What is love?

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

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

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

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

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

Why do I keep counting?

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

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

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

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

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

Or there is that bottle of wine!

Where is my mind?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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! 

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.

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?

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.