bit queasy. The worst part is knowing that it might never happen. They might never get a biological grandchild.

We have started thinking very seriously about adoption. It is hard saying goodbye to all the things that we won't get to experience though:

  • Seeing our baby on an ultrasound screen. 
  • Hearing its heartbeat loud and clear. 
  • Watching my belly grow.
  • The initial cry and new baby placed on my chest.
  • A minimum of the first six weeks (children don't tend to be adopted before this.)
  • Finding out what a mini P or me would look like.
These are big things and letting them go is hard. It just doesn't seem fair. Surely this happens to other people?

Also there is a terrible hanging in limbo- do we dare to make future plans? P keeps trying to start conversations with me about where we want to be in the future. Drunkenly, we have narrowed it down to San Francisco or in the pretty Mews houses in Greenwich. P mentioned that he wanted to have a serious chat about what we want to do and get ourselves organised so that things actually happen. I can't. The future currently fills me with so much dread that living day to day is the easiest thing to do. We also have an appointment with Mr L on Tuesday- it's been held in my head that it is the day when we make a decision about the next steps. P tried to have a conversation with me about it, about whether we go for the adoption 100%. I can't seem to form a sensible view on it.

It's almost half term though and there is a bottle of wine to be drunk! 





Monday 14 October 2013

What if God was one of us?

I saw this on Facebook this morning:

So it is baby loss awareness week- from the 9th to the 15th of October. Everyone is meant to light a candle for the pregnancies or babies they have lost. One of the words used within this context is that these lost babies are angels. So what about those of us who don't really believe that they are angels? As you fan see from the previous posts, it's not that I don't feel the loss of my babies keenly, rather that I struggle to believe that there is anymore than this life on Earth.

Sometimes I wish I could as I can see how it gives people a real sense of a reason to be and a meaning in the seemingly meaningless. When you are struggling with the why, there's this parental type figure saying that there is a reason for your suffering, that you will be rewarded richly in heaven. As a person who believes that you shouldn't be restricted to believing there is anything more than this life , it is sometimes made harder by the group mentality of our lost pregnancies are babies in heaven. Whilst I realise that this is not only comforting but a real belief for some people, I really struggle with it. For a start, how do they look as if they didn't make it through the full nine months, are they probably hugely disfigured or are they just shaped in the promise of what they could have been?  Mine, apart from one, have been lost pretty early so are they still fetus shaped or are they proper baby shaped? Maybe it just depends on your definition of what heaven is and what form you take when you arrive there.

As for raising awareness, you have to be careful- no, I'm not a miserable anti-charity person! You have to make sure that raising awareness doesn't just become pinkified, in the way that breast cancer awareness has- pink wellies anyone? There was this brilliant piece written about exactly the point where charity becomes inane  and the cause loses its meaning. Of course, lighting a candle is synonymous with loss across religions. My family is a real hodge podge of beliefs- my Dad's side are Muslim and Catholic (yes, seriously!) and my Mum's are CoE. Her side isn't churchy and when there is a funeral, it is a celebration of life. To me, candles are not so tied in with death but with birthday parties- a celebration of life. When it comes to lighting a candle for a lost pregnancy, is it a celebration?

To me it's a failure of something that should be innate. Even the term "lost" a pregnancy places the failure even deeper. It's my problem that is causing the losses. What is to celebrate there?

Anyway, positives! My first smear in about a million years came back normal! Hooray- something going right with my body! I do have to go for another in about six months to make sure that everything is fine but thank goodness things are going right in one area!

Oh and P spoke. He said that it was starting to make him feel awkward when people asked him when it was going to be his turn to be a dad. A whole load of people are having babies in the various offices and schools he works in and they are all wondering when it's going to be his turn. In fact, one of his bosses asked when I was due as wasn't it soon? He obviously didn't realise that when P took the day off, it wasn't for a happy event like a scan, but rather an ERPC. I was so happy to finally hear him talk about how it was affecting him. Normally it is that, "I'm here for you. I love you." rather than a heartfelt exchange so I hope this is how things will continue now.

It is getting awkward. People who don't know are asking and how do you answer? Do you answer honestly and brutally? "We are struggling to have a baby. We keep getting pregnant but it doesn't last long." This is the way that I have dealt with it so far and maybe I should be a little less blunt as no one wants to hear that. It happens to other people, not people that you know. Maybe we should try switching the topic or comment that really asking when someone is going to have kids is quite a personal comment. Or perhaps, I could just fall back on my other phrase- "I have 29 kids, why would I need anymore?"

I do though. We both do.

Sunday 13 October 2013

Am I going crazy?

Apologies about the last post. I was and still am a bit distressed.

I think the main reason that I was so upset about that pregnancy loss was that I saw the pregnancy on the ultrasound- it felt like there was a chance of a real baby. The others have only resulted in positives and Pregnant x - y weeks- nothing more than a few cells that might have turned into babies if they weren't so broken.Goddamn genes...

