tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18813972356002032802024-02-19T07:22:51.335+00:00High land, hard rainBetty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-43554243731877851962011-03-21T20:50:00.004+00:002011-03-21T21:39:29.053+00:00Breaking the blogging duckHmm plenty of tumbleweed on this here blog. Again I have been nudged into action. This time by the lovely <a href="http://womb4improvement.blogspot.com/">Womb for Improvement</a>.<br /><br />Well it is Persian Now Ruz so new year, new blogging vim and verve. I was discussing new year with my mother yesterday. Between us we have managed most of the 7 things beginning with s you are supposed to have to mark the new year. Kind of. They are supposed to be displayed on a beautiful cloth on an attractive table. Apple (seeb) in fruit bowl, bottle of vinegar (serkeh) under the sink, elderly garlic bulb (seer) by the cooker etc is not exactly doing it as it should be. But what the hell if the 100% Persian can't do it I dont feel too bad having managed over 50% being only half of the real thing. And no I didn't manage the painted eggs supposedly lovingly made by the kids, or the goldfish or the home grown sprouting wheat to be symbolically thrown in a river in a week or so time. Nor did we do the huge spring clean and buying of gifts either. So shoot me. I am about as good at Now Ruz as I am at blogging.<br /><br />What else? OK kids, work, house. A quick canter through those.<br /><br />Boy 2 is would you believe it now 1. Where did that time go? He remains adorable. He has all the Persian genes and has gone gorgeously brown by being in the sun for a whole 5 mins at the weekend. He has a suitable no of teeth and is almost walking. No reliable words. Otherwise generally as you would expect for his age. Boy 1 is ludicrously tall (no really, off the charts tall) and gangly and dances like a loon. Still not at school yet but taller than some 7 year olds. At some point this is going to be a serious disadvantage as people assume maturity he certainly does not have but at the moment he cares not a jot. Girl is 7 going on 17. She was let loose in Primark with her father and given a tenner. She returned with a "leather" jacket lined in leopard, pixie boots with straps and a frilly black vest top all of which she wants to wear constantly. She flounces and storms off like the best of them. <br /><br />I have been back at work since October. It is ghastly in parts. People we have been killing ourselves for have decided they hate us. They decide that the best way to tell us about this is to have a great long list of perceived faults that they dont tell us about until the end of the financial year. This is when we send out stupid surveys asking people whether they love us at which point we get a torrent of bile. This needless to say comes as a bit of a shock. Interestingly a bunch of these people's colleagues think we are splendid and totally marvellous - not sure how we can be both that and totally crap. This doesn't make for a happy working environment as too much time is spent sitting in rooms and swearing at the injustice of it all. Add to that the fact that we aren't allowed to recruit to fill yawning gaps and that we have resorted to buying our own bloody pens thanks to the cuts the workforce is a tad disillusioned. Doesn't help that they will get no pay rise for the foreseeable. Shame that only bankers are considered worthy of being motivated by money.<br /><br />Anyway to get over the grimness and ghastliness of the Coalition we are spending every last penny supporting some builders from Essex who are currently tearing our house apart and rebuilding it. We have decamped a portion of our belongings and ourselves to a flat around the corner and watch with slight horror as walls are removed and the house is apparently supported on thin air. A mini excavator has taken up residence in the back garden and the eldest boy is dreaming of Bob the Builder moments. It had better be the thing of beauty the architect has promised when they finish as this whole thing is somewhat stressful. Of course there is one good lesson from all this which it is entirely possible to live totally satisfactorily with only a quarter of your stuff. Makes me wonder what the containers in Chelmsford actually contain that we really need. Oh and it is also possible to live without tv too much to my surprise. <br /><br />Despite my despair at my new overlords I have been doing a bit of Big Socie.ty type stuff with maternity services locally and making a right nuisance of myself by showing up on committees etc. I think I provide a useful counterpoint to the usual lay involvement which is from doulas and NCT evangelicals - look over here for cheerleading on highly medicalised conception and gestation. <br /><br />So there you are. A blog. No pictures I'm afraid as a) we still after over 2 weeks here have no bloody broadband so are using a super expensive mobile gongley thingy and 2) my Mac is in storage with all my pics on it and 3) the husband is in the States for the week and I can't work out where the pics are on his. Next time.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-66344016454708587642010-10-03T22:24:00.002+01:002010-10-03T22:27:21.416+01:00More itemsYet again nearly two months have passed. And the lovely <a href="http://www.nutsinmay.wordpress.com">May</a> has prodded me into doing a few more itemettes. So what have I been doing? In no particular order.<br /><br />1. I have been spending too much time on rolling news and the Labour leadership election. Nothing like a bit of Greek tragedy in the afternoon. <br /><br />2. I've started doing a few afternoons back at the office where things are slightly fraught and everyone is holding their breath for 20 October. I'm phasing in my return so not back to full capacity until November but better to be there than being some "on maternity leave" statistic. My team are better placed than most to survive the cull but even so troubling times. <br /><br />3. I thought about getting into a huge row about a hot topic issue with a VIP blogger but cowardly decided against it. Sometimes life really is too short to point out that someone is wrong on the Internet. <br /><br />4. We went to France on our hols which was lovely. We stupidly stupidly stupidly drove down in the day to a permanent chorus of "are we there yet?" and "I need the loo". On our return we drove through the night experiencing the joys of the Eurotunnel at 4:30 am and then the Hackney 24 hour Tesco for supplies which was way way better. So you can guess how dreadful the way out was. We were in the Poitou Charentes (half way down on the left hand side for non-Europeans) inland for a week and very near the coast for another week. Inland there were acres of sunflowers and lots of cows but not many people. The coast was crammed with French campers and oysters. Both places awash with Brits. In one town inland there was even a very popular English cake stall in the market where the locals gathered to buy brownies, fruit cake, scones and other exotic delights whilst the English ahhed over the goats cheeses at the next stall. We made an interesting discovery on the coast: forget the little village bakeries, all the best bread was from bakeries out of town on roundabouts on the ring roads and bypasses. <br /><br />5. School is back. L is 6. She has 5 years of primary school to go. Bit early for parents to be angsting about secondary school you'd have thought. You thought wrong. Not sure I can take years of this. Everyone is obviously making a lot of sharp elbowed middle class calculations about moving into good catchment areas (in London this tends to be code for let's find a nice middle class white area) or robbing a bank for an eye wateringly expensive private school. I am remaining with head firmly in sand. <br /><br />6. I've started reading cooking blogs. I am hoping this is as good as cooking - you know like photocopying an article was like reading it when you were at university. I find cooking therapeutic but when faced with the fridge all I want to do is slump in front of the tv yet again with a bowl of cereal. Kids luckily seem to thrive on endless bowls of pasta and pesto alternated with humous. (Uggh how ludicrously cliche grim up north London is that?) Main cooking prowess in this house at the moment is with the husband who produces excellent sourdough bread. I can smell some right now... <br /><br />7. We are arguing about where to live. Husband has fantasies of garages, outbuildings and rolling countryside preferably with a Grand Design in it. Whilst I can see the charms in theory, I am rather fond of London and would rather try and survive in the Victorian terrace we have. Didn't help that yesterday was spent at my jobshare's house in oxfordshire complete with chickens, pigs and a fantastic view. Win for husband. Later that night however met couple who had moved out to Dorset and moved back 3 years later cos they couldn't bear it any longer. Time for Me to crow. Impasse and a bad tempered one at that. <br /><br />8. F remains adorable. He is a smiley flirt and is a complete hit wherever he goes. He is desperate to be on the move however I am happy for him to remain seated for a bit longer. On other milestones - no teeth yet, weight getting up to respectable when adjusted, practicing speaking or rather shrieking a bit like a demented parrot when his every whim is not me, err that's it.