Thalia's fertility journey

Boobs, bras and pregnancy

I don't have time to write a proper post, snowed with work and trying to see Pob, it's all got rather too busy and frustrating in the last week or so. So here's something I've had in draft for a while. Will try to write more soon.

There are a lot of myths about breasts, bras and pregnancy. I suffered through a month of a stupidly ugly and ill-fitting bra while I was pregnant due to these myths, so here's my chance to blow some of them away.

It is one of those facts that everyone just knows on the boards, rather like the one about how eating fresh pineapple helps implantation, that you must not wear underwire bras while pregnant. This myth leaves the big-busted among is in a quandry. At what point in the pregnancy are you supposed to ditch proper support for your even more enormous than usual breasts, and go for a non-underwired bra. I hit this decision at about 12 weeks, when my boobs had grown at least a cup size and my existing 36DD bras were uncomfortable. I originally ordered some bras online from an upmarket maternity lingerie online shop, but they didn't make sizes big enough for my breasts and I had to return their lovely lacy confections.

I then visited that old stand-by of lingerie shopping in the UK, John Lewis. It's not where you go to get the pretty stuff, but they do have a reputation for at least fitting you properly. I was fitted by a woman who was wearing full body covering, although not a face veil, and who looked to be no more than 18. She insisted I was a 38D and sold me a rather ugly, completely flimsy, beige bra for a bargain £10. I took it because I thought that was my lot as a pregnant woman. But after a week of itchy lace and boobs resting on my emerging bump due to lack of support, I decided to bite the bullet and go to the Queen's bra fitters, Rigby and Peller.

At this luxuriously appointed salon, they first made me wait for about an hour, then a seven month pregnant fitter eyeballed me, told me I was clearly a 38F, that the whole underwire thing was nonsense, and sold me a couple of underwired bras. They lasted til 7.5 months, at which point they became too uncomfortable due to the bump pushing up under the breasts. I then went back and got fitted for nursing bras. It was a bit early, but they just sold me one that was a cup size bigger than I was at the time, and one a size bigger than that. After the birth I wore the 2 bras I had for about 4 weeks, then figured out I had gone down a back size but was again a cup size larger. Given my inability to leave the house at the time due to extreme breast feeding psychosis, I ordered a few online from Figleaves, who have a good selection of actually quite pretty nursing bras that made me feel a bit human again.

I subsequently heard from Betty, who has a good friend who is a boob doctor, about the underwire thing. His opinion was that the most important thing during pregnancy is to get proper support, which means continuing to wear underwire if you are big boobed until you simply can't any more as the bump pushes up towards your boobs. After your milk comes in you need non-underwired nursing bras, and at that point you should pretty much never not wear a bra again. I'm currently sleeping in the nursing bras that are too big but at least are non-underwired, and it feels quite uncomfortable to be bra-less, something I used to enjoy at night.

So far in the last year I have been about six different bra sizes - from a 36DD before I got pregnant through a 36E through a 38G while I was pregnant, to a 38H when I was breastfeeding, and now down to a 34E. It makes my underwear drawer a confusing place.

The gift

When I started this blog, there were about 20 blogs in my blogroll under 'you are not alone' and only 5 or so in 'been there, done that'. My rule was that if someone had already had their children, or was already pregnant, I didn't add them. I wasn't in a place where I could stand that. I made an exception for bloggers like Grrl, Julie and Tertia, who had been part of the small group of bloggers who had inspired me. But it was a small list - those whose infertility journeys had been successful but who were important enough to my own journey that I added them to the list of blogs I checked up on at least on a weekly basis.

Over the last 2.5 years of blogging, people have gradually moved from my 'you are not alone' list through 'on their way' to 'been there, done that'. And I've gradually added more to the front of the pipeline, but look at the 'been there, done that' list now, it's longer than the 'you are not alone' despite the fact I almost never add people straight into the 'been there, done that' category. It's a fact of our community that people move on - into the other categories, and/or they drop out. The few people who've stayed in the 'you are not alone' group for the whole of the last 2.5 years or at least most of it, are some of those I feel closest to - Millie, Pamplemousse, Jen, Julianna, Kay, Manuela, Flicka for example. Their tenacity and ability to deliver support to others despite all the utter crap they've had to deal with is a real testament to their strength - and the strength of the community we're part of. I don't believe that there's a reason why some of us don't get to move categories. I don't believe that the statistics mean it's inevitable. Even among the approximately 200 blogs in my infertility lists, we aren't big enough to be statistically meaningful group. It's just shitty bad luck, and if wishes were able to be made manifest, it wouldn't happen. In fact, that category simply wouldn't exist.

I add people less frequently to the 'you are not alone' category now. Somehow I'm less good at knowing what to say to those starting on their first clomid cycle or IUI. I can't bear to dash their happiness sometimes, their belief that in just getting going things will be ok. They might be, and then again they may not. I don't want to be death's head at the feast, making life harder for those who haven't got to the point of cynicism yet. I hope they don't have to get there, and then I move on to the next blog.

It's been extraordinary to me to move my own blog through those categories. It took me until about 20 weeks to move myself into the 'on their way' category. Even then I kept not finding it when I scrolled through bloglines. It didn't occur to me to look there. Tomorrow, please please it all goes to plan, I should be moving to the 'been there, done that' category. Of course I won't get round to moving myself til I get home from the hospital - which won't be til Monday at the earliest, but officially it's time to move. It's an extraordinary feeling. I'm not sure I can do it justice. It feels right to be doing it with Kath, with Amy, and with Carol. It feels wrong not to be doing it with more of you. It's absolutely awe-inspiring. It's making me so very happy and so very apprehensive. I'm terrified and I'm overjoyed. I have no idea what tomorrow will feel like but I feel ready for it, despite the piles of paper we didn't get round to sorting out.

Tomorrow, all being well, I get to meet my daughter. She's been a long time coming. I don't know what she looks like, but I already love her. I know that will change tomorrow although I don't know how. I know there will be really tough times ahead, tough in ways I can't imagine now. But I also know that there are ways through them and it will all be worth it. I cannot forget for a second how extraordinarily lucky I am to be here. To get to meet her is the most extraordinary gift. I don't deserve it any more than anyone else does. It makes no sense that I got this gift, but/and I'm so terribly thankful that I did.

