And so it is the colder water…

It’s been around 8 weeks since I miscarried. I think all things considered, I am doing ok. I mean, I’ve not completely fallen apart. I haven’t turned to scalpels for comfort or absented myself from the world. I’m getting up & painting my face & taking part in life. I wish I could say it was easy, but on days like today, it feels like drowning. 

I am attending the recurrent miscarriage clinic to see if there are any issues I am not already aware of & the midwife I see has been wonderful. She had given me info on a ‘support group’, which I’m considering. I’m on some new meds to help with PCOS & tracking my periods etc to keep on eye on things from that side. I’m socialising & blogging & getting more politically active. I’m doing everything i can think of to keep moving forward. So why do I feel like I’m wedged in wet sand?

I think about what might have been every day. Not all day long, but it’s never far away. There are so many reminders. So many painful things that can’t be avoided. From appointments at the maternity hospital & other people’s babies to just the scent of something that made me nauseous when I was pregnant & doesn’t anymore. I don’t want the world to stop. I don’t want to rob anyone of their joyous moments; it’s just so hard. The happiness I feel for others comes with a stab of sorrow. It’s been this way for so long, but my recent loss has given that sadness renewed potency. I let all my hopes out of a place I kept tied up tight. Blueprints for a life that I hadn’t dared to examine sprang to life & folding up those plans is proving difficult. 
I have my period again & I know that impacts on my mood. All of the sensations of menstruating mirror miscarriage symptoms. The cramps & sensitive nipples are reminders I don’t want. The blood remains wrapped up in my trauma. Forever a trigger. And yet, I’m glad to have the period. Not so long ago I had practically none. It’s a relief to have this increasingly reliable sign that my ovaries are doing something. Like so many other things the positive is marred.


I think from the outside I probably look fine. I want to look well. No, I want to BE well. I’m really fighting not to let my life slide. The truth is I’m struggling. My creative output is vastly decreased. I lack the motivation & clarity to write. Not writing is not good for me. I process my experiences through words on the paper. The less I write the more anxious I become. Of course the more I stress about it, the less I am able to curate my thoughts. It’s a predictable cycle. There are obviously more practical concerns; my words keep a roof over my head. 


My physical health hasn’t been good. My sleep is appalling. I know that takes it’s toll. I attempt to rationalise myself out of days like this. My exhausted, pained, grieving & traumatised self will obviously have lows. I know this is to be expected. That knowledge doesn’t change the dread. It does nothing to chase away the fear when I awake to a complete inability to function. When nothing shifts the weight crushing me or the desire to disappear. 24 hours isn’t a long time except when your swamped in depression. I can get through the bad days. I’m just terrified of the days multiplying. 
That’s the crux of it. Mental illness feels a bit like being an alcoholic. I will never completely recover. The lows will always come. Life will always have ways to trip me up. The fear of everything unravelling sits quietly on my shoulder. It’s a bad day. I’m still grieving. I hope for better. 

When the bee stings…

It’s been a dick of a week. Debilitating fatigue followed by intolerable pain & some vomming to top it off added up to a big NO. However, antibiotics, oramorph & a good night’s sleep have made a big dent in my misery. So, excuse me if I get a wee bit Julie Andrews on you, but I wanted to talk about the random things that get me through. 

Whiskers on kittens…

So, starting by just lifting straight out of the song. The whiskers & everything else in one specific feline are definitely one of my favourite things. Some folk think I’m daft, but Bronan really does take care of me when I’m struggling. He’ll stay snuggled up beside me for days. He will wait for me to wake on my own rather giving me his usual breakfast call at 6am. He sits on my feet whilst I’m throwing up in the toilet & gently paws my face when I cry.  He’s a darling. Call me crazy cat lady if you like; I believe my cat has my back. 



Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings…

We don’t get a lot of wild geese around my way, but the moon can lift my spirits. Be it a dazzling full moon, spooky cloud shrouded moon or rare coloured one; I love the moon. It can be so striking & yet peaceful. Don’t get me wrong, the moon isn’t curing anything. It’s just nice to have something beautiful to gaze on whilst I feel like shit. 