<br /><br />So there you go. Itemettes mostly of distinctly first world problems. Life sometimes feels rather banal. Although to be fair I do believe drama can be rather overrated. <br /><br />Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-86864720859735635772010-08-14T00:10:00.001+01:002010-08-14T00:13:01.010+01:00ItemsAs usual the months pass. Some brief itemettes for you. <br /><br />On Saturday we go to France for two weeks. Two weeks of I hope sun (bugger forecast looks dreary albeit better than here) and too much good food. Pity we start with hours and hours in the car. Ahh well probably better than struggling to the airport and then hours and hours in some hire car. I used to be fluent in French as my parents lived for years in a French speaking location not in France. Now not so much. At some point I'm going to have to take that big fat lie off my CV. It is unfortunate as the husband speaks no French not even O level French so I will have to do things I loathe with a vengeance even in English like booking restaurants and speaking to locals. Shivers with combination of dread and horror.<br /><br />The school holidays are dragging. I am on a short fuse. The walking talking children have reached new levels of whininess. They also believe that holidays should be constant round of crisps, other unsuitable treats and outings. I think they would be better off reading books in the garden on a deck chair or alternatively being bored in their rooms. Unfortunately they are winning this particular battle. <br /><br />The small non walking child is currently happy to do whatever I want. Yey! He is also over the colic. Yey again! <br /><br />I'm thinking about work and going back in a couple of months. This time I have missed it more than before. I have also realised that an enormous amount of my identity is tied up in my work which is possibly rather sad. I have also been missing an extraordinary time in - hmm in danger of losing anonymity and breaching the no work blogging rules - some bit of central London. But still it is always encouraging to constantly be reminded that those we serve think me and my colleagues are bunch of work shy, overpaid, over pensioned useless idiots. I suppose I should be glad I still have a job mind. It's not the same for many.<br /><br />Right bedtime. Night all. Bisous.x <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /> Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-66289711559929760402010-06-05T20:31:00.007+01:002010-06-05T21:11:35.509+01:00Catching up - babies mentionedIts been 13 weeks and I have emerged from the fog. I also have a new toy on which to lounge on the sofa and write. Yup this post comes to you from an IPad. And an astonishingly fine thing it is, I highly recommend it. Although I'm discovering that as there is no iPad app for Blogger using it to blog is not the dreamy easy experience it should be. It is half my birthday present and half a present to self for getting through a grim few weeks at the beginning of this latest babe's life. But first before I tell you why having a ruptured appendix when you are having a baby is absolutely not the way to go here he is at on day one and below at 2 months:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtGY_eXZ6fR8X07KEcVGQNrH__pFZqvKYTKZGMvX-zw4BWIXE1p0ReL24KtbXP-ODMaJJ0x0JhuKhfpuRSJ3eqAtzZSGbGcSQ-RjjzfU_4hdPkHnKCK4AcFSPCE9JrT6er7cvkK7I173Y/s1600/IMG_0588_2.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtGY_eXZ6fR8X07KEcVGQNrH__pFZqvKYTKZGMvX-zw4BWIXE1p0ReL24KtbXP-ODMaJJ0x0JhuKhfpuRSJ3eqAtzZSGbGcSQ-RjjzfU_4hdPkHnKCK4AcFSPCE9JrT6er7cvkK7I173Y/s320/IMG_0588_2.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479375814355351186" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIAJICGUSuNP8la1K9mTbwg7Ou-upG-agd08ea0PkGxyk6PhDZE-jSnQtfWacGslePFjTu5S71xkuZtsXbuz6hnl9_r5_3gOTIw137NKDSKJzorU06eiEDD_Qkag7GSD73jbAh_CvU8dR/s1600/IMG_6757.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 222px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioIAJICGUSuNP8la1K9mTbwg7Ou-upG-agd08ea0PkGxyk6PhDZE-jSnQtfWacGslePFjTu5S71xkuZtsXbuz6hnl9_r5_3gOTIw137NKDSKJzorU06eiEDD_Qkag7GSD73jbAh_CvU8dR/s320/IMG_6757.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479384716829659058" /></a><br /><br />He is adorable. His brother and sister are doting on him, possibly slightly too much in the case of the younger one with mammoth bearhugs and attempts at carrying, but overall they have behaved very well given their spots in the hierarchy have shifted somewhat. Most of their miffedness has been inflicted on me.<br /><br />In comparison to first two this one's arrival was not exactly how I would have planned. (Forgive me for the lengthy account that follows. It is of pretty marginal interest to nearly everyone but cathartic to write down.) I knew an earlyish birth was likely as the 1st boy turned up at 37 weeks and my consultant was predicting the same and was dragging the baby out in any event at 38 weeks but even so I had planned to work at least one more week. I left the office on the Friday with a to do list as long as my arm, a handover to my stand in to do and plans for haircut, wax and eyebrow threading all set up for week 37 (birth isn't dignified at the best of times but is even less so when as hairy as a gorilla). However by about 3 on Sunday morning I am sure I am having regular contractions so off we go down to the hospital dumping the kids on the nanny whilst my parents hot foot it from the countryside. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">As a small political aside I know PFI is supposed to be crappy value for money for the taxpayer but I am so glad that the decrepit Victorian hospital which has treated me for various ailments over the years and which has also seen me through fertility investigations (although the ivf was over the other side of town), miscarriages and births has been replaced by a shiny new one where some thought has been given to what should be where including new shower rooms with better showers than we have at home and decent loos. </span><br /><br />Anyhow I wasn't having discernible on the monitor contractions but I was in serious generalised pain. Morphine became my close friend and I was writhing in the labour suite for Sunday and in the ward for Monday and Tuesday. A merry band of Professors and random Drs hovered round my bed scratching their chins and peering at me. Blood tests revealed ridiculously elevated crp indicating an inflammatory response but ok white blood cells and no temp. Medical mystery was declared so more head-scratching and lots of iv antibiotics just in case. Thankfully by Tuesday pm I was actually in full on labour and that bit all went well thanks to a smashing Spanish midwife. I should have realised they were all super concerned as I was visited in the delivery room by what felt like the entire shift worth of drs including the consultant who are rare as hens teeth at the business end unless things are going tits up. Me however swimming in diamorphine so oblivious.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Second political aside - my world renowned teaching hospital would be totally non functional without the enormous numbers of non Anglo-Saxons who treat and care for the patients. Three cheers for immigration from other continents and free movement of EU workers I say. As well as my Spanish midwife, doctors from Greece, Egypt, Hong Kong and various bits of the Asian sub-continent were amongst those who looked after me that week let alone nurses, students, cleaners etc etc. </span><br /><br />F (who was at that stage nameless) was born around 11 that night and as a 36 weeker was whisked off after a 5 mins to the special care unit to have a line put in and a load of antibiotics leaving me for an hour to wash and feel like a total spare part with no baby. They came back eventually but that was one long hour. At this point I felt much much better and assumed that the pain was history. Hah. More fool me.