I feel very caught between at the moment- definitely in that rock and a hard place at the moment! We have our next appointment on the 22nd of October with our Gynae doctor. I don't know if you do the same but I try to prepare what I am going to say before I am in that situation- good old panic! I've had various versions of the conversation- it not only words things but it also makes me think about what my reaction would be should those words come out of my mouth.

Same beginning part to each scenario:
Me: Hi Mr L!
P: Hi I'm P, Sarah's husband. We met at the ERPC back in April.
Mr L: Hi, how are you both? How have things been going?
Me: Had another early one at the beginning of September, in the middle of a field in Rye.
Mr L: Oh I'm sorry.
Me: Yeah, a bit on the rubbish side of things.
Mr L: How far along were you?
Me: Six weeks tops. Just about to call you to get the wheels in motion.
Mr L: How many is that now?
Me: Five.
Mr L: What would you like to do?
P: I want to be tested to make sure that there is nothing wrong on my side. Then we can make a decision based on that.

This is the interesting part...

Scenario 1:
Me: Spontaneously combust and my ashes be used for roses. Never been able to keep a plant alive in life, perhaps I could do in death?

OK, that's not a real one.

Scenario 2: 
Mr L: There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, P. Just very unlucky with the pregnancies you've had, Sarah.
(P and I look at each other nervously)
Me: Ok, we haven't been trying for long. Perhaps we could try naturally for a bit longer?
Mr L: Ok, get in touch with me when you are six weeks along, like we discussed last time.

Scenario 3:
Mr L: There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, P. Just very unlucky with the pregnancies you've had, Sarah.
Me and P: We've decided that this is a whole heap of shit that we don't need to be going through and have decided to go for adoption as there are so many kids out there that we could give an awesome life to.
Mr L: Amazing choice to make- glad you are going for this. As I said back in April, you will make wonderful parents and this is a far more reliable method of having a child.

Scenario 4:
Mr L: There's absolutely nothing wrong with you, P. Just very unlucky with the pregnancies you've had, Sarah.
Me&P: We've had enough of this crap. We've decided that we'll have a shot at PGD.
Mr L: Ok, I'll get the wheels in motion with Guys then.

Scenario 5:
Mr L: There is something wrong with you, P.
Me & P: Ok, sod this shit, we're off to adopt.


So as you can see, we are erring on the side of adoption. It's scary though because it is basically saying, I am never going to experience the full nine months of being pregnant or giving birth. I am not going to breastfeed (I know that you can but I think there is definitely something for bottle feeding- first thought, wine and second thought, dads getting to bond with baby at 2am.). It's funny, it wasn't until I took Max for walk in the rain that it sunk in. My family have been adopting animals since I was 2. Some of them from puppies/kittens and some of them from pretty much old age. There's also the fact that in being a teacher, I get to play at being parents from 08:55 to 15:30 and longer when it's a school journey. The other day, I was walking up the road alongside school when secondary school blazered arms were thrown around me with a shriek of, "Mrs L!" It was from a child who I taught three years ago who is now in a local secondary school. Must be doing something right if they felt comfortable enough to do that in front of their big school friends! At school, we have an end of term talent show and in the years that it's happened, whilst the rest of school have sung and danced, my class...? Well, they have put on these Monty Pythonesque sketches- it has been noticed by quite a few members of staff that they feel confident enough to be daft in front of a crowd. The sketches are becoming more abstract the more years I've been there... There are so many kids throughout the school who I would love to take home and give them a bit of love and attention! So I'm not frightened of adoption, just scared of how I will create some sort of peace with myself with the fact that I'm not going to get to experience some of the parts of being a woman.

Or do we have a go at PGD?

I've had a look at counselling but my goodness, it's a lot of moolah! In fact, I had a look at the people who do specialist fertility counselling because you need a specialist not just some cover all. The page that I looked at had someone one in the same borough. It was like it was meant to be but then I saw the price...£55 for an hour session! A minimum of six session GAHHHHH!!!!

Maybe we could just get another puppy?

Tuesday 8 October 2013

Haven't we said goodbye before?

Today has been really bloody tough. Like epic scale tough. I know a lot of you hate it when I'm low and blog but it's better than me turning to drink, drugs or old methods of coping.

It was an ok day to begin with- nothing particularly untoward. Non-spectacular entrance into school, nothing wrong with the buses and didn't have to stop off at Tesco, which makes a change. The tie dye efforts of the kids were still tied to the fence to dry so I undid those before nosy fingers snuck a sneaky peek. I did the first one with bare hands so by the second, I had strangely smurf like hands, which bemused the school for the rest of the day (my new haircut having done the same the day before- too many changes!) As a school., we are all reading Little Mouse's Big Book of Fears and my year group partner and I felt that we should address some of the children's worries and fears by creating worry dolls (out of wooden dolly pegs) and a drawstring bag for them-hence the tie dye! The dramas involved with procuring the material and then the constant remaking/ throwing out of mouldy vegetable dyes, I won't go into now but the kids were pretty impressed by the results of our chemical dyes which made it all worth it.

The morning was spent going through our trip in the afternoon, finding adults to walk with and then the usual teaching bits until maths. I won't go into what happened in maths as it isn't my story to tell, needless to say it was incredibly sad and horrible.

