Tomorrow is 11w5d. It is the day that last year’s baby died. For no reason.
I have been wondering what the pro-life movement (or to call a spade a spade, the anti-abortion movement) makes of people like me. I continue to create embryos, despite the fact that they are almost certain to die. It is not my intention to kill them, but if I know that my body has a predisposition to kill babies, then does that make me somewhat compliant in their deaths?
Obviously this is not a personal view. Nor is the idea that IVF destroys life. IVF doesn’t destroy life, it creates it. It creates a life that would not have existed if it wasn’t for IVF. So I suppose in the same vein, I am desperately trying to create life whilst doing everything in my power not to let my biological flaws get in the way.
While we’re on the subject, I don’t believe that life begins at conception. Viable life begins at implantation – a fertilised egg only has about a 25% chance of implanting in the uterine lining, so how can it be seen as anything other than potential life? For all those who want to save “leftover embryos” (if only – how many of us are lucky enough to have anything to freeze???), how do you propose giving each and every one of them life when medical science can only give a 25% chance of success to couples desperate for a child?
Next scan is on Monday. Finding it hard to believe I will ever get that far.
Cramps Friday night. Nausea Sat and Sun but no vomiting. Very little nausea Mon and Tues. Meltdown. Too chicken to call obs for scan, just not ready for another miscarriage. Wed – an early vomit and hunger-related nausea. Thurs – nausea back to psychologically comfortable level. No better birthday present. Well, that and the fantastic camera and lens I got from my wonderful friends and family.
I wasn’t going to mention this but then I read Artblog’s post about her situation and the fact that nobody talks about it and decided to confess.
In the grand scheme of things, I am the most grateful, overjoyed pregnant woman in the world. I can’t believe that our baby is still alive, the tightness in my chest has subsided and my anger and bitterness has been sidelined. But it hasn’t been all celebrations in our house in the last few weeks. Mostly, but not all.
Up until last week, I just had 24 hour nausea to deal with. It was horrible but I knew I probably wasn’t going to vomit most of the time so I was able to do a few normal things during the day (I work from home). In the last few days, the safety net has been taken away and I am vomiting regularly. I thought this might relieve the nausea intermittently but it doesn’t. I have tried the wristbands, ginger, crackers, eating small amounts regularly but nothing makes a difference. I constantly feel like I’m just about to throw up and sometimes even make my way to the loo voluntarily, just to get it over with. Everything makes me want to puke – every smell, taste, crap programme on the telly, that bloody alarm on my phone that signals yet another injection, my Pavlovian response is textbook. I remember Beth talking about the weepukes a while back. While I’m still a long way from what Beth went through, I have succumbed to the weekpukes.
People say that it will all be worth it in the end and there’s the rub. Sure it will be worth it if I give birth to a live baby next May, I would live this day every day from now until then (but please no) if I got a baby in return. But it could all be for nothing once again. Statistics certainly seem to think so. And while I’ll endure any amount of injections and procedures, will raise the money for as many cycles as it takes, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t go through this over and over again for nothing. Maybe I’ve finally met my match.
We left for Rome on Thurs. I was sick. We were waiting in the departure lounge when, as usual, an early queuer decided to ruin things for everyone else (we were flying Ryanair of course). So I stood unnecessarily in a queue for half an hour before boarding time (had forgotten to book priority boarding) and thought I was going to pass out. Then, as if all my Christmases had come at once, an angel from heaven came and ushered us out of the queue and towards the plane. And as soon as the plane took off, I was cured.
I ate dinner at about 11pm, stayed up until after 12pm and felt no pain. After a quick vomit the next morning, I was fine for the day. I did manage to enjoy it for a while but by the evening I was getting worried, especially when I had some pains in my lower right abdomen. There were some tears that night and the next morning but I kept going, did all the sight-seeing, went out for nice dinners and generally had a good time. I had a scan booked for yesterday morning so knew that one way or another I would be put out of that particular misery before long.
I didn’t have to wait that long. As soon as we touched down in Dublin, it was back. By the time I got home, I was heaving and retching and went straight to bed. Have been feeling horrific ever since. Don’t know why all my symptoms went on holiday when I did.
And it doesn’t matter. My baby is still growing, its heart is still beating and that’s all that counts.
Ok, ok, I’ve had enough – make it stop!!!!! Note: I am not complaining, it’s just that I’d say I’d be just as happy with a little less sickness.
We are off to Rome to visit my brother for the weekend. I am dreading the flight but I am looking forward to spending the entire weekend in a different bed – I am very bored of mine.
I am sick. Since Wed I have been feeling so terribly nauseous that I can’t concentrate on anything else. All I can do is get through the day minute by minute and hope for a lull so I can get some work done. It eased up a little over the weekend and of course the familiar dread took advantage of the gap in my attention to make itself know again. So for now, horrible as it is, I am very happy to be sick. It’s not that I think that strong symptoms guarantee a healthy pregnancy – I know well that they don’t. It’s more that when I am sick, I have no time, space or energy to worry about anything else. And I would rather feel like shit than feel the fear.
Today is International Baby Loss Awareness Day. Anyone affected by pregnancy or neo-natal loss is invited to join in the “wave of light” and light a candle at 7pm.
I am overwhelmed at your support. Thank you so much.
Our little miracle has a heartbeat. Hoping for some arms, legs, fingers and toes next.
Six weeks today and starting to thaw out. I’ve been pretty knackered, had sore boobs and queasiness so have started to relax (not a typo!) and hope for the best. What else can I do? Of course the fear is still there but it is not the fear, as most people think, of losing my baby. It is the fear of returning to the horror of infertility, the pain, the bitterness, the minute-by-minute struggle to get through the day. I can’t go back to that, I just can’t. I have to keep going, I have to have this baby.
I want to be sick. (Or should that be, I want to want to be sick.) I want nausea, vomiting, cold and hot sweats, knee-trembling, earth-moving sickness. For those of you who have been there, done that and think I don’t know what I’m talking about, then maybe you haven’t experienced the sheer terror that is pregnancy after recurrent miscarriage. Or maybe you have! I’d be interested to hear your opinion.
Today is the first day that I haven’t had breakdowns on the hour, every hour. That is because I am quite tired (a little smile is escaping as I type – yay, a symptom!). It’s impossible to imagine but I sincerely hope the day will come (soon, like tomorrow) when I am exhausted, sick and aching all over. Please.