slip of the tongue

It was 7.45 this morning and I was coffee-deprived when the following conversation took place while waiting for a meeting to start.
Junior Doctor: Hey, Illanare, I'm sorry I haven't got back to you about when I can commit to a week of teaching.  I wasn't sure what my availability would be (lowers voice) as my wife is pregnant.
Illanare: Oh, congratulations!
Junior Doctor: Thanks!  Yes, I didn't feel like I could commit to teaching until we had the 12-week scan.  That was last week and everything is fine, actually she's 13 weeks now. It feels like we had to wait forever for the 12 weeks to pass.
Illanare: (whose few functioning brain cells are only thinking about coffee) yes, the first trimester can feel like it goes on for twice as long.
Junior Doctor: Ah, so you have children!

I was back in the moment with a bang and had no idea what to say.  After what seemed an eternity, I mumbled "er no, I don't" and then thanked a god I no longer believe in for the meeting chair calling us all to order.

I was off my guard and so ended up blindsided.  What would you have said?

a safe place

I was pregnant three times but there is no evidence of that to the outside world. I saw Starchild’s heartbeat twice. I saw Tilly’s heart beating, saw her legs and arms, was starting to see evidence of her under my clothing and started to feel the fluttering which was her tiny movements.  I saw the Little Stars in a Petri dish and as tiny patches as they were put into their all too short-lived home inside me.  Their existence changed my life and I loved them, and I still do.  I would have done anything, anything for them because they were then and always will be, my babies. But I never met them or saw their faces or held them.  I could never present them as whole to other people.

Perhaps this is why, when I mentioned them in a conversation with a friend last week (part of a conversation which is a topic for another post), she told me that I was “over sentimentalising”. She didn’t expand, but then she didn’t have to.  I knew what she was thinking.

I make no apology for feeling as I do about Starchild, Tilly and the Little Stars.  But perhaps I shouldn’t expect to be able to talk about them outside of this community.

losses

Last February a friend of mine, Songbird, had a massive coronary and lapsed into a coma.  She was on the high dependancy unit of a London hospital for months, and I would go and visit her a couple of times a week.  It's tough when you can't converse with someone, but sitting and silently holding her hand doesn't seem to be enough either.  I ended up reading bits of her favourite newspaper out to her, looking for the lighter stories and also segments about London 2012.
Last Saturday, she died.  It's so sad that I'll never see her again but in truth - for me anyway - she died 14 months ago; it was the outside shell of Songbird I was reading to.  The essence of her, her laugh, her melodic voice, her expressive eyes, the sheer force of her personality, was gone.  But it's still sad.
Also, 28th April 2008 - I lost Starchild.

October 15th: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

I am the face of first and second trimester loss.
On the 28th April 2008 I lost my first baby at 13 weeks.  We didn't know the sex for sure, but I was convinced our baby was a boy and in my heart I named him Zachary Joseph.
On the 6th February 2009 I lost our darling daughter at 18 weeks.  We were still gently arguing over her first name but I knew I would have got my way.  Her name is Matilda Tui.
On Christmas Eve 2009 I lost our Little Stars, the two embryos we had transferred after IVF.

Later today I will be lighting my candle in memory of my children, and yours.

memes

I'm sure that by now most of us are aware of a completely asinine meme doing the rounds on F@ceb00k where women falsely post that they are x number of weeks pregnant and craving something - to raise breast cancer awareness.  No further information or link to a charity or organisation goes with these status updates.  Forget the pain this particular meme causes infertile and babyloss parents - how does it raise awareness of cancer?

After deleting what must have been the 17th "update" a sort of red mist descended and I thought that I would start a new meme on my status update:
13weeks, 18weeks, 5 weeks: 
http://www.october15th.com/ 
http://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/

Paige has a more beautiful idea.

Any thoughts?

three years

Three years ago today we lost Starchild.

I'll always love you, my Zachary Joseph.

a year ago

A year ago today I was pregnant.

A year ago tomorrow I learnt my HcG levels were dropping.

A year ago on Friday I started to miscarry our Little Stars.

A year ago I still thought that this Christmas would see us as parents.

It was only a year ago.

But it was also a lifetime ago.

in the paper today

From The Guardi@n today: The lonely pain of miscarriage.  A heartfelt and open story (though some of the comments are heartless and unthinking).

October 15th

www.october15th.com

Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope

Today (and every day) I remember Starchild (lost 28th April 2008), Bean (lost 6th February 2009) and Little Stars (lost 24th December 2009).  I love you, my babies, and I miss you every moment.

fellow feeling

I have never been a Tory supporter or a big fan of W1ll1am Hagu£

But, regardless of whatever he may or may not be hiding in regard to his sexuality, you have to admire his courage on speaking out about his wife's and his IF and loss.

days like these

Most of the time I potter along, doing okay. And then - bam! It all hits me all over again.