After spending lunch hunting for bottles of water and cups for the kids who hadn't brought a water bottle, and the afternoon at a local secondary school where the kids played sports all afternoon, we trekked back in the unseasonably warm October weather and arrived back just at the end of the school day. Just as I opened the door, one of the children squealed that child A's baby sister was out in the playground. This is my colleague's child. The one who was due about a week after my fourth miscarriage.

Just seeing the pram ripped me into pieces. Luckily most of the children had already gone home- there was one child who was quickly sent to lates and the other was my TA's daughter. The pain of my missing baby just hit me like a juggernaut to the chest. The missing baby, who I saw on that ultrasound and I should be to cuddle now. That bloody unfairness that someone else gets their baby and I don't. How many more miscarriages do I have ahead of me? How many more times do I have to watch woman after woman get pregnant, have a bump and then get the baby at the end of it? It should be something that I as a woman am able to do. I should be able to keep a pregnancy for more than ten weeks without it fucking dying on me and for someone who is otherwise reasonably fit and healthy, I should be to carry at least one pregnancy all the way through to the end. Not lose five pregnancies. Five possible babies.

I am terrified of not trying for even a month just in case that is the month that we could possibly get our baby. What if that was the month where we would have a chance of having a baby? It feels like an addiction that I am eating,breathing and sleeping. The only escape is work and that is not even getting 100% of my attention. It's swallowing me whole right now and I'm so angry. I am so angry that there are so many people out there like me who want to be able to congratulate people on a new baby without thinking when is it going to be my turn? Will it ever be my turn? People keep saying that it will happen but right now it really doesn't feel that way.

My best friend rang me this evening and it was so good to hear her voice. She made a comment when she came to see the new house that it was the first time in a long time that she had seen me seem so normal. I'm fighting the crazy right now and desperate to stay sane but it's hard. Really bloody hard. When P came home, I told him what had happened, both about the maths lesson and then sat cross legged on the floor with Max flopping around my knees, desperate to sit on my lap. I sat there and wept whilst P sat on the stairs, not quite knowing what to do. That's the problem, there is nothing we can do.

Tomorrow is another day.

Monday 7 October 2013

Do you remember the first time?


What a tune!
So P and I got married exactly one year and one week ago. It was the most perfect wedding that you could ever imagine. Truly.
There was the tiniest bit of drama in the lead up- I lost the table plan cards, Paul ordered more but they weren't ever delivered (well we think they were but the evil witch living in P mum's and dad's old flat threw them away). So the day before, I ran around with my mum buying wedding-y coloured card and the world's strongest glue that ended up burning through my freshly painted nails! My mates D and K, my brohter's girlfriend and my mum were meant to be having a chilled night with a take away but we didn't end up going to bed until after midnight after me finishing the table plan at 11pm!
The following morning was pretty dreamlike. The week before had done nothing but be overcast, drizzly and grey and as the weather was one thing that I couldn't control or change, I refused to look at the forecast. No one was to tell me what the weather was going to be like either...Haha! Someone at work, entirely harmlessly shouted across the staffroom that it was going to be sunny at the weekend. Despite rage frothing, I donned my serene bride face and thanked her for cursing the wedding for telling me. I needn't have worried, it was the most gloriously sunny day- if I believe in that sort of thing, I would think it was a present from my Grandad. The sort of end of September day with that low golden sunlight that causes solar flares.
As my mum was having her hair done that morning, we headed off to Eltham for her to have pretty Mother-of-the-Bride hair sorted and me to have my nails repaired. There was another lady having her hair done in the nails place whose daughter was getting married the same day and a lady who was sharing the same wedding day! The hairdresser/nail place is just down the road from Demelza House, a children's hospice. Just before my nails were finished a tiny birdlike lady came in carrying a child of probably about ten years old to have his hair cut. It was very sobering to see such a juxtaposition of three women celebrating one big day and a woman who was taking each day as it comes.
After that, everything passed in a bit of a blur... probably due to the amount of prosecco drunk and the usual whirl of photographers, videographers, hair and make up.


