Thalia's fertility journey

Delight and surprise on a Friday afternoon

We went for a scan on Friday afternoon. I didn't really have a good reason to go for one, except that I'm away all of next week, and I wanted to know that everything was ok in there before I left. And, well, I had a bit of leakage during an intimate session with my husband last weekend. Not much, but it's never happened before and it freaked me out about the whole pPROM thing, even though I know it's too early for that, and it's not a likely thing to happen to me anyway. So we booked a scan, because it was easier to get a scan than to see the OB.

We had the same lovely doctor doing the scan as did the scans at 11 weeks and when I had the bleed at 13 weeks. He's just such a kind, quiet, thoughtful man. He always asks why we are there, which makes me feel a bit self-conscious but I think he's asking to make sure that he does the right thing rather than for any other reason. When I just answer "general neurosis" he always laughs, so that's a good thing. He was very keen to make sure that we knew that a scan at 18 weeks would need to be repeated around 20 weeks to make sure everything was in place - there are some things, like the brain, that just aren't developed enough at 18 weeks to be able to give a definitive answer about abnormalities. We insisted that we knew, but just wanted to make sure everything was ok. I also mentioned my fears about pPROM, but didn't mention the leakage as it just seemed too complicated a story to retell, and I was fairly sure that the leakage wasn't due to pPROM but due to something, well, rather insalubrious. He was entirely sympathetic and didn't laugh at me at all. Which was encouraging.

Over the last 24 hours H and I had been discussing if we wanted to know the sex for sure if it was obvious at this scan. Bizarrely, after my "what if it's a boy" post, I wasn't sure I was ready to know for sure. It was 2 weeks earlier than I had been expecting to find out, and I thought perhaps I might need that extra 2 weeks. Even as H and I sat in the waiting room, I still couldn't answer him as he asked me if I knew what I wanted. But when I lay down on the table and the warm goo was squirted on my stomach, the kind doctor asked me if we wanted to know, and I just said "Yes".

After a few seconds of scanning around the doctor turned the screen round to show us the baby, and told us that everything was fine. He played us the heartbeat, and showed how the baby was breech, with its spine towards the camera. He then turned the screen back towards himself so that he could do some measurements. A few minutes later he said, "well, I can't be positive, but it looks as if it's a girl."

H immediately started laughing and squeezed my hand hard. I was in shock. "Are you surprised," asked the doctor. "Yes," we chorused. "She was sure it was a boy," H laughed. I explained the 13 week scan flash, and the doctor chuckled away. I started laughing. It was H's turn to look shocked.

The rest of the scan looked fine, in fact we have a big one in there. Having measured in the 95th percentile for length at the 13 week scan, she's now measuring 19w2d on most of her measurements. The doctor indicated that that was a good thing, which allayed my fears about it being an early sign of gestational diabetes. Everything he could measure was in good shape. We saw the four chambers of the heart clearly. He showed us a close up of a tiny, perfect hand, and the bones of the spine, beautifully regular, curving towards us on the screen. He told us he'd examined the kidneys, the bowel, the bones, and the lips and palate, and that everything looked good. Although we have to have the detailed scan in another 2-3 weeks, he told us it would be very unlikely for a major abnormality not to have shown up already.

All amazing news. But most amazing, or perhaps just weird, is that I walked out of the hospital feeling, well, a little flat. H teared up as we stood and hugged on the stairs. "I was dreaming about a little mini-me," he whispered in my ear. "I know, darling," I answered. We walked back to the car in silence. At last I figured it out. I had always known how much I wanted a daughter, so when I thought I was having a boy, I was aware of the loss involved in not having a daughter. After you'd all written me such beautiful and thoughtful comments, I started to understand better the wonderfulness that a son would mean. So now that I know that I am probably carrying our daughter, I have a sense of the loss that not carrying a son means. The answer is that only were we having boy/girl twins would we not be anticipating a tiny sense of regret. Not a major regret, not a big sadness, but a knowledge that in having something wonderful happen to us, we also have to let go of another tiny dream, a different life that might have been. I am delighted, but I am greedy.

But those dreams are on the gross scale - the lumping together of everything our child might be under the heading of a gender. Although it surely is a big determinant of the kind of person they might be, it's not the only characteristic that might surprise and delight us. Within the categories of "boy" or "girl" there are a universe of possibilities about the person our child might become. I now better appreciate that whatever this baby turns out to be, it will be what it is, the person it's meant to be, and that will be tremendous.