Countdown to Pob: the cleaning/baking stage

H is quite a tidy person. I am not. I've never been tidy, much to the despair of everyone who tried to bring me up. My form of tidying is to do a complete blitz so everything looks perfect, then gradually let it slide for a while, say, six months or so. I'm happy to have piles of books lying around the place - who knows when I might want to read them? I'm ok with piles of papers, it means I know where to find what I'm looking for. Being untidy does not mean I can't find stuff. Except maybe earrings. My passport is always in my handbag, given the travel I usually do, so that's easy. The kitchen is always clean, I don't like washing-up sitting in the sink.I also do plenty of laundry. But papers, books, magazines, clothes that don't need washing, cosmetics, jewelry, are slung around the house in what seems to be a fairly random manner.

H likes things to be tidy. Funnily enough, he leaves some of his stuff lying around, but he can't see it. So, for example, his clothes are always in the laundry basket or put away - he doesn't leave piles lying around. He generates much less paperwork and smaller bookpiles than I, but both are in their official places in his office and by his bed, respectively. On the other hand, his golf clubs, skis, walking equipment, and rucksack quite happily sit out for months before he notices. Behind our sofa is the disassembled pile of poles that was a mobile clothes rack in his old house. It's been there four years. He says he can't get rid of it as it belongs to a friend. But he asked the friend last year if he wanted it back, and has heard nothing. Which I think means it's time to get rid of it. But he can't quite do it. But he can nag me to take spare computer cables back to work, throw away old books etc. I am a packrat, he wants the house more minimalist. It's give and take.

A fit of tidying has come upon me, however, and today I have cleaned out the cupboard in our living room where H has been throwing any of my stuff he didn't want to deal with for the last 4 years. I've been putting in there the presents I buy for unspecified children so that I'm never caught short when there's a birthday that H has forgotten (he has 3 godsons and no idea when any of them were born, not to mention his 2 nephews). It was quite a treasure trove. I found a lot of beautiful editions of childrens books, which I've now just decided to keep for Pob. Plus a couple of pairs of pink tights that must have been meant for one of my goddaughters, but which would never fit now. Plus a pair of dinosaur pyjamas that might fit in a couple of years. They've all gone up to the room which will be hers. I also discovered the spare orders of service from our wedding and some photographs I ordered for various family members but didn't distribute. There are spare light fittings that came from my old house but don't fit here, and a box full of stickers that I collected when I was about, say, 13? Yes, I already said I was a packrat. And I'm not ashamed.

Having generated one bag full of rubbish from that exercise, I then turned to our bedroom. I've been gathering stuff I couldn't find a home for on top of my chest of drawers for a couple of years now. A bunch of travel equipement - bose headphones, spare travel plugs, selection of teabags. A few piles of books, although these were totally overshadowed by the massive piles under and around my side of the bed. Did I mention we are chronically short of bookshelves?

Anyway, there's nothing terribly interesting about what I found. Some has gone to the charity shop, some for trash and some has been tidied away. The room looks much more habitable, and I feel happier about having people in and out. Now I just need to tidy our kitchen/living room area a bit further, and we'll be ready for visitors.

I've been preparing for visitors by baking, too. I've baked 48 muffins in the last 2 days - some blueberry, some banana/pecan and some date/orange/bran. That's filled the freezer with stuff we can easily eat for breakfast without much effort. Plus I made a couple of New Year honeycakes which means we can offer people something with their cups of tea. Although I made the mistake of making the cakes with chestnut honey, and I'm not convinced that the bitterness of that honey works with the way the cake is supposed to taste. I bet no one will say so, though. I am intending to make some of Nigella's oatmeal chocolate chip cookies tomorrow, as they freeze well and will give us something else to feed pepole with.Then I hope I'm done. H has already made quantities of Ragu, roasted tomato sauce for pasta, a couple of lasagnas and some chicken soup for the freezer, so we definitely won't starve!

Anyone think we're nesting?

Scenes from the last week of pregnancy

I've finally taken the time to figure out how to load my bloglines links into the blogroll on typepad, so that the links are up to date without all that annoying manual editing that is involved in maintaining typelists. I feel ridiculously proud of myself. Apologies to those of you whose status was frozen for about a year while I couldn't be assed to do anything about the typelists. This does mean that password protected blogs will be listed without you knowing that they are until you click on the link. Sorry but that's just beyond my skills to fix!

I have two things left to do for work. I've been not doing them all week. What do you reckon - denial or laziness?

H and I need to move furniture so that our living room doesn't look like we just moved in. We can't find anyone to help. This is bothering both of us.

I now own a breast pump and some herbs for promoting milk production. And 4 bottles. And 2 nursing bras. And nipple cream. And a nappy bag (diaper bag). I'm afraid I chickened out and got one that H would be ok to carry rather than the very funky ones I kind of liked. This one is nice and practical. And 3 changing mats (one for each floor of our house). And...some baby clothes. There's a lot of kit involved in this baby thing, no? Although I haven't bought maternity pads yet. Must do that.

My blood pressure is still 110/65 as of Wednesday. So yah boo and sucks to all those who cast aspersions on a pregnancy at 40 and its risks. Although I have finally had to take off my wedding ring. It feels odd without it. I keep going to fiddle with it but it's not there.

I went to see some paintings yesterday. I bought one of this artist's paintings back when I got my first ever bonus from work. The paintings are exquisite and have only become more so (the jpgs really don't do them justice. The point about his work is the brushwork - tiny, tiny strokes with exquisite detail. If you're in London I highly recommend a visit). I really really wanted to buy one, but the artist has won a couple of prizes in the meantime, and he's gotten pretty expensive. And H really wants to try to pay down the mortgage. Which is sensible. So I didn't buy one. But I really really wanted to.

After looking at the paintings my erstwhile best friend and I had lunch. And wandered the shops a bit. By the time I got home I was so tired I had to lie down on the sofa before I could make it upstairs to change my clothes. I'm terrified of what real sleep deprivation feels like when it shows up, umm, this time next week?

