Do you ever feel like you don't want to be 'nice' anymore? Isn't it bad when you feel like you have to make an effort to be 'nice', and it doesn't just happen naturally anymore? I'm finding myself being 'snappy' lately, my usual 'its ok to think that, but not say it' filter seems to have been deactivated (hopefully temporarily). Its just one of the ways that I'm feeling kinda lost right now, just feeling that I'm not myself but struggling to figure out who 'myself' is now.
It's so odd, because when I'm at work.... the minute I walk in that door... I know who I am, I can answer any question that is asked of me and deal with any situation that is presented to me. I am instinctively intuitive and level-headed and 'nice' when I'm at work, I don't have to think about it. Work is where I want to be, because I know who I am when I'm there. I'm comfortable there.. I'm in control there... I have no doubts or insecurities when I'm there... because I have a purpose when I'm at work and I create purpose for others.... and to be completely honest... it is impossible to not be 'happy' at work... how can you not be happy to see the smile appear on a 2 years old's face just because they have seen you... to have a child that is only just walking almost trip over themselves because they are so excited to see you and they just want to get to you to give you a hug... to have a parent bring in their new baby, who might be just a few days old... and place that baby in your arms and tell you that they trust you with the most precious thing in the world to them and before we know it, they will be 6 months old and will be attending the service and you will get to see that child every day and you will get to know that child and you will become such a huge part of that child's life, but more than they know it - they become a huge part of yours.
People always ask me how I do what I do, does it not absolutely kill me to see all of these beautiful little children every day and know that I may never have one of my own. The answer is that it is not difficult for me. Sure - there are days when it is hard for me, of course it is... but those are the days when all I want to do is be surrounded by the small babies because I get so much happiness from them. There is never a time when I don't know what to do when I'm at work, no matter what the situation... I find that I just instinctively 'know' and I suppose... I trust my own judgement 100% when I'm there. I am 100% confident in everything that I do when I am at work... because I just 'know'.
I'm still not back to work full time, but have been spending an increasing amount of time in there every day (or at least - most days), and to be completely truthful... work is an escape for me right now. It is my haven... It is the place where I can be the person that I know I am.... The problem for me right now though, is that I don't know who I am when I'm not at work.
I have always known that I am not at my best when I am stagnant, when I'm not moving forward. Right now I feel like I am not moving at all though... and I don't know how to 'be' that person. I don't know how to not have a plan. I'm the person who plans, who makes lists, who always has a schedule, a goal, a point that I am going to reach and a deadline by which to reach it. I don't have a plan right now and that scares me. I don't know who I am without a plan. I have been a 'planner' forever. I have been pretty much physically unable to do anything without planning it first.... and now, I find myself lost in this plan-less limbo.
Everyone is telling me to just take a break and enjoy the break. Sure, we are taking a break from any kind of fertility treatment or any baby-making plans. It will be at least another year before we begin to look at going forward with that. Unfortunately, all of my 'plans' to date have been made with the assumption that we would have at least one child by now. I want to be planning a child-friendly Summer Holiday, I want to be part of the 'Mommy Club'. I want to have to plan my life around the needs of my baby. I want to be planning night feeds and nappy changes. I want to at least be able to plan for being able to plan these things in the not too distant future.... but unfortunately... all I can plan for is uncertainty... and I don't do well with uncertainty.
Uncertainty makes me anxious, it makes me uneasy. Up until recently... I have always 'known', or at least I thought I did, but now there is no knowing... there is just hoping and in many ways... Uncertainty is the best that we can hope for... and that just is not sitting well with me at all.
I find myself at home being uneasy and uncertain, finding it difficult to make even the simplest decisions., finding it hard to explain myself and even harder to realise that that the reason I can't explain it is because it is impossible to explain what you do not understand - which leads on to my unhappiness at not understanding and therein lies the vicious circle that I find myself both stuck in and surrounded by at the current time.
I really do feel quite 'lost' right now and I guess I'm hoping that I'll 'find myself' soon because I really don't like this feeling of being lost... or perhaps I will find a way to not feel so lost in this limbo of uncertainty but instead to appreciate the 'break' because what faces me has the potential to knock me harder than anything has ever knocked me before... I need to find a way to just be 'me'.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Thursday, February 13, 2014
'Might' Is All We Have........
In the past 9 days, I have congratulated 17 people on the birth of their new baby. 17 new babies that have entered this world in just over a week. The first few were easy, its an amazing thing to welcome a new baby in to the world and I genuinely am happy for each and every one of them. As the days went on... I began to dread opening the social networking sites for fear of seeing yet another 'New Baby' post.
It's funny, because sometimes they don't bother me at all, but gosh - when there are so many in such a short space of time, you kinda do start to feel that the universe is trying to play games with you, trying to see how far it can push you before you actually crack.
I'm so conscious of writing a post like this because I know that most of those new mothers read this blog and I don't want to in any way take from their experience and joy.
I spoke to Gordon about this when he visited yesterday. It was in a different context and not at all relating to all of these new babies, but a different situation in which I had felt bad because I felt that one of my posts had perhaps taken part of an experience from someone else. He responded by telling me that it is in my nature to feel bad for others and while it is ok to feel bad for this other lady, I really shouldn't feel bad for writing about my true feelings. He told me that I need to realise that my feelings are just as important as the feelings of others and that it is important for me to write about what is true to me, even if it is not what others want to read. (He is oh so wise :-) )
Towards the end of last week, the new baby announcements were really starting to get to me, they were starting to bother me. Each one was a knife in my chest and as the days went by - those knives began to twist. So, what did I do? Well, I did what I always do... I tried to escape my own mind. I tried to keep myself so busy that I just would not be able to even think about it. Lulu, my beautiful bichon became the subject of my distraction, the sewing machine, my weapon of choice. I sat at that machine and I sewed and sewed and sewed. Let me put this into perspective... with the nature of the operation that I had and the location of the pain and soreness... sitting up is quite difficult for me... sitting hunched forward over a sewing machine is next to impossible. I had, earlier in that day, had a conversation with a friend about sewing and told her that I realistically could only manage 15-20 minutes of sewing at a time without really hurting myself.
After four and a half hours of sewing, Patrick arrives home from work to find me, a pathetic sight... hunched over the sewing machine with my foot on the pedal, tears running down my face and wincing in an attempt to ignore the absolute agony that my body was in. My body needed to stop, but my mind couldn't, because if it did... it would return to thoughts of all those beautiful new babies. It really was a case of mind over matter for me, and funnily enough - it was easier for me to ignore the physical pain in my body, than the mental and emotional pain that I was fighting so hard to escape from my mind and my heart. You can't escape it though, no matter how hard you try... because it will always materialise... one way or another.
That four and a half hour stint at my sewing machine resulted in me being in so much pain the following day that I was unable to get out of bed without help. My whole left side felt bruised and extremely painful, and this resulted in further frustration for me because I knew I had done it to myself.
On the up side though... Lulu now has the biggest selection of doggy coats ever...!!!!!!!
This is a dangerous time for me right now. I am not in as much pain as I had been so am a lot more mobile and am finding myself wanting to do more. Unfortunately - this causes me to do more than I really should and I end up hurting myself. I know that this is setting my recovery back and I need to rest as much as I possibly can until everything settles down properly inside of me - but gosh, I just cannot do nothing. I need to be doing things all the time and even more so at the minute because I am constantly fighting to distract myself from the inevitable thoughts of all of those beautiful new babies. One of my closest friends from the UK made the very logical point to me that pushing myself to the point of hurting myself because somebody else is where I want to be... does not actually help me to get where I want to be... in fact, it hinders my recovery and therefore hinders my progress, which in turn hinders my ability to achieve my ultimate goal. (Gotta love all of these straight-talking friends that I have!) That's the kind of logic that I just cannot argue with, but instead really made me think about the physically destructive cycle that I seem to follow when I'm struggling to deal with what is going on in my head or how external factors are really affecting me.
I got upset when I was talking to Gordon yesterday. I did something that I said I wouldn't do. I started to look at the big picture, I began to describe the process that I was facing and all of the steps that I will have to go through. Up until that point, I had promised myself that I was going to take this one step at a time and only focus on the current step and the next step at any one time. Yesterday we went through it step by step and I was hit by the realisation that the best case scenario that I can hope for is what most people would describe as a living nightmare. I began to look back at what I have been through to date on this journey, and even though that was a rougher journey than most people could ever imagine... it was actually simple, it was all so easy and straight-forward compared to the path that lies ahead of us.
I don't know where I am going to find the strength to go through all of what I have to go through. I am not even going to lay it out in detail in this post, but I most likely will in the near future. All I know is that I have to find the strength from somewhere, because I cannot look back in ten years and know that there was one more chance (however minute) and I didn't take it. I think the 'what ifs' would kill me.
It also only struck me yesterday that I had actually lost one of my tubes. I mean... I knew it had been removed... but the realisation that it was actually gone was quite stark. I know its for the best and will hopefully improve our chances whenever we do decide to go to the Czech Republic for treatment, but it is very much a feeling of being incomplete - or perhaps 'more incomplete'. I don't think any woman who has lost a baby (never mind 10) can ever truly feel 'complete', because there is always a part of her that is missing.... but unlike the pain of the tube removal which will hopefully subside in the foreseeable future.... the pain of losing your baby never will... you don't get used to it... it doesn't get easier... you just get better at hiding it and sometimes (like now) you find yourself so surrounded by what you so badly want, by what you should have, by what you have given your life to achieve but just can't... that you find yourself struggling to breathe... breathing hurts... everything hurts... and when you see picture after picture of ecstatic new mothers and proud new fathers with their beautiful new baby... a little part of your heart breaks further and you truly wonder if it will ever be your turn... but worse than that... you start to realise that it might never be your turn and you don't know how you will cope with that.
I think about the times that I lay in hospital, recovering from surgery after surgery or violently sick after Chemotherapy, with my family pleading with me to just stop this because it is going to kill me and all I can think is that it will be worth it when I finally hold my own baby. I've pictured it so many times... in the delivery suite... handing our baby to Patrick and knowing that finally, finally we are complete and knowing that every thing we had been through just served to make us love this little person even more.... and once we've had some time together, just the three of us.... we will call our families... and I will call Gordon and tell him and I'll want him to come in and hold this precious little being because I know in my heart that he/she would never have been here if it wasn't for Gordon... and Patrick will take a picture... the very first picture that will go on this blog... it will simply be a picture of my baby's hand curled around my finger and that picture alone will say more than every word in this entire blog has said... and everyone will just 'know'. We will probably have names picked but will change our minds as soon as we see him/her. I think we will share a lot of moments of silence just holding hands and looking at our beautiful baby... because there just will not be any words worthy of that moment... and then we will be..... we will just 'be'.
This is the picture that I need to keep in my head. I'm suddenly having flashbacks of my Undergrad Psychology Class as we studied Stephen Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People - I am being reminded to 'Begin with the end in mind' (not to mention surprised that I've remembered that after all of these years...!!!) I know that I need to do everything that I possibly can to make that picture a reality. Even though I know there will be countless times when I am so afraid that something is going to go wrong and I know that at some point we will be sitting across the table from one of the Dr.s in the Clinic in the Czech Republic... about to be told whether or not any of our embryos are genetically viable... and while we need to be prepared for the fact that the answer may well be 'No'..... it also might be 'Yes'.
I know 'might' is not an awful lot to be hanging my hopes on..... but for the foreseeable future.... 'might' is all we have.
It's funny, because sometimes they don't bother me at all, but gosh - when there are so many in such a short space of time, you kinda do start to feel that the universe is trying to play games with you, trying to see how far it can push you before you actually crack.
I'm so conscious of writing a post like this because I know that most of those new mothers read this blog and I don't want to in any way take from their experience and joy.
I spoke to Gordon about this when he visited yesterday. It was in a different context and not at all relating to all of these new babies, but a different situation in which I had felt bad because I felt that one of my posts had perhaps taken part of an experience from someone else. He responded by telling me that it is in my nature to feel bad for others and while it is ok to feel bad for this other lady, I really shouldn't feel bad for writing about my true feelings. He told me that I need to realise that my feelings are just as important as the feelings of others and that it is important for me to write about what is true to me, even if it is not what others want to read. (He is oh so wise :-) )
Towards the end of last week, the new baby announcements were really starting to get to me, they were starting to bother me. Each one was a knife in my chest and as the days went by - those knives began to twist. So, what did I do? Well, I did what I always do... I tried to escape my own mind. I tried to keep myself so busy that I just would not be able to even think about it. Lulu, my beautiful bichon became the subject of my distraction, the sewing machine, my weapon of choice. I sat at that machine and I sewed and sewed and sewed. Let me put this into perspective... with the nature of the operation that I had and the location of the pain and soreness... sitting up is quite difficult for me... sitting hunched forward over a sewing machine is next to impossible. I had, earlier in that day, had a conversation with a friend about sewing and told her that I realistically could only manage 15-20 minutes of sewing at a time without really hurting myself.
After four and a half hours of sewing, Patrick arrives home from work to find me, a pathetic sight... hunched over the sewing machine with my foot on the pedal, tears running down my face and wincing in an attempt to ignore the absolute agony that my body was in. My body needed to stop, but my mind couldn't, because if it did... it would return to thoughts of all those beautiful new babies. It really was a case of mind over matter for me, and funnily enough - it was easier for me to ignore the physical pain in my body, than the mental and emotional pain that I was fighting so hard to escape from my mind and my heart. You can't escape it though, no matter how hard you try... because it will always materialise... one way or another.
