My Extremely Edited Story So Far

dreamstime_xl_14576761For me, pregnancy seems to be a lot like waiting for a bus: none for ages and then the bastard things all come along at once. Sadly my buses all go in the wrong direction. Between 2013 and 2015 I had five miscarriages all (small mercies) under seven weeks but all nonetheless soul destroying. It seemed my body either wasn’t having any of it and abandoned ship within days (they call this a chemical pregnancy) or it was okay right up until a certain stage (6 weeks 5 days to be exact) and then it gave up, just after I had the joy of seeing a heartbeat.  Heartbreaking.

So I gave up.

Surrendered.

I didn’t give up having sex and nor did I take birth control, oh no, I just stopped caring. Figured it wouldn’t happen so why give it any brain room.  Stopped the watching for the ovulation date bit. The oh my fucking god have I ovulated or not? What do the lines on this fucking stick actually mean? bit. I simply gave up wanting another child, thanked my lucky stars for blessing me with my lovely boy 9 years ago and resolved to move on.

This was not a trick.

I see you all nodding knowingly and saying ha! That tactic eh? Pretend you have given up only to quietly hope each month that you fall and then be surprised when you do: we’re onto you, pull the other one it’s got bells on it! No, no I’ve tried that tactic: it doesn’t bloody work. Do not bother, the universe knows what you’re up to.  If you know the exact whereabouts of your period and also know there is a pregnancy test in your house you are still trying: you have not given up and the law of sod will not get you up the duff.

However, if you quit your job and all but tell your boss he’s an arsehole like I did back in 2013, well you find out your pregnant out of nowhere after 6 years of nothing. You then have to quietly backtrack whilst you rethink that future you thought you had of bumming around on your savings and finding your true self.

Or, how about if you enter a marathon and then avoid sex at what you thought were key times and then you get pregnant, very easily on the wrong date like I did in 2015? That’s a good one! I have to say, I thought that pregnancy would stick. I convinced myself that it had all happened for a reason, quietly stepped back from running and used a walking into a bollard incident as an excuse to not train for a bit whilst I sat out first few weeks full of hope. I needn’t have stopped training, I didn’t get passed 6 weeks on that one and I ran my first ever and very slow marathon on barely any training with a very angry fist wave to the heavens and a what was the bloody point of that God? mindset. Bloody annoying.

Anyway, whilst I have turned up at various appointments with miscarriage clinics, fertility specialists and even my GP, my heart hasn’t been in it for a while. So much so that I had stopped multi vitamins (not sure why actually, silly really), Metformin (for polycystic ovaries, more on that later), aspirin (sticky blood syndrome, more on that also later), steroids (natural killer cell treatment, I won’t explain later, I don’t understand myself) so long ago that I actually pitched up at my doctors in September and asked my GP for some tests because it had to have been the first time in over a decade that I had clean blood! We discussed at length my intentions once the bloods came in and whilst I did admit that it would be good to know if I still had polycystic ovaries (hence the need for metformin) it was more important to know so I could get back on the Metformin and control my out of control weight (lovely symptom of polycystic ovaries: get fat and hairy) rather than get back on the Metformin to get preggers. So off I went on September 13th with blood forms in my bag without the foggiest idea that I would never need them…

 

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