Broke but not broken

I should be at a wedding right now but instead I’m in my pyjamas.

Before I get into that I first want to thank you everyone for your incredible words of support, kindness, compassion, empathy and love over the past few weeks. I can’t tell you how much reading your comments and tweets has helped me get through this incredibly dark time. I feel lighter, stronger every time I read them. This community has become my family, and I am so so thankful.

Such extreme emotions this past week. At home I’m so low – sobbing, throwing things, dry heaving, fits of sleep-crying. At work I fake being up – performing, looking energetic, pretending things are great. No one knows I’m bleeding, cramping, passing what was meant to be our baby.

As soon as I leave the office the tears begin to flow. But while I sat at my clinic hooked up to an Intralipids drip this morning, I realised as sad as I am right now, I’m not ready to give up this fight. I am feeling more determined than ever to carry on.

I don’t want a break. Crazy as it sounds, I want to keep going right now. Can grief and hope coexist? I want to think so. I promise myself to allow the grief to continue to release itself but if I crave hope then I will embrace it too.

I want this to work but it won’t work unless we try. So I’m getting back on the treatment plan, forking out the exorbitant funds in hopes we get to one day live the dream. In hopes of catching that one good egg. All we need is one. Just one, that’s all we ask. And ok maybe a cooperative womb too. But that’s it. Consider it my Christmas list.

Soon a new plan will be implemented. Don’t know what it is yet but at least we thinking about it.

I don’t know what has brought on this new determination, this fight. Maybe it’s desperation. Maybe you caught me in a good moment. Maybe it’s all the supportive comments from you lovelies, maybe it was the three therapy sessions I attended this week, or the acupuncture, floatation, who knows. Maybe it was that this one was so young, so new, that I’m able to bounce back a bit quicker this time. Maybe it’s the gravity of the situation, making me realise it’s all or nothing now. Maybe all of the above. But one thing is for sure: this isn’t over yet.

And although I should be at a friends’ wedding right now, I knew there was no way to face it. I couldn’t face celebration, the sweet pea thief, the carefree guests having fun, the inquisitive looks from friends.

Obligation. I’m am so through with it.

Instead the pjs are on, the fire is roaring and the kitty, tea and fluffy blankets await. Fuck the housework, the dishes, the laundry, the obligation. I do not care.

But I do care that there’s been a lot of sadness and pain out there in cyberspace in recent days and it breaks my heart. So I am sending love and warmth to all of you right now, you the glittering stars in my night sky xx

6 is no longer my lucky number

No longer positive. 5 weeks and 3 days. Our sixth pregnancy is over.

I knew from the very moment I saw that late weak positive there was no hope for the little one. No hope for me. Doomed from the start.

Infertility has played yet another cruel joke on me, spurring me on with progressively stronger positives and symptoms before taking it all away. Allowing my telltale sign–the beautiful buzzing abdominal hum I get each time– to rage, filling me with hope and promise and love. Then to stop it all in an instance. There aren’t many experiences quite as deflating as watching BFPs progressively fade to nothingness.

And now I get to wait for the full sensory experience of my tormented cramping womb screaming out in anger as the sweet pea begins to slip away from inside me. How long I have to wait for that I have no idea.

I have been through this so many times but I still, somehow, relentlessly add up all the things I have done to potentially cause this loss. Someone has got to take the blame. It has got to be me.

And now, cruelly, I am beginning to grasp that I will never ever have a child.

I am a fool for ever thinking this might work one day. Shit eggs + shit womb = no hope in hell. There’s no point in proceeding with egg donation if I can’t nurture a baby in the wasteland that is my womb. And there’s no point in surrogacy if I can’t produce a single decent egg for someone else to carry for me. I will likely never bear a child or contribute to the making of one. I can only contribute to death and loss.

This is me not coping. This is me one inch away from burning down my house, getting on the first flight to Nepal alone with nothing more than my passport, or binge drinking myself into a coma. I’m not sure which one.