To be fair, today didn't come completely out of the blue, I've been teetering on the edge of a wobble since the weekend. Saturday went better than I expected (a post on that later) but it was a gathering where A and I were the only adults who weren't parents.

I have spent the days between then and now thinking about our losses.

I have a work colleague who regularly sends out forwarded emails (you know the kind). Usually she sends religious texts or prayers or miracle stories (all of which I find difficult being agnostic). This morning she sent a prayer which was illustrated by maybe 12 pictures of babies. Smiling, happy, healthy, living babies.

Three hours later I discovered another colleague is pregnant. No-one told me, she has just started to show.

And now I am undone. I miss my babies. I know that if Starchild had lived, I wouldn't have been pregnant with Bean. And if Bean had been born, I wouldn't have had my little stars inside me. But I miss my babies, all of them. I want to hold them and kiss them and feel their hearts beating and hear them laugh and watch them play and tell them how much I love them and how I will always love them.

I want my children back.

FB status - updated

You know all those "repost this if you are a mummy" status updates we see on In Yer Faceb00k? Well my cousin (mother of two living and one lost) posted this an hour ago.

This week we remember all babies born sleeping or who we have carried but never met and those we have held but could not take home. Make this your profile status if you or someone you know has suffered the loss of a precious baby. The majority won't do it, because unlike cancer, baby loss is still a taboo subject. Break the silence............... In memory of all our sleeping angels ♥ ♥

Updated: I hadn't re-posted this on my FB page - but I am just about to.

recommended reading

A little while ago, B recommended this book for the way it deals with grief. I got all excited because I bought and read a copy years ago when my BFF died. I turned the flat upside down in my hunt for it to no avail, but I did uncover this, which I bought after we lost Starchild.

I can't believe I had forgotten it because I found it to be incredibly sensitive, moving, helpful. It is rather UK-centric as well, in its practical advice, but the experiences other women share within the book made me feel like perhaps I wasn't lost in the wilderness all alone. (I found this book before I found the online ALI community).

Anyway, I recommend it.

whimpering

I know that I am on holiday in a lovely part of the world and I should really get over myself but...I'm blue. Very blue.

Significant Other is barely speaking to me and spends most of his waking time lying on the bed in our room, leaving me to pretend that everything is fine to his parents.

My tummy hurts and I have constant nausea.

I'm back in the same state as where we lost Starchild 2 years ago. And even though we are an hour away from where it all happened (Brisb@ne), every time I turn my head I seem to be back in 2008.

I know that this is pathetic but - I'm thousands of miles from home and I could really do with a hug, dear Interwebs.

the things people say

CGD recently wrote this post about the varying reactions from her friends to the sad loss of her baby boy and it got me to thinking about some of the slightly more puzzling responses I got after my own losses.

After we lost Starchild one work friend tried to comfort me by telling me that "it wasn't a baby" (I still wonder how he would have felt if I had said that to him had he lost his son at almost 13 weeks). Another woman at work told me that I wouldn't have miscarried if I had only had acupuncture all the way through the first trimester.

After we lost Bean (at almost 18 weeks) yet another work colleague told me that I should take comfort in the knowledge that at least I could get pregnant. Apparently Significant Other's and my mistake was wanting more than that...

But I think that the worst, the very worst response of all came from one of my closest and dearest friends in the world, Marathon Man. I sent an email the day I was discharged from the hospital after losing Bean in February (2009) and his response was "I'm really sorry". Which he sent in May after 3 months of silence.

Updated to add:
I wrote the above a few hours ago because I was feeling somewhat sorry for myself this afternoon. I want to make it clear, though, that mostly IRL we have been met with a lot of sympathy, and some awkwardness and here in blogland I've had nothing but wonderful sympathy, empathy and support, for which I am truly grateful.

And - BFG, I also want to make it clear that I am not aiming any of this at you.

dreaming

I haven't been sleeping too well recently - not falling asleep until about 1.00am and waking up around 4.30 each day. Mostly I have been having bad dreams and nightmares and I wake up with my emotions in turmoil. But I realise pretty soon that I'm in my own bed, my darling little cat is safe curled next to me, Significant Other is still snoring beside me and I calm down.

Last night I dreamt about Bean. She was barely a month old, we had called her Meg and we were showing her off to my cousin.

That was five hours ago and my emotions are still in turmoil and I have yet to calm down.

What if...?

What if Significant Other never forgives me for losing our babies?

He almost left after we lost Starchild, he could barely look at me after we lost Bean, and now - four months after my last (and final) miscarriage - he may be about to leave for sure.

What if he never forgives me for robbing him of the chance to be a father, to leave something behind to carry on his genes and his memory and at least his partial likeness?

Significant Other may decide after all that leaving me is the key to his future. He may meet someone younger / more fertile / both of these things and have a child and be happy. But what if he can never forgive me for the loss of the three children that, in one way or another, my body killed?

What if he can never forgive me for the years of pain and sadness my infertility has caused him?

