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:

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.

If life gives you lemons...?

You make lemonade! Went to the hospital today and was utterly delighted by the fact that my doctor, the amazing Mr L had good news for me... The reason for my latest miscarriage was no more than the old genetic lottery that my chromosomes like to play. Bearing in mind all of the reasons that pregnancies end and having been tested with no bad results, I am truly delighted to hear that we are only dealing with the wonky chromosomes and nothing else.

Obviously there has to be a bit of a bummer that comes with this- my chance of miscarrying is higher than we  were told by Guys. It's around the 40-45% mark which is a little bit on the high side but when you think that four in four of my pregnancies have ended in miscarriage, it gives it more reason.

I do, perhaps, have the best consultant ever. He spent around twenty-thirty minutes talking about what our next steps were going to be, how I was doing both physically and mentally and the major "what if" (what if we didn't manage to conceive naturally). He ended the session by giving me a direct number to contact him on as soon as I fall pregnant again so that he can monitor me from the word go. I know my dad has done nothing but ask him to look after me well but he really has. I feel like I'm getting private healthcare attention from the NHS.

It still doesn't make the baby crack lessen and we have an uphill struggle ahead of us but at least we finally have a clear reason. Not only do we have that reason, but it is in fact the same reason we thought we were dealing with in the first place. A known quantity and nothing new.

When will we win the lottery?

I have my doctor's appointment tomorrow. The one where I find out what caused the fourth miscarriage and because the hospital kept us waiting with as to whether the test results were back (my file was too big for an instant answer- note to self must have less miscarriages so that it is easier in the future...), I am going alone. I am so scared. If it is anything other than the genetic issue, it will be pretty terrifying as after all, everything else came back clear like the bloods and shape and size of stuff. Really scared if it comes back with anything other than what we already know we're dealing with.

Understandably low, I am teetering on the edge of tears a lot at the moment. Just feels like there's a lot of shit happening at the moment- you know the adage of, "It never rains but pours"? That. Entirely that. Flats that leak, dead mice washing into your kitchen and psychopathic neighbours have lead us to looking to buy our first home together. It should be an exciting step but there's that fear that the old credit rating won't be good enough for them to give us a mortgage and then it's me letting everyone down again. Obviously, credit rating is more controllable than fertility but urgh: YET ANOTHER THING!

We have found a property that is pretty local to where we are currently living- three decent size bedrooms, good sized bathroom, front room, kitchen, downstairs loo, walk in larder, front and back garden and roof space. It's ex-LA on a quiet road that overlooks a private football field with little greens breaking up the road. The downside is that it is a concrete build so a non-standard building material and therefore there are less people who will lend on it. The windows and doors need replacing but I daren't look at how much it would cost as it almost feels a little like looking at baby stuff when you're newly pregnant. A few weeks later, you lose the pregnancy and feel a total idiot for dreaming.

I remember whilst working at M&S before teaching, I was chatting to one of the managers about the fact that I never thought I would ever meet someone. After all, I had a best friend who was like the other half of my brain and a wonderful relationship with my mum- so many people had less than that so did I really deserve anymore? Seven years later, sitting in my front room with my husband, that didn't really work out the way I expected but in the way of the house and the baby, they feel like too bigger a dream. If I dare start to believe they might come to fruition, then I'll curse it from dreaming too hard. Whilst teaching our RE unit about weddings today, I teared up looking at the photos- it was the most perfect wedding, perhaps that was our lucky bit?

Don't get me wrong, I know I will be a mum. There's no doubt about that. We made a decision at the weekend that we wouldn't go for the IVF route- egg donation or PGD. I'm so glad that P is on the same page as me- was utterly terrified by the thought of such an invasive treatment with no guaranteed result. I'm not saying never ever, but just not right now. Whilst I would never judge anyone on their choice to have a baby through IVF (I get how much you want your own baby, really!) for me personally, I feel it would be selfish for me to do that whilst seeing kids on a daily basis who could do with a bit more love. It might still happen naturally of course but if we do get to the point of not wanting to try anymore (which feels sooner rather than later), we do have options.