<br /><br />The first night was a haze and the initial euphoria soon wore off. I remained in grim pain okish lying down but incapable of straightening up when I got out of bed to hobble to the loos. More professors peering and chin scratching and testing me for this that and the other. I was incapable of eating much and had caught some vile stomach bug too which was turning what was left in my insides to, how shall i put this explosive liquid. I had ultrasounds, prodding, tests galore and finally on the Friday afternoon a CT scan was done making me even more certain that I was appearing in my own personal episode of <span style="font-style:italic;">House</span> (and secretly hoping that the cause of all of this was my lupus cos as you know on <span style="font-style:italic;">House</span> it never is lupus). After the husband went to have supper with the kids the CT revealed the culprit as my appendix (although the lupus drugs might have been part of the reason I had kept going with an inflamed appendix without keeling over for so long). Late that night I had a surgeon swoop in to tell me I was off to theatre asap. Husband was summonsed. Desperate calls made to close Dr friends. Fit of morbid thoughts meant F got his name as I felt that I couldn't leave him nameless when I went under the knife. Down I went to 3 hours of oblivion.<br /><br />The next day the surgeon wafted to my bed and told me yup it had ruptured and was "very nasty" and then promptly disappeared before i had the opportunity to quiz him further. Later another two gut doctors came by to say I was ok to go home as soon as I fancied. I fancied soon as regardless of shiny newness I just needed to get out. Plus I was becoming a prize sow as people kept coming by to tell me that appendicitis is super difficult to diagnose in late pregnancy, none of the Professors/surgeons had seen it in x years, no really it is very difficult etc etc so we left that evening. Big mistake but that is for another post as frankly I'll be amazed if anyone is still awake by the end of this!<br /><br />Just re-read and realised I have left out some very important people in this account - F, who had some minor issues of his own, and the Husband who manfully made the creaky NHS function (somethings don't change with shiny buildings) and pressed, cajoled and generally gave a very good impression that he too was a Dr in order to get people moving on tests, bloods, BPs you name it as I was in no fit state. But more of them in that other post.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-38885516457331419602010-03-06T00:17:00.001+00:002010-03-06T00:20:21.110+00:00The guilty partyIs my appendix. I am going in to have it out soon. Leaving F in his dad's capable hands. Thanks to eveyone for all the lovely messages. LoveBetty xxBetty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-47798908748645852322010-03-03T12:22:00.002+00:002010-03-03T12:30:52.757+00:0036wHe is here! 6lb 5oz. Gorgeous. Mystery ailment afflicting me so both of us are chock full of antibiotics and stuck here till Friday at least. Photo when I get home as phone/ blogger interface eluding me! Thanks for all the lovely good wishes.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-76260396103429637172010-03-01T21:16:00.003+00:002010-03-01T21:26:35.606+00:0035 plus 6I had been hoping to do a Sock it to me post. But here I sit in a hospital bed. Been here since 8 on Sunday. First day they were convinced it was labour as was I. Now they think it is something else possibly irritable uterus ( bloody furious more like), kidney infection, random other thing as yet unspecified. Unfortunately for most of the last 24 hours I have been barely able to move and dosed up on a zillion painkillers although here at least morphine is an option and the one enabling me to blog. Each time he kicks me the pain intensifies but at least out makes kick counts easier. Hopefully we will have a plan tomorrow. He is looking about 6 1/2 lbs on today's scan so early out may be an option. We'll see.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-64052497234318681092010-01-19T11:25:00.000+00:002010-01-19T11:25:54.641+00:00My own x-poll post for posterity.<span style="font-style:italic;">This was my post for the Great Cross-pollination day which was posted over at <a href="http://www.takingthestatisticalbullet.blogspot.com/">Katie's</a> blog. Real post forthcoming soon-ish. Possibly after 30w check up later today. Yup 30 weeks - shocking eh.</span><br /><br />I was reading a post by<a href="http://smartone.typepad.com/smartone/ "> Kym</a> the other day where she talked about “passport children” and how for those of us who were either infertile or have had recurrent losses the living children we have are our passport into the fertile world. That’s the world where people plan their children so they have birthdays at the beginning of the school year. Where a decision to try for a baby means a baby is created max 3 months down the line and at that point it is safe to go tell everyone and buy nursery gear. Where it is a given that the number of children you have and their spacing is a deliberate choice. Where detailed knowledge of transvaginal scan procedures and how to inject yourself anywhere from the torso to the thigh is not necessary. Where - I could go on for pages in this vein - but you get the picture. <br /><br />Anyhow the post said a lot of the things that I felt as well but then I got to thinking isn’t it about time I stopped feeling like this? I have two lovely children (spaced a fertile world style 3 years apart to the week thanks to those failsafe great planning techniques of a few ivf cycles and a miscarriage) a third hopefully safely en route. To all intents and purposes I have leave to remain/a green card (depending which side of the Atlantic you are) in the fertile world. Look come on I am now that annoying woman who conceived naturally at 42 and seems to be having a successful pregnancy - quickly reaching for the copious quantities of wooden coffee tables, lamps etc in close proximity - lets keep quiet about the further miscarriages in between. <br /><br />Maybe I should just suck it up and move along. Its hard though because it still bloody rankles when its easy for other people. On balance though I think the anger is marginally better than the overwhelming sadness the whole business used to engender. I wonder how much time, energy and life I have wasted on this? Too much? Almost certainly. Would it have been easier just to be public about the whole thing and not suffer in silence? Would it have made any difference to the kids if the world knew about their start in a petri dish? Should I just have got over the fact that I thought they and me and the husband would be pitied for our failings to be a real part of the fertile world? Maybe. Maybe not. Do I really need to add regret to anger and sadness over the way we had to travel to get to where we are? I think not. I think now I need to grab that stamp in the passport or that green card - which isn’t even bloody green you know - and enter that other world as if we all belonged there all along. And in a spirit of multi-culturalism try and do a bit to make it so that for those coming along behind the whole passport issue just isn’t such a big deal anymore because we can all finally get to belong however we get to build our families. <br /><br />Enough of the maudlin introspection though - serves me right for x-polling whilst watching a Joan Baez documentary. And thank you for letting me take over this space for a day.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-19902405017212310072009-12-09T07:46:00.002+00:002009-12-09T07:50:42.895+00:00CROSS POLLINATION DAY: A beating heart<span style="font-style:italic;">Its cross pollination day people so here is today's mystery post. See if you can work out who it is or go to the great list of pollinators over at <a href="http://missionimpossibleinfertile.wordpress.com/">Geohde's</a> place.:</span><br /><br />When I scheduled our ultrasound two weeks ago, I honestly had very little hope that we would actually arrive at this date and still be pregnant. I put the day on my calendar in pencil, so I could erase it, if need be.<br /><br />Every day since the second line came up, I have expected red on the toilet paper whenever I wipe. Whenever I feel a cramp or twinge, I take a trip to the restroom and do a "spot check." I am always amazed when the tissue comes back clean. Despite my increasing symptoms and all-day nausea, I can't wrap my mind around the fact that I seem to be staying pregnant.<br /><br />I have been pregnant nine times. And eight of those times has resulted in a loss. Granted, the one time that did work out, resulted in my wonderful little boy. However, I still have very little confidence in my body when it comes to pregnancy. I still don't equate a positive pee stick with a baby. My mind does not work that way. When my husband and I discuss this pregnancy, we pepper our conversations with "if" not "when" and actually, we talk very little about the baby itself. My husband asks how I am feeling, or if I have had any spotting, but he does not really talk about the baby. Neither do I. I talk about my pregnancy in terms of symptoms and logistics. I try to steer clear of emotions or hopes. I did this with Will, too. It wasn't until much later, probably after the anatomy scan, that I was really able to start placing any true emotion into the baby part. I felt like a fraud of a mother, and I feel that way now, too.