Monday 6th October to Friday 10th October 2014: That Was The Week That Wasn't

MONDAY: I thought Sunday was the worst day of my life. Turns out that Monday decided to kick Sundays arse: it was the day I flushed my own baby down the loo. Well, I don't know if I did, but the image will stay with me forever. I will always think I did - whether I did or I didn't doesn't matter I suppose. The pain and bleeding were worse - it clearly wasn't over. Calling the Clinic they wanted me to go back in immediately, or to call an ambulance and go in: why, to be left in a room on my own for 10 hours??? TUESDAY: Was slightly better - I even brushed my teeth and had a shower. Check me out, I am positively civilised. Oh, and I didn't cry! Luckily Mr P is still off work and we have managed to keep all visitors away. We watched films and ate sweets and had ice lollies. It was the best day we have had in 3 weeks. Then I got upset. I saw a tweet made by someone who was pleased that they "survived" IVF and infertility. They also were thankful that God granted their "miracle" and that proves that people who "deserve" it get their miracle in the end. The person was immediately blocked and I went on a Twitter rage! I probably didn't explain myself well, but I will say this: no one deserves this shit, no one is more worthy than anyone else, and no one survives anything - they are just fucking lucky. Our Niece fought cancer twice and passed away the month before her 4th birthday - from that day I have always realised what a crap word "Survivor" is. I don't want to be a survivor, I want to be a warrior! When it comes to God I'm a massive fan, and despite my odd bit of rage I still believe he stuck us all here and leaves us to get on with it until our time comes. I don't want to get into a religious argument, but when their are thousands of innocent people dying and suffering every single minute of the day, people should start realising that God doesn't grant miracles, he gives people strength to continue to fight the good fight. WEDNESDAY: My first visitor! It was my Mum though so that's ok, and it was only an hour. Plus it meant Mr P could go outside and get some air away from the house of misery. She only came for her lunch break, but that was enough to break my spell of solitude. Im feeling better already and even looking at holidays and feeling excited about it. THURSDAY: My second visitor, the mother in law - luckily it was quick and she saved the tears for when she was leaving. I feel guilty though. She said "I don't think you should keep putting yourself through this" and i snapped back "yeah, well it's easy to say that but it's better than the alternative." It annoys me, and I know it shouldn't, but she has two children, a grandchild and another on the way. My parents have me - that's it. FRIDAY: Mr P went back to work today. As soon as his car started and he left I burst into tears. I went for a shower and burst into tears. I think I have finally realised that all I have done this week is distract myself. I have watched enough rubbish films to last a life time: seriously, films about Thanksgiving and a pumpkin growing contest, and I don't even know what Thanksgiving is or what pumpkin tastes of. I have looked at holidays and read reviews. I spent 3 hours looking at the plot lines of films banned in the UK and the rest of the world: Did you know that Schindler's List was banned in Indonesia because it was "sympathetic to the Jewish cause." I have spent hours playing games on my Nintendo DS. I haven't thought about Bubba - until this aft noon when I had a shower and spent about an hour sobbing. My friend asked if I wanted to go out for lunch. I said no, that I didn't feel up to it. She asked if she could come and see me. I said no, I don't want to see anyone. I haven't heard from her since. I never say No. The thought of talking to someone, having to say what happened, affects my plan of coping: ignorance really is bliss. One day I am going to have to stop ignoring reality and realise that this has happened to me and that I'm not ill, I'm grieving. I just prefer to be ill right now.

It's not like it is on the Telly!