Antenatal classes: fun for infertiles

As I sat and had lunch with some of the women from my antenatal class on Wednesday, I was struck again by how different their experience of pregnancy has been. They are all younger than me, although one is approaching my elderly status by being 38. At least 2 of them are in their 20s. Three of them have confessed to me how they got pregnant the first month they gave up birth control, and one isn't really sure when she conceived as she was still on the pill, just perhaps not taking it as regularly as she should. That doesn't mean they aren't lovely and supportive and fun to hang out with, but sometimes I feel the raging heat of jealousy come flooding through me as they tell me of their experiences, as I listen to them talk about number 2.

It also doesn't mean they haven't had some tough times being pregnant. One woman had a big bleed (onto a seat at the theatre) at 12 weeks. One woman threw up everything she ate for 4 months (including on her wedding day, see 'forgot to take the pill', above). One woman needed serious surgery in about month 3 of the pregnancy and so underwent general anaesthesia and subsequently needed a bunch of painkillers. She was assured by her caregivers that this wouldn't harm the baby, and was regularly scanned etc., but I'm wondering if there is any coincidence in the fact that she went into labour at 32 weeks, was stopped by terbutaline but then gave birth at 36 weeks to her very petite (5lb) daughter. The mum, of course, was back in her size 2 (US) jeans at our lunch yesterday. And was very sweet about it but of course I am dead jealous. Not that I've EVER made it into a pair of size 2 jeans. Her baby is very very sweet and very tiny. Funny to think that our Pob is probably already bigger than this tiny girl. Her size certainly gave pause to the two women who have been told that their babies are probably around 9.5 lbs right now...

They call me the guru of the group. Whatever someone asks about I have some kind of answer. I've talked about all of you in vague terms, "a friend of mine in the US said...", "a friend who had twins recently...", etc. They're not really that curious, they've found it easy to rely on what I say. I got an email just before H and I went to the cinema on Sunday asking me how to time contractions, which I thought I'd better respond to - turns out she was just checking. I don't mind this role but I can't help thinking they must find me annoying sometimes. But it seems to be something they genuinely like. And anyway, now that one of us has given birth, and a second is going for a c-section tomorrow, I'll no longer be the expert on some aspects, that's a relief.

The oddness I find in being part of this group is partly a social issue as well as an issue of different experiences. Most of them gave up work relatively early in pregnancy, certainly by 34 weeks. About 65% don't intend to go back to work. Their husbands are investment bankers and others of that ilk, so they don't 'need' to return, despite their obvious achievements in their careers so far. In a way I'm jealous of that, too. I love my job, most of the time, but it is very demanding. It also pays extremely well. H's job doesn't. If I stopped working, we'd have to sell our house and move somewhere smaller. That wouldn't be the end of the world, but it's a serious change. I'm also not sure it would make me happy - I've worked hard to get where I am today. But then, last week as I ate a peach, I thought about giving Pob little bits of peach next summer to mush up, and perhaps even eat, I realised that on many evenings I might not be home in time to give her supper. That doesn't feel good.

Don't worry, I'm not about to make a decision on work right now. I'm lucky to have good maternity benefits - I'll get paid for about 4 months, then I can take up to another 8 months off. The intent is to go back after about 6 months but we'll see how I'm feeling.

Anyway, back to the maternity group. The strangest part of the experience was not the different experiences of my new friends, but the behaviour of the instructor at the first class. The instructor went round the room asking us our names, any details about our pregnancies, our intended date of stopping work, what we were doing for exercise, what we were worried about. I was about 2/3rds of the way round the room. Before me came many of the women who had already given up work or would do so by about 32-34 weeks. One woman owns her own interior decoration business so she explained she'd keep going as long as she could, and the instructor barely commented. Then I went. I mentioned the fact this was my third pregnancy, that I'd had a small bleed at 13 weeks, that I was doing regular pregnancy yoga, and that I was intending to work to somewhere between 36 and 38 weeks, but would go as long as I could since I was the primary wage earner in our family.

And then the instructor launched into me. I got a diatrabe including the threat, "if you keep working you've got a much higher chance of premature labour, and if you have a preemie they'll end up in special care", and a lot of "given your age you should be taking things easier." And a "what's really important here?" It lasted about 5 minutes. At the time I wasn't upset so much as bemused. And a bit puzzled by the statistics she quoted. Turns out that the only studies which show any links between premature labour and women's occupations are for women who do heavy manual labour, and as my OB pointed out, you can't separate the effects of heavy manual labour from the low socio-economic status of those women. So he was not worried about me working. And the berating I got wasn't justified at all.

For the few weeks after that class I had regular dreams that I was in labour, giving birth to small babies, who usually got mixed up with other people's babies. I didn't feel too disturbed by the conversation, but clearly my subconscious did.

I never raised my discomfort - nay, outrage - with that conversation with the instructor. I should have done. Perhaps I'll still write her a note. It certainly made me doubt any other statistics she quoted at us. But then I was never attending the ante-natal classes for the education, I knew I could get that elsewhere. I was attending to meet a bunch of women who were sharing one part of my experience with me - albeit not the whole scenario. I was also attending because the often cited 'best breast feeding expert in the UK' teaches one class there, and I was told it was well worth learning from her and having the access to her once the baby is born.

The ante-natal classes have done their job. I have a bunch of fun women to hang out with, and, all being well, in a month all 13 of us will have babies and will be able to share the experiences of their first few months. I'm sure that as some of them get pregnant again I'll have more pangs of jealousy, but I think I can bottle it and look to this online community to give me what I need in that direction. They are lovely, kind, sensitive women who just haven't been through what I have to get this far. They appreciate my situation is a bit different and they are not insensitive to those differences (most of the time). I feel quite lucky to have them.

Part of me can't help thinking, though, that a class of pregnant infertiles might have a better time together. No need to explain why you still have morbid thoughts about still birth, even at 38 weeks pregnant. No need to explain why, at 32 weeks, you haven't even thought about what the nursery is going to look like. Plenty of opportunity to discuss worries about whether our bodies will fail us again. Lots of opportunity to discuss the latest findings of Dr Google. Or do you think we'd all wind each other up too much?