<br /><br />Against the odds, here we are. I am 7 weeks, 2 days pregnant and at 3:45 this afternoon, we will know if this little baby has a heartbeat or not. Though I know that this is the first of many, many hurdles, I do know that, statistically speaking, our chances for a loss would go down dramatically if we were to see a beating heart. My own heart flutters with hope.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-73896296723676976442009-12-07T20:28:00.004+00:002009-12-07T21:12:51.821+00:00PollinationAs I have signed up to the witty <a href="http://missionimpossibleinfertile.wordpress.com/">Geohde's</a> cross-pollination on Wednesday I think it is about time I pollinated the damn blog. The usual shit gets in the way of posting: laziness, dog tiredness, work etc etc etc. I also owe the wonderous and recently(ish) transmogrified <a href="http://knockuout.wordpress.com/">Y-Yo Mama</a> an award/ meme thing which may have to wait until later this week. <br /><br />The pregnancy is now at just shy of 24 weeks - we are 6 scans down the line and all seems fine. There has been a slight rival scan maestro spat as to whether or not the babe had a slight pericardial effusion - to which the rival answers were respectively "no" and "yes but meaningless in the grand scheme" so to be honest perhaps we would have been better off with not being told at all. I'm not usually one for keeping stuff from the patient but given the upshot was "who cares" I sure wasted a lot of my time lying on my back craning round at blurry pictures of internal organs. And in other whinges - why do all appts take over 2 hours for anything at all? In other pregnancy related news I have shifted the nausea only for it to be replaced by reflux and constipation - joy of joys. Oh and I am hobbling about as I seem to also have some sort of sciatica. This is no doubt why the chorus from the ob community is get this done in your twenties ye foolish wenches. Huh, if bloody only. Explain to me why I have been contraception free since my late twenties and not till I was 42 could I manage this on my own then. <br /><br />I have also sorted out cover for my maternity leave. I have had a jobshare for years and rather than muck it up we came up with a wheeze which hopefully will keep the place ticking over in my absence as I do twice as many hours as my colleague but also can be sold as development opportunity to one of our reports. I now have some confidence that my systems wont fall apart from 6 -7 months of neglect. We are a successful jobshare but, how shall I put this, we have complimentary skills and certain things just don't get done on her watch. She will however willingly do loads of difficult staff stuff for which I am eternally grateful. Even though occasionally I curse the fact that I occasionally get in and think what the *&%^ has she been bloody doing this week, I am happy to proselytise far and wide on the benefits of a jobshare in pretty much any job but in particular in professional ones where people get narky about part timers.<br /><br />In exceedingly old news I got to see the <a href="http://hairyfarmerfamily.wordpress.com/">HFF</a>, and her bags of London swag, at the Cringe reading. Always good to see that bloggers do look human in the flesh. Not that I doubted HFF's existence but she could have been a boy biker from Bolton for all I knew (she isn't for any doubters amongst you).<br /><br />Anyhoo. Do check back on the 9th for the cross-pollination extravaganza. Now back to failing to buy Yule gifts. Oh I wish I was one of those super witty gift givers who buys the oh so perfect items through the year and come December has nothing to do except source recherche wrapping. I blame living in foreign climes for years of my youth and also having non-religious/non-christian parents for my failures to buy into the British Christmas shopping experience. <br /><br />Also why on earth are marron glacees so expensive - if anyone can confirm that making them yourself is a) viable and b) as tasty as the offerings from fancy French deli type place I will be eternally grateful.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-90093720821691769892009-09-14T11:27:00.004+01:002009-09-28T13:47:15.890+01:00There has been a lot happeningI am a shit poster. People I read mange posts every day, every other day, every week, every month. I barely manage every quarter. Oh well. I was rubbish at keeping up my juvenile diaries too which is probably a relief given they tended to be pretty uninteresting. I went for endless lists of books I had read rather than tortured analysis of who liked who best. Thats why I love the idea of Cringe - the book of hideously embarrassing juvenilia in which the great <a href="http://hairyfarmerfamily.wordpress.com/">HFF</a> has a piece (clearly her current writing is nothing like that stuff). <br /><br />As an aside I also have a super bad habit of saving up posts of a lot of my favourite bloggers so I can think of something worthy to say and then never having enough time to comment. How do all those daily posters manage to find time in the day to comment absolutely bloody everywhere as well as having real lives?<br /><br />So what are my excuses?<br /><br />Indolence. A character trait I think I am stuck with. I am fine with tons of deadlines but if there isn't a court order hanging over my head and it can be put off it will be. This is why I am a litigator rather than any other sort of lawyer.<br /><br />The need to keep up with the increasing no of people I read who post all the time. This comes under the husbandly rubric of "you need to get a bloody life in the real world". Thing is he doesn't deal with the people I do at the school gate. That is a whole post in itself but you wouldn't have thought it was quite so difficult to get past good morning. And work people aren't much use the rest of the week. (Work takes up time too and is unfortunately totally unbloggable for as they say "legal reasons".)<br /><br />7 weeks of school holidays - thankfully over. London is a fabulous place with kids but boy can you spend a fortune in money and patience going to the Science Museum, the Zoo etc etc.<br /><br />A number of weeks taken up for the husband by my seriously ill alcoholic FIL. That would be the high functioning alcoholic who managed to disguise from his sons that he had left himself with a bare 10% of his liver. FIL has never ever been my favourite person. In fact less said about him the better as it is not my story to tell suffice it to say throughout the husband's life he has been not nice. <br /><br />Another pregnancy - currently at 14 weeks. This time though I decided I couldn't face the serial hell of inconclusive/ ok but not great scans ending in disappointment so I waited until 12w to have my first scan. All went well and all looks fine. Even the trisomy risk is pretty good for my age (between 1 in 850 or 1 in 1100 depending on the fancy research scan place vs NHS even though they should both be running the same system). Actually fancy scan place have been doing research trying to predict pre-e at the 12w scan from blood flow patterns and blood tests and on that I'm looking pretty good at the moment although no guarantees given I have had it before and the lupus pre-disposes. The booking in with the midwife took about 8 hours as each gory detail of the previous 5 pregnancies was recorded for posterity by me on paper and then repeated for her to put on the computer (although to be fair whilst child 1 was on the lots of reasons for intervention side pg wise child 2 was trouble free) . The high risk boxes were all ticked and off I shot to the consultants. Always a joy when they first thing the high risk consultant says is "oh I remember you". Never sure that that is a good thing. Didn't stop me having to give consultant no 2 (never knowingly under-consultanted my appts - 3 is the norm no 3 wasn't there as as per usual I was booked into the wrong clinic) and the snotty medical student the whole history a-bloody-gain. <br /><br />Despite all things looking good so far I am still indulging in head in sand behaviour about this whole thing and have told precisely no family at all yet. Can't imagine I will be able to get away with that for much longer.<br /><br />Anyway as with my diaries I have sent my self a "could do better" report card and a mental note that must try harder.