Sarah + Paul from Mark W Brown on Vimeo.
This was our day in a nutshell. Pretty epic really. Yes, that is the seating from the Olympics in the background!
The thing is a wedding is just one day: whether Paul and I had got married or not, we would still have a strong relationship. Sometimes that closeness slips when you live together. You're always there and things don't get talked about. The deep and meaningful, the inside jokes get replaced by conversations of what to have for dinner, whose turn it is to take the puppy out or whether we've remembered to feed the cats. It has been a while since we were able to spend some time where it was just the two of us and it hasn't been in a hospital or at a doctors.
We did during our anniversary, with a lot of alcohol, two chance meetings with a random grandson of James Hunt and a trip back to the restaurant where we had our first date. P pointed at the coffee place where I suggested we had a coffee before the date to see if I could stand being around him... There was a bottle of champagne waiting for us and we also had a very pregnant front of house member of staff waiting on us. The ultimate irony...
I think I upset P the night before when we were sitting in our favourite pub and I said that it hadn't been the happiest of years but not due to him. I truly am very lucky to have such an awesome husband who I quite like being around. He had hurt me a little when he had made a comment about how we hadn't tried for very long, which is true. It has only been a year but we've lost three pregnancies in the time that we've been trying! Three pregnancies! Two before we were even trying and then three when we put the effort in! It has been a really tough year- dealing with psycho neighbours, buying our first place together but I am glad that he is there, still grumbling at the world with me. Despite that comment, I mentioned that I wanted him to start making decisions rather than always saying he just wants what is right for me. So he said that he wants to be tested to check that there is nothing at his end that could possibly be causing any issues. It would make the path so much clearer- either that we decide to adopt if everything is going a bit too wrong to consider anything else or that we try again if things are just bad on my end.
Main thing that I've learnt from our anniversary weekend is that I must make sure that P and I really spend time together where he's not on a Gooners website and I'm not playing Sims. We need to make time to talk more as otherwise we'll end up just with a pretty video and some wonderful photos and not a lot else. We have got an awful lot and we should celebrate it daily and not just when the big days come around!

Tuesday 1 October 2013

Will you call me sweetheart?

It's my due date today for my fourth miscarriage. I realised whilst on the bus as it indicated left at the Co-op. P and I once saw a girl having proper relationship drama in the middle of Waterloo East Station, sobbing into her mobile and even though we were a platform away, we could hear every word. The judgmental side of her being drunk and caterwauling kicked in and I looked away...I was so worried that people were thinking that of me as I wept a few tears on the 386 bus. Thing is, I didn't know the full story of the girl and the people on the bus don't know mine so I probably just seemed like a typical bus oddity.

I've had a post in my head for a few days. It's a letter:

To my baby,

Note those first three words. Whether you are brand new, eight years old or eighty five, you are still my baby. Whether you are biologically your Daddy's and mine, just your Daddy's or adopted, you are still our baby.

Although, I was never really one for dolls as a child or even cooing over other people's babies as an adult, I have always wanted a "you". As soon as your Daddy and I met, and realised that we had something pretty special, I imagined us with you. I imagined your noise and the lost dinky socks (matching socks is not one of my specialties as you know. Chances are Max might have eaten them now that we have him.) I knew from the word go that Daddy and I would make pretty kickass parents, despite the socks issue, and would love you with our whole hearts.

There have been some imperfect versions of you along the way. I'd like to make an analogy between an artist making sketches before the creation of the perfect but you know me, I don't lie to children. Daddy and I tried to have you for not terribly long but we suffered a lot of loss in that little time. Five pregnancies at the time of publishing. Obviously, at this moment, I don't know how this plays out- whether Daddy and I decide to give it one more go, whether we change our minds about IVF or whether we adopt you. Hey right now, you know something that I don't know as of the 1st of October 2013! What I do know, is that I already love you, I have always loved you and I will always love you.

I know that you probably feel quite suffocated by my love- like you can't breathe without me knowing about it. Believe me, when Daddy and I lived in a middle floor flat with Jezzie and Harley, and a friend suggested about them going outside; I got a throbbing head and had a mini breakdown over it. I dread to think what I will be like with you...In the last few weeks, I have managed to let the cats go outside. They are now aged four, which is about 28 in human years, so you might get to leave the house without an adult accompanying you by the time you are thirty.

You probably hate your room that I have spent hours mentally decorating in John Lewis or dreaming over on a hidden Pintrest board (it will be based around famous children's books). You probably turn out to be a Spurs fan despite your father's allegiance to Arsenal and hate cricket (it takes time to love it but when you're big enough, the alcohol numbs the dull bits). There are likely to be tantrums over the endless music lessons and sports training- sorry Bubba, you've got to have more than one string to your bow!

It's probably a given that you will be embarrassed by my bad dancing and singing the wrong words to songs on the radio. Daddy can't quite hold a tune either. We share an exceptionally good taste in music though. We both find ourselves very funny as well, which will cripple you socially as a teenager. Just refer to Philip Larkin 's "This Be The Verse" whilst you are locked away in your bedroom and remember that you are not alone.

The one thing that I am utterly sure of is that you either already exist or will exist.

Your Daddy and I can't wait to meet you. (Max will be delighted too but I can't speak for the cats- they're miserable buggers) And I promise that we'll be there for the crap stuff as well as the good. Whether you're receiving a certificate at prize giving, need toast and tea at 4am because someone you love is being a dick or a pick up outside of the M25 at 2am, Daddy and I will be there cheering you on or kicking your butt. There's not only us waiting to meet you and be your cheerleaders, you've got a lot of family and friends awaiting your imminent arrival.

I can't wait to meet you. Truly, I hope you hurry up and turn up soon but until that day comes, always know that I love you. Very bigly indeed.

Your Mummy xxx

Friday 20 September 2013

How can you mend a broken heart?