Oh well then

Today was a series of small pieces of data, woven into an answer by a very impressive woman OB/GYN. Once we'd heard the story,there was no other answer but that this baby will be born by c-section. But it took a while to get there.

Part 1: the scan
The consultant sonography doctor confirmed that the baby was breach, with her spine down my right side. Her head was a little higher than I've been feeling her recently, which I wasn't surprised about since she tends to move up at night, and sink gradually down the right side as the day goes on. He, again, did not see the fibroid that the two women sonographers I've seen during the pregnancy have noticed, measured and commented on, the one down by my cervix (note - signalling!). I wonder if this is perhaps he doesn't want to go digging down into my pubic bone, which is what it takes to visualise that fibroid. The good news was that everything looked good with the baby. Her growth is on track, the level of amniotic fluid looked good, and he even pointed out she has quite a bit of hair - on the ultrasound it looked like feathery extensions of her head into the fluid!

Part 2: Dr OB
We saw Dr OB briefly for a urine and blood pressure check (110/70, still good). He then directed us to go and see Dr big picture, who would review our notes, scan etc., and help us make a decision about whether or not she would attepmt an external version. I confessed I didn't hold out much hope it would work, since this baby has been in a very consistent position for over 6 weeks now, and he confessed he felt the same, but thought we'd all regret at least not giving it a try. So back we went to the other bit of the hospital to see Dr big picture.

Part 3: Waiting
Before Dr Big Picture could see us, we needed to have the baby's well being assessed. So I got strapped into a fetal monitor device in the day care unit, to measure her heartbeat. She was not Miss cooperative, and kept moving position after the monitor was placed on my stomach. After a while we found a position where mostly the monitor could pick up her heartbeat, but even so about every 2-3 mintues an alarm would go off as the machine stopped hearing her, and I'd have to reset it. She also got hiccups, which was quite entertaining. The heartbeat varied between 165ish and 120ish, mostly around 140 which is what I've measured with the home doppler pretty much throughout the pregnancy.

After about 20 minutes they took pity on me, agreed she was clearly very healthy and extremely wriggly, and took the monitor off. However, it then turned out that Dr Big Picture had been called into an emergency, so we'd have to wait. So we waited. For quite a long time. About an hour and a half maybe? Pob kept making quite major movements, waves of baby moving under the skin of my stomach, as if to indicate her displeasure at all this messing around. She succeeded in getting into a position which actually just hurt me, so I was getting quite grumpy. Not about the wait - an emergency is an emergency - but just about being uncomfortable.

Part 4: The answer
Dr Big Picture eventually showed up and was terribly apologetic about the wait. She took us back to an exam room, and started going through the file. She read this morning's report first, then flicked through my maternity notes. And said "ah, fibroids. When Dr OB told me about you last week, he didn't mention fibroids." (Note: more foreshadowing!!). She then started reading through the other ultrasound reports - the ones from 27 weeks and 32 weeks where the fibroid was carefully measured and commented on. She got me to tell her about the laps and hysteroscopies, and reviewed the pictures from those operations. She felt where Pob was and commented that really Pob was oblique and not breach - her head having moved down at least 10 cm since the scan in the early morning.

After some discussion, Dr Big Picture decided to scan to see for herself what the story was, and went straight to the fibroid. It's about 6x5cm and it's adjacent to the cervix, right in the pelvis. She showed us that none of the baby is down by the cervix, she's all up in the abdominal cavity. She told us how babies just don't choose to be oblique, there is almost always a reason for them staying in that position, and fibroids are the usual culprit. She sketched out very clearly what the situation is. The fibroid has taken up some of the space in the pelvis where Pob's head should have gone. Pob has probably tried to get round (that certainly makes sense given the seismic level of movement I've felt over the last few weeks) but hasn't had enough purchase to do so. In addition, the fact that none of her has been down near the cervix means that that part of the uterus hasn't stretched to accommodate her, so if we try to turn her now, she'd most likely pop back as there isn't enough space for her.

Yup, you got it. Not even worth a try.

Part 5: The conclusion
We went back to Dr OB to update him and book our c-section date. 20th September, at about lunchtime. So Kath and I will have daughters just a day apart. Not quite sure what I'll do about Yom Kippur, which starts on the Friday night, but I think I'll be forgiven in the grand scheme of things. Pob needs the extra time so her lungs can be ready to breathe.

It was good to have a clear opinion, and to really understand why we're where we are. But I really really feel disappointed. Odd, I know, given the ambivalence I started off with about a vaginal birth.  But hearing from you and others about the amazingness of being able to have your body push out that baby, well, it made me want to be part of it. I am not devastated, I recognise 100% that once we have Pob in our arms, it won't matter (that much) how she got here. I also recognise it's the only sensible option at this stage. It's a very small loss in the grand scheme of losses we've been through. But I am sad that I won't get to do it in the old-fashioned way. Also, I find it a bit odd to know in advance what Pob's birthday will be. I feel like she should have some say in this. Odd, I know, but there you go, just one of my many irrational feelings.

This time, two weeks from now, we'll probably, hopefully, be holding our daughter.

Unhelpful

I don't think Bob Crow has it in for me, personally, but it felt quite a lot like that both yesterday evening and this morning as I fought my way onto a bus to get home and then into work again this morning. Really not what I needed at nearly 37 weeks, and with increasingly less willingness to work. Plus my office was heated up to sauna level, despite me having complained about the temperature on Monday. Plus some asshat external company I'm working with sent through the programme for the conference they want me to speak at on Thursday, only they've left my name off the programme. Given Thursday morning is the doctor's appointment at which they'll scan me and decide whether or not to try an external version, and if they do an external version I don't reckon I'll be in good enough shape to go to work afterwards, I'm pretty tempted to just blow them out. One of my colleagues (who they did put on the programme) will substitute instead. Bastards.

Yes, I know no one is really out to get me. But they're annoying me anyway.