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-61983967177229817962009-05-03T20:51:00.016+01:002009-05-04T21:57:17.298+01:00It is doneIt was done on Tuesday. By a very severe Croatian who it turned out was the head of the dept which surprised me as I didn't think grand surgeons stooped to such things as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">ERPCs</span>. Anyway after the slight debacle of the junior research fellow totally failing to get the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">difilucan</span> stick in in the morning - she fumbled for 10 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mins</span> and tried three <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">speculums</span>/<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">ae</span>(?) before giving up and getting in a consultant who took 1 min - I was quite pleased to get the big gun. It only took about 15 minutes and there were only two painful things: the cannula (I'm still bruised) and the pressure of the scanner on my tummy. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">lignocaine</span> injections didn't hurt and I felt nothing except the speculum. All a bit of an anti-climax really. The sac was beginning to collapse so I suppose even my body would not have hung on to this pregnancy much longer. I am so glad I decided to go this route though as I have had very little cramping and less bleeding than a period. I only had one evening of gushing and mega clots ( this <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">resulted</span> in instructions to go back if it happened again which it hasn't) so really no comparison in the blood and gore stakes to expectant management and really I have had enough of these now to want the least worst option. On balance this has been all things considered a breeze at least physically.<br /><br />I haven't been so weepy this time which is intriguing. I managed the whole of Tuesday without a tear. Even though the scary Doctor tried hard to make me miserable with his "at your age" speeches. He did redeem himself at the end with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">couple</span> of good lucks and hoping not to see me except in happier circumstances. Anyhow, it doesn't mean the whole business doesn't make me feel like shit though. I have been horrible this weekend for instance - snapping - <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">OK</span> shouting - at the kids for such crimes as accidentally beheading my new geraniums and failing to let me rinse their hair in the bath. I have always had problems with flying off the handle and being miserable and tired (I've had to work both the last two Saturdays) certainly doesn't help in the you need to count to 5 and not shout stakes.<br /><br />I'm not sure what to do next. I really don't want to be in this position again. I suppose given we have got lucky twice its possible it will happen again. I'm not sure there is anything one can do with elderly eggs except just hope that chance gives us a better one is around next time if there is one. I have had a bunch of auto-immune bloods done by my rheumatologist who responded to my email late one Sunday night and had blood forms waiting for me the next morning so we will see what they show probably not much if anything. I still am conflicted given that:<br />a) we only ever wanted two and we have two gorgeous kids who probably don't get enough of the best of us as it is<br />b) I'm being a pretty rubbish parent of the two we have at times and doubt I will get any better/less tired as I get older<br />c) 42 was my cut off age<br />d) no more invasive treatment definitely<br />e) the husband really doesn't want to go here again.<br />Anyhoo, prepared to be bored with me going over this same old ground ad nauseam.<br /><br />I promised some bucket and spade shots so here they are. First here is the slightly ludicrous Victorian pile we were staying in. Allegedly it belonged to a lady in waiting to Queen Victoria who was a big fan of the Isle of Wight. It was too big particularly as work called back the other family we were with earlier than expected but it was 10 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">mins</span> walk from the beach and had a garden big enough for football and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">frisbee</span> so satisfied most needs.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrby16HKEHtNEEBugMmmtjdphFxK4RNVii8YrmUHuTj3No8zDlGVR7JEaMbo8NRZnkPaWwoExIM97IAA3uBPMHtSXy-CFGFOldQ10FpTonsg1IlIkPVoJalDIG_lVcgkYCDT44-Hkk5W7X/s1600-h/IMG_5207.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrby16HKEHtNEEBugMmmtjdphFxK4RNVii8YrmUHuTj3No8zDlGVR7JEaMbo8NRZnkPaWwoExIM97IAA3uBPMHtSXy-CFGFOldQ10FpTonsg1IlIkPVoJalDIG_lVcgkYCDT44-Hkk5W7X/s320/IMG_5207.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332070158142715698" /></a><br /><br />Here is the daughter on the beach - a back shot as the husband is somewhat chary of photos on the web:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrhRFKX5al8dvZpln07sd2TQWhAPUpZpvGj7zeaiZi7gLPWDZ6DeLyr0zvwgPA6HFC4AASB9GwjF4iJKV2J_o2p90TseUB1zKhlPe7UpaDW-FGLbro_6t17j7tb-DIlc2ta9MVTCXKbWh/s1600-h/IMG_5284.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZrhRFKX5al8dvZpln07sd2TQWhAPUpZpvGj7zeaiZi7gLPWDZ6DeLyr0zvwgPA6HFC4AASB9GwjF4iJKV2J_o2p90TseUB1zKhlPe7UpaDW-FGLbro_6t17j7tb-DIlc2ta9MVTCXKbWh/s320/IMG_5284.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332067764486670802" /></a><br /><br />Here is the son - he is the one on the right with the curls. He and his mate sat for hours like this throwing pebbles at the wall after we told then not to hurl them at each other:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-c21UaZZ9gZL5Sa-1QdlC_9sQMuZHrsdK6wnWvfyfV9melS0HKgymGYReZM2gzKqOOS3Luqx3qlIkzG0eMqhOD0Qy_1m6F5PyAlznCuLwLqYcYql1qIwZ8DMQYS1bAWg7HFzsvgduGia/s1600-h/IMG_5177.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga-c21UaZZ9gZL5Sa-1QdlC_9sQMuZHrsdK6wnWvfyfV9melS0HKgymGYReZM2gzKqOOS3Luqx3qlIkzG0eMqhOD0Qy_1m6F5PyAlznCuLwLqYcYql1qIwZ8DMQYS1bAWg7HFzsvgduGia/s320/IMG_5177.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332068750414461554" /></a><br /><br />Sandcastle. Decorative elements by moi. Damn - too big for Blogger. Here my skills fail me sandcastle has to wait.<br /><br />And to finish my wisteria - well actually next door's wisteria which by chance is almost totally in our garden - which is finally coming into full bloom as this represents most of my Bank Holiday activities in <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">the</span> garden :<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1TVWmfiscPUgJpzHTtyjr1xPI49WO5E3WpEywvSx7EEVCQH7zIecXXtf82NrQzJ7t6BNpRJey56oHmW2LQCm300dxio6ppXoUAqVIF9FmXxitifNm0XIwvhdksxUz7FLEQXzNeI3E5E3/s1600-h/IMG_5326.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1TVWmfiscPUgJpzHTtyjr1xPI49WO5E3WpEywvSx7EEVCQH7zIecXXtf82NrQzJ7t6BNpRJey56oHmW2LQCm300dxio6ppXoUAqVIF9FmXxitifNm0XIwvhdksxUz7FLEQXzNeI3E5E3/s320/IMG_5326.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332074521042574994" /></a><br /><br />Well other than this which is the early stages of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">the</span> new bread/pizza oven created by the husband. He makes <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">the</span> most excellent bread already so I am a bit nervous it will take months to perfect <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">the</span> technique in a wood <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">fired</span> oven but as he <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">also</span> has <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">the</span> good sense to go out and buy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Nutella</span> for a sad wife to eat with fresh baked bread in front of The Wire I am happy to indulge him:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1bgqNLrKOOTdvLtqOIcivVypImkunJLRcSnXyOC-UaOmItowEXqvMpabyMjzxptgcJ58piS7mMKtzV_GvQS-zC-pymhG9Tkq23CXCtiG4VMAUWxYNw9FT-8a8wk95YWjfPE-OSrWd9a9/s1600-h/IMG_5324.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1bgqNLrKOOTdvLtqOIcivVypImkunJLRcSnXyOC-UaOmItowEXqvMpabyMjzxptgcJ58piS7mMKtzV_GvQS-zC-pymhG9Tkq23CXCtiG4VMAUWxYNw9FT-8a8wk95YWjfPE-OSrWd9a9/s320/IMG_5324.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5332073156030247106" /></a><br /><br />Have a good week people.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-61649727434483504422009-04-24T10:56:00.004+01:002009-04-24T12:39:01.813+01:00Oh wellHere we go again - yet another missed miscarriage. Not that unsurprising given the slow progress at the last one but still a big blow.<br /><br /><br />I have now hit that 3 m/c jackpot for referral to the recurrent miscarriage unit - oh joy. I know I said we were done but I am going to take the referral anyway as I want to know as much as I can as to why this keeps happening. I know that at the most likely reason is the elderly eggs but still given I already have an auto-immune disease (lupus) its possible that there could be something testable going on.