Hahaha! Utterly dramatic title, eh? It's not really broken in the slightest, just a little dented around the edges. I had just noticed that one of my other blog entries was a song title too and thought I might start that as a theme instead of random questions. Isn't it maddening when someone mentions a band or a song and you might be a million miles away from music but it gets completely stuck in a loop in your head? Yesterday, I read a tweet from Pete Paphides (he might be a human being in his own right but he is and always will be Mr Caitlin Moran to me) and he talked about Boney M. That was it. Brown Girl in The Ring (tra la la la) was stuck in my head.

I love how music reminds you of a place and a time. You can be whisked away from a heaving bus in Woolwich to a holiday with friends or to a moment in a film. A song can make the sun shine on your face or transport you to dancing around the kitchen with your husband. It can whisk up the bad bits too- for example, realistically I can't listen to the Holy Bible by the Manics without feeling my teenage angst self creeping back! The Ellie Goulding song- Anything Could Happen- reminds me of my most recent miscarriage. I am desperately trying to tie it into the beginning of term (got to have a theme tune for the school year... or is that just me?) but it's just reminding me of that misguided hope that the pregnancy could have turned into a baby.

The worst part about having wonky chromosomes is the fact that in the law of averages, we should be able to become parents naturally. It's not a definite NO. YOU CANNOT HAVE A BABY. It's a horrible hold your breath and keep everything crossed position to be in. Of course one route is to keep trying but how many more babies can I really lose before I either lose my marriage or mind? Do you go the scary route of PGD or do you hold your hands up and say, enough. Enough of the constant heartache from either not being pregnant or the pregnancy not going to full term; it's time to adopt.

Even without the big decisions, my heart really is aching. Like properly aching hard right now. I see people with almost full term bumps right now and feel like screaming, "That should be me! That should be my bump! I should  be tired and irritable from not being able to be comfortable. I should have that rising fear of oh crap, how am I going to get through this birth?" It isn't though and it's really crippling at the moment.

I never used to be bad at seeing babies. It was only ever pregnant women that riled me- the old green eyed monster raging away as after all, I've never got that "bump". It's bad now. Made worse when I see someone cuddling their baby. Don't worry- I'm not about to snatch one as really, it's not their baby that I want. It's my own.

Since forever, failure has been a big thing for me. Not in a productive way but quite destructively as I used to scrape by, always pulling myself up at the last minute. It wasn't until I almost failed completely at something I really loved that I tried to avoid it. No matter how people say or put it, I do feel a failure in not being able to keep a pregnancy. I have achieved quite a bit in life, I guess- all the normal school qualifications, degree, PGCE, seven years of teaching (I think the average is 3?)- a family who are generally alright, if a little mad, a great group of friends, a house, and three furbabies- by the age of 30, I guess that's ok. However, I haven't made my parents grandparents or added to my in-laws' grandchildren. I haven't made my brothers or my sister-in-law an auntie or uncles. I haven't made P a dad.

To me, that's a big fat failure.

One that I can't even work harder at.

I have found a little bit of light recently. Obviously, I have a great human support network of friends and family but it is great to find other people who are having a bit of a shit time of it too! Through Twitter, I have found so many people from all around the world who are having a crap time of trying to have a baby. A whole group of people with so many differing reasons as to why they are struggling. I don't think it's a case of misery seeking misery, it's  knowing that you're not the only one struggling in a hopeless sea of imaginary babygros and nappies.

One of the people I have recently started following is Baby Hopeful. My most favourite post is this, which is called Anniversaries of Nothing. It's almost P's and my first anniversary. Next weekend, in fact. I have really struggled as all the anniversary cards mark another fantastic year spent together. Whilst any time with P is bloody amazing ( he is a truly incredibly human being), it hasn't been a happy year. Three miscarriages since we've been married. Over a month of having to live apart whilst we bought our first house together. It's been bloody tough. I think I mentioned in a previous entry about how I hoped that I wouldn't be able to drink for our first anniversary, there was a glimmer of hope that it would happen but sadly not now.

Hope is a funny thing. I taught my children to retell the story of Pandora's Box using story hands this week (thumb the beginning, index, middle and ring as the central events and the little finger as the ending). I had one child who was able to link it to multiple stories in the Bible and another who was able to link it to Sikhism. I then wondered about what hope means to me. As I have said, I am an atheist; a humanist. Humanism isn't about hope, it's about seeing the world as it really is and making the best out of it. Religion, beauty products and elections sell hope but humanism doesn't. It truly is a deep human need, especially after a significant trauma to want hope in your lives. Hope, to me, isn't about ideas, it's about needing human contact and support. It's saying, I need help or a hug right now.

Which is kind of what I need!

Oh and another song you won't be able to get out of your head...

Sunday 15 September 2013

When do you say enough?

So a lot has happened since the previous post- we are no longer living with our parents as the move went through at the beginning of August! We are now in and settled with furbaby number three. The mogs are mostly living upstairs due the "dirty dog" who is babygated off from them but next week we will start them on trying to get the kitties out into the garden. All my babies are growing up! Leaving my nest! I remember the night before Max (the dog) moved in, I couldn't sleep as all I could think about was someone else's dog attacking him- utterly ridiculous but I remember freaking out at the first suggestion of the cats going outside (secretly I'm hoping that it will be raining so that they won't want to!)