I read on Facebook the other day some meme thing:
“The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

―Elisabeth Kubler-Rose

I might have made a comment about preferring to be ugly than go through this shit... :)

Is knowledge always a good thing?

As we strode towards the Easter holidays, I decided to take a bit of a break from the blogging. Y'know, sometimes it's a good idea to actually talk to people rather than tell them what's happening through writing- it's a bit of a one sided conversation! So the Easter holidays came and I became so damn sick! Like proper hallucinating feverish sick and although I'm not exactly quiet in anything I do, I'm surprised we haven't had passive aggressive notes from the neighbours below complaining about me disturbing the peace!

Whilst the illness was raging, I was surprised at how the tears dried up- this sadly was a bit of a short term thing, obviously the tears weren't able to flow when all the liquid in my body was on my lungs! 

It's funny because obviously you can torture yourself pretty well over things for quite a while without needing to change the topic but just recently, the dark thoughts have started to stretch out to other things. With the recent deaths of Margaret Thatcher and Robert Edwards (IVF pioneer), it's hit me that they were all born in the same year-1925. That's the same year as my nanny, who will turn 88 in August. She seems to have suddenly become a lot older.This was also coupled with my mum saying that she doubted her elderly Bassett will make it to their holiday in Devon- I seem to be dwelling on morbidity a hell of a lot more than usual. I tend to have a pretty flippant attitude to death- the complete opposite to my best mate who has a true hatred of death (partially the reason she became a doctor?!) so this is a new development. This has extended to an almost flippant attitude to my own health. Even with the stinking chest infection, I still wanted to smoke. Just have no reason to look after myself- WHICH IS UTTERLY STUPID! Of course I do! We'll be trying again soon and my body needs to be healthy enough to hopefully not mess it up this time.

For the first time since number 3 and number 4 happened, I held a baby on Tuesday. It was a really good friend of mine's second child- I had been one of the first to cuddle number one, in fact, perhaps the first other than family! I was a bit of a state in the kitchen the night before, crying over P's fajitas- thinking about how I was going to deal with it. Thing is, when it comes to real babies- that seems so far off, I can't even imagine actually having a baby. When I spoke to another friend later the same day, she said her sister was exactly the same (she's two weeks off giving birth to twins) after having so many issues herself. When I first saw the baby and her big sister, there were absolutely no pangs of jealousy whatsoever- having children seems like a very abstract notion. It was so lovely to see a good friend and her family again. It hurt going back over all the crappiness of the past few months but she made a point which my step mother had made before. My brother and I have always been fully aware of what our future fertility would hold from both our parents and the medics involved.

Does it help though, knowing so much? Knowing the statistics? If you are told that you have a 30% chance of having a miscarriage, that makes the chance of having a baby 70% which doesn't seem too bad. However, if your pregnancies keep falling into that 30% statistic, is that 70% just an optimistic carrot on the end of a stick? I am really worried about trying again. The whole thing is incredibly stressful. Do I do the peeing on ovulation sticks? Do I leave it to happen completely naturally, like we did over the honeymoon? I guess tapping into the fatalistic attitude I have at the moment, it doesn't really matter what we do as there seems to be no issue with getting pregnant, just an issue with it getting past the first trimester and there is nothing I can do to stop anything from going wrong there. It'd be great if I could actually get my hands in there and sort out the DNA myself, but short of something worthy of a horror film, it's not down to me. 

The doctor's appointment is looming too. With the foetal test results from the D&C. Man, will I be totally freaked if it says it's anything other than genetic! I did everything right with the last one- everything, right down to taking the baby aspirin and folic acid on a daily basis, no smoking, no bad foods etc. After all the tests they've run and that have come back totally clear, for it to be anything other than genetic would be a big kicker.