This morning I feel really delighted. Not so much because it's a girl, but because everything is fine. She's in great shape. My cervix is long and closed. The amniotic fluid is at the right level. There is nothing wrong. Perhaps we might really have a baby in September.

Completely frivolous post, mostly about breasts

This post is completely irrelevant if you aren't interested in boob sizes during pregnancy and the awfulness of maternity bras.

I hate the fact that I'm still looking fat rather than pregnant. I told someone at work I was pregnant this week. I knew she'd had lots of fertility treatment and a miscarriage before she stopped trying, and I wanted her to know early. So I sent her an email, and she just came by to congratulate me, she was very sweet. She also said she'd looked at me in the bathroom early this week and thought, "Wow, Thalia is really piling on the weight, she must be in the middle of treatment." Great, huh? I know I have just gained too much weight - my face is fat. I also know that now is not the right time to worry about it, rather just to get on with the pregnancy and try not to pig out too much, but a lifetime obsession is hard to let go of.

But most importantly, my breasts are now really huge. I am blessed, even when not pregnant, with big, yet unevenly sized breasts. The uneven sizing amuses my husband no end, but was the source of much teasing through my teenage years, particularly after the school doctor at my medical, aged 15, with 2 other girls in the room and 2 more out in the corridor, cupped my breasts and said "does it bother you that this one is bigger than the other?" and then, despite my stupified silence and bright red face, continued to show me how to stuff one bra cup with tissues. Yes, great doctor, huh? I started early on that theme.

When I am slim and fit, I wear a 34C bra. Just before I got pregnant, I was wearing a 36D. After a few weeks of pregnancy it became clear I was no longer either of these sizes. Yet I waited for ages to get a pregnancy bra, despite the fact that the received wisdom (and we all know how correct that stuff always is) says that (i) your breasts do most of the growing for the whole pregnancy in the first three months, and (ii) you must UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES wear an underwired bra once you are pregnant AS IT WILL RUIN YOUR BREASTS FOR BREASTFEEDING and is generally A REALLY BAD THING. Of course I waited. I used an old 38C bra because nothing else fitted, and yes, it was underwired. And no, it wasn't really comfortable and didn't really fit, but at least it wasn't clearly too small.

Why wait? First because of the general fear that it was all going to go wrong, and why tempt fate, and second because I'm too lazy to make the time to go and get fitted, but I felt I needed to start with a fitting as I no longer had any idea what size I was. Eventually, about 3 weeks ago, I nipped into a well known London department store to get measured. I'd previously had very good measuring experiences there. But not this time. The first fitter was a woman who arrived in the changing room just as a client called me. I asked her to wait for a second, and she stomped off saying it would be some time before she came back. After I'd finished talking to the client (don't ask) I then went looking for some more help. Eventually a child showed up. She seemed confident enough, so I let her get measuring. She initially told me I was a 36DD which didn't seem unreasonable, and went off to find some bras. They were all un-underwired. They were all astonishingly uncomfortable and unsupportive. Given as how I haven't worn a non-underwired bra since I was about 15 (see above) I couldn't really remember if this is just how they were, so I asked her if this was all I had to look forward to. "Don't ask me," she said, "this is the first fitting I've ever done." Aha. At the look on my face she went off to find someone more experienced.

Someone more experienced showed up, looked at me in the 36DDs and announced I needed a 38DD to allow for growth. She came back with one, yes one, and told me it was the only choice. The sides came up well into my armpits, and the cups came back covering my whole breast, including the whole of my cleavage. Put it this way, any v-necked top I own suddenly became unwearable. I felt like my maiden aunt Maud. No I don't have a maiden aunt Maud, but you can imagine the underwear, no?

Given that was apparently my only choice, I bought it. At least it wasn't expensive. But after 1 day of wearing it and enduring gales of laughter from my suddently not-terribly-supportive spouse, I decided it was unacceptable, and decided to try department store #2. Department store #2 was in fact the site of my magical, life transforming bra experience when I wandered in, age 18, for a new bra, and was accosted by an elderly lady who insisted on measuring me, and uttered the immortal words, "My dear, you aren't a 36C, you are a 34DD!" and thereby changed my life for the good. I hadn't realised until then that bras didn't have to hurt you. Anyway, of course the experience this time was not so good. Another child came to wait on me, this time wearing a full headscarf. I wondered at how she felt about naked breasts, but she didn't seem phased, so I decided not to be. I told her my dilemma. She measured, and hmmed, and came back with a 36E. E!! And no, it wasn't comfortable, but at least it wasn't like wearing armour, and goodness sake it only cost £10 so I bought 3. It was, of course, my only choice from their entire lingerie department.