The downside of cleaning

I found at least a small burst of that energy some of you mentioned in the last post, and cleaned out the bathroom cabinets. I am a terrible pack rat, and so this was a real voyage through memories, compounded by the realisation that Friday was the 10th anniversary of the day I left my home in the US to travel back to the UK. Easy to remember, given it was the day Diana died, and we woke up to the news on the radio in the middle of my bare apartment. So I've been thinking a lot about the changes of those last 10 years, marvelling that at least some of the friendships I formed in the US have survived that separation, feeling embarassed that H and I have been in this house 4 years and only now are we unpacking some of the boxes from that move.

But back to the bathroom cabinets. They're really cupboards, about 3 metres across and 1 metre high, and they were pretty packed, so you can imagine the accumulated junk. A LOT of outdated medicine. A box full of broken earrings and brooches I've never managed to get mended. The headpiece I wore to my brothers' wedding, 8 years ago almost to the day, still in its very fancy box. A huge number of different boxes of tampons, different sizes, different brands. Enough to keep me going for about 6 months, perhaps. A pair of stretchy hospital knickers and a 'maternity pad' left over from the ERPC on my miscarriage. A lot of old pots of nail varnish, all now separated and mottled, and in colours I really wouldn't wear, even if I still did manage to do my own pedicures. Lots of old makeup, some of it from my wedding. The sponge bag I took on honeymoon, with the sun cream we used on honeymoon in it - the smell was very evocative. Two puregon pens, each in their own bags, with spare needles, lots of swabs, etc. Five pregnancy tests. Four OPKs (and I'm just waiting for the partridge in the pear tree).

I threw a lot away. I put some stuff aside to take in for the collection we have at work for a local homeless shelter - shampoos I tried and didn't like, moisturiser samples, etc. I sorted everything into categories and boxes, and put it back neatly. I thought about the past.

And then I looked at those pregnancy tests, and the puregon pens, and thought about the future. I'm sure you'll all think this is utterly weird, but I've been thinking a lot about number 2. If there ever will be a number 2, that is. I've loved being pregnant so much, despite the aches and pains and the intermittent terror. I'd like to be pregnant again, but mostly I'd love for Pob to have a sibling. Yes I know only children are fine and wonderful, but it's not how I imagined life for our child. I think it's a lot of pressure, to have all that weight of parental expectations, and it's potentially very lonely later in life. It's hard not to have anyone who really shared the day-to-day annoyances of your childhood. I know I've discussed this before, but I can't find the post right now, and it's not the post I want to write now, so I'll stop there on that line of reasoning.

The point is that part of me is trying to reconcile this desire for another chid, this desire to experience pregnancy again, with the realistic notion that the likelihood I'll be able to bear another child is very low. Look what it took to get us to this point. By the time we start trying again I'll be 41, our chances will be low and declining of conceiving and carrying to term again. Yes, we've got enough frozen embryos for at least one cycle, and I'm not going to leave them in the freezer, but given previous experiences I don't hold out much hope that we'd be successful with them. I'm prepared to try another fresh cycle, just to see how we do. I'm prepared to try naturally, but unsure how we control the endometriosis while we do so (and by the way, anyone know what's likely to happen to endo while breastfeeding? Should I be considering some way of suppressing it?).

We will try. H and I have discussed it. He's keen to put a time limit on it - say 18 months from when we start, which I imagine will be from when Pob is about 6 months old - and then call a halt. He's not (currently) prepared to discuss adoption for a second child. He wouldn't be keen on donor eggs. He doesn't want trying for a second child to take over our lives in the way infertility round 1 did. I understand all of that. I want to be able to focus on Pob and doing the best for her, not on being consumed by a new round of infertility. But what if I think having a sibling is one of the best things I can do for her?

This whole train of thought is really quite bizarre when part of the time I'm still worried that Pob won't make it - like every time she's been quiet for a couple of hours. On the one hand I don't have my first born yet, on the other I'm worried about procreative strategies for the next, but unlikely, one. You'd think I'd give myself a minute's peace, no?

I think it's a combination of being the kind of person who always finds something to worry about, with the enjoyment of this pregnancy and wanting to experience it again (although knowing it would be very different with a small person to look after at the same time), the worry I've had for a long time about parenting an only child, as well as wanting the best for Pob. And cleaning out the bathroom cabinets, that's where the trouble really started. I knew it was a bad idea. It might have generated cleaner, neater cabinets, and a large black rubbish sack of trash, but it got me thinking. Always a bad idea.

Fun in the middle of the night

I seem to be suffering from early morning insomnia. I wake up some time between 430 and 545 and can't get back to sleep. This morning I woke up on the early side, but managed to get a comfortable nest set up on the sofa, and dozed off again around 6. Only to be woken by a loud crash at 630. It took me a while to figure out that what had happened was that a picture had fallen off the wall above our coffee machine, bounced off the coffee machine and slammed onto the floor. Nice. Luckily the coffee machine is working, albeit with a broken lid, because not being able to get cofee at this point would be a total disaster.

So I haven't had much sleep. Luckily I'm not going to work today or tomorrow, so I can nap at various times which will really help. Off to see Dr OB later this morning, I don't expect him to say anything interesting other than 'get a scan next week' given the baby hasn't moved and I'm still feeling fine, albeit with swollen ankles (not fingers), and plenty of heartburn and general grumpiness. Having a baby's head shoved into your ribs is not a very comfortable thing to live with. Bending forward is no longer even a vague possibility.

It still hasn't sunk in that we could have a baby in as little as 2 weeks time. The house is an utter mess as the basement still hasn't been re-waterproofed since the flood, and Pob's room has just been painted, so the furniture for her is just sitting in boxes in the hall. We got a new printer, that's still in a box. We had to move all H's camping and golfing stuff, our shoes and coats out of the basement so those are scattered over our living room. The study floor is covered in paper as H tries to sort out his filing system. My papers are in piles all over the house as I wait for him to find some space in the filing cabinets for me to file them. I still have books in boxes from when we moved house, but there are no bookshelves for them. We've had mice so there is poison and traps under the units in the kitchen. You get the picture. None of this is life threatening, but I'd love to be more organised. I'm not a tidy person, but from time to time am good at doing a massive spring clean, often around the jewish new year. But work has left me so knackered that I've done very little in the house for the last few months, and it shows. Luckily we have a cleaning lady, so it's not too disgusting, but she doesn't get to the big stuff like cleaning bookshelves, stairs etc. We're getting a cleaning service in for 2 days next week to do a thorough spring clean, but they can't do the paper filing for me...