Sunsets fall into a similar spot. A sky alive with colour can be momentarily distracting. Pink skys are always my favourite as they remind me of my muffin. When in Australia I spent most evenings on the deck with my niece watching the sun go down. Every night we frolicked whilst pink hues faded into darkness. It was magical.


Bright copper kettles..
.

Alas I don’t own a shiny copper kettle, but I do love a steaming cup of tea. Mint tea is my drink. It’s a great digestion aid & can help settle reflux. It’s basically an extra med in delicious form. Besides that nothing beats the comforting warmth of sipping a big mug of tea. 

From here I drift away from the sound of music & onto a few more fav things that don’t have Sister Maria’s seal of approval. 

A good book…

I’m a reader. A good book relaxes, distracts, thrills, comforts & engages me. Curling up in my big comfy bed with some quality literature is one of best things in the world. 



A bath that goes with a bang…

Of course I am referring to bath bombs. Sylvia Plath said 

‘there must be quite a few things a hot bath won’t cure, but I don’t know any of them’

Whilst both she & I know that’s not true, a hot bath can be a wonderful thing. Add a bright fizzy bath bomb & you can’t lose. Baths serve so many purposes for me. Hot water eases muscles pain, they relax me, help clear my head & leave me feeling fresh & clean. If you can do all that plus be left with sparkly skin, why wouldn’t you??

Nail (works of) Art…

I don’t know why, but I feel better when my nails are on fire. Maybe it’s because my mum always had glamorous nails. Or maybe it’s because it makes my stubby fingers look more elegant. Regardless, I find it easier to face the world when my nails are a work of art. 


Flower power…

I love to buy myself flowers. I love the scent & how pretty the make any room. Most of all I love the feeling of treating myself. It’s great to know I don’t have to wait for someone else to buy me flowers. Giving yourself something beautiful just because is an excellent feeling. Try it. 

Save the NHS, don’t vote Conservative…

I had been having a rough couple days pain wise when things took a turn for the worst last night. By 7pm I was experiencing such intense pain that I could not cope. I have a number of chronic conditions & so live with daily pain. However, this was extreme & unbearable. Luckily for me I have access to the NHS. I called NHS24, after speaking to a nurse I was given an immediate appointment with an out of hours gp at my local hospital. I was seen swiftly by a nurse who checked my vitals & then by the GP who examined me. He concluded I had a possible infection, which combined with a flare of my stomach problems was creating the pain. My heart rate was also too fast, so he made me an emergency gp appointment with my regular dr this morning. He also wrote me a prescription for antibiotics & oramorph. 
Fast forward a couple of hours, I am in my own bed with completely manageable pain level. No longer throwing up or feeling scared. After a reasonable night’s sleep, my gp checked me over again, took bloods & referred me for further tests. Put simply, the NHS is a marvel. 

I am so incredibly grateful to have to expert care 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. Sure, our national health service had problems (many caused by Tory policies), but it still a remarkable assest. As someone with chronic health problems I rely on the NHS. I could not cope without it. In truth I doubt I would survive very long without free at point of access healthcare. I could not afford to pay for the 2 or three medical appointments I need each week. I would never manage to pay the unsubsidised costs of my many medications. Frequent hospital stays & tests would be beyond me. My pre existing conditions would make health insurance difficult to obtain & ultimately prohibitively expensive. Without the care I receive from the NHS, I would suffer greatly & possibly die. 

My story is not unique. There are millions of people who rely on our health service to survive. Beyond that there are all the people who can’t afford co-pays & prescription charges for our if the blue illnesses. Even if you are super healthy & financially stable disaster can strike at any time. No one can predict when their health might take a hit. Cancer, car accidents, depression, job loss & a million other conditions can happen to anyone. Life changing events rarely come with a warning. You never know when you or someone you love might need medical care. We all need the NHS. 

Does anyone want to live in society that puts money before saving lives? Do you want parents to be unable to take their sick child to the dr because they cannot pay the bill? Do you want insurance companies to have the deciding say on what treatment you can access? If the answer to these questions is no, please use your vote. If you care about the vulnerable & less fortunate members of your community, please do not vote conservative. 

When you step into that booth today, make saving the NHS part of your decision. Accessible health care for all is fundamental to a fair society. Please, vote for whichever candidate can beat The Conservatives in your constituency. 