That four and a half hour stint at my sewing machine resulted in me being in so much pain the following day that I was unable to get out of bed without help. My whole left side felt bruised and extremely painful, and this resulted in further frustration for me because I knew I had done it to myself.
On the up side though... Lulu now has the biggest selection of doggy coats ever...!!!!!!!
This is a dangerous time for me right now. I am not in as much pain as I had been so am a lot more mobile and am finding myself wanting to do more. Unfortunately - this causes me to do more than I really should and I end up hurting myself. I know that this is setting my recovery back and I need to rest as much as I possibly can until everything settles down properly inside of me - but gosh, I just cannot do nothing. I need to be doing things all the time and even more so at the minute because I am constantly fighting to distract myself from the inevitable thoughts of all of those beautiful new babies. One of my closest friends from the UK made the very logical point to me that pushing myself to the point of hurting myself because somebody else is where I want to be... does not actually help me to get where I want to be... in fact, it hinders my recovery and therefore hinders my progress, which in turn hinders my ability to achieve my ultimate goal. (Gotta love all of these straight-talking friends that I have!) That's the kind of logic that I just cannot argue with, but instead really made me think about the physically destructive cycle that I seem to follow when I'm struggling to deal with what is going on in my head or how external factors are really affecting me.
I got upset when I was talking to Gordon yesterday. I did something that I said I wouldn't do. I started to look at the big picture, I began to describe the process that I was facing and all of the steps that I will have to go through. Up until that point, I had promised myself that I was going to take this one step at a time and only focus on the current step and the next step at any one time. Yesterday we went through it step by step and I was hit by the realisation that the best case scenario that I can hope for is what most people would describe as a living nightmare. I began to look back at what I have been through to date on this journey, and even though that was a rougher journey than most people could ever imagine... it was actually simple, it was all so easy and straight-forward compared to the path that lies ahead of us.
I don't know where I am going to find the strength to go through all of what I have to go through. I am not even going to lay it out in detail in this post, but I most likely will in the near future. All I know is that I have to find the strength from somewhere, because I cannot look back in ten years and know that there was one more chance (however minute) and I didn't take it. I think the 'what ifs' would kill me.
It also only struck me yesterday that I had actually lost one of my tubes. I mean... I knew it had been removed... but the realisation that it was actually gone was quite stark. I know its for the best and will hopefully improve our chances whenever we do decide to go to the Czech Republic for treatment, but it is very much a feeling of being incomplete - or perhaps 'more incomplete'. I don't think any woman who has lost a baby (never mind 10) can ever truly feel 'complete', because there is always a part of her that is missing.... but unlike the pain of the tube removal which will hopefully subside in the foreseeable future.... the pain of losing your baby never will... you don't get used to it... it doesn't get easier... you just get better at hiding it and sometimes (like now) you find yourself so surrounded by what you so badly want, by what you should have, by what you have given your life to achieve but just can't... that you find yourself struggling to breathe... breathing hurts... everything hurts... and when you see picture after picture of ecstatic new mothers and proud new fathers with their beautiful new baby... a little part of your heart breaks further and you truly wonder if it will ever be your turn... but worse than that... you start to realise that it might never be your turn and you don't know how you will cope with that.
I think about the times that I lay in hospital, recovering from surgery after surgery or violently sick after Chemotherapy, with my family pleading with me to just stop this because it is going to kill me and all I can think is that it will be worth it when I finally hold my own baby. I've pictured it so many times... in the delivery suite... handing our baby to Patrick and knowing that finally, finally we are complete and knowing that every thing we had been through just served to make us love this little person even more.... and once we've had some time together, just the three of us.... we will call our families... and I will call Gordon and tell him and I'll want him to come in and hold this precious little being because I know in my heart that he/she would never have been here if it wasn't for Gordon... and Patrick will take a picture... the very first picture that will go on this blog... it will simply be a picture of my baby's hand curled around my finger and that picture alone will say more than every word in this entire blog has said... and everyone will just 'know'. We will probably have names picked but will change our minds as soon as we see him/her. I think we will share a lot of moments of silence just holding hands and looking at our beautiful baby... because there just will not be any words worthy of that moment... and then we will be..... we will just 'be'.
This is the picture that I need to keep in my head. I'm suddenly having flashbacks of my Undergrad Psychology Class as we studied Stephen Covey's Seven Habits of Highly Effective People - I am being reminded to 'Begin with the end in mind' (not to mention surprised that I've remembered that after all of these years...!!!) I know that I need to do everything that I possibly can to make that picture a reality. Even though I know there will be countless times when I am so afraid that something is going to go wrong and I know that at some point we will be sitting across the table from one of the Dr.s in the Clinic in the Czech Republic... about to be told whether or not any of our embryos are genetically viable... and while we need to be prepared for the fact that the answer may well be 'No'..... it also might be 'Yes'.
I know 'might' is not an awful lot to be hanging my hopes on..... but for the foreseeable future.... 'might' is all we have.
Friday, January 31, 2014
It Should Have Been Me........
I've had a few setbacks in the past week, lots of issues with my chest and yet another abdominal infection has left me in a lot of pain, feeling like I'm back at square one and still unable to sleep at night. As I lay awake last night, watching each hour pass by until it was time for Patrick to get up for work and eventually I dozed off at I guess what must have been around 9am.
At around 11:30am, I am awakened from my slumber by the sound of my phone beeping, thinking it was just a text message, I was prepared to ignore it and just respond later, but it was kinda niggling at me for some reason, so I picked up my phone to see that I had received an email from Gordon entitled 'New Blog', but there was no content to the email, not even an invitation to check for spelling mistakes and grammatical errors (I'm not a pedant, honestly...!!!).
I open the Aculife website on my phone to find a post from a very excited Gordon about his experience yesterday. Yesterday some pretty significant ground was broken. Yesterday two worlds collided and became one. Yesterday saw the welcoming of Complimentary Medicine into the world of Western Medicine. Yesterday was the day when a Practitioner of Traditional Chinese Medicine was welcomed into and permitted to work alongside the finest Doctors in the field of fertility and reproductive medicine. That's pretty amazing.
You see, up til now it has been a battleground where although acupuncture has been used to compliment fertility treatment for many years, It has been seen by most IVF Clinic Directors as a waste of time, as some Mickey-Mouse, complete waste of money attempt at giving yourself some sense of false hope. I've even been directly discouraged from having acupuncture as a compliment to my fertility journey by an IVF Clinic Director, despite its positive effects being unquestionably proven.
My experience has primarily been that acupuncture is somewhat of a taboo subject inside the walls of IVF Clinics and is met with a head-tilted, nodding sympathetically gesture of feigned empathy to the tune of 'Ah sure, you'll try anything when you want something so badly'.
This has meant that the morning of Transfer, the day that you need to be at your most relaxed, becomes the day when you have to perform a feat of logistically epic proportions on top of undergoing the whole Transfer process. Your timing must be precise... especially if, like me... you have to travel the morning of the transfer.
My experiences have been as follows... So, Transfer is at 12, but I need to call the Clinic at 10:30 to see if the embryos survived the thawing process, but in order to transfer at 12, I need to be at the Clinic by 11:30 at the latest and I need to leave at least 30 minutes of travel time between the Acupuncture Clinic and the Fertility Clinic to allow for traffic and trying to find parking and any other delays that may arise, so that means I need to leave the Acupuncture Clinic by 11, so I need to arrive at the Acupuncture Clinic for Pre-Transfer acupuncture at 10:15, which means that I need to leave home at 9am. Leaving home at 9am is not a problem, but having the constant worries of 'I'm going to be late......... I'm going to miss my appointment......... Oh God, why is there so much traffic???........ It's just raining, why has the whole world decided to drive at 5 miles an hour???... Why is there never anywhere to park?...' Along with the worries of ' I wonder if my embryos have even survived......... I've come all this way and I could be told that I have no embryos to transfer........ Only 20 more minutes til I can call the Clinic to find out.... seriously, is this clock going backwards...???' And once you have completed the Transfer, you then have to take some time to recover, before returning to the Acupuncture Clinic for Post-Transfer treatment...!!!
All of that stress and worry on top of what is a hugely stressful procedure anyway.
Wouldn't it be wonderful if you could arrive at the Fertility Clinic on the morning of Transfer, go to your prep room (which doubles as your own private recovery room), have your Acupuncturist there to treat you immediately before and after the Transfer and then go home and relax? What a different process that would be and that is what took place yesterday at SIMS. The burden of that extra stress was taken from the patient and distributed between the Fertility Doctors and the Acupuncturist. They had to figure out the logistics and the timing and it was up to them to make sure it all went as smoothly as possible.
And from what I understand, it was something quite amazing. You can read Gordon's blog post here.
What an amazing development and one he should be very, very proud of. He has created a synergy, he has built a bridge over sometimes hostile/sometimes toxic waters and that is an amazing step, a huge achievement........... So why have I been sitting here in a pathetic state of misery, crying inconsolably since reading it?
It should have been me... and that is not just me saying generally 'it should be me, when is it going to be my turn?'........ it actually should have been me.
On my second visit to SIMS Clinic, during my first full consultation with Dr. Walsh when we were discussing our next cycle (this was before we got the genetic results), I asked Dr. Walsh about acupuncture before and after Transfer and he responded that he would highly recommend it and knowing my connections with Gordon and Aculife Clinic, he suggested that I ask Gordon to recommend an Acupuncturist in Dublin that I can attend before and after Transfer. So... me being me, knowing that Gordon is already in discussions with Dr. Walsh over trying to create some sort of 'synergy' between the two Clinics, and also being of the long-standing impression that if you don't ask - you don't get.... explained to Dr. Walsh the importance of having your own Acupuncturist by your side, not just any Acupuncturist, but the Acupuncturist who has been on this journey with you, the Acupuncturist that you know, trust and respect, but also... the Acupuncturist that knows you, and knows what will work best for you. (Seriously, if I'm not gona let 'just anybody' cut my hair, I'm certainly not going to want 'just anybody' influencing the outcome of the most important procedure of my life...!!!). Aided by Patrick's smirking statement 'if its not gona be Gordon, its not gona happen'.
- Dr. Walsh agreed to it and thanked me for opening his eyes to the connection between the patient and her Acupuncturist. He told me to have Mr. Mullins contact him about it and they would put arrangements in place for Gordon to be present in SIMS immediately before and after my next transfer. He explained to me that it is not something that is usually allowed, but as they are in talks about it anyway and because of my long-time connection with Gordon and Aculife Clinic, it would actually be a good opportunity to trial and assess how it would actually work in practice.
Reading Gordon's blog post, I wanted to be so happy for him and I so appreciated that he had notified me directly of this blog post - I think it would have hit me a lot harder if I had just casually come across it. I couldn't help but have this be a huge reminder of just how much things have changed for me, Of where I am versus where I thought I would be. Yet again a reminder that I am being left behind and the world is moving ahead regardless. I felt like he was handing me the most amazing ice-cream with one hand, but chopping my arm off with the other. A fantastic step for fertility treatment, but one that is becoming further and further from my reach.
A follow-up email from Gordon told me that he was conscious of how it would make me feel and that even yesterday, as he entered SIMS Clinic to break this new ground, he was very aware that
'This was supposed to be Anne-Marie'
I am honoured that I even crossed his mind yesterday, and to that extent I guess I do feel that perhaps I was part of the process in some tiny way and I know I will be very proud of that... once the initial blow has passed.
It really shows the strength of Gordon's dedication and determination that he traveled from Cork to Dublin to carry out Pre and Post Transfer Acupuncture for one patient. He is a true advocate for this and his understanding of what a fertility patient actually goes though is second to none.
Now... I wonder how he feels about travelling to the Czech Republic for Pre and Post Transfer Acupuncture........ ;-)
Saturday, January 18, 2014
Eighteen Years Ago.......
Eighteen years ago tomorrow... and it could have been just yesterday. I sat in Dualla National School, a sixth class pupil... had just completed the weekly spelling test that we had every Friday. 20 out of 20. of course I did... that's the score I got every week... but this week was different. The nineteenth of January 1996, exactly a month after my 12th birthday at 12:25 in the middle of the day. My friend's Mother came to the classroom and spoke with the teacher. The whole class was instructed to go outside and I was told to pack up my things as I was going home early. I don't know why I didn't figure out at that point what was going on. My friend's Mother had just gotten a new car and we talked about this on the 5 minute journey home. Even when we got home and there were so many cars there and so many people in the kitchen as we entered the house, people putting their hand on my shoulder as I walked past them.... and I still didn't figure it out.
I went upstairs to my room, took off my coat and was hanging it up in my wardrobe when my Mother and a nurse entered my room and five words were spoken, five words that would change everything, five words that I remember to this day... 'Anne-Marie, Daddy's gone to heaven'. I froze. My Dad had been sick. He had lung cancer and after having one of his lungs removed and receiving the 'all clear', we found out that the cancer had spread to his brain and 'there was nothing more they could do'.
We'd known for 5 months that he was going to die, but somehow it never seemed real... how could it? I remember being 'helpful' for that 5 months. I would meet the hospice nurses when they called every day. I became very close to them, they became members of my family. The would hand me the batteries of the machine that they used, for the life of me I cannot remember what that machine was for, but I remember that my job was to use the battery tester and make sure that the batteries were working. I remember that they gave him this orange coloured liquid to help his bowels to move. He hated this liquid, said it tasted awful. As I look to the table to my right, I realise that orange liquid was probably 'Codalax', the same as I was given after my most recent surgery... and he was right... it does taste awful...!!!