So I started wearing that one. And I discovered the problem with a non-underwired bra if you have big bazongas, is that it's really just not possible to be supportive enough. By mid afternoon the sides are kind of gapping, and it rides up at the back, and it just doesn't look pretty. So I searched some more and found a site providing pretty bras for pregnancy and maternity. I ordered 2 in a 36DD (they don't do Es, and how much difference could it make, really?). They arrived, and were too small in multiple dimensions. So I sent them back in exchange for 38DDs. Which arrived. And fitted, and looked really pretty. And were comfortable! I was overjoyed. I wore bra #1 the next day. And discovered that pretty doesn't really cut it if bras don't contain your boobs. It turns out that low cut bras are not possible at this point as my larger breast just simply kept falling out of the cup all day. So it was goodbye to that bra. The other one was cut higher. So I wore it triumphantly for about 3 days. And then suddenly my larger breast was suddenly too big for that cup. It poked out and did that double boob thing that Trinny and Susannah go on about. Uncomfortable and unfortunately visible through clothing. Basically, my boobs grew a size in about 3 days.

So the pretty, expensive bras are no more, and my only option is the £10 itchy ones from department store #2. They do fit, and they do contain the breasts, but they are just fundamentally a disappointing piece of clothing. And I hate to think what is yet in store, if they can grow a size in 3 days, I'm sure there is more to come.

17w5d

Dreams and reality

Flag: If you are feeling annoyed generally about people who are pregnant, let alone those who are pregnant and complaining, this is ABSOLUTELY the wrong post for you to read right now.

Things are  going well. I listen to the fetus about once a day on the days I am home. Unfortunately he's moved, so the trusty spot down low on the right hand side no longer works, and I have to scan across the middle of the abdomen, just below the belly button, to hear him. And it's not easy to find. However, I'm not panicking whenI can't find him, I just keep trying until I do. And when I do it puts a huge smile on my face.

Now onto the difficult part. You notice I said 'him' above. I'm fairly sure that the passenger is a boy. It's because of what I thought I saw, for about a milisecond, at the 13 week scan. There she was showing us the long legs the fetus had, and at the top I thought I saw some dangly bits, but she sped by really quickly so I didn't get the chance to be sure. H didn't see anything. Ever since then I've been fairly convinced it's a boy. The difficult part? I'm a bit sad about that. I have been dreaming about my daughter in what I'm sure is an unpleasantly narcissistic manner since I was about eight years old. I don't know why I was always so set on wanting a girl. I suppose it's about helping her have the childhood I wish I'd had, about sharing hopefully just the best bits of myself - the books I loved, the plays, the games. I know in reality it might not be like that at all. She might not enjoy reading, she might have a learning disability, she might be a real girly-girl, who knows. But I've been dreaming about it nonetheless.

I know in my soul that I will love a son passionately, and no less passionately than I would love a daughter. I just don't know what that love wil be like. I don't know what my son will be like. I know that realistically (see above) I don't know what my daughter would be like either, but I've been thinking about it for so long that I have the misapprehension that I do. A friend of mine told me that knowing that her baby was a boy really helped her see him as an individual, truly separate from her, while he was still in the womb. And she'd really enjoyed getting to know him without the burden of the expectations that she might have had for a daughter. That rings really true for me, but I haven't yet come round emotionally to truly accepting this, and embracing the baby as my son. Partly because I don't know for sure yet that he is a boy. Partly because I'm only too aware that I still might not get to meet him (please no). And partly because at some point, for a short while, if the passenger is a boy, I'm going to need to mourn all those images I had about my potential future daughter. Let's face it, it's unlikely I will have another successful pregnancy, so this is it. I need to make the most of it, and I need to let go of all those unrealistic and unrealisable dreams that I had, that I still have.

It's reminding me, now that I'm writing about it, of how I felt about H. He didn't fit my idea of the right man, the man I was going to marry. And it took me a year to realise that he was the right man, it was just that I'd had the wrong image in my head the whole time. So now I'm realising that whether the passenger is a boy or a girl, it won't be the child I've spent my life imagining, it will be him- or herself. I need to let go of those idealised images, and just let the child be.