As I commuted home last night, conscious of impending trauma, after a week at my new job where I have to be disgustingly ambitious, motivated and keen, no one gave a shit. Why should they. They don’t know my story. I wanted to shout at them all “I AM LOSING MY SIXTH PREGNANCY, BE NICE TO ME!!” but I didn’t. Instead I allowed them to push me and shove me and step on me as they do everyday on my journey home. Instead I listened to my colleagues talk about how drunk they got at a fancy dress party when I was was busy sobbing myself to sleep. My story does not matter to them or to anyone. It only matters to me.

Nothing else matters anymore besides this story. I have no feelings for anything or anyone. I feel empty of everything but hate. I have never felt more alone in all my life. I can’t relate to anyone.

Regret, guilt, rage. I brought this on myself. If we had only started earlier, if we had only not moved across the world at a time when people start having families, if only we had not put ourselves, our ambitions first. We wouldn’t be in this situation. Running out of time, out of options, out of money. It is my fault and I have to face the consequences for the selfish naive decisions of my foolish younger years. Nothing will make me feel differently about these choices. I deserve this punishment.

Today the only thing getting me through my day is the idea of heavily self-medicating as I cry myself to sleep. Dosing up enough in hopes that I sleep through the miscarriage. How I tackle tomorrow I have no idea. Oh what great things I have to look forward to.

One step at a time

It’s been a busy couple of weeks and I have been in a bit of a funk for most of it. I started writing several posts but never published them. I’m just not feeling it, I feel like I have nothing to contribute. I feel like I’m all doom and gloom these days and trying to be positive is just not working. So rather than bore all of you with my mundane drivel I’ve been hanging low.

I have been reading loads of great blogs but I haven’t even really had the opportunity to comment on them, which I would like to do. So I’m going to try to make some time to do that tomorrow. I also drastically need to update my blogroll because I think I am following in the region of 200+ blogs at the moment and they all deserve recognition. I promise to do that soon.

On the upside I had my last day at my old job the other day. I am finally free of the Sweet Pea Thief. And it feels damn good. I immediately felt the huge weight lifted off my shoulders. It could not have come soon enough. The constant drooling over her by others nearly did my head in. I literally sat at my desk with my headphones on max so I didn’t have to hear the crap they were spewing over her. I even managed to skirt my leaving drinks, and saying goodbye to her and the rest of my colleagues because thankfully my last day was spent entirely in meetings and one of my particularly needy clients wanted a handover meeting as the last thing I did that day, which meant I was nowhere near the office on my last day. Couldn’t have worked out better if I had planned it.

I had one day off in between jobs which I spent getting a massage, going to the spa and having lunch with a friend and her brand new puppy who is pretty freaking cute right?


I know, she’s crazy cute. It was a pretty great day. I felt rested and ready for the new job the next day.

And so far the new job is pretty good. Despite a few very stressful days last week when I was kind of working for them while also working for the other place (naughty I know), for the most part it’s going well. It’s always a scary transition isn’t it, but the people and environment are nice and I am busy (in a good way) right away. I have had plenty of “what am I doing” moments but I guess these are to be expected when going through this kind of transition. Being anonymous feels great. No one there knows my story except for a super good friend of mine who started working there this week too. She happens to be one of the most supportive people in real life right now. And I even like my view on my commute home.


Not bad right? So everything seems somewhat positive, I am feeling good about that side of life.

I had my second LIT treatment yesterday. This one was far more painful than the first and my skin bubbled up in hives immediately. This apparently means it’s working. I was far too annoyed to listen to that because I was too busy watching the dumbass nurse eject at least £200 worth of the Hubs white blood cells onto her lap when it was meant for my arm. Stupid stupid fool. Today I’m bandaged up and sore and glad it’s over. I won’t need another one for 6 months or so.

In the meantime, this cycle was pretty much a bust. I felt like it was a bust from the very start. Just wasn’t feeling it. I tested on 9dpo and 11dpo and both were white as snow. So I came off the progesterone support so AF could make her appearance. I’ve been feeling pretty crampy and emotional and was just riding it out for AF. I was actually OK at processing the disappointment this month. On one hand I felt slightly relieved because next cycle I would officially qualify for maternity pay should I be lucky enough to fall pregnant again, but on the other hand it was yet another sad result. I had a good cry that evening and felt a bit out of sorts but was already looking ahead at what I would do differently for next cycle.