In the last 2 weeks or so before he died, he was very very bad. I remember laying in bed one night and pleading with God to just take him because I couldn't watch him suffer anymore. How can a 12 year old little girl watch her Dad scream in pain and become completely helpless, watch him have to be carried everywhere like a small child because his legs are too weak to support him. This man who fought monsters from my bedroom when I was too scared of the dark, the man who held me on his shoulders so I could see over the crowd, the man who lifted me over fences and gates when we went on adventures through forests and fields, the man who jumped in front of my brother's horse to stop her because she got out of control when I was riding her, the man who suffered countless bruises on his ankles from helping me to improve my camogie skills, the man who carried me to bed and tucked me in when I fell asleep on the couch, the man who was my hero..... and I watch as they wheel his cold dead body into the back room of the funeral parlour... knowing that they will put the lid on his coffin and I will never see my Dad again.
My Dad died at 12:15 that day and I remember promising his still-warm body that he would always be a part of my life and that someday when I have a son, I would name him after my Dad. This became a bit of a joke with my oldest brother who shares the same name as our Dad. About 30 minutes ago, my Dad's youngest sister (My Godmother and beautiful lady that I was named after) posted a lovely poem on Facebook to recognise the 18th Anniversary of his passing and suddenly I realise that I made a promise to my Dad all of those years ago and this is the first time it has struck me... that is a promise I may not be able to keep.
As I sit here and cry, I am reminded of something my Dad used to say 'You can do anything if you put your mind to it... and if you can't find a way, find a way to make one'
I inherited a lot of things from my Dad... his blue/green eyes, his dark hair, his messed up sense of humour, his ability to write (my Dad was an amazing writer and poet and we spent many, many hours together just writing and putting stories together, and when we weren't doing that... we were singing and dancing or solving some crossword or puzzle), but probably the most useful things I got from my Dad were his sense of fairness, his problem-solving ability and his downright stubbornness.
He fought til the very last second, he never gave up... right until he took his last breath, I hope that I can find the strength that he had and can find some way to keep the last promise that I ever made to my Dad.xx.
I went upstairs to my room, took off my coat and was hanging it up in my wardrobe when my Mother and a nurse entered my room and five words were spoken, five words that would change everything, five words that I remember to this day... 'Anne-Marie, Daddy's gone to heaven'. I froze. My Dad had been sick. He had lung cancer and after having one of his lungs removed and receiving the 'all clear', we found out that the cancer had spread to his brain and 'there was nothing more they could do'.
We'd known for 5 months that he was going to die, but somehow it never seemed real... how could it? I remember being 'helpful' for that 5 months. I would meet the hospice nurses when they called every day. I became very close to them, they became members of my family. The would hand me the batteries of the machine that they used, for the life of me I cannot remember what that machine was for, but I remember that my job was to use the battery tester and make sure that the batteries were working. I remember that they gave him this orange coloured liquid to help his bowels to move. He hated this liquid, said it tasted awful. As I look to the table to my right, I realise that orange liquid was probably 'Codalax', the same as I was given after my most recent surgery... and he was right... it does taste awful...!!!
In the last 2 weeks or so before he died, he was very very bad. I remember laying in bed one night and pleading with God to just take him because I couldn't watch him suffer anymore. How can a 12 year old little girl watch her Dad scream in pain and become completely helpless, watch him have to be carried everywhere like a small child because his legs are too weak to support him. This man who fought monsters from my bedroom when I was too scared of the dark, the man who held me on his shoulders so I could see over the crowd, the man who lifted me over fences and gates when we went on adventures through forests and fields, the man who jumped in front of my brother's horse to stop her because she got out of control when I was riding her, the man who suffered countless bruises on his ankles from helping me to improve my camogie skills, the man who carried me to bed and tucked me in when I fell asleep on the couch, the man who was my hero..... and I watch as they wheel his cold dead body into the back room of the funeral parlour... knowing that they will put the lid on his coffin and I will never see my Dad again.
My Dad died at 12:15 that day and I remember promising his still-warm body that he would always be a part of my life and that someday when I have a son, I would name him after my Dad. This became a bit of a joke with my oldest brother who shares the same name as our Dad. About 30 minutes ago, my Dad's youngest sister (My Godmother and beautiful lady that I was named after) posted a lovely poem on Facebook to recognise the 18th Anniversary of his passing and suddenly I realise that I made a promise to my Dad all of those years ago and this is the first time it has struck me... that is a promise I may not be able to keep.
As I sit here and cry, I am reminded of something my Dad used to say 'You can do anything if you put your mind to it... and if you can't find a way, find a way to make one'
I inherited a lot of things from my Dad... his blue/green eyes, his dark hair, his messed up sense of humour, his ability to write (my Dad was an amazing writer and poet and we spent many, many hours together just writing and putting stories together, and when we weren't doing that... we were singing and dancing or solving some crossword or puzzle), but probably the most useful things I got from my Dad were his sense of fairness, his problem-solving ability and his downright stubbornness.
He fought til the very last second, he never gave up... right until he took his last breath, I hope that I can find the strength that he had and can find some way to keep the last promise that I ever made to my Dad.xx.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Pregnant Arachnids... Or Something Like That...
I am so up and down at the minute, it's actually ridiculous. One minute I'm fine and I'm laughing and joking... the next I'm in tears. I don't know - maybe its just hormones, they're gona be all over the place right now.
I have this feeling of anxiousness, like I have a million things to do and no time to do them - which is crazy coz all I have right now is time, so much time. I pretty much have 24 hours a day coz I'm not really able to get much sleep. I think a lot of it is because I am used to working 12-14 hours a day and being kept busy for all of that time. Gosh, I can work 14 hour days and still feel like there aren't enough hours in the day...!!!... Now... now I have time, its all I have... and all I want to do is get back to work... can't stand up straight... but want to go back to work...!!!
I don't do very well when I'm not being challenged or stimulated or kept busy and gosh, I've tried to keep busy. I love to sew but I'm not able to sit up at my sewing machine so I thought I'd keep myself busy by knitting. I've knit so many scarves in the past 2 weeks, but I'm kinda getting bored with that now.
I logged into the Aculife website a few minutes ago. I check it every few days to see if there have been any updates. Gordon is doing this new video blogging thing which is kinda cool. On the bottom left of the webpage, there is a testimonial section... I see it every time I log in, at least 2-3 times a week and I've never had a reaction to it, it has never bothered me, but when I logged in a few minutes ago a testimonial popped up that read "Thank you for everything, and also for keeping me so calm during my pregnancy. We are so so HAPPY" and I was hit with his overwhelming feeling of 'This is never going to happen for me!' and 'Seriously, what if it never does happen?' I began to feel panicky, looked for a way out (its a webpage... just close the screen, right?), Nope... the next thing that I see is a post from December 23rd announcing that the Clinic was finishing up for Christmas on that date, but not before they were announcing 5 new pregnancies...!!!
I was reminded of an experience I had 8 or 9 weeks ago, Patrick and I went to Amsterdam for 5 days. Bearing in mind that I am terrified of spiders - We spent our last day there at the Artis Zoo, an amazing zoo. I'm not entirely sure why, but I agreed to go into the Insectarium. Ok, I knew that there would probably be a spider or two in there, but I figured once I knew where they were I could avoid them and all would be ok. So we go inside, and I am being very very cautious and all of a sudden I hear Patrick gasp and say 'Oh God' I look up and I am face to face with this huge tarantula (he probably wasn't huge, but he seemed humongous to me!)... and I start to panic. Patrick said the blood just drained from my face. I have to get out of there, but it seems that everywhere I now look... there are more and more spiders and I can't find the way out. I'm sure it was very very funny to watch, but it was my worst nightmare come true. I know I wasn't in any danger at any point, the spiders were all behind glass cases. We eventually found the way out and I had to sit down for a bit. I was so mad with Patrick, I know it was probably misplaced anger but I felt that if I had just come across the spiders by myself, I probably would have been ok and it was probably the shock of reacting to his reaction and realising that I was face to face with the tarantula, that made it such a terrible experience for me, and then the panickiness because they are all around me and it's that feeling of being trapped or having no escape and I guess infertility is a bit like that. There is no escape, the whole world is like the insectarium and pregnant women are like the tarantulas. They are EVERYWHERE! And some days it is ok to be around that and surrounded by women who are pregnant... the days that I am prepared for it, the days that I spot to 'glass cases' and know that they are there... and then there are the days when I'm not prepared for it and I realise, usually when it is too late, that I am face to face with a pregnant woman.. and not only that... I am surrounded by them... they are everywhere and it's hard to get out of a situation like that.
It's funny coz I have quite a few friends who are pregnant right now and I can see them reading this and thinking 'Has she just called me a tarantula...???' I'm honestly not looking to insult or offend anybody, I'm making somewhat of an analogy... one that makes perfect sense to me at 6am in my completely sleep deprived state.
Maybe I'm my own worst enemy though... maybe I shouldn't go into the Insectarium when I know I suffer from a ridiculous fear of spiders.... and maybe, just maybe I shouldn't log on to the website of the most amazing Clinic that makes miracles happen and helps people to have children... when I know I'm not quite ready to hear that 5 more women have moved ahead of me on the ability-to-have-their-own-children spectrum. Gordon lives to help people get pregnant and have their own children... of course he is going to announce on his website when his patients finally get those two pink lines. I often ask him why can't it just be easy? and his answer is always that it isn't easy for anyone who attends his Clinic. Everybody has a story, a past, a journey, everybody who Gordon works with has maybe failed to become pregnant after years of trying, or perhaps has a history of recurrent miscarriage or ectopic pregnancies, or perhaps has been through cycle after cycle of failed IVF cycles... of course he is going to announce when these women become pregnant, these are true miracles and I know if it was me, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops.
It's funny though... I know all of this, I know how amazing it is and I know that feeling only too well... the feeling when you finally see those two pink lines and your whole world changes in that split second... I know this, I know how those women feel... but I can't help feeling that I'm somehow being left behind... and I know that there is nothing that Gordon could do that he hasn't done for me, he has gone over and above the duty of 'acupuncturist' many many times... so why do I feel like I want to scream at him, that I want to tell him that it is my turn now, it has to be, I've been here the longest and I don't want to wait anymore. When do I get the two pink lines?, when do I get to hear my baby's heartbeat?, when do I get to crave pickles and marshmallows?, when do I get to go through 17 hours of labour?, when do I get to hold my baby in my arms??? So many questions, so many unanswered questions...
Perhaps I should substitute 'When do I' for 'Will I' and maybe those are the questions I should be asking...
I have this feeling of anxiousness, like I have a million things to do and no time to do them - which is crazy coz all I have right now is time, so much time. I pretty much have 24 hours a day coz I'm not really able to get much sleep. I think a lot of it is because I am used to working 12-14 hours a day and being kept busy for all of that time. Gosh, I can work 14 hour days and still feel like there aren't enough hours in the day...!!!... Now... now I have time, its all I have... and all I want to do is get back to work... can't stand up straight... but want to go back to work...!!!
I don't do very well when I'm not being challenged or stimulated or kept busy and gosh, I've tried to keep busy. I love to sew but I'm not able to sit up at my sewing machine so I thought I'd keep myself busy by knitting. I've knit so many scarves in the past 2 weeks, but I'm kinda getting bored with that now.
I logged into the Aculife website a few minutes ago. I check it every few days to see if there have been any updates. Gordon is doing this new video blogging thing which is kinda cool. On the bottom left of the webpage, there is a testimonial section... I see it every time I log in, at least 2-3 times a week and I've never had a reaction to it, it has never bothered me, but when I logged in a few minutes ago a testimonial popped up that read "Thank you for everything, and also for keeping me so calm during my pregnancy. We are so so HAPPY" and I was hit with his overwhelming feeling of 'This is never going to happen for me!' and 'Seriously, what if it never does happen?' I began to feel panicky, looked for a way out (its a webpage... just close the screen, right?), Nope... the next thing that I see is a post from December 23rd announcing that the Clinic was finishing up for Christmas on that date, but not before they were announcing 5 new pregnancies...!!!
I was reminded of an experience I had 8 or 9 weeks ago, Patrick and I went to Amsterdam for 5 days. Bearing in mind that I am terrified of spiders - We spent our last day there at the Artis Zoo, an amazing zoo. I'm not entirely sure why, but I agreed to go into the Insectarium. Ok, I knew that there would probably be a spider or two in there, but I figured once I knew where they were I could avoid them and all would be ok. So we go inside, and I am being very very cautious and all of a sudden I hear Patrick gasp and say 'Oh God' I look up and I am face to face with this huge tarantula (he probably wasn't huge, but he seemed humongous to me!)... and I start to panic. Patrick said the blood just drained from my face. I have to get out of there, but it seems that everywhere I now look... there are more and more spiders and I can't find the way out. I'm sure it was very very funny to watch, but it was my worst nightmare come true. I know I wasn't in any danger at any point, the spiders were all behind glass cases. We eventually found the way out and I had to sit down for a bit. I was so mad with Patrick, I know it was probably misplaced anger but I felt that if I had just come across the spiders by myself, I probably would have been ok and it was probably the shock of reacting to his reaction and realising that I was face to face with the tarantula, that made it such a terrible experience for me, and then the panickiness because they are all around me and it's that feeling of being trapped or having no escape and I guess infertility is a bit like that. There is no escape, the whole world is like the insectarium and pregnant women are like the tarantulas. They are EVERYWHERE! And some days it is ok to be around that and surrounded by women who are pregnant... the days that I am prepared for it, the days that I spot to 'glass cases' and know that they are there... and then there are the days when I'm not prepared for it and I realise, usually when it is too late, that I am face to face with a pregnant woman.. and not only that... I am surrounded by them... they are everywhere and it's hard to get out of a situation like that.