The house is brilliant- there truly is a different feeling when you own your own home- pride with a side of panic (after all, where is the landlord to fix things when they go wrong?) It's a bit like when people asked me if I thought anything would change after P and I got married and quite honestly I didn't think it would as we had a great relationship already but there is a change. A real change. Even right down to the symbolism of wearing a ring (I have felt naked for the past three weeks as I haven't been able to wear my rings) and it's the same when you first move into your first bought home. It felt like a holiday to begin with but after having a few friends and family around to see it, it feels more real, like it is actually ours. What is really nice is that all of my friends and family have said that they really like our new house- that it has so much potential whilst also (knock on wood) being in good enough condition to not need to do anything urgently.

One of the best points is our big back garden- it was like a ginormous jungle but P and I decided to tackle it on bank holiday Monday. We worked pretty methodically around the garden, clearing weeds, cutting back roses and trimming the grass until I decided to attack the ivy. We had two lots of ivy in our garden- one towards the back that had wrapped itself around a post and a bit by the kitchen that had grown over a fence. So by this point, it was pretty hot (I was utterly confused by this as when is it ever sunny on a bank holiday?) so I rolled back my sleeves, rolled up my trousers and swapped my trainers for sandals. P and I then worked together on chopping the beastly ivy down, slowly working our way through the branches until there were little rivulets of sunlight breaking through the horror film gloom! After a good four to five hours out in our garden, P and I felt utterly saintly for doing something other than watching box sets in our pants on a bank holiday.

My choice in clothes became my downfall. The next day, I noticed a bit of contact dermatitis in the areas that had been uncovered- my hands, arms, feet and legs. Just the usual eczema type dry bumpy rash and I thought I would self treat with the usual emollient cream, hydrocortisone and piriton. however, by the Friday I ended up in a walk in clinic (between GPs at the time) in Woolwich as I had a huge amount of swelling around my ankles and wrists- they looked like elephant feet! Whilst at the clinic, they also did a pregnancy test, which came back positive making me about 4/5 weeks along so they were careful in the drugs that they gave me and popped me on some antibiotics that were known to be pretty safe. I was told to return in 48 hours if there was no improvement, which I ended up doing as the rash had started to spread further up my limbs and onto my body and the swelling had reached a point where I was struggling to walk easily. The doctor ended up referring me to hospital as he was afraid of giving me anymore drugs and I ended up in the QE on an IV, on fluids, iv piriton and steroids. There was a wonderful moment where the doctor asked me what pregnancy I was on- I answered that it was my fifth and she asked me how on earth I coped with so many children!!!HAHAHAHA!!! She looked a little winded when I quietly said that none had been born. So, eventually I was sent home with 20 tablets to take each day (a strong wind would have made me rattle). I was hugely worried about the pregnancy and the fact that no one seemed entirely sure what was going on with me.

It was pretty hideous- my skin was splitting due to the swelling and the dryness and the allergy plaques looked like burns. All in the week before my best friend's wedding! After one more trip to the doctors (where she got me to strip off and poured cream all over me), it all started to clear up albeit with lumps of dry skin falling off! So despite feeling like shit, I dragged my suitcase across London to catch a train to the wilds of Sussex to see my best friend get married. Then the familiar numbness started in my tummy. After the brief legal ceremony was done in Hastings, we all ended back at the hotel and the first thing I did was run to the loo and lo and behold, there were streaks of blood. So I snuck off into Rye to try and find a pregnancy test (the last positive having been done the day before when I signed up at my GPs clinic) and it came back negative. So I ended up completing my fifth pregnancy in the middle of a field, in a very posh portaloo just outside of Rye. It won't have been the drugs, no matter what people say, I know it was my crazy chromosomes again. All over before it had barely started.

I have a real fear at the moment that nothing is going right with my body. It just isn't working properly and I'm not entirely sure why for some parts. My allergies seem to be worsening and becoming more random and when the fuck, are P and I going to manage to get the roll of the dice right?

To begin with, I thought, "This is it. I've had enough. I think I want to do something now- either go for adoption or go down the PGD route." There was a sort of relief that came with that thought too- like the big part of pain was over as we were taking decisive action. Then yesterday whilst playing with Max outside, I thought well maybe we could try again in a few months... Gah! Everything is a muddle. I feel like I'm being a bit shit at everything- shit best friend/ shit wife/ shit daughter/ shit teacher. To top it all, I seem to have caught a cold in my first week back at work too! Grrr!

I had a little chat with P last night. He came over and cuddled me (which was punctuated with us having to jump up and get Max off the other sofa) and he said how he wanted to know what I was thinking and that we were both very lucky with having so many lovely people around us who truly care about us and whom we can talk to but that he needed to be kept in the loop as well. I mentioned my fear at my body just not working properly at the moment and the fact I felt I was so shit at everything and he made the most amazing point. P said that I was kind of trapped by the overwhelming need to be a mum, so much so that I can't think about the future because there is still some kind of hope that I will be pregnant and it will stick for longer than 11 weeks. This really hit the nail on the head. I can't think what I want to do professionally next as I'm hoping that there will be a baby in the not so distant future and I know that once they come along, priorities change (just leaving Max with the dog walker was hard enough!)