So whilst unlike another blogger  Retro Chick, who I love to read, write about her grumpiness- mine isn't grumpiness but it is negativity. I've never been a negative person and I cannot allow the bad times to turn me into one. The flippant attitude needs to change. I need to stop smoking for me rather than because I have something growing inside of me and I need to stop having a fatalistic attitude. Things are not inevitable, just a bit rubbish sometimes.

Are there really blue skies?

Having a later start to school today as it's my PPA morning and the rat men were meant to come today. They came but they didn't buzz our flat before leaving! Ridiculous! Had a strongly worded conversation with the man at the end of the phone who was astonished as I that they had come but left before doing anything! Grrr! At least I managed to do a wash meaning that I don't have to go into work naked this morning.

Having seen my mother-in-law's status this morning that there was a weak bit of sunlight, I ran to the window in awe. Yes, sure enough, amidst the grey cloud, there were snippets of blue sky. Even with the biting cold, the blue sky offers a ray of hope that we might be moving towards summer. Everything is much lighter but with the recent weather, that has felt like more of a lie.

There were a lot of tears yesterday, including almost tearing up in the classroom, which would have been a true disaster since my poor TA was off with two poorly daughters. Everything went well with my colleague's scan- I think there was a bit of fear in me that it could happen to her too- to reach the scan and find that things were too small or that there was no heartbeat. Her daughter has ASD and I was really worried how that could affect her-she's been on an even balance recently and I didn't want her to slide backwards at a time when her mum would need to rest. Despite my fears, everything was okay and her response was that if it was another girl (she already has a sister) that she wouldn't be looking after it! She clutched the photo for the rest of the afternoon, only allowing me to put it in her bag when there was a child ruthlessly cutting through pieces of paper next to her. I am a horrendous anti-fantasist- worrying and imagining the worst case scenarios and planning what I would do if they happened. Paul always looks aghast when I talk about when I walk by myself in the dark and do a running commentary for Crimewatch..."Sarah was last seen walking past this block of flats at 9pm..." It seems to be an alternate weight to the Pollyanna perspective that I project. I'm glad that my pupil had good news though.

I gave my colleague a hug and wished her congratulations when I handed her daughter over at the end of the day- I didn't cry then. I meant it with my whole heart- it does work out for other people and one day, I hope it will work for Paul and myself. In fact the interesting part was that I didn't cry from that point onward- had a parent on my tail who wanted to talk about some time off for a family wedding so I couldn't become teary then. After that, I ended up helping two teachers with their data (rather than heading home and tidying up the house hehehe!) and even ended up in conversation with one of them about their period pain (it's funny how we all talk about it- some of my closest friendships have started over a period conversation!) I noticed some small spots of blood yesterday and took it that my period had started- it would have been around the right time too- so I laughed with her about how I hadn't had a period since October and how odd it is to be back to having them again. She hadn't known about the four miscarriage and was utterly gobsmacked when I told her, also seeming a little surprised at how upbeat I was (check my brave face out- I will win an Oscar for it one day!) It doesn't seem to have developed into a period but I don't think that I possibly have enough blood or lining to have a proper one, having bleed for two and a half weeks after the D&C- I may actually die with anymore blood loss!

There were a few tears shed this morning after Paul left for work. Back in December, I was given paperwork for the Saying Goodbye services by my GP. They are an organisation set up by a husband and wife team who lost five babies themselves where they run special services for people who have lost babies at any stage, whether miscarriage, stillbirth or later. These are held in churches and cathedrals across the country and are coming to America soon. It seems a lovely idea but I'm not sure that it would give me anymore closure. I see life and death quite scientifically- to me, we make our own heavens during our time on Earth by living our lives as best we can, helping other people wherever we can. When we die, that's pretty much it: there is the physical reincarnation through ashes being spread, plants growing and being eaten etc, then the genetic through having offspring and the mental through being remembered by friends and relatives but unlike when I was a child, I don't believe that people walk up sunbeams to reach heaven. It wouldn't be helpful for me to go and light four candles for the babies that I've lost because they still exist in not only my heart but Paul's and those of my family's too. Anyway, back to what I cried at- the Saying Goodbye team have created a video which had me crying huge globule type tears:

Although, the services are not something to help me- the job that Saying Goodbye are doing is amazing and they are helping so many people get through this properly rotten time.