I know this, and yet I also know that if on the 10th of May we have confirmation that the baby is a boy, I will be a little sad, and I will cling on to those dreams a bit longer. But I also know that this will be the child we dreamed of, no matter how different he looks from the child in those dreams. I'll just need time to learn to recognise him.

Getting over myself - and hopefully doing it quickly before the whole world is alienated

I've been aiming to write one of those big science posts for ages, as the last two issues of Fertility and Sterility have been quite jam packed with interesting tidbits. But it takes a while to write those kind of  posts and somehow I never seem to be able to carve out the two hours or so required. I do enjoy having a good debate about the science stuff, but I have to confess I was also hoping that if I wrote a couple of non-pregnancy posts it might alleviate my guilt at the pregnancy-obsessiveness, and encourage some of the currently absent bloggy friends to be interested enough to engage in discussion again, but perhaps not. Or perhaps the 4/5 posts on the page at any one time talking about pregnancy are too much.

When I got pregnant the first time I wrote the obligatory guilt post. And my good friend Pamplemousse told me to get over it and just enjoy being pregnant. I've tried to remember that this time. Because the guilt posts are perhaps a little patronising, no? It doesn't mean that I don't feel it, particularly when I read posts like this and the pain comes roaring back, but it does mean that I don't think I've found a good way to write about it. I also want to keep a record of this pregnancy, just as I've always wanted to keep a record of each cycle. So that I can look back and remember how I felt at different stages, remind myself of what it was like to see the heartbeat for the first time, that kind of thing. And my guilt, and a few posts I've read recently, have actually inhibited me from doing that for the last few weeks. I've worried about the people I'm upsetting, and I therefore haven't written the little posts here and there to record what's happening, what I'm feeling.

Damnit I'm writing that guilt post, and I didn't even mean to.

What I meant to say is that I think everyone here is a grown-up, and so can make their own choices about what they read and don't read, write and don't write. I think I have an obligation not to write dumb things without thinking about them, but I'm simply not able to ensure that I don't hurt anyone's feelings. The emotions in infertility just run too high for anyone to be able to protect everyone's feelings all the time. So I know that many people have stopped reading, or stoppped commenting, and although I miss some of those people, I know that they are doing the smart thing, looking out for themselves, and it's not up to me to play that role. This is likely to be my only pregnancy, for however long it persists, and so I need to ensure I write about it in a way that's helpful to me, without being an asshole (or too much of an asshole) about it.

That was a long pre-amble.

There is nothing to moan about here. I am 16w3d and my stomach sticks out, and it's not all fat, although some of it is. I have gained 14lbs already, which is too much. I had no idea I was gaining weight so fast, and I was already at the top of my weight comfort zone when I got pregnant. Or above it. In fact, I don't know how much of this weight is post-miscarriage and Christmas misery eating and how much is pregnancy, so all I know is that since I last weighed myself sometime in November or December I've gained 14lbs. Anyway, it's still too much so I need to watch the somewhat self-indulgent eating I've been doing. Not helped by the fact that I feel sick if I don't eat regularly, and there aren't always delicious low calorie snacks around to quell that urge. But really that's just an excuse, and I need to keep an eye on it as gestational diabetes is not something I'm particularly excited about dealing with.

The extra weight gain also explains my miserable experience in a maternity clothes shop last weekend where NOTHING fitted. I'm not that huge, people, although I am tall. But this shop is clearly designed for London's yummy mummies and it was not a fun experience, watching the tall willowy blonde with the adorable bump as well as the adorable toddler in a push chair, fiddling around with the lovely floaty green dress and being told by the assistant she simply must add a belt as it was just SWIMMING on her. It's great when lifelong size issues continue into pregnancy n'est-ce pas. I was not feeling at my most robust as I'd just had the worst waxing experience of my life, with a woman who just must enjoy inflicting pain. I'm not kidding, I'm an experienced waxer, but this was so painful that I actually yelled at her to stop part way through the bikini line. A week later I've still got bruises all along my groin, which beautifully match my clexane-ed stomach. Sexy? Not.

