pregnancy

And so it is the colder water…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 6 Comments

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. 

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

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 10 Comments

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. 

My body, my choice…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 6 Comments

I spent my Saturday shouting at holy people in rain. Not just for kicks, but because the religious anti-abortion group 40 Days of Light are again spending lent protesting choice outside a Glasgow hospital. As you can imagine, I find such actions repugnant & wanted to join the counter demo. 


4o Days of light began their Lenten campaign with a sparsely attended event in George sq. They sought to attribute their protests to a desire to spread truth & offer choice. Yes, they’re actually trying to sell their aggressive tactics as supporting of choice. The little of the speeches that could be heard above the chanting of my fellow pro choice protesters consisted of lies, religious indoctrination & the kind of emotional manipulation expected from such groups. 


Glasgow is a progressive city & it disturbs me to see these extreme conservative tactics taking hold here. This is 4o Days’seconds year protesting outside the new southern general hospital in govan. They plan to hold 8hr ‘vigils’ on each day of lent. The hospital has no power to prevent the protest as they will happen directly outside hospital grounds. They will however no doubt add distress to those attending the hospital as well as generally interfering with the daily business of the enormous hospital. 

On Saturday I was sickened to hear a speaker talk of her fond memories of last year’s protest. Apparently, she delighted in harassing vulnerable people in a difficult situation. This revelation was followed by woman railing against a ‘pro abortion society that coerces woman into terminating pregnancies’ before moving onto tired and irrelevant tales of how she felt whilst pregnant. The event ended with an attempt to say a decade of the rosary, which I am pleased to say was drowned out by chants of my body, my choice. 


I can’t state strongly enough how much we must fight this move towards a campaign of lies & shame. The only humane & just option is choice. Pregnant individuals must be allowed safe & legal abortions. They must also be offered support to access such services. Please join me in letting 40 days of light know that there is no place for their harassment or lies in our civilised society. 

Check for details here.

On the plus side…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment
Fatigue is getting the best of me this week. I am out of spoons, but I don’t want to be out of words on this blog. Hence, I wil be sharing some short pieces I have written for other publications. I hope you find them as absorbing as my usual content.

First up a piece on how body shaming & fat stigma makes plus size infertility an even bigger challenge.

Infertility is heart breaking affair for anyone who wants to have a child. With the NHS now reporting that 1 in 7 couples have difficulty conceiving, infertility is more common that we realise. Thankfully many people in UK will be able to access fertility treatment via the NHS. However, some people are not deemed suitable for treatment. One of the groups who may be denied access are those categorised as clinically obese.

Women with a BMI over 30 are routinely refused fertility treatment. Drs advise them lose weight before they can be referred to a specialist. There are a number of issues with this policy and some are tied in with the way society as a whole views fat people. Let’s begin with index used to measure if a person is obese. Body Mass Index (BMI) has been widely discredited. The index has a number of problems including the fact that BMI does not differentiate between muscle & fat. Hence, people who are fit & have healthy body fat can be classified as obese. Another issue is that BMI does not recognise difference in body shape. It is well established that those who carry their weight around the middle (sometimes known as apple shaped) are at much higher risk of health complications than those who carry excess fat around their hips (pear shaped) [1]. Thus women with very different shapes & risk factors can be labelled with the same BMI. Perhaps the biggest failing is that BMI  does not always change with lifestyle alterations. A person may make significant changes to their health without necessarily losing large amounts of weight. Partaking in regular exercise and switching to a balanced (but not calorie focused) diet will have a huge impact on a person’s wellbeing. Sadly, BMI would not recognise these positive changes unless there is also weight loss. This can put women in the position of focusing on how much they weigh rather than how their lifestyle impacts their wellbeing. BMI uses an arbitrary scale to calculate’ health. Since a person’s health can not be determined on their weight alone; it is bound to fail.

Of course, there are also questions to be asked outside the clinical failings of BMI. It is important to note that there is no official policy on women who are under weight. Despite the fact that being ‘too thin’ can have a bigger impact on a woman’s fertility than being ‘too big’. The medical community appear to jump to the conclusion that fat is always bad. A notion that is reflected in society & that causes plus sized women to face wide spread discrimination. It is estimated that half of pregnancies in the UK have obese mothers. Yet studies show that only 5% of admissions to neonatal units and 4% of preterm births could be avoided if all pregnant women had a ‘normal’ BMI at the start of pregnancy [2].The implications is clear, overweight woman are regularly having healthy pregnancies & deliveries. Still the overwhelming message from the medical community is that obese women automatically have  high risk pregnancies.