<br /><br /><br />So yesterday morning was spent at super calming full of ancient Greek pots private scan place - 2 scans to confirm the blindingly obvious to everyone from the first 30 seconds - little growth and no heartbeat is a pretty big clue. Followed by super expensive delicious banana, cardamon and chocolate muffin and a flat white in glamour cafe to ease the pain. Walk in the sun through central London to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">EPU</span> at massive teaching hospital to be scanned again and then given the "options". I can't face expectant management so the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ERPC</span> under local will be on Tuesday next week. Now I just have to try and organise the genetic testing which for obscure reasons isn't standard and getting my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">APS</span> status checked before the procedure. I usually test negative for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">APS</span> but occasionally positive and I just want to rule it out for this one.<br /><br />I do find it so very very frustrating that for most of my thirties my body refused to get it together so that A could meet B and create C when the eggs were in order without huge amounts of money and drugs and then works it out for my 40s when only dodgy eggs are left. Oh and that my body is still behaving to all <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">intents</span> and purposes as if I was still pregnant.<br /><br />Anyway there we are. Thank you all so much for your support. I am going to use the weekend to work out how to put photos on and regale you with traditional British seaside bucket and spade shots. At least the holiday - which was lovely - was not ruined by this hideous process.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-70432311458378189352009-04-09T11:56:00.003+01:002009-04-09T12:32:28.493+01:00Phew - kinda.....I have been told by the very Germanic dr at the fancy scan joint to be cautiously optimistic so I am trying it out for size. Not sure it fits yet.<br /><br />So the good from this morning:<br /><br />1. heartbeat - absolutely definitely - saw it myself;<br />2. fetal pole, yolk sac, amniotic sac - yes, yes, yes;<br />3. gestational sac - yup;<br />4. ovaries fine;<br />5. pouch of douglas (who? what?) - fine.<br /><br />And the very much less good:<br /><br />Measuring at least a week behind where I thought I should be so I've another 14 days of angst before I know anything for definite (unless I know sooner for bad reasons). Would have liked to go back sooner but Easter has meant they are totally chocabloc for the week after.<br /><br />Self justification of being positive - the CRL is ok for just about 6w - although the sac is a bit small; my periods have been a bit shonky - varying by 4 days in length; I could have ovulated late I suppose which could account for another few days, or implanted late. Dr Google is being monumentally unhelpful as usual although I have ascertained that the sac is definitely over 5mm bigger than the CRL which is a allegedly a good thing.<br /><br />Trouble is I have been here before. I hate uncertainty.<br /><br />We are off to the Isle of Wight tomorrow - so sand castles and ice creams for us - hopefully the weather will be clement but have top to toe rain gear if not. Have a good break people.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-88859852814991131892009-04-08T22:59:00.002+01:002009-04-08T23:08:09.165+01:00F*ck - scan tomorrowHave decided deep gloom is best preparation.<br /><br />Good signs:<br />- getting up to pee in the night;<br />- nausea;<br />- dizziness;<br />- much more tired than normal;<br />- sleeping terribly;<br />- digestion weird;<br />- need for endless peppermint tea.<br />Bad signs:<br />- no throwing up like the previous times;<br />- able to clean teeth mostly without retching;<br />- boobs not much different - although I think the fact I'm still feeding the boy at night won't help on this one. Oh and feeding has become painful which I think might need to be in the good sign box.<br /><br />None of the above is worth shit however as I have been in the every symptom under the sun but no viable pregnancy camp before. Nothing I can do about it anyway. If this goes tits up though I am done. As in use contraception done. At least I think so.<br /><br />Good thing we get tomorrow afternoon off as it is Maundy Thursday (a rare civil servant perk). Given the location of the scan unit my credit card may take a bashing.<br /><br />Think of me.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-23142217442980694542009-03-23T20:18:00.007+00:002009-04-24T19:40:16.081+01:00Reviving the deadGosh its been a long time. No excuses really - 3 hectic weeks in Canada /the US followed by a grim 4 months at work , then Christmas, then a new job and too many blogs on my Reader that I feel compelled to read first before writing anything myself. Comments have been the only thing I have done for months.<br /><br />And truth be told for quite a lot of the last few months I have been miserable. That low level pernicious not quite proper depression which is the result of two kids, two parents with jobs, too little sleep and generally feeling sorry for oneself and one's lot. Not a happy bunny even though on paper the two gorgeous kids, one lovely husband, nice house, good job etc are all exactly as I would have ordered. For reasons which are unclear I have been feeling better since the weather got better so perhaps it was all just seasonal affective disorder combined with pre-menstrual quasi-psychosis? Anyway I have been miserable and vile. My kids think I am shouty - sadly they are not wrong. My fuse has been infinitesimally short. Disputes over clothes for school - oh how I wish her school did not think uniform stifled the little darlings' creativity - turning in to shouting matches between a 41 yr old and a 5 yr old with the 41 yr old being quite frankly the least mature of the two. Whilst it is charming in a way to see how some personality traits work their way down to the next generation perhaps stubborn and argumentative were not the greatest things to have picked up from me.<br /><br />Anyhoo - I have lots of stuff on the miserable months that I would quite like to get out in writing but I have something rather more pressing on my mind at present. Much to my surprise we managed to get me pregnant again without the services of our clinic or indeed any other medical professional. Unfortunately for me given my advancing years (there are only a few days before I am 42) and my track record of 4 pregnancies but only 2 live births the chances of this progressing inexorably towards the end of November and the arrival of a further child are very slim. I am 4w 5d now. I have booked a viability scan for 7w 1d and am assuming that either I won't need it or it will tell me that my week away at Easter will be grim. I have a great track record for miscarriages on holidays - May Bank holiday and a week in Sicily for m/c no 1 and Christmas at my parents for m/c no 2. I know that I should be indulging in positive thinking but I am now in a knicker checking, boob pressing frenzy and will be until this is proved as a keeper or not.<br /><br />This turn of events, which was met by choruses of "oh fuck, what have we done?" from both of us and long silences from himself, is not what we had planned. After "did it by ourselves" pregnancy no 1 in 2007 and its demise I had finally got round to a point of acceptance that it was not going to happen again (because come on we had approx 10 years of unprotected sex and nada) and we were going to be a family of 4. It had taken a good long time. I also had a mental line in the sand of conception pre 42 and after that no more, definitively too old. Oh how the fates laughed - this pregnancy has as you will see snuck under my mental wire by a week. Bastard fates. Now I assume they will play with me for a few weeks and then laugh in my face. OK that really is being too gloom and doom but maybe it will cocoon me from the grief that will follow if this does go tits up.<br /><br />Now - that wasn't too difficult. Not sure what was keeping me from posting before. Thanks must go to <a href="http://hairyfarmerfamily.wordpress.com/">Hairy Farmer Family</a> whose email prompted me into updating (although I haven't quite mastered links or photos).Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-42241013969481007502008-08-09T17:12:00.002+01:002008-08-09T17:33:17.834+01:00Holiday timeTomorrow we leave for Vancouver. Oh the joy of the prospect of a 10.5 hour flight with two children under 5 with one who will be confined to my lap. And the one confined to my lap has been ill all day - the 7th nappy full of poo has just been changed and it is just gone 5 pm. We have been inside all day packing "light". Except it isn't light and we still aren't finished. We now have the prospect of going to the other side of London for a family wedding in the pouring rain after which my parents, sister and nephews are coming to camp out in our house.