At some point, I will also have to say to P that I need him to help me make decisions. That he can't just claim wanting the best for me (what a bastard!!!!Hehehe!) and that I need support in making decisions that affect us as a family. He is the one picking me up every time I fall, the main soaker-upper of tears and that can't continue without it eventually damaging our relationship. There does need to be a natural route cut off as we know he winks at me and I fall pregnant but the fact that it still hasn't resulted in anything more than loss- there needs to be a number when we say enough. If we do try PGD, there also needs to be a cut off with that. A certain amount of tries and then we say enough with that too. Urgh, it's all coming back to maths again!

I am completely confident that we will be parents, no matter which route we take. It's just that the point where we stop just "having a go" is coming closer. It's almost time to start making some decisions. MaƱana?




Monday 22 July 2013

Where am I?

Such a good question when your belongings are in storage and you are back living with your parents. Even my classroom bits are in storage at the moment, ready for my classroom that doesn't currently exist! Next year, Year 5 will be in what is currently the hall so instead of my amazing view across London, I shall be in the underbelly of the school with a classroom adjacent to the playground (I'm thinking get out there as much as possible!)It is being split over the summer holidays into three classrooms, one of which will be used as a dining hall until the rest of the school is ready. Even though we've been told that the school will be ready in November, I can hardly believe that it will ever happen.

So a lot of turmoil at the moment! Everything in boxes. Bloody parcel taped up to the eyeballs. We did get contracts to sign today which is such a relief. Hopefully, we will be able to exchange by this Friday and get into our new house next week. It's very difficult being apart from P for so long. I know it's a maximum of two nights apart but it's really weird not having him around. I miss my kits too. Harley really isn't coping with the change and has become skin and bone. Jezzie is her usual doofus self, pottering around until Ruby turns up and offers her Starburst sweets!

We got another fur baby...

This is Max. He's a Sprollie (Springer dad and a Collie mum) which equals to a lot of complete lunacy! He is an incredibly intelligent pup and already at 13 weeks, he can sit, give his paw, roll over, lie down and leave a biscuit until he is told he can have it. On the other hand, he does like a good temper tantrum when he's over excited or over tired! We have him signed up to this dog training place. It seems really cool- they have all the normal puppy training classes run by an ex-police dog handler and then they have a fenced in grassy area and a fenced in wooded area so that you can recall train your dog.

Yes, obviously he's a replacement baby.

My due date for August is coming up soon. I hope it'll be like the others where I can just shed a couple of tears and be done with it. I'm dreading the October due date as my work colleague is due a week later, only she'll get to hold her baby and we won't. In regards to the Royal baby, I've been really trying hard to stay away from the news over the past couple of weeks but it's bloody hard when everyone else is celebrating so vociferously on every type of news and social media site. I've been asked by a few people about where we're at with everything at the moment and whilst we haven't been careful, I have felt sheer relief with the periods that came. Until this last one. I was late. A few warning signs were there and then, BOOM! Now, I am wracked with an irrational fear that the four pregnancies that have happened were it. They were my chances of having a baby and my body blew it each time. Complete lunacy, I agree but when you are high on baby crack, all you see are stories about women over the age of 30 having horrendous quality eggs (and when yours are genetically screwed...) or about declining fertility due to washing your hair, eating stuff out of plastic containers or generally being alive.

Just desperate for a bit of normality in one area of my life. School or home, I don't mind. Just a bit of consistency somewhere please?!

To end on a happy note, here are more puppy pictures:




Thursday 30 May 2013

Where've you been?

I really don't know. Having seen what a reaction some of my posts had sparked in friends and family, I became a bit worried about writing and then time elapsed and there is always that thing where you feel a bit of a doofus when you leave things hanging. To be honest, a big push was seeing Allie Brosh from Hyperbole and a Half update her blog recently after a long hiatus- a month and a week for me really is nothing!

If you are not already a fan of Hyperbole and a Half- I recommend going and reading all the back issues and the two about pages and everything else. It's utter brilliance in a blog and her latest blog about her ongoing depression sums it up perfectly. Since I took a pause in the blogging, things haven't really got better or worse. There have been some amazing explosions of sobbing that have lasted hours and at least a moment of panic everyday. One of the best emotional explosions was during an episode of The New Normal where one of them was being a hypochondriac about their puppy, they take it to the vet where it is diagnosed with gas and all of a sudden THE DOG FREAKING DIES! Now, animal deaths are never going to be easy but when an analogy is made between the baby that their surrogate is having and their dog- I think the comment made was, "You can do everything right but things can still go wrong." 