I'm having a bit of a rage. After having had a reasonably ok day where I only swore at 3 people with kids (on the Telly, don't worry) I am now back creeping back into the pit of anger. Every time infertility is shown on fictional television it is always shown as a dramatic thing. Jane in Eastenders couldn't have children because she was shot in her uterus, Diane in Hollyoaks stole a child after her IVF failed, and do I even have to mention the most famous film about infertility: The Hand that Rocked the Cradle. The reality is a lot different, 1 in 6 couples experience difficulty conceiving - yes, couples, not women. BUT difficult in conception of a child isn't Infertility, it's where it takes more than 24 months. Can you imagine a soap running a story for that long, no, because it doesn't fit with soap time lines. I understand that, but I also expect that they show some realism in their portrayal. Last months Eastenders had Tosh (in a same sex relationship with Tina) do artificial insemination at home from a sperm donor: even medicated AI only has around 10% success rate first time. Commonly called the "turkey baster method" by people who don't know any better, and shock horror she got pregnant! Yes, she did miscarry, but it was ok, she had a vodka and went back to work the same day. Grace in Hollyoaks had been shot in one ovary and had "an infection" in the other meaning she could only get pregnant with IVF. Strangely enough she didn't have to go through months of tests, scans, sperm analysis, then waiting for the right cycle dates. No, she had a consultation and started injections the same day. They did make a brief mention of eggs having to be collected, but no signs of her struggling to cope with ovaries the size of grapefruits, no side effects from the drugs other than a few mood swings. After EC (which was barely even mentioned, including the fact that its a medical procedure) she went back to work and two days later was out with her friends on an all nighter. After my EC I could hardly leave the house and was just plain ill. Sadly she had a miscarriage a week or so later. Again, like Tina, she went to the loo, found blood, and declared she had suffered a miscarriage. In reality you have to wait at least 7 to 10 days and have an ultrasound scan, or blood tests, to confirm it. You have to suffer the physical pain that is losing a baby. I know I can't expect fictional TV or Films to accurately represent the pain of infertility or miscarriage because I don't think anyone can really accurately present it unless they have been through it, and everyone experiences it differently. However, a little bit of respect would be nice. A bit of a nod to the invasive nature of the treatment. A mention that there is a lot of anxious waiting involved. Not presenting all women having treatment as being able to carry on with normal life. Staying away from infertile women snatching babies. I'm not asking for special treatment, just a more realistic impression of something that affects so many people that there won't be anyone in this world who won't have at least one loved one affected by it.

Pressure Cooker

When I was a kid Sunday dinner would take my parents hours. There were always a million pots and pans, a pressure cooker, electric knife, veg being chopped from 9am onwards, stuffing made from scratch, Yorkshire puds made from scratch (with one spare to have with some jam for pudding!) Today, for the first time in 32 years the roles were reversed and I (I mean we) cooked my parents dinner. Sadly I hate cooking, I don't see it as pleasurable, it just makes a mess of my nice clean kitchen. In all honesty Mr P does the cooking and I clean up around him. For me GBBO stands for "Great British Bore Off" and fortunately everything we have is always the easy option: the freezer is my friend, and other than the chicken and a few carrots everything else was pretty much pre-done! Throughout this process of "cooking" my husband and I spoke more than we have all week. Most of it was nasty snapping, but it's better than silence. This afternoon, after a few more little digs we eventually talked. Proper talk. Honest, brutal, difficult, but very very welcome. Last night I honestly felt like I might run away and leave him. Today i love him and would fight to the death for him. Things may be crap but as long as we have each other I know there will be someone to dry my tears...eventually.

Volcano

I'm angry. I'm angry that a giant spider tried to attack my arm when I was trying to relax on the sofa. I'm angry that my car voice recognition doesn't understand me: though to be fair, "fuck off" probably isn't in it's pre-programmed vocabulary. I'm angry that my husband called me mardy: for those that don't know what mardy means, it is a bit like miserable, but worse. I'm angry that my fertile (pregnant-first-month) pregnant for the second time Sister In Law is "excited" for our scan next week. I'm angry my husband had told people when the scan was - I purposely didn't want anyone to know so whatever happened we could have time to process it, and that was the "joint decision" we made BEFORE Day Zero!!! I'm angry my two close friends, who are both as pregnant as I would have been if transfer #2 had worked, have their baby showers in the next two weeks. I'm angry that I briefly contemplated what I would do for my baby shower. I'm angry that my husband has been out since lunch at the pub (not wanting to waste his day off staying in with me apparently) and didn't get in until 9pm when he was clearly drunk and out of money. I'm angry that he is now here and snoring and not giving a shit how I feel, not even asking if I'm ok or texting to see how I am. Im angry that we even got a positive pregnancy test - if it had been negative I would be drunk on frozen cocktails right now instead of sober, lying on the sofa in the dark, hating the world. I'm angry I don't know how to put paragraphs in my fecking blog. I'm angry I keep getting mildly optimistic for three seconds that we will get a miracle a week today. I'm angry that I can't be more optimistic. I'm just angry.