It's funny coz I have quite a few friends who are pregnant right now and I can see them reading this and thinking 'Has she just called me a tarantula...???' I'm honestly not looking to insult or offend anybody, I'm making somewhat of an analogy... one that makes perfect sense to me at 6am in my completely sleep deprived state.
Maybe I'm my own worst enemy though... maybe I shouldn't go into the Insectarium when I know I suffer from a ridiculous fear of spiders.... and maybe, just maybe I shouldn't log on to the website of the most amazing Clinic that makes miracles happen and helps people to have children... when I know I'm not quite ready to hear that 5 more women have moved ahead of me on the ability-to-have-their-own-children spectrum. Gordon lives to help people get pregnant and have their own children... of course he is going to announce on his website when his patients finally get those two pink lines. I often ask him why can't it just be easy? and his answer is always that it isn't easy for anyone who attends his Clinic. Everybody has a story, a past, a journey, everybody who Gordon works with has maybe failed to become pregnant after years of trying, or perhaps has a history of recurrent miscarriage or ectopic pregnancies, or perhaps has been through cycle after cycle of failed IVF cycles... of course he is going to announce when these women become pregnant, these are true miracles and I know if it was me, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops.
It's funny though... I know all of this, I know how amazing it is and I know that feeling only too well... the feeling when you finally see those two pink lines and your whole world changes in that split second... I know this, I know how those women feel... but I can't help feeling that I'm somehow being left behind... and I know that there is nothing that Gordon could do that he hasn't done for me, he has gone over and above the duty of 'acupuncturist' many many times... so why do I feel like I want to scream at him, that I want to tell him that it is my turn now, it has to be, I've been here the longest and I don't want to wait anymore. When do I get the two pink lines?, when do I get to hear my baby's heartbeat?, when do I get to crave pickles and marshmallows?, when do I get to go through 17 hours of labour?, when do I get to hold my baby in my arms??? So many questions, so many unanswered questions...
Perhaps I should substitute 'When do I' for 'Will I' and maybe those are the questions I should be asking...
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
2013 You Have Been Interesting.......
As I'm scrolling down through my Facebook page, I see a resounding air of
'2013, you've been crap, can't wait to see the back of you. Bring on 2014'
It's funny because I guess I feel like 2013 wasn't too crap for me. Don't get me wrong - some very crappy things happened. I had surgery in February, which was awful and the recovery was extensive, but it finally gave us answers about why I had been in so much pain. My mother's sister died in February and her brother died in September, they were both awful times, but it brought me closer to my Mother's family, I really got to know some of my cousins that I didn't really know when we were growing up because we lived so far away from each other.
September also brought a change of Clinic, I finally listened to Gordon and went to Sims, this in turn, gave us the most heartbreaking news that we ever could have imagined, it knocked us back like we never could have imagined, it absolutely floored us, but it gave us answers, it removed all of our options except one, it gave us a definitive path that we have to take, a path of great uncertainty, but it saved us from years and years of treatment and inevitable heartbreak. We have a long way to go... but at least we know which way to go.
December brought my biggest operation to date, which involved me losing my left tube and the recovery is something I never imagined could be as difficult as it is, but with all of the 'badness' removed, once the recovery is complete, it should give me a whole new lease of life.
Ok... so some pretty crappy stuff happened in 2013, but gosh, I'm astounded at my ability to find the positives in those horrible situations.
I learned a lot in 2013, maybe I'm actually starting to 'grow up' :-). I learned who my real friends are, I learned who the ones I can depend on are, I learned who I can call on when I need something and who will be there when things aren't so good. I also learned of the people who are only my so-called-friends because it benefits them in some way, this was a huge awakening for me, it really opened my eyes and my eyes shall remain firmly locked open to this. 2013 was the year that I removed some people from my life, some of the people who really weren't good for me, people who caused me unnecessary stress and lived for pointless 'drama', but it has also allowed me to really focus on the people who I know are positive influences in my life and I so appreciate them and the fact that they also view me as a positive influence in their's.
I also learned a lot about myself. I learned that sometimes I get so hung up on things that seem hugely important at the time but are in fact pretty minuscule in the great scheme of things, that I end up missing some things that really are important and sometimes I fail to see the bigger picture because I'm so focused on the small things. I also learned a lot about other people, I learned that the people who are mean or nasty or judgmental are that way because of some failing within themselves, not because there is something wrong with me. I've learned that sometimes people say things that they don't really mean when they are angry or upset and that I should try not to take those things personally, no matter how hurtful it may have been.
I also learned just how lucky I am, I've learned to focus positively on what I do have, instead of negatively on what I don't. Yes - bad things happen, they happen a lot, but good things also happen and I guess when horrible things happen to other people or we hear about bad things happening on the news, I can be thankful those things are not happening to us, and while we don't have and may never have what we truly want, we do have a lot and most importantly - we have each other.
Patrick might disagree with my next point, but I think 2013 was the year that we both finally realised that it's just the two of us, and we have to start living for just the two of us because that might be all there ever is. There is a huge possibility that we may never be able to have children, and you know... while that is an absolutely heartbreaking notion... if that is to be then so be it.
Who knows what 2014 will hold, will it be the year that I finally manage to stay pregnant, or will it be the year that we find out that it is not even a possibility?. Whatever happens I do know that no matter how difficult it is to cope with or how bad it seems at the time, I know that we will somehow find the strength to get through it.
I know I've had some issues with 'hope' this year, and at several times I felt that I had been abandoned by hope and that I had abandoned all hope. I began to hate hope because I felt that it just gave me false expectations of what is going to happen and things never went the way I wanted them to and I guess it was easier to blame hope than to accept what was really going on. Probably the most important thing that I have learned this year is that if you don't have hope, you don't have anything, you may as well just give up. A very special friend of mine chose a very special and thoughtful gift for me to make sure that I always remember this and I'd like to share it with all of you.
Here it is...
'2013, you've been crap, can't wait to see the back of you. Bring on 2014'
It's funny because I guess I feel like 2013 wasn't too crap for me. Don't get me wrong - some very crappy things happened. I had surgery in February, which was awful and the recovery was extensive, but it finally gave us answers about why I had been in so much pain. My mother's sister died in February and her brother died in September, they were both awful times, but it brought me closer to my Mother's family, I really got to know some of my cousins that I didn't really know when we were growing up because we lived so far away from each other.
September also brought a change of Clinic, I finally listened to Gordon and went to Sims, this in turn, gave us the most heartbreaking news that we ever could have imagined, it knocked us back like we never could have imagined, it absolutely floored us, but it gave us answers, it removed all of our options except one, it gave us a definitive path that we have to take, a path of great uncertainty, but it saved us from years and years of treatment and inevitable heartbreak. We have a long way to go... but at least we know which way to go.
December brought my biggest operation to date, which involved me losing my left tube and the recovery is something I never imagined could be as difficult as it is, but with all of the 'badness' removed, once the recovery is complete, it should give me a whole new lease of life.
Ok... so some pretty crappy stuff happened in 2013, but gosh, I'm astounded at my ability to find the positives in those horrible situations.
I learned a lot in 2013, maybe I'm actually starting to 'grow up' :-). I learned who my real friends are, I learned who the ones I can depend on are, I learned who I can call on when I need something and who will be there when things aren't so good. I also learned of the people who are only my so-called-friends because it benefits them in some way, this was a huge awakening for me, it really opened my eyes and my eyes shall remain firmly locked open to this. 2013 was the year that I removed some people from my life, some of the people who really weren't good for me, people who caused me unnecessary stress and lived for pointless 'drama', but it has also allowed me to really focus on the people who I know are positive influences in my life and I so appreciate them and the fact that they also view me as a positive influence in their's.
I also learned a lot about myself. I learned that sometimes I get so hung up on things that seem hugely important at the time but are in fact pretty minuscule in the great scheme of things, that I end up missing some things that really are important and sometimes I fail to see the bigger picture because I'm so focused on the small things. I also learned a lot about other people, I learned that the people who are mean or nasty or judgmental are that way because of some failing within themselves, not because there is something wrong with me. I've learned that sometimes people say things that they don't really mean when they are angry or upset and that I should try not to take those things personally, no matter how hurtful it may have been.
I also learned just how lucky I am, I've learned to focus positively on what I do have, instead of negatively on what I don't. Yes - bad things happen, they happen a lot, but good things also happen and I guess when horrible things happen to other people or we hear about bad things happening on the news, I can be thankful those things are not happening to us, and while we don't have and may never have what we truly want, we do have a lot and most importantly - we have each other.
Patrick might disagree with my next point, but I think 2013 was the year that we both finally realised that it's just the two of us, and we have to start living for just the two of us because that might be all there ever is. There is a huge possibility that we may never be able to have children, and you know... while that is an absolutely heartbreaking notion... if that is to be then so be it.
Who knows what 2014 will hold, will it be the year that I finally manage to stay pregnant, or will it be the year that we find out that it is not even a possibility?. Whatever happens I do know that no matter how difficult it is to cope with or how bad it seems at the time, I know that we will somehow find the strength to get through it.
I know I've had some issues with 'hope' this year, and at several times I felt that I had been abandoned by hope and that I had abandoned all hope. I began to hate hope because I felt that it just gave me false expectations of what is going to happen and things never went the way I wanted them to and I guess it was easier to blame hope than to accept what was really going on. Probably the most important thing that I have learned this year is that if you don't have hope, you don't have anything, you may as well just give up. A very special friend of mine chose a very special and thoughtful gift for me to make sure that I always remember this and I'd like to share it with all of you.
Here it is...
So, that pretty much sums up 2013 for me, I'm going into 2014 with a very open mind. I have no real expectations. but I do have hope and I do have faith and belief that no matter what happens, we will get through it. Life will be what we make it.
It feels kinda weird to finish this post and not mention Gordon, who has done so much for us in the past 12 months. I can't imagine what this journey would have become if we didn't have his guidance and support but I do know that I would have struggled to find the strength and endurance to overcome all of the hurdles that we have overcome if Gordon hadn't been an integral part of our journey... and we both know that if someday we do manage to hold our own baby in our arms - it will be solely and completely because of Gordon Mullins and Aculife Clinic.
Tomorrow is the first day of 2014, the first day of a brand new year, a brand new blank 365 page-a-day diary...
Make it a good read.xx.
Only Human...
Turns out that not getting any sleep the night before the operation was actually a really good thing, coz when I was brought to my room to wait to be called... I actually fell asleep, so I was sleeping instead of laying there panicking and freaking out. The panicking and freaking out only started when they came to bring me down to theatre, and as soon as I was laying on the operating table with the needle in my hand - they gave me a relaxant and I suddenly became one of the many defiant toddlers who have just discovered the power of the word 'NO' that I see at work every day. I had started to panic and was feeling like I couldn't really breathe so the nurse told me that they were going to start putting the anesthetic into my arm and I would go off for a nice sleep..... my response... "I will not". She then followed with "You're gona go off for a lovely rest now" my response "No, I'm not!" Even as I could feel my arm burning from the liquid and my face was beginning to burn and I could feel myself losing control of my eyelids... I was adamant that I was not going to go to sleep and I'd really much rather just go home...... and then I woke up... almost 4 hours later.
Yep, I spent 4 hours in theatre and the pain was bad when I woke up, but the worst part was the tube in my throat had gotten stuck and I had locked my teeth around it so they had to wake me up completely so that I would open my mouth wide enough for them to remove the tube, that was the most awful sensation and my throat was in bits after it.
They gave me the maximum doses of morphine and once I had stabilised, they brought me back to my room where I sent a few text messages in between dozing in and out of sleep.
Patrick was back to see me before I knew it and he reiterated my own surprise at how good I was feeling in comparison to previous surgeries. I didn't know it at the time but it was due to the amount of pain medication that they had given me and the fact that I was breathing 100% pure oxygen through the tube in my nose.
Dr. Hayes came around to see me later that evening and he said that it couldn't have gone better, he was very happy with how it had all gone. He showed me pictures of both of my tubes. The right one was tiny and perfectly formed, the left one was swollen and mangled and looked more like brains to me than a fallopian tube - it really was no wonder I had been in so much pain with it. he then informed me that even though I wasn't feeling too bad right then, that I could expect to have an awful amount of pain in a few days time and to really not expect much ease from it for 6 to 8 weeks, and realistically I can expect to not be pain free for about 6 months. I kept telling myself that once that passes it should make a huge difference to how I feel and how I am.
I spent a few days in hospital and I really wasn't too bad even when I got home. It was really only the following Thursday, 6 days after the surgery (which also happened to be my 30th birthday) that I really started to feel miserable. Gordon came to visit me in the morning, he took my pulses and said that my liver points were screaming at him. He warned me that the points he was about to put needles in would really hurt, but they would only hurt for a minute or so and then it would disperse... and he was right. He used points in the upper part of both of my feet and good grief did they hurt, but just like he said... they stopped hurting after a short amount of time.