<br /><br />The house is a tip because I have been frantic at work. In my business August is supposed to be the month when nothing happens - court is shut, parliament isn't sitting and everyone relaxes. Except it isn't true because July is hell as everyone wants everything finished before the carriages turn into pumpkins on 1 August and then it transpires that the message that August is the month of nothing happening hasn't actually got through to the people who create work for me. So the last few weeks have been a nightmare plus I have had to pick up stuff from the people who have been on holiday already on the basis that August is dead. I now get my own back by dumping a hideous job on my manager.<br /><br />We will need this holiday I tell you.<br /><br />It is coming at a good time as our lovely nanny left on Friday to go home to New Zealand to retrain as a midwife. We were all really upset. I was surprised at how hard I took it when she announced she was going about 6 weeks ago. I invested a lot of emotional energy into hiring her and feeling able to leave my children with her for 3 days a week. I panicked about whether the other mums at the pre-school would let me know if anything amiss happened. It didn't and in fact she was always in demand for babysitting and doing the odd day here and there for them. We had got used to her as part of the family. She is the only alternative caregiver my youngest has ever known. I just didn't want that to change. He is totally oblivious I think to the fact that there will be no more "E** days" but the elder one isn't and that makes it harder to be upbeat about the replacement who seems lovely too but just won't be the same. Nothing like this kind of upheaval to bring down a severe case of working mother angst. I hope that nearly 3 weeks away will make them ready for new things when we come home.<br /><br />Next thing is to work out how I am ever going to keep up with my blog reading whilst I am away. I might even try transatlantic blog entry posting to get me up from my once a month average.<br /><br />Happy summer holidays!Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-25252823517592386952008-06-30T21:35:00.003+01:002008-07-13T23:29:57.408+01:00Missing a due dateI am coming up to one of those nasty things: a due date which never happened. The first one of these events comes around at Christmas time. This last Christmas that date passed me by as I was in the throes of the miscarriage which should instead have led on to the due date I am currently obsessing about. The upcoming date has me feeling maudlin to say the least. Oh and my period came again just like clockwork. Marvellous. Just marvellous.<br /><br />In the grand scheme of things <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">earlyish</span> miscarriages are so easily dismissed as "just one of those things, lots of people have them and don't worry at least you know you can get pregnant". Well actually as far as the latest miscarriage was concerned no, I didn't bloody know I could get pregnant, not without a smorgasbord of drugs, needles and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">petri</span> dishes at any rate. And it wasn't for lack of trying.<br /><br />Even though the pregnancy failed to progress it was at least pretty amazing to finally have to the things that happen to seemingly everyone I know in the real world: realise my period was late; head out to the chemist for a test; do it and see the word pregnant appear in no seconds flat and no need to to see or tell any medical professional immediately. I have never been one for doing pregnancy tests. In fact even with the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ivfs</span> I never peed on any sticks as I was too scared to see what would be on them. I just had the blood tests and made the husband call for the results so I wouldn't have to hear bad news. I would occasionally think there might be cause to go and get a test but usually before I'd even worked myself up to buying one it would become obvious it wasn't necessary. So this whole unbelievable natural pregnancy and stick peeing was a major event. How pathetic is that - peeing on a piece of plastic a major event - this infertility business skews one's sense of what is important somewhat.<br /><br />The husband, being a man albeit one who is usually pretty astute about these things, had no idea this date was coming up at all. I suppose that is hardly surprising. Whilst the emotional commitment of the man to the pregnancy as a whole and the baby to come is undoubted in the vast majority of cases, given that the physical contribution to the event is pretty fleeting I can see why a man might not be so invested in the exact number of weeks passing by. Its not like I was counting the weeks either - I just knew when 20 weeks should have been and 30 and 40. Still it pissed me off that he seemed to have forgotten entirely. But then it was only another of the things making me cross and miserable these past few days which encompass such things as the guilt of the working mother, the politics of the 4 year old birthday party and the nature of friendships. But I think those better be for another day.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-30589396749227157932008-06-14T21:13:00.006+01:002008-06-14T23:28:34.705+01:00Time to do a meme or twoI have been tagged for my first meme (hi there <a href="http://babystep.wordpress.com/">Baby Step</a>) and there is another one doing the rounds as well so what the hey I can do two. As I have been in a work/home frenzy this past couple of weeks this is probably the best I can do for a Saturday night.<br /><br />So first up <span style="color:#000099;">6 word bio</span>: slightly exotic, often cross, fiercely loyal <br /><br />Next one<span style="color:#000099;"> 6 questions</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">What were you doing 10 years ago?<br /></span>Living a mile and a half down the hill from where I am now. Working at big money law firm. Liking my colleagues hating but my job. Another year of working too late and starting too early. Starting to worry that getting pregnant was not going to be easy. Getting sick of the fertility monitor. And the highlight of the year 2 weeks on a slightly too small yacht with 3 friends and the husband in the Carribean - blue sky, clear water, dolphins playing in the bow wave and a squall to scare us - fantastic.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">5 things on my "to do" list today?<br /></span><span style="color:#000000;">Get my eyebrows threaded - done, goodbye unibrow. </span><br />Vacuum - done, my parents are coming tomorrow so need to give illusion of being a grown up.<br />Washing - again, this chore is never ending.<br />Revise long term "to do" list - there is stuff on this list that has been there since we moved two years ago like curtains for the main room - Ik.ea £10 jobs nailed up is really not very World of Interiors.<br />Try and not have my usual Saturday meltdown - failed at that one. This is a thing that is really giving me stress and which I can't really explain but which is making everyone miserable. I think I need a real post to unpick it.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">5 snacks I enjoy</span><br />Croissants<br />Cheese<br />Tapenade and breadsticks<br />Gherkins - proper eastern european sour ones<br />Popcorn<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Things I would do if I was a billionaire</span><br />Easy one this: new modern house ideally with a swimming pool and a big garden; distribute largesse to immediate family; new clothes that actually fit; set up a foundation - I have always fancied my name, or rather both our names, being on a plaque in a museum; give large sums to my rheumatologist's research lab, to brain tumour research and to research on unexplained infertility; and for my husband a 50 foot yacht plus a few more sailing lessons.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">Places I have lived</span><br />London - born here but moved abroad pretty soon afterwards, came back for university and been here ever since in various points north of the river; allegedly cool town on the South Coast; nasty 60s town just outside London (we try and forget those couple of years); Switzerland; and the bonus ball I doubt you were expecting - Iran.<br /><br /><span style="color:#000099;">List jobs you have had</span><br />Shop assistant.<br />Lawyer - big corporate law firm for years; now lawyer in public service.<br /><br />So there we are memes done. Pretty much everyone else seems to have done them already but if you haven't take this as an invitation to.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-2582758329233021572008-06-01T21:51:00.006+01:002008-06-01T23:13:50.569+01:00Out of the cityWe have been out of the city for most of this weekend. 