Trauma and trials
Before this journey even began I had gone through trauma. A trauma that I tried not to recognise and I tried to bury.
After all, it was my fault that we couldn't be a family.
I remember, ironically, the pregnancy scares in my late 20s- Karl said he would marry me (it was early days in the relationship) bless him! I remember sat talking to Karl on the bed, dressed in a long hippy, patchwork skirt. It was scary, both to imagine myself pregnant and to have a promise to stand by me. I remember the panic and turmoil and the relief that I wasn't pregnant...
I remember being ushered into the back of a now closed down pharmacy by a kindly, non judgmental lady, closing the door behind us both she advised exactly how to take the morning after pill...
I remember a holiday away at a beautiful tower in Wales, confessing I thought I might be pregnant, I had various changes that made me feel this way...it was a little earlier than our planned age 30 to start trying but we were pleased and excited that this might be the start of a new journey...
I remember telling the diabetic nurse, who had put me on insulin because I was planning to get pregnant that I thought I might be this time, and I remember the several negative tests over those coming months...
It is a sense of irony that I look back at the scares and near misses with a wry smile and shake of the head when I think of our early journey into trying to become a family.
It was because I had been diagnosed as a type 2 diabetic in 2001 that I was allowed by the medical profession to investigate issues getting pregnant after around 6 months. I was sure I wasn't just type 2 diabetic...I researched...I became positive that I may have PCSO (Polycycstic Ovary Syndrome). I insisted I was tested. Thankfully, my work at the time allowed me to pay into a private health scheme so I was tested at the Nuffield. Blood tests (fine), internal tests (horrific and degrading). I just knew that I wasn't just diabetic, I had no symptoms of diabetes (apart from the sugar levels). As it turns out type 2 diabetes can be a symptom of PCOS.
I remember being told by the nice older consultant that I was sub-fertile. I had a print out of hormone levels that meant very little as I tried to absorb the news that it was near to impossible I would ever get pregnant. Not only were my hormone levels wrong, all my little eggs were turning to cysts and not being released into the ether that is the baby making areas.
Was I upset? I can't remember....I can remember being numb. I discussed options. I could take drugs, but only for 6 months of my life then no more. They may boost fertility levels (but not make an egg escape its scarred prison). I could have IVF. The difficulty was that I would need to be considerably thinner for either of these to stand a chance or even to be offered them in the first place.
I have always been a big girl, no matter how much I tried to force myself to eat celery and other water based disgusting foods, I remained big- certainly always bigger than the norm. I was in a good relationship, happy, contented and I had my own pizza baby growing because of that. Many can relate to 'contented spread'. Due to PCOS (which makes losing weight an uphill battle) and taking insulin (as you can't be on Metphormin pills if trying to get pregnant) I was putting on more and more weight. I am ashamed to say, at this point in my life I was just over 20 stone.
I dealt with it by making 'plans' to lose weight and take the drugs...but somewhere deep inside I just gave up. I stopped. To me, my life stopped that day and I buried my hurt and dreams and something in me would not let it be dealt with practically. I can only see this looking back. I kick myself now for not dealing with it. I think I protected myself from it by burying it.
It has taken me nearly 10 years to be able to hold other people's babies.
At work, when newborns were brought in, I would stand on the outskirts of the huddle and make the right noises, but never get near enough to be offered a cuddle. It hurt too much. I spent some time being bitter and tutting at inappropriate mothers, especially those smoking whilst pregnant, smoking over prams, swearing at children in the supermarket, threatening to hit the children loudly for all to hear. The bitterness physically hurt and any who wants to be mother that cruelly had nature take that away will understand. That pulling away, the judgement on others, the 'why do all the inappropriate people get pregnant easily' argument... I am sure it is a common theme; I know it is a common theme.
What I was never offered and what I feel should be offered to all, is counselling. It is a grief. You grieve for the child you planned for, you wanted, you had dreamed about and the child that will forever sit at the back of your head. They don't go away. I left the consultants office in bewilderment and never again was I offered any words of comfort. Family and friends don't quite know how to speak to you, just like after a bereavement, they offer platitudes and uninformed options. I would shrug and state it was one of those things. Soon all talk of a family stopped. I wonder how Karl felt at this point, how he was dealing with it...we didn't really talk much about it back then; perhaps both burying the news and the hurt and getting on with life- what good would talking do (probably a lot but the mind doesn't do the right thing in so many cases)?
I still haven't stopped blaming myself- not until this journey finally began. I offered Karl to leave me on several occasions, to find someone who could give him a family- and I meant it- why should we both suffer because I didn't work properly? Bless him, he never wanted that, appalled that I should offer it no doubt. And so, we entered a strange few years with a life full to the brim- plugging the gap.