He was in love with me once, what now seems like a lifetime ago. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I think I see him looking at me with that same love. What if that love is still there somewhere, buried beneath the sand of this island of misery on which we seem to be stranded and we can find it again? What if we can, after all, live a different kind of life?

This post was written as part of the Bloggers Unite: Project IF. Click here for a list of heart-wrenching "what-ifs".
To learn more about infertility go to Resolve.
And this week - 24th April - 1st May is NIAW

perspectives

On Friday I had a little email exchange with the friend I mentioned in this post. She doesn't know about the IF but she knew about the first 2 miscarriages and I just told her about the most recent. She replied that she was sorry and that it was "a shame".

The words gave me pause and I read them over again - "a shame". I would have used that phrase if someone told me that they missed out on concert tickets for a band they loved, or if a cake they baked had turned out flat or if they left their unfinished book on the Tube.

Is this what it's like out there in the non-ALI world? A miscarriage is not a tragedy, a terrible loss, a cause for grieving? Is that why she was also able to say that she "knew how I am feeling"? Because in the non-ALI world, getting pregnant naturally less than a year after starting TTC is the same as having assisted reproduction for more than two years?

I don't mean to be mean-spirited about my friend, she is a lovely, kind, funny, generous woman whom I'm lucky to have in my life. But I will never be able to live in a world where a miscarriage is just "a shame".

out of the closet

It was my first day back at work today, after three weeks off due to the whole chest infection / miscarriage / Christmas-and-New-Year extravaganza. It wasn't easy going back; it never is anyway after time off but after (yet another) miscarriage, it was even more difficult. It was also physically difficult as in my absence there had been a landslide of patients' notes, and I could barely open the door to my office, and once I did, I had to excavate my way to my desk.

And, of course, I had to answer the usual "did you have a good Christmas" questions. But something happened and instead of smiling and nodding and saying "lovely, thank you" I found myself saying "I had a miscarriage". My words flew up, if you will :-) Of course everyone was lovely and sympathetic but it did make people wonder how on earth to get out of the room and the conversation gracefully. I have NO idea what made me say it the first time, I really don't. Perhaps because I'm still so sad. Or because I just don't have enough energy to pretend that everything is okay. Whatever the reason, I climbed out of the miscarriage closet at work and have found myself face-to-face with the elephant in the room.

In other news, I saw the Mad Professor about the lump under my breast this afternoon. I couldn't get to see my GP between Christmas and New Year and during the intervening days the lump has grown and is now visible from space. The Mad Professor is going to do an FNA (fine needle aspiration) tomorrow afternoon. Bless his heart, he's told me to go along to his clinic before his session starts, so effectively during his lunch break. He told me that he was going to insert a thin needle into the middle of the lump to aspirate it and that he couldn't use any anaesthetic and so it might be "a bit uncomfortable" and asked if I am okay with needles. I didn't want to tell him that I consider needles to be my friends in case that sounded, I don't know, insane, so I just reassured him that I would be fine...

a year in pictures

Happy New(ish) Year, everyone. Here's to 2010 bringing us all what we hope for.

As is often the case at this time of year, I've been reviewing the past 12 months. They've mostly been pants but instead of boring you and me to tears with lots of words, dear Interwebs, I thought I'd say it with pictures.

January
12 week scan and everything seemed fine with Bean.

February
We lost her on the 6th.

March
First a little break on the lovely island of Malta...










... and then we got back Significant Other proposed, only take it back when I said "yes".

April
I re-started on Metformin and spent pretty much the next 8 weeks sick.

May
We started on a Cl0mid-only regimen, Significant Other and I had a lot of conversations about what we would do if we never had children - and reached no conclusions.

June
We went on holiday to Sant0rini, a ridiculously beautiful Greek island. At this time we were trying the old-fashioned way (i.e Cl0mid and timed interc0urse but no trigger shot).










The week after we came back, Significant Other got food poisoning from a dodgy egg sandwich. He was fit again in 2 days but they were a horrible 2 days.

July
BFN from the "natural cycle", Bean's due date and a very grey and wet birthday stroll along the S0uth Bank, 4th IUI.












August
BFN from the 4th IUI, Significant Other's birthday and an abandoned IUI cycle due to a spectacular lack of follicles.

September
We tried to mentally prepare for IVF and again started, but didn't finish, a lot of conversations about what if I didn't get pregnant again.

October
Preparation cycle.

November
IVF - 2 embryos transferred.










December
Not quite BFPs but positives just the same. Low beta HCg, followed by an even lower level. Told to stop progesterone pessaries and wait for miscarriage (though technically it's called "early pregnancy loss" as it was before 6 weeks) to start, which it did the day before Christmas. We spent a miserable Christmas but then Signficant Other changed his mind at the very last moment about going to visit some friends and we had a brilliant time in the West Country for New Year.










And so here we are, 2010. I don't really have any expectations or high hopes for the coming year. I would just really rather like it if it's not as bad as the past two.