It was actually quite nice to just sit there and chat with him, it was very relaxed and I felt that it really was an amazing session. Gordon finished up and left after about an hour and I instantly felt really sleepy, I was completely zonked. I don't really remember but I think I may have dozed off for a bit... and then... it happened - I started to cry, I don't know why I was crying, all I know is that I couldn't stop crying. I cried for the best part of four hours, inconsolably an emotional wreck, I just could not stop crying. I think it was a combination of being exhausted coz I hadn't really been sleeping and having the full extent of the pain finally hit me, and the fact that I was spending my 30th birthday laid up, unable to move, completely miserable. I finally started to come round and could feel myself finally be able to stop crying... and then there was a knock on the door... It was only a delivery man with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers from all of the people I work with, and cards that all of the children at work had made for me... and well... that started me off again and I was a sobbing, emotional mess for pretty much the rest of the evening.
A few days after I had gotten home from hospital, I had noticed that I was getting a funny kind of pain in my left leg. I kept brushing it off as just being a bit crampy from not being active, until the night before Christmas Eve (well really 3am on Christmas Eve), the pain in my leg got quite intense and my foot was feeling numb and swollen. I instantly got a feeling that I had a blood clot in my leg and needed to go and have it checked out immediately (At 3am on Christmas Eve). Really, it was just as well that I did, because it turned out that I had developed a rather small clot just below my knee on my left leg. They weren't too worried about it because of where it was located and the risk of it travelling was low, but not wanting to take any chances with a deep vein thrombosis, they put me on daily Innohep injections to keep my blood thin and to prevent the clot from growing. So, I am injecting myself daily into my already swollen and bruised stomach.
Its been just over 2 weeks since the surgery and I have really struggled with the pain this last week. I am acutely aware of the amount of cauterisation that had to be done internally, because the pain I feel is the pain of charring and searing and burning and it hurts, my gosh does it hurt. It stabs deep inside me every time that I move, and I realise that I had seriously underestimated the severity and intensity of this recovery.
We went to my Mum's house for dinner on Christmas day, a short 2 mile trip and sitting up for about 3 hours meant that by the time I got home, I was unable to move, I was crippled with pain and I spent most of the following day just vomiting with some kind of stomach bug, it was just horrible. I was beginning to feel better by the next day and soon I was able to tolerate food again.
It's been a bit trial and error trying to find a pain killer that suits me and is strong enough to deal with the severity of pain that I am experiencing. I'm a bit odd about taking pain killers, especially opiates, I just don't like how they make me feel, but I think we have finally found a pain killer that seems to be suiting me, its just a matter of getting the dosage correct now. It is a two part drug. The first part is a prolonged release drug that is to be taken twice a day; in the morning and at night. The second part is a fast acting drug that can be taken every 4 hours to top up the prolonged release drug and keep on top of the pain. We are kind of playing with dosages to try and get it to where I need it to be, so that I am getting adequate pain relief without the horrible sensations and side effects.
I had a bit of a melt-down on Saturday night just gone. I think it was a combination of not sleeping, being completely exhausted, perhaps some cabin fever from inactivity, generally being a bit up and down and the painful irony that I am so swollen and bruised that I actually look about 8 months pregnant. I found myself beginning to write, it was angry, pain-filled writing, writing that I told myself I would not put on this blog because I was perhaps embarrassed or ashamed that I could have filled a swear jar with the first paragraph alone. But I think the right thing to do is for me to share it on here, because it is true to me and it is a true representation of what I am actually going through right now and that afterall, is what this blog is all about, so here goes...
So here I am again, this mother f'n shithole of a place that I continually return to, guided only by my personal struggle to stay alive, to work through the pain - the physical pain. "It will get easier" of course it f'n will, meanwhile put your man parts through the f'n blender and then try to empathise, then tell me that it will be ok, then tell me that you understand, that you feel my pain. You can't f'n feel it, it's mine, it's always mine.
Surgery after surgery, all leading to and accumulating to be this surgery. I've felt pain, I've felt pain in doses that most people will never experience, I've never felt pain like this. This is pain caused by cauterisation, by burning, by singeing and searing, the vacant space left by the removal of my mangled left tube, it's not vacant. It's filled with burning, the pain is of my charred insides and every time I move, it stabs me, it stabs deep inside me and that f'n hurts!
I was doing so well, it was too easy, I knew it was too good to be true. My mind tricked me into thinking that this was gona be easy, that I could do this with no great problems... Of course that couldn't be the case. My body strikes with a curve ball - a blood clot, of course I need a f'n deep vein thrombosis on top of everything else, of course I need to be injecting myself into my already painfully swollen and bruised stomach every day just so it doesn't travel to my heart or brain and kill me... Of course I do, why wouldn't I.... It's not like I have anything f'n better to be doing.
Am I angry? No, I'm not angry. Anger would be too easy. No part of this is easy. 'Oh just try to relax and take some more drugs'. A junkie's idea of heaven.
Wouldn't it be so easy to let those drugs take my mind to a place where it is easy, where I'm so off my f'n face that I don't feel any pain, instead my days can be filled with rainbows and f'n butterflies and I could live in a hole of blissful obliviousness - oh how easy it would be.
Maybe I am angry, maybe I'm just losing my mind or maybe, just maybe...
This is all part of the plan. I have no idea who's plan it is, it certainly isn't mine. I never asked for this, I never wanted this and I have no f'n idea what I did to deserve it!
I'd quite like to sleep, real sleep. I'd quite like to not be told that I'm looking a bit better when I'm feeling like my abdomen has been through 12 rounds with Mike Tyson and I look about 8 months pregnant, the f'n irony...!!! It's almost laughable. I wish I could laugh, but it hurts too much. I wish I could have a break from the pain, just a break from it, just enough so that I can prepare myself for it, coz I really wasn't prepared for this. I thought I was, but I seriously underestimated this. I didn't realise that it would be so much, so intense, so inconceivably painful and it's messing with my head because I can't escape it.
I'd like it to just stop for a while....
While I so hard try to keep it together and remain strong through whatever I am going through, sometimes it all does get on top of me, especially at times like this when I am not able to keep myself busy or completely occupied and I really am struggling with the pain and soreness.
I guess it is really just a matter of taking it one day at a time. It is a harsh realisation that I am in fact, only human (well... for the time being... while my super-human powers are temporarily subdued). So... one day at a time and fingers crossed that this will all have been worth it and perhaps, just perhaps... this could possibly be the end of operations for a while. I think the two surgeries I have had within 9 months of each other this year, following all of the previous operations that I have been through... I'm probably set for a few surgery-free years. Gosh I'll hardly know what to do with myself if I am not being sliced open regularly :-)
Yep, I spent 4 hours in theatre and the pain was bad when I woke up, but the worst part was the tube in my throat had gotten stuck and I had locked my teeth around it so they had to wake me up completely so that I would open my mouth wide enough for them to remove the tube, that was the most awful sensation and my throat was in bits after it.
They gave me the maximum doses of morphine and once I had stabilised, they brought me back to my room where I sent a few text messages in between dozing in and out of sleep.
Patrick was back to see me before I knew it and he reiterated my own surprise at how good I was feeling in comparison to previous surgeries. I didn't know it at the time but it was due to the amount of pain medication that they had given me and the fact that I was breathing 100% pure oxygen through the tube in my nose.
Dr. Hayes came around to see me later that evening and he said that it couldn't have gone better, he was very happy with how it had all gone. He showed me pictures of both of my tubes. The right one was tiny and perfectly formed, the left one was swollen and mangled and looked more like brains to me than a fallopian tube - it really was no wonder I had been in so much pain with it. he then informed me that even though I wasn't feeling too bad right then, that I could expect to have an awful amount of pain in a few days time and to really not expect much ease from it for 6 to 8 weeks, and realistically I can expect to not be pain free for about 6 months. I kept telling myself that once that passes it should make a huge difference to how I feel and how I am.
I spent a few days in hospital and I really wasn't too bad even when I got home. It was really only the following Thursday, 6 days after the surgery (which also happened to be my 30th birthday) that I really started to feel miserable. Gordon came to visit me in the morning, he took my pulses and said that my liver points were screaming at him. He warned me that the points he was about to put needles in would really hurt, but they would only hurt for a minute or so and then it would disperse... and he was right. He used points in the upper part of both of my feet and good grief did they hurt, but just like he said... they stopped hurting after a short amount of time.
It was actually quite nice to just sit there and chat with him, it was very relaxed and I felt that it really was an amazing session. Gordon finished up and left after about an hour and I instantly felt really sleepy, I was completely zonked. I don't really remember but I think I may have dozed off for a bit... and then... it happened - I started to cry, I don't know why I was crying, all I know is that I couldn't stop crying. I cried for the best part of four hours, inconsolably an emotional wreck, I just could not stop crying. I think it was a combination of being exhausted coz I hadn't really been sleeping and having the full extent of the pain finally hit me, and the fact that I was spending my 30th birthday laid up, unable to move, completely miserable. I finally started to come round and could feel myself finally be able to stop crying... and then there was a knock on the door... It was only a delivery man with the most beautiful bouquet of flowers from all of the people I work with, and cards that all of the children at work had made for me... and well... that started me off again and I was a sobbing, emotional mess for pretty much the rest of the evening.
A few days after I had gotten home from hospital, I had noticed that I was getting a funny kind of pain in my left leg. I kept brushing it off as just being a bit crampy from not being active, until the night before Christmas Eve (well really 3am on Christmas Eve), the pain in my leg got quite intense and my foot was feeling numb and swollen. I instantly got a feeling that I had a blood clot in my leg and needed to go and have it checked out immediately (At 3am on Christmas Eve). Really, it was just as well that I did, because it turned out that I had developed a rather small clot just below my knee on my left leg. They weren't too worried about it because of where it was located and the risk of it travelling was low, but not wanting to take any chances with a deep vein thrombosis, they put me on daily Innohep injections to keep my blood thin and to prevent the clot from growing. So, I am injecting myself daily into my already swollen and bruised stomach.
Its been just over 2 weeks since the surgery and I have really struggled with the pain this last week. I am acutely aware of the amount of cauterisation that had to be done internally, because the pain I feel is the pain of charring and searing and burning and it hurts, my gosh does it hurt. It stabs deep inside me every time that I move, and I realise that I had seriously underestimated the severity and intensity of this recovery.
We went to my Mum's house for dinner on Christmas day, a short 2 mile trip and sitting up for about 3 hours meant that by the time I got home, I was unable to move, I was crippled with pain and I spent most of the following day just vomiting with some kind of stomach bug, it was just horrible. I was beginning to feel better by the next day and soon I was able to tolerate food again.
It's been a bit trial and error trying to find a pain killer that suits me and is strong enough to deal with the severity of pain that I am experiencing. I'm a bit odd about taking pain killers, especially opiates, I just don't like how they make me feel, but I think we have finally found a pain killer that seems to be suiting me, its just a matter of getting the dosage correct now. It is a two part drug. The first part is a prolonged release drug that is to be taken twice a day; in the morning and at night. The second part is a fast acting drug that can be taken every 4 hours to top up the prolonged release drug and keep on top of the pain. We are kind of playing with dosages to try and get it to where I need it to be, so that I am getting adequate pain relief without the horrible sensations and side effects.
I had a bit of a melt-down on Saturday night just gone. I think it was a combination of not sleeping, being completely exhausted, perhaps some cabin fever from inactivity, generally being a bit up and down and the painful irony that I am so swollen and bruised that I actually look about 8 months pregnant. I found myself beginning to write, it was angry, pain-filled writing, writing that I told myself I would not put on this blog because I was perhaps embarrassed or ashamed that I could have filled a swear jar with the first paragraph alone. But I think the right thing to do is for me to share it on here, because it is true to me and it is a true representation of what I am actually going through right now and that afterall, is what this blog is all about, so here goes...
So here I am again, this mother f'n shithole of a place that I continually return to, guided only by my personal struggle to stay alive, to work through the pain - the physical pain. "It will get easier" of course it f'n will, meanwhile put your man parts through the f'n blender and then try to empathise, then tell me that it will be ok, then tell me that you understand, that you feel my pain. You can't f'n feel it, it's mine, it's always mine.
Surgery after surgery, all leading to and accumulating to be this surgery. I've felt pain, I've felt pain in doses that most people will never experience, I've never felt pain like this. This is pain caused by cauterisation, by burning, by singeing and searing, the vacant space left by the removal of my mangled left tube, it's not vacant. It's filled with burning, the pain is of my charred insides and every time I move, it stabs me, it stabs deep inside me and that f'n hurts!
I was doing so well, it was too easy, I knew it was too good to be true. My mind tricked me into thinking that this was gona be easy, that I could do this with no great problems... Of course that couldn't be the case. My body strikes with a curve ball - a blood clot, of course I need a f'n deep vein thrombosis on top of everything else, of course I need to be injecting myself into my already painfully swollen and bruised stomach every day just so it doesn't travel to my heart or brain and kill me... Of course I do, why wouldn't I.... It's not like I have anything f'n better to be doing.
Am I angry? No, I'm not angry. Anger would be too easy. No part of this is easy. 'Oh just try to relax and take some more drugs'. A junkie's idea of heaven.
Wouldn't it be so easy to let those drugs take my mind to a place where it is easy, where I'm so off my f'n face that I don't feel any pain, instead my days can be filled with rainbows and f'n butterflies and I could live in a hole of blissful obliviousness - oh how easy it would be.