Through the Saying Goodbye Facebook page, I found their sister charity Growing You which does seem like something I may need in the future. Having bordered on needing to be sectioned during the last pregnancy (if only for the sake of my iPhone battery), I know that the next time I fall pregnant, I will need a lot of support not to turn into a crazy woman. I hope I have learnt some perspective from miscarriage number four but who knows what will happen when I actually get the HCG running through my veins again. I truly did feel a certain sense of relief when the pregnancy ended as I didn't have to worry about seeing blood when I went to the toilet anymore or have to check food like a hawk, making sure that I could eat it. It doesn't really seem to matter how many good intentions you have, a pregnancy will either make it to the end or not whether you dip your chips in mayo or don't. When it comes down to the genes, it comes down to something so completely out of your control and being such a control freak, the two don't really mix. When we get around to trying to make another baby, I will need a lot of cuddles and talking through it.

Anyway, I'd better put something on other than my pjs and head off under these almost blue skies to work. The heating has gone off too and I'll only be in trouble if I leave it on all day again!

How do I react?

Yesterday was my first without crying. Possibly my first day since miscarriage number 3, which was just before Christmas. It was my mother-in-law's birthday and after a pretty painless day at school (even after taking year 6 grammar booster) I legged it into town to have dinner with my in-laws. Despite killer tiredness, I managed the whole day without a single tear!

Alain de Botton wrote this on twitter the other day:
" Hard to say to a friend: I need cheering up because of the sadness your success has caused me."
This couldn't be more true.

Not quite as brave this morning. Had a little weep in the shower as my colleague goes for her dating scan today. Her daughter is in my class and last night she came to remind me that she was going to take her to the scan in the morning. I feel so guilty for not being overjoyed for her. It's so hard when her pregnancy would have been so close in dates to my own.

Having really odd coughing/retching fits at the moment- very similar to my morning sickness retches. Along with that, I have also got really irritated nipples(sorry probably too much information!)- it's almost as if my body is taunting me at the moment with what it should have been doing if it had decided to work properly.

After the weekend's chat with Paul, I do feel much more relaxed- I suppose I've got a bit of a reprieve for a while before my body has to do anything. I have to try to be as normal as I possibly can- not buying a million sticks unlike last time! It's not as if they can tell you anything about how the pregnancy is progressing- they just tell you that you have enough hormone in your body to be pregnant. I was peeing on sticks like a mad woman last time- twice to three times a week checking that I was still pregnant- I even did one the morning before the scan when obviously things had gone completely tits up. I dread to think how much I spent on tests. There's this widget that you can use that shows you how much money you have spent on trying to get pregnant but to me right now, that just seems like a whole other statistic that I don't need to be worrying about.

So I have a couple of months before the madness starts again. When my period restarts, I don't know quite how I'll react- it wasn't exactly a normal reaction that I had when we first had sex after the miscarriage- no husband really wants his wife in floods of tears straight after making love! It's hard not making links between the two things and what has happened. It can't be allowed to continue like that and it hasn't in regards to having sex- completely back to normal there now but I think it's understandable given three miscarriages within a year- something has got to give!

Hopefully, August will just be a time of preparation for my best mate's wedding in September- I can use all her DIY projects as a way of distracting me from the fact my November pregnancy would have been due then. Also the September one will hopefully be diluted by our first wedding anniversary. It would have been awesome to have had a baby to mark the date but this way, Paul and I get to celebrate what was the most amazing day ever without having to worry about going into labour!

Who knows, I might not be able to drink by then!