The Summer Smiles…

This weekend was a very rare thing, a sunny bank holiday weekend. I made the most of the weather & have been the busiest bee. Of course, me being me, I forgot to photograph most of my awesome outfits. I was too busy looking hot & having fun. Luckily for you I did manage to capture today’s look. 


In keeping with my usual aesthetic I jumbled up colours & prints. I am very pleased with the look. Today was a fairly easy going day; visiting Dad, then errands & photos with my sis. I wanted something I felt pretty in that was also a low effort wear. The sun had deserted us, but I was still in summery clothes mode. The resulting combo ticked all my boxes. 


Dress – Forever21

Top – Taking Shape*

Biker Jacket – SimplyBe

Bag – Craft Fayre


After Barbecues, a beer festival, frozen cocktails & family fun with my baby nephew I am exhausted. My knee is giving me hell & the fatigue is starting to show. I have tackled this with my new beauty trick; distraction lippy. The brighter my lipstick the less folk notice any signs of burn out. This purpley/pink has served me well. 

As I write this it is pouring down outside. It’s just as well I had so many summer hijinks this weekend as the season may well be over in Scotland!


* Item was gifted, but opinions remain my own. 

My week (ish) in pictures…

I’ve not been the busiest of bees. I’ve had some minor illnesses dragging on & that has slowed me down. Thus my outfits are slouchy & my snap shots somewhat indolent. 

I’ve caught my city looking pretty in the sun & also the pouring rain that soaked right through to my knickers. There has been a lot of resting with Bronan. Plus plenty of time wasting selfies. 



I visited mum & her beautiful poodles, indulged in comfort food & noticed some lovely details on familiar buildings whilst the toy boy bored me with football. 


There has been nail painting, anti biotic gobbling & languorous layering of clothes. 

I was awoken by the toy boy’s kitten grooming me with her very tough tongue. Luxuriated in Joan Didion’s words & expressed some opinions via my badge collection. 


And just like that I give you the life of a procastinating freelance spoonie.

Blackbirds singing in the dead of night…

It’s 5.07am. There are some very loud birds outside & the light is creeping around the edges of my blackout blind. I haven’t slept, but I do finally feel a little bit sleepy. Do I sleep? If so I might sacrifice the day. After no more than a couple of hours for the last few nights I might conk out big style. I wanted to do something today. Something nice enough to make me feel like I’m participating in normal life whilst still being easy. Sleeping all day does not fit the bill. Although, perhaps I’ll wake up feeling rested & be productive. If I could complete one of the many, many things on my to do list it might relieve a little anxiety. For now I’m stuck in the vicious crazy circle. No motivation + no energy = accomplishing nothing. As the things I have not done pile up so does my anxiety. Until the undone things & the anxiety are so huge that I’m paralysed by their weight. I’m just stuck underneath, stressing & not sleeping & feeling increasingly worthless. So, maybe I should sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m always exhausted because I never get enough sleep. There is always something keeping me awake. Be it pain or fear or coughing or nightmares or vomiting or the terrifying vagueness of insomnia. Right now I feel that illusive part of tiredness that usually escapes me. The fuzzy comforting drowsiness that signals actual sleep is a possibility.

But

If I sleep now, chances of sleeping tonight are slim. I could miss the chance to do a thing that could make me feel something other than grey or jittery. If I close my eyes now I’m risking the dreams. Flashing scenes dripping with all the things I cannot bear to look at again. Flickering images soaked in feelings too potent for consciousness. Then I’ll wake in a mess. Heart pounding, breath hiding & I’ll have to talk myself down. Fool myself into a calmness that’s counterfeit. Either way the day is scuppered. All those hopes for lightness dashed. 

So, I stay awake. I’ll just wait in this cool dark room for the day to really get started. Force myself into the shower. Try to make a plan that doesn’t feel overwhelming. Push down the fatigue & the jangling of every nerve for the possible reward of OK. Reassure myself that this isn’t forever. Repeat that I am not back in the hole. It has been a difficult month. I am allowed to feel bad. Tomorrow or the next day or the day after that will be an easy one. Just keep going. Swing from one pleasant moment to the next & hold my breath through all the rest. 