Maybe I am angry, maybe I'm just losing my mind or maybe, just maybe...
This is all part of the plan. I have no idea who's plan it is, it certainly isn't mine. I never asked for this, I never wanted this and I have no f'n idea what I did to deserve it!
I'd quite like to sleep, real sleep. I'd quite like to not be told that I'm looking a bit better when I'm feeling like my abdomen has been through 12 rounds with Mike Tyson and I look about 8 months pregnant, the f'n irony...!!! It's almost laughable. I wish I could laugh, but it hurts too much. I wish I could have a break from the pain, just a break from it, just enough so that I can prepare myself for it, coz I really wasn't prepared for this. I thought I was, but I seriously underestimated this. I didn't realise that it would be so much, so intense, so inconceivably painful and it's messing with my head because I can't escape it.
I'd like it to just stop for a while....
While I so hard try to keep it together and remain strong through whatever I am going through, sometimes it all does get on top of me, especially at times like this when I am not able to keep myself busy or completely occupied and I really am struggling with the pain and soreness.
I guess it is really just a matter of taking it one day at a time. It is a harsh realisation that I am in fact, only human (well... for the time being... while my super-human powers are temporarily subdued). So... one day at a time and fingers crossed that this will all have been worth it and perhaps, just perhaps... this could possibly be the end of operations for a while. I think the two surgeries I have had within 9 months of each other this year, following all of the previous operations that I have been through... I'm probably set for a few surgery-free years. Gosh I'll hardly know what to do with myself if I am not being sliced open regularly :-)
Friday, December 13, 2013
Pre-Op Freak Out.......
So yeah... I'm having surgery in just over 6 hours. It is advisable to get a good night's sleep before any kind of operation or procedure..... so why can't I sleep...??? Oh Yeah.... COZ I'M HAVING SURGERY IN JUST OVER 6 HOURS...!!!
I'm not sure what is bothering me more... the being sliced open OR the fact that they have to use a large metal speculum as part of the hysteroscopy procedure, Ok I know I'm going to be asleep for all of this and won't know a thing about it, but they're gona be sticking something that closely resembles a car jack up my you-know-what... (we all know how well I do with the medium sized speculums they use for transfers)... while slicing me open to complete that and the many other procedures that they have to do.
One of my least favourite parts of any surgical procedure is the clean-room right outside the operating theatre, for one thing, it has a very distinct smell, a memory-provoking smell which I absolutely hate, but apart from that, its the loneliness, I will be alone at this point. I will have to leave Patrick at the end of the corridor and I will be alone... being alone is a lot scarier when you are half blind and can't have your glasses or contact lenses with you, unable to focus on anything, visually or physically, I suppose.
The anaesthetist will come and talk to me, he'll make some jokes to try and put me at ease, I'll imagine that I politely giggle, but in fact I'll probably look at him like he's bloody insane... how the hell could I be at ease...??? Then the surgeon will come and talk to me, make sure he has everything in order and is 100% clear on what he is to do. Meanwhile, I will see many nurses, each of then trying to reassure me, while also trying to assure themselves and the anaesthetist that I am in fact the right patient, with the right date of birth. They will be fascinated with my story, they always are and it is always a fantastic talking point, a way to keep the conversation flowing while they wheel me in to the operating theatre. It always reminds me of how my childhood image of being abducted by aliens looks (I have two older brothers, who spent the first 8 years of my life thinking up creative ways to scare the sh*t out of me...!!!). The huge round lights, the people wearing masks, all of the equipment..... and then there's the table. They will instruct me to transfer myself from the trolley to the operating table. Every time I feel like point blank refusing, but I do it anyway. The instructions will follow to find the outside of the table at each side and centre myself on the table. They will then tell me to lay back and relax (Relax..... are you freakin kidding me...???). I'll lie back a certain amount, but not fully. I need to be semi-sitting up, I need to be able to see (theoretically) what is going on around me, so they will either give me something to put under my head or they will raise up the head of the table for me. They will keep talking to me, keep reassuring me... while the anaesthetist searches my arms for a decent vein to put the cannula into. He'll have trouble with this because I have terrible veins but eventually he will find one. Once the cannula is in, he will put a relaxant through it and suddenly I will feel like this ain't so bad. Then I will keep talking... and talking... and talking... :-) In just a few minutes, he will tell me that I'm going to be going off to sleep now as he injects the white liquid into my arm... it will burn, my veins will feel like they are on fire. I will lock my eyes with the eyes of one of the nurses and I will fight with complete stubbornness, I am, of course, fighting a losing battle because within seconds I will lose control of my eyes...... and then.... I'll wake up. As I'm coming around I will feel them removing the tube from my throat... that's rather unpleasant, but it is very quick... and I will notice myself talking... and talking... and talking, probably spouting some serious mumbo-jumbo because the nurses are usually laughing.......... and then the pain in my abdominal area will hit me, it kinda takes your breath away when it hits and the nurses will work as quickly as they can to give me some morphine to take the edge off of it.
And then I will realise that it is all over, and all of that worrying and freaking out was for nothing. I will spend a while in the recovery room and then eventually they will wheel me back to my bed. The transfer from trolley to bed is always a seemingly impossible feat but somehow I always manage it. All I will want to do is call Patrick and let him know that I am out of theatre. I will be on oxygen for a few days after the surgery as I tend to have respiratory problems after anaesthesia, but once that has stabilised, I will want to come home. Several times I have come home too soon after surgery because I just so badly want to get home. I hate being in hospital, I tend to get very down and I miss Lulu something awful. This time I will follow the Dr's instructions on when it is safe for me to go home, I've never had an operation this big before, so I think its best that I follow the instructions I am given.
And that's pretty much that. I will go home and will rest and try my best to keep positive.
I was seriously freaking out for the past few hours, but somehow - writing this has helped to settle my nerves and anxiousness. It has reminded me that none of this is a surprise to me, I know exactly how it is going to play out, I know exactly how it is going to happen and I will get through it.
It's times like this that I find myself being so thankful that I ever started this blog in the first place. Writing helps me and I know that I can turn to writing when I need to and it will help me. Putting words on the screen like this really does help to clarify what is really going on and to get to the root of the emotions I am really feeling, the ones that are being clouded by nerves and anxiousness.
I'm not sure I'll be any more able to sleep than I was an hour ago, but I think having written this will help me to have an easier time tomorrow morning. I know what is going to happen... I just have to get through it... one step at a time.......
I'm not sure what is bothering me more... the being sliced open OR the fact that they have to use a large metal speculum as part of the hysteroscopy procedure, Ok I know I'm going to be asleep for all of this and won't know a thing about it, but they're gona be sticking something that closely resembles a car jack up my you-know-what... (we all know how well I do with the medium sized speculums they use for transfers)... while slicing me open to complete that and the many other procedures that they have to do.
One of my least favourite parts of any surgical procedure is the clean-room right outside the operating theatre, for one thing, it has a very distinct smell, a memory-provoking smell which I absolutely hate, but apart from that, its the loneliness, I will be alone at this point. I will have to leave Patrick at the end of the corridor and I will be alone... being alone is a lot scarier when you are half blind and can't have your glasses or contact lenses with you, unable to focus on anything, visually or physically, I suppose.
The anaesthetist will come and talk to me, he'll make some jokes to try and put me at ease, I'll imagine that I politely giggle, but in fact I'll probably look at him like he's bloody insane... how the hell could I be at ease...??? Then the surgeon will come and talk to me, make sure he has everything in order and is 100% clear on what he is to do. Meanwhile, I will see many nurses, each of then trying to reassure me, while also trying to assure themselves and the anaesthetist that I am in fact the right patient, with the right date of birth. They will be fascinated with my story, they always are and it is always a fantastic talking point, a way to keep the conversation flowing while they wheel me in to the operating theatre. It always reminds me of how my childhood image of being abducted by aliens looks (I have two older brothers, who spent the first 8 years of my life thinking up creative ways to scare the sh*t out of me...!!!). The huge round lights, the people wearing masks, all of the equipment..... and then there's the table. They will instruct me to transfer myself from the trolley to the operating table. Every time I feel like point blank refusing, but I do it anyway. The instructions will follow to find the outside of the table at each side and centre myself on the table. They will then tell me to lay back and relax (Relax..... are you freakin kidding me...???). I'll lie back a certain amount, but not fully. I need to be semi-sitting up, I need to be able to see (theoretically) what is going on around me, so they will either give me something to put under my head or they will raise up the head of the table for me. They will keep talking to me, keep reassuring me... while the anaesthetist searches my arms for a decent vein to put the cannula into. He'll have trouble with this because I have terrible veins but eventually he will find one. Once the cannula is in, he will put a relaxant through it and suddenly I will feel like this ain't so bad. Then I will keep talking... and talking... and talking... :-) In just a few minutes, he will tell me that I'm going to be going off to sleep now as he injects the white liquid into my arm... it will burn, my veins will feel like they are on fire. I will lock my eyes with the eyes of one of the nurses and I will fight with complete stubbornness, I am, of course, fighting a losing battle because within seconds I will lose control of my eyes...... and then.... I'll wake up. As I'm coming around I will feel them removing the tube from my throat... that's rather unpleasant, but it is very quick... and I will notice myself talking... and talking... and talking, probably spouting some serious mumbo-jumbo because the nurses are usually laughing.......... and then the pain in my abdominal area will hit me, it kinda takes your breath away when it hits and the nurses will work as quickly as they can to give me some morphine to take the edge off of it.
And then I will realise that it is all over, and all of that worrying and freaking out was for nothing. I will spend a while in the recovery room and then eventually they will wheel me back to my bed. The transfer from trolley to bed is always a seemingly impossible feat but somehow I always manage it. All I will want to do is call Patrick and let him know that I am out of theatre. I will be on oxygen for a few days after the surgery as I tend to have respiratory problems after anaesthesia, but once that has stabilised, I will want to come home. Several times I have come home too soon after surgery because I just so badly want to get home. I hate being in hospital, I tend to get very down and I miss Lulu something awful. This time I will follow the Dr's instructions on when it is safe for me to go home, I've never had an operation this big before, so I think its best that I follow the instructions I am given.
And that's pretty much that. I will go home and will rest and try my best to keep positive.
I was seriously freaking out for the past few hours, but somehow - writing this has helped to settle my nerves and anxiousness. It has reminded me that none of this is a surprise to me, I know exactly how it is going to play out, I know exactly how it is going to happen and I will get through it.
It's times like this that I find myself being so thankful that I ever started this blog in the first place. Writing helps me and I know that I can turn to writing when I need to and it will help me. Putting words on the screen like this really does help to clarify what is really going on and to get to the root of the emotions I am really feeling, the ones that are being clouded by nerves and anxiousness.
I'm not sure I'll be any more able to sleep than I was an hour ago, but I think having written this will help me to have an easier time tomorrow morning. I know what is going to happen... I just have to get through it... one step at a time.......
Thursday, December 12, 2013
Surgery Tomorrow.......
Two weeks ago, I started feeling a pain in my left side, it was a very familiar pain and followed an exact cycle that I have experienced quite a few times.... I had an ovarian cyst. The pain was more annoying than anything and was accompanied by a lot of abdominal pressure and swelling.
10 days ago, late in the evening the pain got extremely intense and suddenly it went from being concentrated just on my left side to encompassing my entire abdominal area and the feeling of pressure and swelling became a lot more intense. I went to the hospital for an ultrasound the following morning to have my fears confirmed - The cyst had ruptured. They admitted me to hospital straight away and the plan was to operate as soon as possible. Well, that was the plan until they discovered that the ruptured cyst had caused an abdominal infection. I spent a few days in hospital on IV antibiotics and was then allowed home to take antibiotics and pain killers.
The originally scheduled surgery is going ahead tomorrow morning, my feelings about it are a bit in limbo really. I'm kinda flittering back and forth between freaking out and wanting it over with.
We worked out the other night that this is surgery number 10 for me, and doesn't that seem to be the magic number for me - 10 little angels and 10 operations.
I guess with nine surgeries under my belt I should be fairly used to it by now, but unfortunately experience isn't really working in my favour. I can't help recalling the horrible feeling when you feel yourself losing consciousness, the panickiness when you realise that you have no control over it, once that needle is in your arm, there is no longer anything you can do, anything that happens from that point onwards is completely in the hands of the surgeon and the anaesthetist and the nurses. And knowing that when I wake up after this operation I am going to be in pain, and I will be in a lot of pain for many weeks after this operation.
I'm trying to keep busy this evening, trying not to think too much about how anxious I am or how tomorrow is going to play out. I am sad that I am going to lose my left tube, but I know that has to happen, it just feels that I will be 'incomplete' or something, but I know it is for the best and it will hopefully solve some of the other problems I have been experiencing.
We have to leave the house at 7 in the morning and I am booked into theatre for 8:30, I don't know how long I will be in theatre, but I imagine it will be a few hours anyway with the amount they have to do.
I've gotten some lovely calls and messages today, all wishing me well. I appreciate that so much. Truth is I'm on the verge of properly freaking out and know that I will be a lot worse tomorrow morning
Gotta look to this time tomorrow evening when it will hopefully be all over and all I will have to worry about then is recovering and getting home and then more recovering......