Anyway, it will all be fine in the end. I either will or won't sleep, the house will or won't get tidier. I will or won't have time to finish those posts I've got brewing about my antenatal classes, and a couple of scientific publications that have come out recently. But either way, we'll probably have a baby home with us. In 29 days at the latest. Wow.

Away in the frozen north

Apologies for lack of update, as previously mentioned it's been busy at work, plus we're trying to get stuff in our house sorted (I never told you about our flood, did I?). We were planning on leaving on holiday on Friday night but had to delay til Sunday just to get stuff done in the house on Saturday. It was a long drive north, but we arrived late on Sunday night and immediately felt more relaxed. I'm working very hard not to think too hard on the fact that it was probably while we were here 16 months ago that our first pregnancy ended. This is the first time we've been brave enough to return. It's a lovely place, and I don't blame the place for the miscarriage. I know it's an association rather than anything more. Hopefully this visit will kill that ghost. I have, of course, checked which local hospital we need to go to if I start to bleed or if my waters break. There's a good consultant-led unit about 20 minutes away, and we both know the route to get there. What me, suddenly become an optimist? Surely you jest.

I do have work to finish up - hence turning on the computer this morning, but we've also visited our favourite gardens, cooked a Roast Chicken dinner, watched The Bourne Identity, I've started and finished my first book of the holiday (highly recommended, especially if you used to be or are now a scientist), and I had a 2 hour nap yesterday afternoon. It's good to have a break. There's really no signal here to speak of, so I'm hoping this post doesn't get eaten by the system when I try to post. I'll keep hoping.

All is well with the Passenger. I had a horrible dream last night that she had died inside me. I kept trying to find her heartbeat with the doppler but secretly knew it wasn't there. People kept coming in to use the room I was in and I was getting increasingly desparate and started getting quite rude as I tried to make them go away. At one point I saw her projecting out of my right side, and I tried to push her back in. She did go in, but I still knew she was dead. As you can imagine, when I woke up from that one there was no going back to sleep. I got up and ate some breakfast to try and get her going. And within about 15 minutes she was wriggling away, thank goodness. It was horrible while it lasted, but I suppose it's a normal anxiety dream at this stage.

The 'projecting out of the right side' thing is probably related to my worries/discomfort with her position. Having been breach, she moved to obliquely transverse about 2 weeks ago. Her head is under my right ribs, her bottom is down by my left hip (best guess, I haven't had another scan, although the doc agrees). In this position they won't even attempt an external version as apparently it rarely works on transverse babies. So the next step is a scan at 37 weeks, and then we make a decision. If she is breach or transverse, and if an external version doesn't work if she's breach, then we schedule a c-section, they won't do a vaginal delivery if she's not head down. We'll see what she decides to do. I'm still doing ok - blood pressure is a very healthy 105/60 at the last check, last week. Bump measures the right size, urine is fine, she moves around quite a bit, etc..

I am increasingly uncomfortable - breathing is hard sometimes, it's hard to sleep as my hips start to ache after an hour or so in one position. Turning over in bed is quite a palaver. Getting up and down from sitting is hard, and I feel like a barrage balloon. I can't walk very fast, and have a lot of heartburn - both when I eat and when I don't, which seems a little unfair! Until this week I'd enjoyed being pregnant so much, I wasn't sure I was ready to give it up. But now I can see that after another 5 weeks (or, most likely, less) I will definitely be ready to meet her properly. When I do I think I'll still miss the bump, miss seeing her move under the surface of my skin, miss that feeling of the utter miracle that she has grown inside me all this time, that all my organs have moved aside to make sure she has enough room. H and I have barely stopped marvelling at how lucky we are, how extraordinary this is. Pob* will be here, all being well, within 5 weeks. It's hard to imagine what that will be like. But yesterday we bought her a little stuffed eiderduck (native of this area), just one more thing we're doing so that she knows how much we were thinking of her before she even got here.

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* Pob is the nickname we've been using for the passenger. It stands for 'passenger on board' which is what the drivers who regularly pick me up for work say a lot. It's also the name of a character from children's television back in the 1980s. It seemed to fit.

Coffee, nectar of the gods

A long time ago, when we first started trying to have a baby, I gave up coffee. It nearly killed me. I love coffee with a firey passion. I drink it black, and I savour every mouthful. I never drank more than 2, perhaps 2 and a half cups of black coffee a day, and I enjoyed every bit of it. I was quite fussy about what quality of coffee I drank. No instant coffee, no bad meeting-room coffee, no Americanos unless I was absolutely desparate. The only coffee chain in the UK which actually brews coffee rather than giving you an Americano is Starbucks, so that's where I went. At home we drank single-source coffee, from beans roasted the day you order them.

Initially I cut back a little by ordering a half-decaf, half-normal brewed coffee at Starbucks on weekdays. Then Starbucks stopped brewing decaf coffee in the UK so that was out. Around this time a study was published which showed that consuming levels of caffeine above 300mg a day was associated with an increased level of miscarriage. We'd been trying for about 6 months. I wasn't consuming that much coffee, but I figured that if 300mg caused a problem, why was I tempting fate by consuming any coffee at all? So I went cold turkey. I also gave up diet coke, mostly because of the aspartame, but I could not countenance giving up chocolate, so that stayed on the cards. So I was getting some caffeine but not much. I substituted funky teas for coffee, and I missed it, particularly at the weekend when H would brew up a pot of lovely smelling coffee and I'd be there with my cup of green tea.

And then I found out that green tea can reduce absorption of folic acid. Which I'm already prone to be deficient in, given my MTHFR homozygosity, so green tea was out. I switched to the Tazo tea, Calm, but clearly it wasn't the same. No jolt of energy, no lovely complex smell to inhale.