And the sex, well, a combination of fear, bleeding, more fear, and my husband's sexual issues mean we haven't had so much as a fumble since my birthday. And I'm feeling horny enough that I've had several sleep-gasms. Which I'd prefer to be having with my husband. But he's afraid of hurting the baby - even without penetrative sex, and so he keeps chickening out. It's not the end of the world but I do miss it, and wish the whole situation was easier for us. H's sexual issues have an interesting component which is that he feels more confident in his sleep. Several times over the last two years I've woken up around 2 or 3 am to him pulling down my pyjama bottoms or nibbling my breasts. It's quite sexy but hard to respond when you are actually asleep. He often doesn't remember it in the morning. But a sign of how his id has changed in the last few months? I woke up two nights ago to find him pulling down my pyjama bottoms, and...kissing my stomach. He kissed it a couple of times, then he rolled over and went back to sleep. It was adorable, although I'd still like some sex at some point.

I have moments of happiness. We have discussed things like what to do with the clutter in the room which might become the baby's. We have discussed names, a bit. We've thought about nannies versus day care, and live-in versus live off-site. We've spoken about what we should do for our holidays this summer. And about 10 minutes into any of these conversations I freak out utterly and we have to stop. But the time to freak out is getting slightly longer. The one conversation I have not been able to tolerate is the one with my mother about childbirth. I had to tell her to just stop.

I still have moments of terror. I had a lot of aching in my pelvis last week, and along with a reasonable amount of watery discharge (yes, I KNOW this is normal, but I'm crazy, remember?) got convinced it was incompetent cervix and we'd lose the baby early. I know this isn't likely, but it's just something to worry about. Listening to the heartbeat every other day or so helps. I've now found the one spot where I can always hear the fetus - to the right of my stomach, down low near the bikini line although off to the side. Hasn't failed so far. It's very, very encouraging.

I'm also emotionally all over the place (what do you mean, you'd figured that out already?). A couple of times in the last few weeks I have burst into hysterical sobbing for no good reason. Ok, last night it was because, in anticipation of watching Any Dream Will Do I was wandering the kitchen singing 'I close my eyes'. And H told me it was annoying. That breakdown lasted a good 10 minutes. I've always cried easily, but this is really silly.

In a few hours I'm getting on a plane for the first time in a month or so. The doctor thinks it will be fine. I'm sure it will be fine, but it's making me slightly anxious and slightly grumpy. Please don't think I don't know how lucky I am. I really, really, really do. But being lucky and feeling lucky doesn't put a moratorium on worry and grumpiness and anxiety.

Fertility controversies, again.

It's been an interesting time in the UK discussion of infertility and treatments recently. The HFEA, the body which regulates the fertility industry, is currently carrying out a consultation to see what it should do to try and encourage single embryo transfer. I'm sure you all know this debate. Here is how it goes:

• Multiple births are inherently bad for the mother and bad for the babies. Even with twins the risks of prematurity go way up, and with that, the risks of cerebral palsy, learning difficulties etc. Once you get above twins the picture worsens again
• Current, legislated practice in the UK is that a maximum of two embryos are allowed to be transferred to women under 40. Over 40, three are allowed
• The aim of fertility treatment is to get women pregnant. Studies have shown that pregnancy rates from two sequential single-embryo transfers are as good as from replacing two embryos in the same cycle. Thus the push to limit women, particularly those who are younger and who produce a reasonable number of embryos, to agree to having a single embryo replaced, and thus to limit the risks inherent in getting pregnant with multiples.
• Various studies have shown that infertile couples, and women in particular, are not fully aware of the risks of multiple births. In fact, twin pregnancies after IVF are coveted by many - "the infertile jackpot" is commonly referred to as boy/girl twins. That way women feel relieved that they don't "have to" think about going through treatment again. Their family is pre-made. In a recent study, however, once the risks were fully explained, the percentage of couples who felt positive about having twins dropped dramatically. So it seems that at least part of the problem is awareness of what you're getting into.

However, there are several other factors involved, which don't get quite as much publicity, although I have seen them discussed.

The first is funding. If you have to pay for a subsequent FET after your fresh cycle, you are presumably less likely to take the risk of replacing just one embryo the first time. In a world where a majority of doctors in the UK want to stop funding for all fertility treatment (although other evidence says that fertility treatment is a cost-effective way to deal with the falling pregnancy rate in developed countries, so another example of short-term cost cutting over long term health of the population), it seems unethical to mandate a lower chance of success for any single cycle.