After all, it was my fault that we couldn't be a family.
I remember, ironically, the pregnancy scares in my late 20s- Karl said he would marry me (it was early days in the relationship) bless him! I remember sat talking to Karl on the bed, dressed in a long hippy, patchwork skirt. It was scary, both to imagine myself pregnant and to have a promise to stand by me. I remember the panic and turmoil and the relief that I wasn't pregnant...
I remember being ushered into the back of a now closed down pharmacy by a kindly, non judgmental lady, closing the door behind us both she advised exactly how to take the morning after pill...
I remember a holiday away at a beautiful tower in Wales, confessing I thought I might be pregnant, I had various changes that made me feel this way...it was a little earlier than our planned age 30 to start trying but we were pleased and excited that this might be the start of a new journey...
I remember telling the diabetic nurse, who had put me on insulin because I was planning to get pregnant that I thought I might be this time, and I remember the several negative tests over those coming months...
It is a sense of irony that I look back at the scares and near misses with a wry smile and shake of the head when I think of our early journey into trying to become a family.
It was because I had been diagnosed as a type 2 diabetic in 2001 that I was allowed by the medical profession to investigate issues getting pregnant after around 6 months. I was sure I wasn't just type 2 diabetic...I researched...I became positive that I may have PCSO (Polycycstic Ovary Syndrome). I insisted I was tested. Thankfully, my work at the time allowed me to pay into a private health scheme so I was tested at the Nuffield. Blood tests (fine), internal tests (horrific and degrading). I just knew that I wasn't just diabetic, I had no symptoms of diabetes (apart from the sugar levels). As it turns out type 2 diabetes can be a symptom of PCOS.
I remember being told by the nice older consultant that I was sub-fertile. I had a print out of hormone levels that meant very little as I tried to absorb the news that it was near to impossible I would ever get pregnant. Not only were my hormone levels wrong, all my little eggs were turning to cysts and not being released into the ether that is the baby making areas.
Was I upset? I can't remember....I can remember being numb. I discussed options. I could take drugs, but only for 6 months of my life then no more. They may boost fertility levels (but not make an egg escape its scarred prison). I could have IVF. The difficulty was that I would need to be considerably thinner for either of these to stand a chance or even to be offered them in the first place.
I have always been a big girl, no matter how much I tried to force myself to eat celery and other water based disgusting foods, I remained big- certainly always bigger than the norm. I was in a good relationship, happy, contented and I had my own pizza baby growing because of that. Many can relate to 'contented spread'. Due to PCOS (which makes losing weight an uphill battle) and taking insulin (as you can't be on Metphormin pills if trying to get pregnant) I was putting on more and more weight. I am ashamed to say, at this point in my life I was just over 20 stone.
I dealt with it by making 'plans' to lose weight and take the drugs...but somewhere deep inside I just gave up. I stopped. To me, my life stopped that day and I buried my hurt and dreams and something in me would not let it be dealt with practically. I can only see this looking back. I kick myself now for not dealing with it. I think I protected myself from it by burying it.
It has taken me nearly 10 years to be able to hold other people's babies.
At work, when newborns were brought in, I would stand on the outskirts of the huddle and make the right noises, but never get near enough to be offered a cuddle. It hurt too much. I spent some time being bitter and tutting at inappropriate mothers, especially those smoking whilst pregnant, smoking over prams, swearing at children in the supermarket, threatening to hit the children loudly for all to hear. The bitterness physically hurt and any who wants to be mother that cruelly had nature take that away will understand. That pulling away, the judgement on others, the 'why do all the inappropriate people get pregnant easily' argument... I am sure it is a common theme; I know it is a common theme.
What I was never offered and what I feel should be offered to all, is counselling. It is a grief. You grieve for the child you planned for, you wanted, you had dreamed about and the child that will forever sit at the back of your head. They don't go away. I left the consultants office in bewilderment and never again was I offered any words of comfort. Family and friends don't quite know how to speak to you, just like after a bereavement, they offer platitudes and uninformed options. I would shrug and state it was one of those things. Soon all talk of a family stopped. I wonder how Karl felt at this point, how he was dealing with it...we didn't really talk much about it back then; perhaps both burying the news and the hurt and getting on with life- what good would talking do (probably a lot but the mind doesn't do the right thing in so many cases)?
I still haven't stopped blaming myself- not until this journey finally began. I offered Karl to leave me on several occasions, to find someone who could give him a family- and I meant it- why should we both suffer because I didn't work properly? Bless him, he never wanted that, appalled that I should offer it no doubt. And so, we entered a strange few years with a life full to the brim- plugging the gap.
*hugs*
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