This went on for some time. Gradually I started to feel resentful. I'd had enough of deprivation. Two years of failed cycles and miscarriages made me feel I deserved to eat the things I liked. And given everyone around me seemed to get pregnant happily on a diet of coffee, wine, and rich food, I didn't see why I had to suffer. So the coffee started to sneak in. At first it was just off-IVF cycle, while I was on zoladex anyway, so no chance of conception. And it was half a (small) cup of coffee, at the weekends, at home. And then sometimes on weekdays too, if I wasn't rushing off to work. I still hadn't picked my Starbucks habit back up.

And then we went on holiday to Morocco for my birthday. And we know now that I was already pregnant. And I had wine every evening for dinner, and coffee, plenty of it, for breakfast. And somehow, not that miraculously, this embryo hung on despite me creating what Zita West would term a 'toxic uterus' for it. Given this, even once I knew I was pregnant, it was hard to justify being that abstemious again. Of course I stopped drinking alcohol again. To be honest, I can take or leave alcohol anyway, so that hasn't been too much of a hardship. I've allowed myself a few sips of H's wine at dinner, and that's been mostly ok. But the coffee? No, that's a different story. I stuck to the 'coffee at weekends' rule for a while. And then I had a less busy period at work so I was able to have a bit of coffee at home on weekdays. And that turned into most weekdays. The passenger was thriving anyway. I kept going, limiting myself to only drinking coffee from our home brewing, not buying it elsewhere.

Until last week. Last week was very very busy at work. I had to work til 10 a couple of nights (normal in my job, but not normal for me recently). By Thursday morning I felt really really rough. So I went to Starbucks. And I ordered a tall black coffee. Which I drank about 3/4 of. Oh baby, forgive me. But it was good. I haven't been back. But I worry I've now crossed the Rubicon and I'll find another day when I need that weekday cup of Starbucks. And there won't be an obvious reason to resist.

Anyone got any suggestions for how to wean babies off their caffeine addiction?

You know all that debate we had about vaginal birth versus C-section?

I have two baby updates to do. This is going to be a pretty happy clappy post, so if you are not in the mood I totally understand. Also, there are pictures at the end. I've made them small enough I think you'll have to click on them to see them, but just so you know before you get there.

Last Thursday we had a regular check-in with Dr OB. Blood pressure is 110/65 so that's all going well, no protein etc. in the urine. He couldn't be sure of the baby's position but thought she might be breach again. He did, for the first time, measure my fundal height with a tape measure - usually he just uses his hands. He commented that I seemed to be a bit ahead for dates, and that we should check to see if the baby was measuring big and if so, perhaps repeat the gestational diabetes test. I had booked a scan for Monday at our favourite clinic, where we did the 12 week and 20 week scans, so that was just something to put on the list for them. I do wonder about this fundal height thing. I have a bit of belly fat at the bottom of my bump, doesn't that distort the measurement? If he's never measured it before how does he know what's me and what's baby growth?

He also repeated the induction conversation, and it became clearer that they really won't let me go much beyond 39 weeks. He said they'll take it on a week by week basis - if I come in at 38 weeks and the head is engaged and the cervix feels soft, it's time to induce. If the head is still high and the cervix closed, well then they may wait a bit longer. We'll see. We left feeling quite calm and optimistic for a change!

Yesterday's scan was quite miraculous. The first thing that happened was that the sonographer exclaimed how the baby was in a great position for a 3D picture. Before we knew what was happening, there was the passenger's face in front of us. Just the most extraordinarily wonderful thing. She looks like a person! We got two great shots of her, which are below. She was busy yawning and swallowing. It's always utterly miraculous to see her swimming around in there at every scan (and, gulp, she's been scanned 11 times so far in this pregnancy. Please no one tell me scans are bad for them), but to see her in 3D is a whole 'nother level of miracle. I don't know who she looks like, it doesn't seem to be much like me, but she looks amazing. And real - so real!

The rest of the scan went well. She is pretty much average size for this stage of pregnancy, slightly longer femur, slightly shorter humerus (short arms? No good at tennis, then, H will be disappointed), big on one head measurement, average on another. Perhaps she has a funny-shaped head. She also has a big nose and long mouth (my observation, not the sonographer's measurements!), but I will love her regardless of mishapen heads and funny noses.

The only bad news from the scan is that yes, she is breach again. I personally have no faith she will turn given she's been in this position at every scan bar one of this pregnancy, although everyone says it's possible. if she doesn't turn, the whole induction thing becomes moot and we'll have to schedule a c-section. Which, despite me writing ambivalently about birth earlier in the pregnancy, I really don't want. Aurelia really helped me want to give birth vaginally, with her discussion of how wonderful it felt to be able to push those babies out. If I don't get to do that, it will be ok, but it will be a little loss. Not a big one, just a little one. We'll see.

Pictures below, look away if that's the best answer for you.

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This one will stir it all up

This morning a cross-party committee which has been reviewing the government's draft Human Tissue and Embryos bill has reported their findings. Some of these findings support the scientific community - for example, relaxing the ban on hybrid embryos for research. Some are structural or political and I'm not sure are a big deal for patients, such as suggesting that the proposed merger between the HFEA, which regulates fertility treatment, and the Human Tissue Authority, which governs research and the storage and use of human bodies, organs and tissues, does not go ahead.

And then there's the one that I can see a LOT of debate about. And it's the recommendation that donor conceived children have this on their birth certificate.

As you probably know if you read any UK-based in/fertility blogs, last year the government introduced legislation that said that donation of sperm or eggs was only allowed if the donor was prepared to be contacted by any resulting children when they reached 18. That is, the end of anonymous donation. This led to an immediate shortage of sperm donors in UK clinics, which almost matched the extreme shortage of egg donors which has been there for years. The responses to this have included campaigns for donors to come forward, and, I presume although I've not seen any figures, an increase in people going abroad for treatment. My clinic, for example, has no egg donor list, but cooperates with a Spanish clinic which can organise anonymous donors.

If I understand this suggestion, and I haven't read the report itself so I could be wrong, even those who conceived via an anonymous donor in Spain would have to record this information on their child's birth certificate. That's a big change.