This will pass

I will write the things that are over due

I will do some god damn washing 

I’ll cook a proper meal 

&

Wash my hair

Peace will be restored 

Life will go on

&

I will live it. 
If only I could get some sleep…

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Mental Health Platitude Week…

It’s National Mental Health Awareness Week again. Regular readers will probably have spotted how I feel about this sham, but for the avoidance of doubt I’m going to go at it once more. I ask you to forgive my lack of finesse. I’m riddled with infections, haven’t slept & more than a little frustrated with the subject matter.

Some of you may be thinking, wait, raising awareness about mental health is great. You are of course correct, but this week (& most mainstream MH campaigns) is just lip service. At best it’s platitudes & at worst it’s dangerous. If you check the hashtag on social media you’re going to see a lot of posts extolling the virtue of talking about your troubles. Talk will apparently cure all that ailes you. Ask for help & you shall receive. Pro Tip, It won’t & you won’t. 

On the help front you’ll be up against the limitations of the NHS. Cuts to mental health services have been particularly brutal. Even if you have the good luck to access a Gp who takes you seriously & correctly refers you in a prompt manner, your wait will be long. What’s worse is that the correct help is unlikely to be at the end of your wait. A shocking lack in resources of every kind results in most people being offered short courses of cheap therapies like CBT. It will come as no surprise that with mental illness one size does not fit all.

 Even in acute circumstances there are no psychiatric beds available. Many people have to travel long distances to access inpatient psychiatric care. Meaning they are far from family, friends & comforts in their darkest moments. If you’re a child or adolescent those resources only get scarcer. So, that’s frightened children waiting in misery to access services that may be of no use to them anyway. All of which is a far cry from just talk & salvation awaits. 

As depressing as all that is I haven’t even broached the fact some people never get as far as a waiting list. For many there is no sympathetic ear. Their gigantic leap of faith is met with ignorance. Employers do still discriminate against the disabled. There are still Dr’s who will tell a person to pull themselves together. The worst stigma I ever faced was from medical professionals. All of which means awareness is great, but money is better. Proper funding is the answer to our mental health crisis & it is that is what we should be talking about. 


The money problem doesn’t end with NHS funding. Our government is trying to eradicate disability benefits for mental illness entirely. The process of applying for PIP or ESA is exhaustive. The categories for qualifying are constantly shrinking. Our benefits system currently subjects vulnerable & very sick individuals to the most humiliating process in order to survive. That mental illnesses are purposely targeted for exclusion is government sanctioned stigma. Ah, I hear you cry, we do need awareness.  Well here’s the thing, we don’t need the bullshit being touted by the mainstream orgs. All those articles about exercise & healthy eating & a hot baths & nice cups of tea are just shoring up that stigma. The idea that mental illness can be cured by any of those things minimises it’s very nature. It encourages the notion that people with long term mental health problems just aren’t trying hard enough. That in turn legitimises the governments disgusting witch hunt. 

And we’re right back to my original point. Awareness is fine, but real change is the key. If you truly want to make a difference you need to tell your elected representatives that mental illness is a key issue for you. Sign petitions, attend marches, get informed. Read the difficult articles. By all means challenge stigma when it crosses your path & listen to anyone who chooses you as a confident. Do all of those of things, but I want to be clear, there is one crucial thing that will hand more impact than anything else, DO NOT VOTE TORY. 

A week (ish) in pictures…

It’s been more like 3 weeks & they haven’t been the most productive. I finally painted my nails today & I have some appointments set up this week for oPeration BoPo. Life goes on & so do I. So, there will be more exciting & uplifting posts coming soon. For now, here’s a wee photographic glimpse at my quiet days. 


Bright days, escapist movies & lunches with my sis have been soothing.


Spring flowers & spring cleaning (it still counts if you pay someone to do it, right?) have helped with that starting over feeling. Pretty skys, my pretty cat & effective drugs have also done their thing.


Easter treats, thrifting, lazy days & random sights have helped to ward away the deep blues. My puss cat in both snuggle & grump mode is a tonic. Oh & look at my nephew’s face; it doesn’t get more life affirming than that. 