Second, is the stress involved in cycling. I have seen no evidence that the legislators, regulators and doctors in this discussion fully appreciate just how awful a negative cycle makes one feel. At that moment, the thought of a frozen embryo waiting for you is unlikely to be much succour. So in asking us to agree to single embryo transfers, the HFEA is asking us to agree to increase the frequency with which we are likely to go through that kind of trauma.

Third, is that freezing is not yet a perfect science. If you freeze embryos, you run the risk they won't survive the thaw. So this approach would only be reasonable for women with sufficient embryos that they feel able to take a risk on one or more dying before they even get to transfer. How many of us feel we had surplus embryos at that stage of treatment?

So my position? I would be happy for the HFEA to develop a communications programme that adequately explains the risks of multiple births. This should happen much much sooner than it currently does - what happens now, at least at my clinic, is that on transfer day if you transfer more embryos you get a stern talk from the doctor along the lines of "are you aware of the risks of twin pregnancies," and if you say yes, you get dismissed. People need to know way in advance of that stressful moment that there are major risks involved, they need to know the stats for sequential single-embryo transfers, and they need time to decide how they want to play the risks.

I am however strongly opposed to the HFEA legislating a mandatory transfer of single embryos, no matter how many conditions they put on it (e.g., only for women under 35 with more than 6 embryos at day 3, with no more than one previous failure, etc.). I think it's unethical in a situation where most couples are paying a lot of money for this treatment, to mandate a situation which will immediately become more expensive - perhaps unmanageably so. It also takes away the ability of our doctors to consider our individual situations and help us make a reasonable decision based on our individual characateristics. The letter of the law cannot ever get specific enough to cover every situation. Let's put some trust back in doctors and patients to make the right decision, albeit with dramatically improved information over what is available today.

*******************

In other news today, poor Natalie Evans has lost her final appeal to use the embryos that were created in 2000 from her eggs and her then-husband's sperm. For those of you who don't know the story, the reason for creating the embryos in the first place was that Natalie was dealing with ovarian cancer, so this move was to preserve her fertility. She and her husband subsequently divorced, and in 2003 he requested that the embryos be destroyed, in line with UK law which says that both parents need to consent to using frozen embryos. She has been fighting ever since. I feel absolutely terrible for her, even though I think that legally this decision is right.

What I find unimaginable is the sheer bloody-mindedness of her ex-husband. How bad could it possibly be for Natalie to raise their genetically joint-children without him? Why cannot he agree that her only chance to raise a family that is biologically related to her is more important than his need to see a complete termination of any biological tie between them? And of course, there is no guarantee that she would actually get pregnant, the whole thing is so damn theoretical. I can only imagine how devastated she must be today. The courts were right, but the case should never have got there. This isn't about legality, it's about basic humanity, empathy and the ability to remember that you once loved someone, and that love is worth something. Easy for me to say, I guess.

I have better equipment than my OB

All I can say is, thank heavens for home dopplers, and thank heavens that I am no miser and bought the top-of-the-range home doppler which shows you the speed of the heartbeat. I decided last night to listen to the heartbeat. I thought it was a little silly, as we had the doctor's appointment this morning, but I wanted to, and so I did. I found it quicker than I ever have before, and it made me very happy.

This was a good thing because the doctor really struggled to find the fetal heartbeat today. He used both of his (rather poxy-looking) dopplers, and only once or twice got a quick burst (1-2 seconds) of what was clearly a fetal heartbeat. He wasn't worried, but I would have been had I not heard it last night. So that's my MO for every appointment going forward, listen the night before so I don't have to worry.

The vast spectrum of blood tests that he carried out last time showed that everything is mostly fine. Annoyingly they didn't run the Protein S assay, which he wanted to give some indication as to whether I would stay on clexane or not. Protein S is part of the blood clotting cascade, and is usually lower (sometimes deficient) in carriers of the MTHFR mutation that I have (C677T). Since pregnancy can lower protein S anyway, he just wanted to see if it would come back within normal ranges, which would indicate I might be able to do without the clexane. They just didn't do the test, despite having kicked up a big fuss when I turned up for all my blood tests about how inconvenient it was, etc. etc.. It was funny to see him talking to the lab trying to chase this. He has a very low-key exterior, but you could see the cartoon steam coming off the top of his head as he struggled to stay cool. The tone of his voice didn't change at all, however. H mentioned afterwards that he'd hate to meet doc in a dark alley when someone has REALLY upset him...