Viagra suppositories. Yep, my womb lining needs all the help it can get and a few of those puppies can do a girl’s lining wonders. I was poised on “click to buy” online when I decided to do one more test this morning for the hell of it, purely because Viagra is expensive and I don’t want to be out of pocket for something I might not need for a while. Anyway, I was confused as to why AF is still nowhere to be seen when my cramps have been pretty full fledged for 5 days now. AF is only one day late but this is not unusual, especially after last cycle’s trauma.


Today is 15dpo. Sorry for the shit pic but can you see a second line? Because I can barely see a second line. In fact, I totally missed this second line. First thing this morning after I peed on this stick and saw within thirty seconds that it was stark white, I went back to bed. It was only a few hours later when I was having a pee when I glanced over at it and saw a super faint not even really there second line. Convinced this was an evaporation line, I quickly sought the advice of Doctor Google who says that an evaporation line is a different colour to the test line. This second line is pink. Pink like the test line.

Commence freak out. I had been really successful at ignoring any symptoms and not allowing any symptom spotting to occur during the 2WW this cycle. That is, until my telltale symptom kicked in. The raging super quick pulse I get in my abdomen. This has only ever meant one thing. And when the pulsating hum hadn’t stopped this morning I ran out to buy a digital test expecting it to be negative. Instead I got this.


I’m sad to admit it but we didn’t even smile for each other. There were no hugs or high fives or elated kisses. Instead we muttered a few “oh dears” and sat in silent shock at the result sitting before us. What the hell do we do now.

A faint positive at 15dpo is considered late implantation. Consistently, the last five pregnancies have all been late implanters. All five pregnancies ended in tears. This has been a critical part of my diagnosis with the unfortunately termed condition known as “super fertility.” I know all too well what a faint double line means at this late stage. I have been off progesterone for four days now so who knows what havoc this has caused for my lining or for the poor little embie trying to make a home.

I could list all the things that I have done wrong in these two weeks. For someone who is acutely aware of what to do and not to do in the 2WW I have been pretty lame at it this cycle. My gloom got the better of me. Because I expected things to fail this cycle I lived like they had. I could have stayed on the progesterone, and messed up my cycle for a few more days but provide the support the embie needs. I could have not gone to the spa or spent all day getting hot, then cold, then hot, then cold. I could have eaten better or slept when I needed it or gone on the steroids I’ve been prescribed but been too reluctant to go on. But there is nothing I can do about any of that now.

But I guess on the flipside there are a lot of things we have done differently this time around. Since our last loss I’ve been diagnosed with a clotting disorder, immune issues and a defective womb. And we are / will be actively treating all these things. Aspirin, progesterone, LIT, intralipids, clexane, prednisone, chinese herbs, acupuncture. We can only hope that one / all of these treatments might tip the scales this time.

I am angry that a moment that should be full of happiness and celebration was replaced with impending doom, fear and raw panic. How can I stop feeling this way? How can I turn this around? How does one do that exactly?

Will history repeat itself? I don’t know. There is nothing I can do to change the outcome of this. All I can do is try to look forward. Try to be hopeful. Try to take one step a time. The phrase has never been more poignant in all my life.

Recurrent Miscarriage BBC Documentary

I’m scared to watch this but also feel it’s important. Keen to see how it compares to my first hand experience at St Mary’s RMC. Gulp

Jenn's Blog

I watched this awesome BBC documentary last night called “Waiting for a Heartbeat”. It follows the lives of a few patients for a year at Europe’s largest recurrent miscarriage clinic, St Mary’s Hospital in London.

Watch the full 50 minute documentary on YouTube:


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Four months

It’s Saturday morning, I’m lying in bed with my kitty and a warm, delicious cup of rooibos tea and the sun is streaming in. It’s nice. I’m trying to be mindful, but it gets hard. I’m reflecting on the last four months.

I have been struggling to find my voice these last few weeks. So many emotions are swimming around my head and I am struggling to harness them in any kind of logical format. Afraid to confront the sadness. And really, I am embarrassed. Embarrassed that after four months I am still not doing very well. And I’m frustrated at my own embarrassment.