8 years ago we went halves with the Husband's sister in a cottage which sits just under the brow of a hill in the middle of a field of sheep which you reach by driving down a dirt track through a wood. For miles around there is nothing but fields, woods and parkland. Despite being on the edge of a public footpath we rarely see anyone pass by when we are there. It is a truly beautiful place in a quiet, unshowy and jolly British kind of way. <br /><br />Getting this place coincided with the beginning of our treatment for our complete failure to get pregnant despite a couple of years of no contraception followed by fruitless charting and inconclusive trips to the GP. Many weekends were spent in those first few years walking through the woods crying inconsolably at the frustration of not being able to do what everyone else seemed to be able to do effortlessly, frustration that the doctors could not come up with any particular reason for why we could not and finally frustration at the slowness of the NHS. I think I must have been hard to walk with in those years and I expect that the Husband (I think I need a better name for him) was mighty glad that we were in the middle of nowhere rather than in the very public parks of the city.<br /><br />As well as using the countryside as a place to walk, talk and cry out my grief, frustration and hopes I also dug vegetable beds, built paths and a wall, planted and weeded and spent hours outside in any weather. So weekends, when we were by ourselves, were a heady mixture of emotion and manual labour. During the work there was no time to dwell and really no inclination at all as the physical actions seemed to cancel out any mental turmoil - well at least whilst I was doing it. We would end the day so tired that we were often asleep by 9 o'clock. <br /><br />Without the work on the garden I would have found the emotional times when walking too hard to bear. I have never been one for opening up much as I have an abundance, despite my mixed cultural heritage, of that old cliche British reserve. The idea of any kind of therapy was, and in many ways still is, abhorrent although I can when I look at it rationally see why it is so popular and useful for so many. So I needed to follow the talking with something completely mindless - although mindless is the wrong word - it is more a feeling of total involvement in something physical, rhythmic and with a purpose. Something which binds you to the earth and which cancels out or at the least reduces to a bearable level not only the immediate frustrations of day to day life but also the things that you think you will never overcome.<br /><br />Over the last few years we have spent less time at the cottage for various reasons partly connected with family and partly due to inertia. This weekend however we were back there and I walked through the wood with the Girl. There were no tears. Instead there was log balancing, there was fox spotting, there was laughter. She found the place a delight. I found her a delight. I also thought back to the tears and the frustrations and how the cottage and its surroundings helped us get through. When we got back to the house and the Husband and the Boy I decided to counteract my bout of melancholy by clearing a vegetable patch which we haven't planted this year and decided that this weekend at least I wasn't going to dwell on what is likely to be another natural cycle which will get us nowhere. But that is for another day.<br /><br />Hello to all of those who have come by from NaComLeavMo. I am planning to come by to all of your blogs now that our holiday week is over.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-86947052661519499532008-05-28T22:01:00.002+01:002008-05-28T22:55:50.676+01:00Spectre at the feastOne of the problems with having been around the block in the IF world is knowing too much of what can go wrong. When I think back to when I was starting out on investigations all those years ago I was this total innocent convinced that everything would be all fine: if we needed IVF it would work; pregnancy would be a doddle; birth super; and child rearing no hassle at all. I soon learnt that things just weren't so. Trouble is I still keep up with a fertility related message board I joined somewhere after child one, miscarriage one and just before failed cycle one. It is, as is the way of these things, awash with babydust, belief in general <em>woo</em> of all sorts - except when it comes to the further reaches of "immune" treatment when it becomes all super (but generally pretty pseudo)-sciencey, lucky 7s and the power of positive thinking. It is also very supportive in its way and I have a great affection for some of the people I have linked up with through it. It was also tangentially my link in the world of IF blogs. <br /><br />Anyway - back to topic - I still, for reasons which are still not particularly clear to me, keep up with various boards on this website including that of my old clinic and that is where I feel like the spectre at the feast. Time after time I read about all the people hoping for twins to create their instant sibling group and all the people thrilled to discover they are having twins. I am pleased for them when they get what they dreamed of but part of me (which thankfully and unusually for me stays silent) thinks "be careful what you wish for" as I remember all the people whose blogs I have read or who post on different zones of the MB who have lost one or both twins or who have had hideous and difficult pregnancies and premature births. The same thing happens when I read the posts about any number of other scenarios. I hate that I am like this. I want to be that innocent convinced everything would be fine again. I don't want the stuff that can go wrong to be the first things I think of. I also feel a fraud for feeling like this - in the scheme of things I haven't had much bad happen to me so I should be able to be one of the sunny positive mental attitude cheerleaders rather than the person conspicuously not joining in with the cheer. I wonder if this will ever change? Perhaps I should just stop visiting that board?Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-62540570145180670812008-05-24T09:47:00.000+01:002008-05-24T09:49:06.396+01:00Starting overRight - I signed up for NaComLeavMo - mostly to kick start my blog. Can't promise any proper posts this weekend as it is a holiday here in the UK and we are off to sit out the forecast rain at my parents' house.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-18969357309296032522008-01-02T20:36:00.000+00:002008-01-02T20:51:49.090+00:00Hello 2008New Year's Eve came and went punctuated about a row about whether or not we want another child, accusatory statements about our respective parenting skills/lack thereof and Take That live on the TV. Take That was the best bit. I made no resolutions other than to try not to bicker with the Man and not to argue with the Girl. Have failed already at both. Must try and think through what I really do feel about a potential third child. At the moment I am finding it hard to get further than a) simply wanting to be and to feel pregnant again and b) feeling cheated. Neither seem good reasons to go back to trying again. Could we be sufficiently good parents to three? Sometimes it doesn't feel like it.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1881397235600203280.post-24415531279750137602007-12-29T19:47:00.001+00:002007-12-29T20:02:25.916+00:00Starting overI thought I was through with this. I thought I had put all the IF crap behind me. I was ready to wean myself off the IF message board and stop adding new IF and loss blogs to my Bloglines. I have my my two gorgeous children (The Girl (4) and The Boy (1)). I have some old drugs sitting in my fridge and my medicine chest waiting for a friend to cycle. My old clinic is just that my old clinic. Then my blasted body does something that, in over 20 years with The Man and no contraception for at least 10 years, it has never done before - got pregnant without a doctor or drug in sight. My life plan (oh and so much of that has worked out before) never had 3 children in it. The Man was positively against the idea. But that digital pee stick and the waves of nausea said otherwise. We were thrilled. Then it was all snatched away at 8 weeks in a missed miscarriage. The lovely people at the greatest scanning unit on earth tried to be positive hoping I had my dates wrong by 2 weeks but I knew it was the end. So here I am back again to the thoughts of maybe the next cycle with my 40 year old eggs will also end in a natural conception. Fat chance.<br /><br />Anyway after reading blogs for a pretty long time and commenting on them for a shorter time I now start my own. At the moment I am here to vent mainly and if anyone out there is listening I am grateful but I can be bitter and twisted at the best of times and right now times are not that great so be warned.Betty Mhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02106396238018550134noreply@blogger.com1