10 days ago, late in the evening the pain got extremely intense and suddenly it went from being concentrated just on my left side to encompassing my entire abdominal area and the feeling of pressure and swelling became a lot more intense. I went to the hospital for an ultrasound the following morning to have my fears confirmed - The cyst had ruptured. They admitted me to hospital straight away and the plan was to operate as soon as possible. Well, that was the plan until they discovered that the ruptured cyst had caused an abdominal infection. I spent a few days in hospital on IV antibiotics and was then allowed home to take antibiotics and pain killers.
The originally scheduled surgery is going ahead tomorrow morning, my feelings about it are a bit in limbo really. I'm kinda flittering back and forth between freaking out and wanting it over with.
We worked out the other night that this is surgery number 10 for me, and doesn't that seem to be the magic number for me - 10 little angels and 10 operations.
I guess with nine surgeries under my belt I should be fairly used to it by now, but unfortunately experience isn't really working in my favour. I can't help recalling the horrible feeling when you feel yourself losing consciousness, the panickiness when you realise that you have no control over it, once that needle is in your arm, there is no longer anything you can do, anything that happens from that point onwards is completely in the hands of the surgeon and the anaesthetist and the nurses. And knowing that when I wake up after this operation I am going to be in pain, and I will be in a lot of pain for many weeks after this operation.
I'm trying to keep busy this evening, trying not to think too much about how anxious I am or how tomorrow is going to play out. I am sad that I am going to lose my left tube, but I know that has to happen, it just feels that I will be 'incomplete' or something, but I know it is for the best and it will hopefully solve some of the other problems I have been experiencing.
We have to leave the house at 7 in the morning and I am booked into theatre for 8:30, I don't know how long I will be in theatre, but I imagine it will be a few hours anyway with the amount they have to do.
I've gotten some lovely calls and messages today, all wishing me well. I appreciate that so much. Truth is I'm on the verge of properly freaking out and know that I will be a lot worse tomorrow morning
Gotta look to this time tomorrow evening when it will hopefully be all over and all I will have to worry about then is recovering and getting home and then more recovering......
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Upcoming Surgery.....
I went to see Dr. Hayes in Kilkenny yesterday, and it looks like I'm having surgery in two weeks... on the 13th of December..... yep... I'm having surgery on Friday, the 13th... of course I am... lol...!!!
This is a fairly big operation and will encompass four procedures in one. The first is to remove my left fallopian tube, the hydrosalpinx has returned and the damage to the tube is irreversible, so the only options are to clip it or remove it completely. I have spoken to Dr. Hayes and we have decided that removing it is the best option, as while clipping it will stop the infection from seeping into my womb, it won't stop the awful pain that it causes.
The second procedure is a hysteroscopy, which involves examining the exterior of my womb and removing the entire contents of my womb, as the infection has been leaking into it for so long, this has to be contributing to my womb being such an inhospitable environment.
The third procedure is to drill into and burn the entire surface of both of my ovaries, to halt the production of cysts and hopefully stimulate healthy ovulation. I've had this done twice before and the recovery from this is just awful, it is extremely painful for 4-6 weeks after the procedure and again during ovulation for about the first 6 months.
The last procedure is to cut through the many adhesions that are connecting my womb, my tube, my ovary, my bowel and the scar tissues from previous surgeries.
So, all in all.... there is a lot to be done in this one procedure and I am told to expect to be in a considerable amount of pain for a few weeks after the surgery. I am anxious about it, although at this stage... one would imagine that I'd be used to having surgery.... it really doesn't get any easier...!!!
Its a good time for me to have surgery though, it is quiet at work for a few weeks over Christmas, so I will have a few weeks to be able to properly rest and recuperate and not have to be worrying about things.
I suppose I'm a bit sad that I will be laid up for my 30th birthday (on the 19th), but we had a lovely party last weekend and Patrick tells me that we will do something special for it as soon as I have fully recovered. I'll also be laid up for Christmas and the New Year, but I'm kinda feeling ok about that. December is always a really difficult time for me, and Christmas is a constant reminder of the babies that we have lost and the fact that we do not have any children to make a fuss of at Christmas time. Our first baby from our very first pregnancy was due on Christmas eve 2007, so Christmas has been difficult since then.
I wanted to briefly comment on the fact that we have recently passed the 50,000 mark on here. What an amazing achievement that is, it is just amazing. It's hard to believe that my little blog has reached such a huge audience.
So... right now, I'm trying to tie up a few loose ends for Christmas before going in for surgery. I am also trying to put together a plan for recovery after surgery, aided hugely by the fact that Gordon has offered to come and treat me at home in the weeks immediately following the surgery, to help my body to heal and recover from the huge trauma that it is about to undergo.
I had a session with Gordon today... and I have to admit... I was completely zonked after it, I felt like all I wanted to do was sleep, so I'm hoping this means I will have a great night's sleep tonight......
This is a fairly big operation and will encompass four procedures in one. The first is to remove my left fallopian tube, the hydrosalpinx has returned and the damage to the tube is irreversible, so the only options are to clip it or remove it completely. I have spoken to Dr. Hayes and we have decided that removing it is the best option, as while clipping it will stop the infection from seeping into my womb, it won't stop the awful pain that it causes.
The second procedure is a hysteroscopy, which involves examining the exterior of my womb and removing the entire contents of my womb, as the infection has been leaking into it for so long, this has to be contributing to my womb being such an inhospitable environment.
The third procedure is to drill into and burn the entire surface of both of my ovaries, to halt the production of cysts and hopefully stimulate healthy ovulation. I've had this done twice before and the recovery from this is just awful, it is extremely painful for 4-6 weeks after the procedure and again during ovulation for about the first 6 months.
The last procedure is to cut through the many adhesions that are connecting my womb, my tube, my ovary, my bowel and the scar tissues from previous surgeries.
So, all in all.... there is a lot to be done in this one procedure and I am told to expect to be in a considerable amount of pain for a few weeks after the surgery. I am anxious about it, although at this stage... one would imagine that I'd be used to having surgery.... it really doesn't get any easier...!!!
Its a good time for me to have surgery though, it is quiet at work for a few weeks over Christmas, so I will have a few weeks to be able to properly rest and recuperate and not have to be worrying about things.
I suppose I'm a bit sad that I will be laid up for my 30th birthday (on the 19th), but we had a lovely party last weekend and Patrick tells me that we will do something special for it as soon as I have fully recovered. I'll also be laid up for Christmas and the New Year, but I'm kinda feeling ok about that. December is always a really difficult time for me, and Christmas is a constant reminder of the babies that we have lost and the fact that we do not have any children to make a fuss of at Christmas time. Our first baby from our very first pregnancy was due on Christmas eve 2007, so Christmas has been difficult since then.
I wanted to briefly comment on the fact that we have recently passed the 50,000 mark on here. What an amazing achievement that is, it is just amazing. It's hard to believe that my little blog has reached such a huge audience.
So... right now, I'm trying to tie up a few loose ends for Christmas before going in for surgery. I am also trying to put together a plan for recovery after surgery, aided hugely by the fact that Gordon has offered to come and treat me at home in the weeks immediately following the surgery, to help my body to heal and recover from the huge trauma that it is about to undergo.
I had a session with Gordon today... and I have to admit... I was completely zonked after it, I felt like all I wanted to do was sleep, so I'm hoping this means I will have a great night's sleep tonight......
Monday, November 4, 2013
Hope Is A Four Letter Word
Hope...Hope... Hope... Its a word I've had thrown at me so many times over the past 4 years... 'No matter what... you have to hang on to some hope'... Hope... Hope... Hope.
Its a word I used to love, a word that I used to cling on to.... It is now a word that I despise... It actually annoys me when someone tells me that there has to be some hope, there has to be some way... there has to be... there just has to be...
Well... it turns out that there might be. Gordon was talking to Dr. Walsh from Sims Clinic and was able to tell me that there is a clinic in the Czech Republic that has specialised in genetic testing of embryos for the past 13 years, so while it is very very new over here, they have been doing it for quite some time. The concern is the rarity of my condition and how little information is known or about it. There is a Dr. in the US who is researching this exact condition at the current time but will be quite a few years before any information is proven or readily available.
So anyway... even though my reproductive chromosomes are low on both sides, there is a slight possibility that not all of my eggs will be affected. Basically it will involve going to the Czech Republic, stimulating and going through a whole other cycle of ICSI or IMSI, and then having all of the resulting embryos genetically tested to see which, if any of them, are genetically viable. It could turn out that 100% of them are defective and if that is the case... we are in the same position that we are currently in. ..... But maybe... just maybe it might not be 100% and we just need one genetically viable embryo to give this a proper go.
Gordon finished telling me this by saying 'I know it might not be much, but at least it is a tiny bit of hope'. There it is again..... that four letter word. Lol - I think it might be the first time I have used another four-letter-word when talking to Gordon...!!!
He's right though... I don't know if it is hope... but it is one more step that we can take before we have no option but to give up completely... and then we can truly say that we have exhausted all possibilities.
We went to Amsterdam for 5 days last week as it was Mid-term at work... and it really couldn't have come at a better time. As soon as the plane left Cork Airport, I could feel my stress levels reducing... it was amazing - just being away, away from the pain and hurt and grief and the results that we had gotten... just away. Unfortunately it was the opposite when we were coming back knowing what we were returning to.
We did have a good time in Amsterdam, even though there was an awful storm there. It's funny though how the mind can alter according to the situation that you find yourself in. I saw things that I never saw before.... I never saw parents struggling with children before, I never thought about how much trouble it is to take children away on holidays... to the point where my thinking almost became ' gosh, if we had kids... we wouldn't be able to do this'. I've never found myself thinking like that before and I guess it has struck me as quite interesting how my thinking has adapted to my current situation.... sure... its probably a means of protecting myself from how difficult it actually is to imagine us not having kids and unfortunately I am only too aware that sure protection mechanisms are very very temporary and only work for so long.
I did have an interesting experience in the Amsterdam Dungeon. It was scary and dark and creepy and things kept jumping out at us in the dark... my idea of an absolute nightmare. There were about eight rooms... each one more fear inducing than the last and I was proper freaking out. I don't like anything like that... I'm afraid of the dark at the best of times...!!! But anyway... In about the third room, I noticed that I could hear a child crying. At first I thought it was part of the 'show' but then I realised that someone had actually brought a child (can't have been more than 8 yrs old) in to the Dungeon. The majority of the show was in English and this child didn't speak English so not only was it ridiculously scary for him... he couldn't even understand what was being said. Immediately, I felt my own fear disappearing and all of my concern was now for this child who was absolutely petrified and was clinging onto who I can only imagine was his mother. I wasn't scared anymore... I found myself putting every ounce of energy I had into somehow willing for it to not be such a frightening experience for this little child. It just reminded me of the strength of my 'Maternal' instinct.
So... We do have a long road ahead of us... but I am refusing to even take on board how much is going to be involved in the next year or so. So, I have decided to concentrate only on the next step.... and the next step is Surgery... just surgery and once I am home after the surgery... the next step is recovering from surgery... and that is as far as I am going to allow myself to look ahead on this journey. I know that if I start to think about how much I will have to undertake, that I will get overwhelmed and it will seem impossible, but taking it one step about a time might make it seem actually do-able.
Hope is a four letter word, not my favourite four letter word at the minute.... but where would I be without it...???
Its a word I used to love, a word that I used to cling on to.... It is now a word that I despise... It actually annoys me when someone tells me that there has to be some hope, there has to be some way... there has to be... there just has to be...
Well... it turns out that there might be. Gordon was talking to Dr. Walsh from Sims Clinic and was able to tell me that there is a clinic in the Czech Republic that has specialised in genetic testing of embryos for the past 13 years, so while it is very very new over here, they have been doing it for quite some time. The concern is the rarity of my condition and how little information is known or about it. There is a Dr. in the US who is researching this exact condition at the current time but will be quite a few years before any information is proven or readily available.
So anyway... even though my reproductive chromosomes are low on both sides, there is a slight possibility that not all of my eggs will be affected. Basically it will involve going to the Czech Republic, stimulating and going through a whole other cycle of ICSI or IMSI, and then having all of the resulting embryos genetically tested to see which, if any of them, are genetically viable. It could turn out that 100% of them are defective and if that is the case... we are in the same position that we are currently in. ..... But maybe... just maybe it might not be 100% and we just need one genetically viable embryo to give this a proper go.
Gordon finished telling me this by saying 'I know it might not be much, but at least it is a tiny bit of hope'. There it is again..... that four letter word. Lol - I think it might be the first time I have used another four-letter-word when talking to Gordon...!!!
He's right though... I don't know if it is hope... but it is one more step that we can take before we have no option but to give up completely... and then we can truly say that we have exhausted all possibilities.
We went to Amsterdam for 5 days last week as it was Mid-term at work... and it really couldn't have come at a better time. As soon as the plane left Cork Airport, I could feel my stress levels reducing... it was amazing - just being away, away from the pain and hurt and grief and the results that we had gotten... just away. Unfortunately it was the opposite when we were coming back knowing what we were returning to.
We did have a good time in Amsterdam, even though there was an awful storm there. It's funny though how the mind can alter according to the situation that you find yourself in. I saw things that I never saw before.... I never saw parents struggling with children before, I never thought about how much trouble it is to take children away on holidays... to the point where my thinking almost became ' gosh, if we had kids... we wouldn't be able to do this'. I've never found myself thinking like that before and I guess it has struck me as quite interesting how my thinking has adapted to my current situation.... sure... its probably a means of protecting myself from how difficult it actually is to imagine us not having kids and unfortunately I am only too aware that sure protection mechanisms are very very temporary and only work for so long.