It’s been four months since we learned that our sweet pea’s heart stopped beating. Four months of spontaneous rage and overwhelming sadness. I’ve realised that it was the beginning of the unstoppable outflow of emotions that I had pent up since our very first loss. We suppressed the trauma of loss after loss by trying again, without really addressing what had happened or how we felt about it. It was a quick fix, one that backfired. Snowballed. And when it all came crashing down on us after five consecutive losses, there was no stopping the wreckage.

In the last four months latent feelings of loss, fear, desertion, anger, dread, and anxiety have been dredged up. Once the tap was switched on, there has been no turning it off. I suppose that’s a good thing. But now I am worried it will never stop. A continuous outflow of emotion.

And how do I feel now. Who am I now. I don’t really know anymore. If I’m honest, I’m shocked at my own overwhelming disappointment in myself for not being able to really pull it together. Sure, I am going through the motions. I wake up each day and put one foot in front of the other, but I’m not really here. I’m not really getting over this. I don’t know how. I have the resources, I am in therapy, I practice mindfulness and meditation and yoga and other healing things but fundamentally I don’t know what I am doing. And I’m being so hard on myself for it. It’s a viscious cycle of self-loathing and self-doubt.

If these words came from one of you, I would be the first to assure you that you are doing everything you can, taking it one day at a time, and that it’s OK not to be OK. I see the overwhelming hardships each of you are enduring day after day and the humour and strength and dedication you harness to get you through each day. It’s inspiring. But when it comes to my own ability to cope, I am unforgiving. I can’t take my own advice. This is something I need to change.

I continue to perpetuate my self-imposed exile. I have cut all ties with friends who are pregnant or recently given birth. I’m angry at myself for not having it in me to deal with them. But I don’t. Simple as that. Just get over it, I tell myself. This is life and I can’t change it. But I am trying so hard to avoid it. If I can stay in my own little bubble then I won’t be harmed. And it kind of works. It feels safe. But is this really self-protection or is it self-sabotage?

With just over a week to go before I start my new job, I feel the weight of being around the sweet pea thief slowly lifting. But I’m dreading the need to be professional again. I fear that I will be found out as the fragile, traumatised shell of a person that I feel right now. Worried that I won’t be able to pull myself together to perform. That I won’t have any opportunity to hide. I worry that the strength needed to get me through each day will deplete the resources I am trying to nurture to improve my wellbeing. Has my chronic inherent need to push myself too hard gone too far this time? Am I really up for this?

And why do I continue to shun other friends, family and generally everyone except those of you out there in the blogosphere? There are maybe two or three people besides DH and you lot that I can really be honest with. And I feel it’s that honesty that I need to nurture right now. The thought of being fake turns my stomach. The thought of trying to be someone I’m not, someone content, patient, at ease, fills me with horror and sadness. I think it’s that honesty that I need to enable my healing. Without it, without recognising what I am going through, what is the point? When I think about it that way, I get it. I can accept that. I will allow myself that.

Why can’t I be honest with everyone? Because it doesn’t work. Because I’ve tried it and it backfired. Because they don’t know how to deal with me when I am in pain. Because they don’t know how to cope with the information, how to be supportive, how to listen. And their lack of understanding directly affects me, not them. It’s me who will bear the brunt of their careless comments and flippant remarks. If I can barely manage the energy to get me through each day, how can I find the energy to manage them? I have cut the ties because it feels right. For now anyway. Pretty black and white huh? Apparently I’m living life through extremes at the moment. Such is the way of infertility and recurrent pregnancy loss.

Like so many of you, the loss I have suffered is so much more than five sweet peas. It’s the loss of friendships, of previously meaningful relationships, self-confidence, zest for life, security, contentment, energy.

I guess that’s why I have pared everything back to the core. Removed all external triggers. Starting from scratch. I have done this automatically. Like an animal hiding to lick it’s wounds, I am taking time out. How long it will take I don’t know. But as I write this I can accept that. I can accept my frustration at myself, and allow it to happen, but deep down I know why I am doing this. It’s how I’m coping. And no matter how much it feels like I’m not coping, I am.