Rest, dancing light in my home & the beauty of my own fat arse have given me a boost this weekend.  I’m hoping it will carry me through the week.

After all, as Scarlett O’Hara would say, tomorrow is another day. 

I’ve got tears that are scared of the facts…

My baby was the size of a large olive. Almost all of her vital organs were formed. She had tiny finger nail buds & her body was covered in fine hair. And now she’s gone. 

So, I’m writing my emotions because I can’t bring myself to verbalise them & they have to escape somehow. 

With my health & my history this wasn’t unexpected, but that didn’t make it any less shocking. Being pregnant again was scary. It felt unreal to begin with, but I had started to believe that this was my time. The fear never left me, but the hope grew. 

I felt very pregnant. I still do, which seems particularly unfair. Sickness & nausea & cramps & sore nipples & peeing or crying every two minutes. Strong smells became my nemesis. I haven’t even been able to wear my own perfume. Pregnancy ruled out almost all of my normal meds. I’ve basically felt horrendous but been delighted to suffer. All the pain & discomfort meant my body was doing the very thing I didn’t think it could do. I worried about every twinge, but I also relished them. 

I felt like we were having a girl. He never said so, but I think maybe the toy boy did too. We talked about girl’s names so much more than boy’s. I talked & thought too much about too many things. 

Names & maternity clothes. 

The best way to tell my neice & when to tell the rest of the world. 

Which stories to read at bedtime & what songs might lull my baby to sleep. 

Painting tropical leaves in the nursery & learning all that baby wearing stuff. 

I really thought this was it. All the stars looked aligned. I got caught up in believing that I could have this & amongst the heartbreak I feel furious. I’m so angry with myself for not protecting the most vulnerable part of me. I’m angry that my body won’t do what comes naturally to so many. I’m angry that I have failed again. I’m angry that the world keeps doing this to me. 

Behind the anger is real fear. I am so scared that I can’t get through this again & even more frightened that this will be my only experience of pregnancy. The idea that carrying a life will always end in loss is overwhelming. I’ve worked so hard not to be overwhelmed by what life has forced upon me. I’m terrified of losing myself in madness once more. 

I’m still very much in the process of losing this baby. I know she’s gone, but my body doesn’t seem aware of it. I still feel pregnant. I don’t feel able to take any of the meds that I know will make this easier because I haven’t detached from the need to protect this little life. I have avoided speaking to even those closest to me because I’m just not ready to completely let go of my beautiful dream.  I’ve been able to do this partly due to the support of my lovely toy boy. To be taken care of without having to ask is a powerful thing. Having a companion in this is a new experience & a huge blessing (a word that will have him shaking his head), but it’s true. 

I feel much less alone. This child feels acknowledged & important. That’s a both a comfort and fuel for my guilt. I am aware that I am culpable for creating the situations that led to my boy not mattering to others in the same way. I’m also clear that it is my body that failed them. It’s acutely painful to live with that knowledge; no matter how unwilling the neglect. 

Isolation isn’t the answer. I know that, but I need some time. I have to let my body & my heart get used to the idea that I won’t be nurturing this child into life. I appreciate everyone’s patience. 

That girl is strange no question…

It temporarily spring in Glasgow. I say it’s temporary as rain is forecast from 2pm tomorrow until always & forever. Nevertheless it was a beautiful weekend. Unfortunately I missed every second of it because I have been the most nauseous person on the planet. When the sun came out again today, I felt it necessary to capture at least a few blessed rays. Thus despite feeling yuck, I ventured out. 

I’ll be honest though, I didn’t go far. A quick stop at a local park followed by sushi & film was my big adventure. I tried out this new shirt dress & was pleased with both it’s cuteness & comfort. Comfort is a big thing for me at the moment, given that my body has stopped believing in my right to it. 


Dress – Alice & You

The dress was a success, the rest of the night, not so much. The only film showing at the right time was Beauty  & the Beast; it’s shite. Trust me, you don’t need a longer review. Oh & the sushi didn’t even stay in my stomach until the end of the film. You know your film is bad when you’re not even worried about what you’re  missing mid vom. 


I know, my face looks grim in these pics, but look how cute my nails are.