I did have an interesting experience in the Amsterdam Dungeon. It was scary and dark and creepy and things kept jumping out at us in the dark... my idea of an absolute nightmare. There were about eight rooms... each one more fear inducing than the last and I was proper freaking out. I don't like anything like that... I'm afraid of the dark at the best of times...!!! But anyway... In about the third room, I noticed that I could hear a child crying. At first I thought it was part of the 'show' but then I realised that someone had actually brought a child (can't have been more than 8 yrs old) in to the Dungeon. The majority of the show was in English and this child didn't speak English so not only was it ridiculously scary for him... he couldn't even understand what was being said. Immediately, I felt my own fear disappearing and all of my concern was now for this child who was absolutely petrified and was clinging onto who I can only imagine was his mother. I wasn't scared anymore... I found myself putting every ounce of energy I had into somehow willing for it to not be such a frightening experience for this little child. It just reminded me of the strength of my 'Maternal' instinct.
So... We do have a long road ahead of us... but I am refusing to even take on board how much is going to be involved in the next year or so. So, I have decided to concentrate only on the next step.... and the next step is Surgery... just surgery and once I am home after the surgery... the next step is recovering from surgery... and that is as far as I am going to allow myself to look ahead on this journey. I know that if I start to think about how much I will have to undertake, that I will get overwhelmed and it will seem impossible, but taking it one step about a time might make it seem actually do-able.
Hope is a four letter word, not my favourite four letter word at the minute.... but where would I be without it...???
Monday, October 21, 2013
'I Don't Know How...'
Six and a half years....... it is exactly six and a half years since this journey began for us, six and a half years since I first miscarried, six and a half years since I felt my heart breaking for the very first time. I became very familiar with that feeling over the past six and a half years as I came up against the same situation again and again... it never got easier. I don't know if it got more difficult each time, but I do know that every time that the realisation struck that it was happening again... I told myself that there was no way that I could go through it again, there was no way I would be able to find the strength to cope with another loss, there was no way I would be able to recover from it... and yet I did... again... and again... and again.
Somehow over the past six and a half years, even with everything I have gone through.... I had managed to hang on to some amount of hope. It never crossed my mind at any point that it would never happen for us...
I always 'knew' that it would, I just didn't know how much more I would have to go through before it did happen... and that didn't matter, because I would keep going until it did, I didn't care what I had to put myself through... I would do it if it meant that some day I would get to hold my own baby, someday I would hand Patrick our baby and our world would be complete... not just complete, but completely complete.
That has been ripped from me and I am finding that so hard to comprehend, Some days I find myself actually laughing about it because it all seems just so ridiculous, like how could that be true... it just doesn't make any sense. Some days I find myself talking about it as if I was discussing the results of the football match at the weekend... all facts and figures, very clinical.... and then there are the days.... the days where I find myself panicking, struggling to breathe because it hits me so hard that this is real, very real. On one of those days..... I sat in front of Gordon... watching him fight back tears... while he struggled to find something to say to me... as I pitifully pleaded with him to find some way to change the results, some way to fix it, some way to make it not be true... as he tells me 'Anne-Marie, you know I would if I could, but I don't know how'. How could he not know how? He has to know..... Gordon has always known what to do... each time we've come up against an obstacle... he has known what to do, he's been able to point me in the right direction, he's been able to tell me who to talk to, he's been able to tell me the steps that I need to take next. How could the guy who can make a migraine disappear by giving me instructions over the phone, who can make an irregular cycle into a 28 day cycle in less than 30 minutes, the guy who can transform me from a person who walks into his clinic a worked up ball of stress into someone who is chilled out and floats out of the clinic in as much time..... No matter what the problem is... Gordon knows what to do... how can he not know what to do to fix this...???
I guess the answer is simple... you cannot fix genetics... there is no way to fix this, and despite my suspicions that he must have some super-natural powers.... I am reminded that he is, in fact... just a human being... a mere mortal who I know would do anything to change this for me... if it could be changed.... but it can't be.
He has though, promised me that he will talk to Dr. Walsh from SIMS as soon as he can, to try to find some way of at least helping me to understand this.
I realise that since I attended Gordon's clinic for the very first time back in June 2011, I have depended on him quite a lot for guidance on this journey... and he has never steered me wrong. And even though we have been hit with the last thing that we ever expected, and I know that I will never be able to accept it... I do realise that had we not started attending SIMS clinic and had the genetic testing done there, I would have continued with cycle after cycle of IVF treatment for the next 10-15 years. I would have kept getting pregnant and miscarrying time and time again... I would have kept going til it killed me, I don't think I ever would have made the decision myself to stop, it would have been made for me... one way or another, but I do know I never would have given up on my dream to have my own baby. It was Gordon who steered us to SIMS Clinic, It was Gordon who introduced me to the whole world of Auto-immune issues and practically plagued me with the 'Is your body baby friendly' book until I finally agreed to take his copy and read it. It was Gordon who pointed me in the direction of Auto-immune and genetic testing, he kept talking to me about Natural Killer cells and I kept brushing it off and letting it go over my head.... I did not want to even go there. I know it sounds like I'm blaming Gordon for a whole pile of stuff here... but I have to respect that it is because of Gordon that we finally got answers...not the answers we wanted.... but definitive answers none-the-less.
I truly do not know how I am going to get through this... I don't know how I am going to get to a point of being able to even believe that this is true, never mind a point of understanding it or coming to terms with it, but an email from Gordon that simply said 'spare parachute packed and ready' ( You might remember me being in a state before my last transfer and comparing it to jumping out of a plane again and again and my parachute failing every time, and me being afraid to jump again in case the same thing happens again... and Gordon telling me that it was ok because this time he was jumping with me and he was carrying the spare parachute) tells me that no matter how long it takes or how bad it gets.... I won't be going through it alone.
To be honest, I've been a bit surprised by people's reactions to this news. I've been met by friends, colleagues, family... who cannot speak, but simply hug me and burst into tears. This is affecting everyone very deeply and it makes me realise that there are a lot of people who have been on this journey with me, people who have no experience of IVF themselves but have followed my journey from the start and have hoped and prayed that it would work for us. From my friends who tell me that they know how lucky they are to have their babies and that it just isn't fair that this is happening to me.... to the amazing woman who continually offers me use of her womb should I ever consider going down the surrogacy route.... To Gordon who was fighting back tears so hard that he couldn't speak (sorry to ruin your macho image ;-) )..... to my friends who are planning coffee dates, shopping trips, pamper days, venting sessions..... anything to make me feel better and get me through this... to my colleagues at work who have been simply been amazing..... to Patrick's sister in-law who made me toast because I had forgotten to eat.... to my friends in Northern Ireland, the UK and America who sent me the most beautiful pendant - the design entitled The Circle of Life, which has so much relevance and meaning and is very very special to me. I have been overwhelmed by the reaction, and even though I know that I am nowhere near the point of even beginning to realise the severity and actuality of this... I will get there and I will not be alone.
Circle of Life Pendant.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
That Time Of The Year Again...
15th of October ...7PM Wave of Light... One candle for each of our beautiful Angels.xx.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Abnormal Genes and Disintegrated Dreams...
Where do I start...???
I had kinda forgotten that Dr. Walsh from SIMS was to ring me today with test results - and how I so wish he never made that call. I wish I could turn back the clock and not take that call today, I wish I had never heard the news I heard today, I wish I never got those results, I wish I never did those damn tests... coz then I could continue living in semi-ignorant bliss where I had hope, where I could picture myself carrying my baby both inside and out, where I think about what school my child will go to, what hobbies they will have, how people will say to me that he/she looks just how I did at that age.... that all disintegrated in about the first 90 seconds of that phone call.
I have a genetic abnormality called Low Low FMR-1 Homozygote. This directly affects follicle development and egg quality. It means that I am genetically predisposed to miscarriage, and while the success rates with fertility treatment are very low in the best of circumstances, this automatically reduces our chances of success by at least half. Basically when we are conceived, we get half of our genes from our Mother and half from our Father. A certain amount of the genes from each side are 'fertility' genes and decide things like quality of the eggs and how your follicles will develop. I have found out today that my fertility genes from both sides are inadequate. They are low on both my X and Y chromosomes. This is not good news. This is an inherited condition and is very rare. I am only the second person that Dr. Walsh has come across that has this condition. The chances of both parents having deficiencies in those specific genes are very very low, but that is what has happened.
I was also informed that I have some immune abnormalities and I have an elevated level of Natural Killer cells. This means that my body is attacking the embryos when they are put into my womb, killing them.
What this means for us..... Well basically... Patrick's sperm has 100% anti-sperm antibodies which basically eats away at the sperm, my eggs are crap and my womb is pretty much an inhospitable environment and will attack anything that enters.
So... where do we go from here...??? Well, digesting all of this and finding some way to get over the shock of yet another devastating blow will be a good start. Then Dr. Walsh wants me to have my testosterone levels and liver function tested. I then need to have surgery to address some ongoing issues in my lower left abdomen. Dr. Walsh then suggests we do what he calls a 'closure cycle'... basically a cycle of IMSI, using EEVA while suppressing my immune system with steroids and Intra-lipids to keep my Natural Killer cells at bay and stop them from attacking the embryos. If this cycle fails and I miscarry, then the only option for further treatment will be donor eggs/donor sperm.
I swear, this has to be a bloody joke...!!!
I could feel myself getting overwhelmed as Dr. Walsh was speaking to me on the phone, I could feel myself starting to tear up and my mind was drifting a bit. I had to remind myself to pull it together and focus on what he was saying to me. Then I had to tell Patrick.
I then found myself doing something that I guess would be quite unusual to do after hearing such devastating news... I swallowed what I was feeling and I walked out of my office. I didn't tell anyone at work... I simply carried on. I went into every classroom and chatted with all of the children... like I always do. I sat at the desk in reception and greeted every child and parent as they passed... like I always do. I just carried on. I guess I didn't do too good a job at hiding it completely, as one of the senior staff members noticed something and asked if I was ok, I simply told her that I was.
I don't really know what to do now... it all feels so dismal and yet I don't fully believe it. I feel like we're
re-enacting the episode of FRIENDS where Monica and Chandler find out much the same thing. I'm feeling pretty lost right now.
I had kinda forgotten that Dr. Walsh from SIMS was to ring me today with test results - and how I so wish he never made that call. I wish I could turn back the clock and not take that call today, I wish I had never heard the news I heard today, I wish I never got those results, I wish I never did those damn tests... coz then I could continue living in semi-ignorant bliss where I had hope, where I could picture myself carrying my baby both inside and out, where I think about what school my child will go to, what hobbies they will have, how people will say to me that he/she looks just how I did at that age.... that all disintegrated in about the first 90 seconds of that phone call.
I have a genetic abnormality called Low Low FMR-1 Homozygote. This directly affects follicle development and egg quality. It means that I am genetically predisposed to miscarriage, and while the success rates with fertility treatment are very low in the best of circumstances, this automatically reduces our chances of success by at least half. Basically when we are conceived, we get half of our genes from our Mother and half from our Father. A certain amount of the genes from each side are 'fertility' genes and decide things like quality of the eggs and how your follicles will develop. I have found out today that my fertility genes from both sides are inadequate. They are low on both my X and Y chromosomes. This is not good news. This is an inherited condition and is very rare. I am only the second person that Dr. Walsh has come across that has this condition. The chances of both parents having deficiencies in those specific genes are very very low, but that is what has happened.
I was also informed that I have some immune abnormalities and I have an elevated level of Natural Killer cells. This means that my body is attacking the embryos when they are put into my womb, killing them.
What this means for us..... Well basically... Patrick's sperm has 100% anti-sperm antibodies which basically eats away at the sperm, my eggs are crap and my womb is pretty much an inhospitable environment and will attack anything that enters.
So... where do we go from here...??? Well, digesting all of this and finding some way to get over the shock of yet another devastating blow will be a good start. Then Dr. Walsh wants me to have my testosterone levels and liver function tested. I then need to have surgery to address some ongoing issues in my lower left abdomen. Dr. Walsh then suggests we do what he calls a 'closure cycle'... basically a cycle of IMSI, using EEVA while suppressing my immune system with steroids and Intra-lipids to keep my Natural Killer cells at bay and stop them from attacking the embryos. If this cycle fails and I miscarry, then the only option for further treatment will be donor eggs/donor sperm.
I swear, this has to be a bloody joke...!!!
I could feel myself getting overwhelmed as Dr. Walsh was speaking to me on the phone, I could feel myself starting to tear up and my mind was drifting a bit. I had to remind myself to pull it together and focus on what he was saying to me. Then I had to tell Patrick.
I then found myself doing something that I guess would be quite unusual to do after hearing such devastating news... I swallowed what I was feeling and I walked out of my office. I didn't tell anyone at work... I simply carried on. I went into every classroom and chatted with all of the children... like I always do. I sat at the desk in reception and greeted every child and parent as they passed... like I always do. I just carried on. I guess I didn't do too good a job at hiding it completely, as one of the senior staff members noticed something and asked if I was ok, I simply told her that I was.
I don't really know what to do now... it all feels so dismal and yet I don't fully believe it. I feel like we're
re-enacting the episode of FRIENDS where Monica and Chandler find out much the same thing. I'm feeling pretty lost right now.
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