The one interesting thing the blood tests showed was that my haemaglobin is on the high side of normal. Normally this would be a good thing, but given the MTHFR issues, it might indicate that things are not entirely wonderful, risking the kinds of clotting problems that can cause problems later in pregnancy. So given this, he has decided to leave me on clexane at least until 24 weeks, and then reevaluate by doing a blood flow test to see if there are any likely problems. The risks of staying on clexane til then are pretty low. The two risks he mentioned are (i) a situation where you become allergic to the heparin, which sounds pretty nasty, and (ii) severe bone weakening leading to fractures. He says that at the dose I'm on for the length of time I'm on it, these are very very rare complications indeed. He did test my vitamin D, to make sure bone loss isn't imminent, and it came back fine. So my stomach, which is a veritable patchwork of blue, purple and yellow, is just going to continue to look unsightly.

Doc also did a urine test while I was there today, and it showed no protein (good) but a bit of blood which might be ok but might also indicate a UTI, so he's sent it off to be tested. My blood pressure was also a reasonable 130/68, so nothing to worry about there, although as someone who has always had surprisingly low blood pressure til now, it's a bit shocking to hear anything other than: "105/58, are you sure you don't faint often?"

We left with an appointment to come back on 10th May for our 20 week 'anomaly/morphology' scan, and a request that we don't hesitate to come in sooner if I feel nervous. At the moment I'm feeling fine, so I don't know that I'll need to come in any sooner, but we'll see. Thank heavens for home dopplers, again.

15weeks

Just your average, every day post

Let's hope that the third time I attempt to write this post, I actually get far enough to post it, I keep having to rush off to put out some fire somewhere.

There is lots of good news to celebrate. The bleeding has been gone for about 5 days now and no further signs or spots. I did a fast 30 minute walk yesterday, and although I felt a bit crampy afterwards, the fetus seems to have come to no harm. I'm feeling fine other than getting regular headaches, which impede my ability to work but clearly aren't life-threatening. I listened to the heartbeat a few days ago and although it was a bit hard to find because mine kept getting in the way, I could hear it underneath and eventually got a good enough signal to luxuriate in for a minute or two. So thank you so much for all your support, we seem to have pulled through this time.

The bad news we received a day or so ago is that one of my colleagues's pregnancy has ended, at around 24 weeks based on my estimates. She just sent a very brief email saying it had happened and she didn't want to talk about it. I feel absolutely awful for her and her husband. I know many of you have experienced late losses, and I am perhaps only starting to appreciate just how appalling it must be, perhaps particularly when the baby is on the boundary of viability. I don't know what caused this loss, I just know it happened. I sent her a brief note saying I was sorry for her loss. And that's all I can do really. This isn't someone I know well, and she sort of reports to me so I don't want to impose on her or her privacy. Any suggestions as to whether there is anything else I could do?

It's made me reflect again on how differently I feel about pregnancy now than I would have done had we succeeded when we first started trying. Although I am a worrier, so perhaps it would always have been hard for me. But surely I would not have always been so acutely aware of everything that can go wrong, of Kay's loss at 20 weeks, of all of Patience's late losses, of Liana and Mason and Ziggy, of Manuela, Attila and Shoelet. And now my colleague. The losses don't weigh me down the whole time, I am happy often. I am sometimes even optimistic. I am revelling in thinking that we might have a baby in September. But yesterday night at Seder my cousin and her sister and all the others there were telling me how much they wanted to welcome our baby at next year's Seder, and how old did I think he/she had to be before they could pass on the burden of asking the questions from their own grandchildren. It was lovely, but it utterly freaked me out. It really does seem to be counting chickens. I don't really believe in tempting fate, and I do want to enjoy this, but I cannot forget how easily this joy can be taken away. It's not diminishing the joy I feel from time to time, but it is a millstone around my neck, constantly reminding me that happy now doesn't necessarily mean happy later.

I know this is utterly unoriginal, and has been written about ad nauseam by many others before me. But it's still my reality. I'm fantastically lucky to be here. I've had a really pretty uneventful pregnancy so far. Nothing seems to be wrong with the fetus. Long may that continue. Please let it continue!

Next OB appointment is on Thursday. I'm going to discuss the travel ban with him as I do really need to go to one meeting in the US in about 2 week's time. If he says no, well, then I won't go. But it will be tough.

14w5d