We must also look at the origins of the BMI scale. It was developed in the 19th century by a Belgian Mathematician. The formula was intended to be used as an easy way to measure populations, not individuals. It was developed for the purposes of statistics not measuring individual health. BMI is not a reliable scientific measure. It is astounding that it is still in use.

The most worrying part of this protocol is that women are often not even referred to a fertility specialist until they capitulate on the weight loss issue. This means that women who have specific medical problems interfering with conception are forced to delay interventions that could solve their problems. The bottom line is that women who are classified as obese get a raw deal. Underlying prejudices seem to be making an already distressing issue much harder of plus size women. Infertility can make women feel powerless and incompetent. When you are fat, those feelings are increased by the prevailing impression that your weight is to blame.

1 Mayo Clinic
2 Public Health England, Maternity obesity and pregnancy outcomes.

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The time is now…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 3 Comments

I’m lying on my bed with the sun streaming in my window having a lazy morning. I’m planning dinner in my head & pondering what colour to paint my nails, when it happens. A vivid flashback, of a day like this, but 16yrs ago. 

  
Like today I am resting on my bed observing the sunny world outside. Unlike today, back then I had a life growing inside me. I can smell the incense I used to burn in the flat & see the steeple of the church at the the end of the street. I feel the warmth on my face, the ache in my back & the love pounding through my veins. 

As fast as it strikes, it wanes. Part of me wants to cling to those sensations, the rest still finds these memories tender. I’ve been having these flashes a lot lately. They’re not new to me; I’ve been living with PTSD for a long time. This wasn’t a bad one, but it still leaves me feeling sadder than I did before. I’ve been thinking about why these bolts into the past have become so frequent of late & I think I know the answer.

For the first time in a very long time I am making baby plans. I have always wanted to be a Mummy. The loss only increased that desire. For years I’ve watched friends & family create beautiful little people. It’s never been the right time for me. Well, I’m 35 now and life never really gets any simpler. There is no right time. There will never be a perfect set of circumstances. So, the time is now. 

  
Or the time for planning is now. I’m getting my self and my life in shape for baba. It’s a little scary, but I don’t have any doubts. My life will never feel complete without children. It’s going to be a long campaign, but Operation Baby is go. 

Woman of the Week…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment

This week’s amazing woman Khadija Gbla is the executive director of NO FGM Australia. She campaigns to stop girls in Australia suffering fgm & to bring awareness to issue. 

  

She bravely & honestly talks about her own experience of fgm; from the trauma of the act as a small child to the lasting effects it has had throughout her life. Gbla’s frank discussion of her struggles with her scars, loss of sensation & fgm’s impact on her pregnancy are essential. Fgm is still greatly misunderstood, it is so important for everyone to know the horror that is being inflicted upon children & the lifelong problems that ensue. 

I admire Khadija’s determination to thrive & her drive to prevent others from enduring the same mutilatiom. 

 Find out more about  Khadija and how you can help.

Homeward Bound….

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 1 Comment

I have a recurring dream.

A dream of such contentment that whilst asleep I am cradled in bliss. 

It’s a simple dream,

I am home, in bed.

The room is dark, but lit with a blue glow,

I feel a gentle breeze

& the happy purr of my cat vibrates beside me. 

My hand rests on my firm, round belly,

caressing the life that resides within.

In the distance I hear Simon & Garfunkel singing about where love lies waiting.

I am blanketed in happiness.

As the music grows closer,

I approach reality.

I bask in the feeling for a few magical seconds before sadness drowns me.

I realise as I rise to start my day where home is for me

And how much I long to be,

Homeward bound. 

You’ll be on my mind forever…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves ~ 4 Comments

Today always creeps up on me. One minute it’s months away & then it’s here. I dread it’s arrival because I know it will unleash emotions that I try to keep chained up. September 12th would have been my child’s birthday. 

Today should be all presents & cake & surprises. Instead it’s a wound that never entirely heals. Of course life goes on. I live & there is joy, pride, love, but there is always a tinge of sadness. It hurts to miss the milestones & the everyday moments. The pain can catch me unaware & take my breath away. There are times when every aspect of my life feels wrong because this is not how I’d be living with my precious little one. 

  
It’s such an incredible feeling to know there is life inside you. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I knew immediately that I was pregnant. I knew before my period was late & before I took a test. I felt it. It was scary, unplanned, badly timed, but still so right. I became a mother in an instant & that feeling has never left me.

Yes, it’s painful to remember; it also helps. It’s easier for me to acknowledge today. It’s good to talk out loud about the person who changed my life without having a chance to live his. 

If love could have saved you darling, you’d have lived forever.