This week has been particularly tough. I've done quite well considering the week it's been, but last night it just got too much. I've been feeling so tearful, and last night I couldn't hold it in any longer. I'm not sure I'll be able to hold it together so well, for the rest of the week. I've opened the flood gates.
It started with a wedding. Big events, like a wedding, have been difficult for a while. As is often the case at these things, there were parents with their kids. It didn't help that a lot of these parents, I was at school with. I spent quite a lot of time with them in those years - parties, nights out, drinking, general silliness. And now they all look so grown up, with one or two children each. It's been playing on my mind since. How I couldn't really speak to them. I did, in passing, but not much. How I feel guilty about that. I've imagine them all together at family BBQ's with all the kids running around playing together. I know this is stupid. I haven't spoken to them much, in some cases for over 10 years, I have no idea if they speak often or have get together's like that. They left early to get the children to bed. One came to say good bye to our table. Babe in arms, he apologised for not catching up much, that it was difficult with two of them. Que crazy eyes Louise, plastered smile on face, "of course, don't worry, catch up soon" kiss kiss. It's not his fault. It IS difficult with two of them. It's not my fault that it felt like a knife to my chest. I should have been 39 weeks pregnant.
I had a good time. I, quite selfishly, limited my interactions to those closest to me, for my mental health. But I caught up with some close friends. I saw one of my best friends get married. I hung out with people I haven't seen in a while. I had a few drinks and I had a good dance. But I couldn't help imagine the alternative. I would have been the only heavily pregnant lady there, if I'd have made it there at all. Those parents would have been giving me tips on the early years with a baby, on their must have baby item, on their parenting style. I'd have toasted the bride and groom with a small sip of prosecco rather than a full glass. I probably wouldn't have been able to dance. We would have left early, because, you know, I'd have been massive.
Sunday was spent recovering. Not from a hangover because I actually didn't drink that much. I was tired from keeping it together. I was meant to have a meet up for shiatsu via skype. It just completely passed me by.
Tuesday was the 6 year anniversary of my Dads death. I don't really do much to mark the occasion. I tend to post a YouTube video of one of his favourite songs and write a few words. I started to write about how I missed him so much at the moment, but I couldn't do it because it just made me so upset. I won't put the man on a pedestal, he had his faults, but I know that he would have researched the crap out of infertility, fertility, and miscarriage. He would have been annoying as hell, but he would have known everything there is to know about it. I don't miss everything about him, but I really miss that. Trying to remove my rose tinted glasses, but I feel like he'd know what to do next.
Last night I had a moment. There's a private support group on Facebook that I'm part of. There are ladies on there who have had multiple miscarriages, but for one reason or another they are not eligible for further investigations. For example, they've had a successful pregnancy between miscarriages. The general rule is that if you have three in a row then you will be referred to recurrent miscarriage clinic. I've been told on numerous occasions, separately from the group, that I am lucky that I got referred. I've only had two miscarriages. I immediately justify this by saying that I had to have fertility treatment to get pregnant in the first place, and our first embryo transfer resulted in a failed implantation. My fertility clinic refer after two in this case. It's part of the unfair postcode lottery.
I thought last night that I didn't feel lucky. It's not lucky to be referred to recurrent miscarriage clinic. It's really f***ing unlucky to be referred to recurrent miscarriage clinic. I'm unlucky as I can't get pregnant naturally, for some unexplained reason. I'm unlucky to have had fertility treatment. I'm unlucky to have gotten pregnant, twice, through this fertility treatment, and have those pregnancies end so quickly. But not so quickly that I didn't feel that sense of hope.
When we had our last miscarriage that was the end of fertility treatment for us. We can't afford more treatment right now. At the time I was glad it was all over. I even naively wrote about living a child free life. Now I can honestly say that I'd start another round of IVF tomorrow. I'd go through all this again, for another shot at having a successful pregnancy. I know that is completely crazy, repeatedly putting yourself through potential trauma. I guess I'm swinging between a few stages of grief here. Anger, bargaining, depression. I'm not ready to accept it.
The nurse in me finds it difficult to argue with NICE guidelines, and they do state that it's best practice to have three full rounds of IVF.
"In women aged under 40 years who have not conceived after 2 years of regular unprotected intercourse...offer 3 full cycles of IVF, with or without ICSI. If the woman reaches the age of 40 during treatment, complete the current full cycle but do not offer further full cycles."
Our area only offers one full cycle, and we can't afford any more at the minute. I guess I've got 7 more years until it really isn't a viable option anymore. I'll be 36 when Ben finished his degree. 4 years until it really isn't a viable option anymore.
Yep, definitely anger, bargaining and depression.