Let me make this clear, this wasn't a muffled sniff into a pillow. There were sobs, choking sounds, sniffs, snotting, red, swollen eyes and a very confused husband. As he said, he could entirely understand my sadness but didn't know quite how to make the sad stop. I didn't either and until I had downed a full bottle of wine, didn't manage to make the sad stop until a full hour and a half afterwards when I was screaming obscenities at the television during Question Time. 

We're in the process of buying a house and I'm being a bit shit. I have some money in an account that was left there by my grandfather and bizarrely, aged 30 and a half, I still have to get my parents signatures to be able to release this money... Oh yes, a conversation with the Pru and half an hour into them telling me the next steps, they suddenly say, "I'm terribly sorry but we can't discuss this with you"- now I don't play being a grown up terribly well but needing my mum to speak to them was a bit of a joke! Anyway, I had kept putting off getting the money out- my usual self-sabotage. I am very good at self-sabotage, it's like my opt out at doing anything because at least then it's my fault that it got screwed up and I have control over it going wrong! Proper screw loose eh?! So Paul had a moan at me, which was much deserved. Just a bit on the terrified scale that both it falls through and that it could go through. If it falls through, there's a chance we might have to move to one of our parents' houses and a lot of money has already gone in to surveyors and mortgages. If it goes through, we have a back garden and three bedrooms. I'm trying to visualise them as being the Dianna and the Kat rooms but we all know that is highly unlikely to happen as both of my girls are getting married in the next year and have their own homes (way more grown up than my stunted 12 year old self). Realistically, they are two empty rooms.

Two empty rooms that have the chance to go the way of our cupboards of doom. I have spent three days of emptying out our cupboard of doom at the back of the front room during this half term. Three days of sorting utter crap and memories. Letters from dead people, cards from children who are now adults and signed Manics photographs. I shouldn't really be surprised that today was another sad day. After getting back from school, I laid down on P's sofa and tortured myself whilst weeping for a good hour. Jester tried to soak up the tears but in the end, she turned into something a little like that Spaniel that was lent to Joey as the world's most happiest dog but after listening to him whinge about Rachel, became a depressed mess. I read about that baby who was stuck in the toilet pipe. I read about the baby who is currently killing its mother (there is a reason to be pro-choice!). I then followed links about stillborn and miscarried babies- the god bothering links and the never thought it would happen to me links, all the while weeping. Suddenly realised that Paul would be heading home soon and I needed to crack on with the cupboard. So I carried on crying in the cupboard but being a bit more useful by doing stuff at the same time. 

Whilst some of the stuff was heartbreaking- the Baby-On-Board badge from TFL that is still in its envelope, letters from the hospital detailing the last two miscarriages, various demands for bloods, x-rays and scans, letters from our dead neighbour detailing how to sort our rubbish according to house rules (seriously!). Other bits weren't so sad but still brought more tears- memories of being sisters abroad with photos and letters saying how much we loved our supposedly short-term family (not at all short term,as the ones that matter are still in touch!), pictures of fancy dress parties aged 15- oh how risque we were, dressing as Rocky Horror characters tee hee! Bad poetry detailing my obsession with disappearing, 5k running photos, posed photos for local papers with A Level results. I think I upset my mum the other day when I said that I feel like if I dropped dead tomorrow, I would have done enough with my life. Whilst I understand her horror, my feelings remain the same: I married the love of my life; I have the job of my dreams; I did the uni thing, twice; I have lived in another country; I have the loopiest best-est friends in the whole wide world who I don't really deserve as I am being a proper shit friend, they're still there though; I have been to the point where I had to make a decision where I was either going to die or start living. I have done a lot. Perhaps not enough to say that's it but enough that if I was hit by a double-decker bus, I wouldn't be too gutted other than in a literal sense...

So P came home this evening, knowing that I wasn't a happy bunny. He asked me what would make me feel better and other than my tears springing back for what would really make me happy, we decided on a cuddle for the meantime. P then tried the smile and giggle route and said, "It will happen you know. We'll get our baby. One day it won't be a broken baby and we'll get to cuddle it. I'll stop giving you broken sperm and we will have our baby." At the comment of broken sperm, I reminded him that it was me that was broken and he carried one with the giggle therapy. There really is something about cuddling up close with someone, half squashing each other, feeling the warmth of the other person's body and hearing their heart beating that does amazing things for sad days. I remember Harry, my uni counsellor (not my bottle opener), once said, "Sarah, you are leaving this room. Stop floating away and get a grip of the ground you are on." Noticing things really helps to keep you in the present and not dwelling on the obscure- I remember after one bout of depression, I noticed the buds of new leaves on the trees for the first time ever (in 23 years!). It was a real turning point in my life. My latest learning point is that I cannot spend my holidays alone. I need to be around people, I guess that's why I am a teacher- people constantly needing me and chatter (P keeps complaining that I make weird noises during the holidays- squeaks, roars and overly loud yawns.) I also have learnt the importance of hugs. Proper hugs where you really squeeze someone - with the recent events in Woolwich, a lot of our kids have needed extra cuddles and the adults definitely needed hugs too. As a teenager, I hated bodily contact but now, I need hugs and squeezes and cuddles until the unbroken baby comes.