The debate about what to tell a child of donated gametes, and what to tell, is a really tough one. Personally, particularly having read the blogs of children and young adults in that situation, plus all the long-received wisdom about adoption and how much better children cope when they know they are adopted as part of their life story (and yes, I am well aware that donor conception is NOT like adoption in many ways), I would want to tell my child. I don't know how I'd tell them or when, given that they'd likely start asking around 2 or 3 and heaven knows how you turn donor conception into an understandable story for a 3-year-old, but I'd want to tell them. For me it would be dishonest otherwise (one of the arguments being made by one of the MPs involved is that NOT putting this information on a birth certificate is tantamount to the state lying to the child), and just setting up the family for later trauma. I don't think it's possible in this day and age that the child would not find out at some point. What happens when they do the genetics part of biology in secondary school and come home to ask mum and dad if they can smell fresias or if they can roll their tongues, or if their ear lobes are attached? What happens when they need a blood transfusion and find out their blood type? There are just too many opportunities for your child to feel you've lied to them. I don't think I'd be able to do it.

Let's be clear, I say think here. I haven't had to be there, so I don't know for sure. But I do think that's what I'd do.

But putting it on a birth certificate I imagine is a huge deal for the parents involved. Birth certificates don't come up at family occasions, as a rule, but it does remove any element of choice from this big, big decision. Is this right? Who should get to make this decision - the tell/not tell decision?

The emotions, balanced they are not

I'm always an emotional person. What I feel is written on my face most of the time. If something touches me, I cry easily and often copiously. I still remember dissolving into uncontrollable sobs during a performance of Romeo and Juliet at the RSC when I was about 19 - it was something about the hollowness with which the Capulets and Montagues delivered the lines that vow that these deaths have changed the way they feel about each other that meant I was beyond comforting. My mother was rather embarassed, as I recall. I did the same thing at a performance of Billy Elliot 18 months ago, although of course at that point I was mourning the negative IVF cycle we'd just had as well as being empathetic with Billy's lost relationship with his mother. There are too many incidents to count. And it happened again last night.

I'm not entirely sure what set me off. In one sense, I'd had a good and productive day. My mother wanted to take me shopping for the baby, and the day our diaries meshed was yesterday. I arrived at Peter Jones and immediately felt very ambivalent about being there. My mother suggested we take a basket and start filling it, but I struggled to pick one up. "Ill just look around first," I said. This took a while and eventually she started to get impatient. I resigned myself to picking up at least a few things. I bought nipple pads and cream, barrier cream for the baby, a pack of muslins, 2 nightdresses (apparently easier to change nappies in the middle of the night), a pack of vests, a hooded towel. Stuff we need, stuff that isn't too personal, doesn't cost much. We looked at moses baskets, cribs and other furniture but nothing was terribly exciting. After a poor lunch we headed down the road to a shop that I knew carried some furniture a friend had recommended. It was totally worth it - fantastic service and great looking furniture. The choices were hard. We liked things from different ranges, and I couldn't decide on what kind of colouring I wanted. It took maybe 2 hours to decide and to buy some serious stuff, including a few more bits and pieces, like swaddling blankets and a baby healthcare kit with thermometer, nail scissors etc.. Mum kindly paid for the 2 big pieces of furniture, a crib and a wall storage unit including a wardrobe. I bought a glider that I had not known I wanted until I sat on one in the shop and immediately felt better, relaxed and comfortable.

I spent most of the time in that shop on the verge of tears. I didn't cry, but I kept wanting to. I tried to get H to come down as I was really struggling to make a decision. H wouldn't come, he was suffering from a hangover and probably couldn't face leaving the house. It felt like a big deal. It's not, I know it's not, but it felt like one.

Part of the problem was that three years ago, before any of the drama, I had come across some hand-made children's furniture while surfing the web, and set my heart on it. It costs a small fortune, and it seemed we would never need it so I put it out of my mind. Recently a friend whose baby is now a year old had recommended another brand and actually it looks remarkably similar to the hand-made stuff but at a fraction of the cost. So I'd had this image all through the journey of how the eventual nursery would look, and now perhaps I could create that look. But when I saw the stuff in the flesh it was quite big and chunky, and looked best in a very dark wood that I worry will overwhelm the room. So I dithered and paced and wished someone would just tell me what the right answer was. After much thought I decided to go with the dark colouring, but kept fretting about it. I still am. I may change my mind, who knows.

We capped off the day by visiting a third shop to comparison shop the furniture, desparately trying to find something to eat and failing, and then going back to Peter Jones to try and find curtain fabric and fabric for the chair. We were knackered by then and I was starting to feel a bit feeble I was so hungry. I tried to get mum into a taxi home but she wanted to come back with me. We walked in the door at 1900, to find H feeling a bit sheepish and worried about me. I downed a bit of cheese and a huge glass of water and started to recover slightly. We made mum a cup of tea and I started to really really wish she'd go home, I wanted to collapse on the sofa but didn't feel I could. I also felt emotionally tense. It was a huge deal, suddenly having all this baby stuff in the house, and I felt both stressed and ridiculous about being stressed that I'd bought the wrong furniture.

Eventually while mum was encouraging me to show her other bits of furniture on line, I snapped and said something along the lines of "I just can't make any more decisions about anything this evening, I've just had enough." At which point she stood up and said "well, I'll just go and wait outside for a taxi, then." So then I felt terrible and asked her to please stay, and she started telling me how awful I'd made her feel, and I just lost it. Started sobbing and couldn't stop. I tried to articulate why but I'm sure all that came out were snippets of stuff along the lines of "still don't know if we'll have a baby" and "don't have the right stuff" and "if you get upset by this, how are you going to be helpful after I give birth and am even more emotional and tired." (mum has promised to come and stay after the baby is born to help, and swore blind that she was the right person for us because I could be horrible to her with impunity and she wouldn't mind).

Mum left after I calmed down somewhat, but she was clearly upset and I spent the whole of the rest of the evening on the verge of tears despite H's attempts to cheer me up. I don't entirely understand why I found the whole thing so stressful. Yes, buying stuff for the baby is hard, but it's also wonderful. It's exciting to be choosing curtains for a nursery, isn't it? Shouldn't I be excited and happy rather than stressed and freaked-out?

I wonder if my tension is because the nursery is a signifier of what we've gone through to get here. That I finally get the furniture I've always wanted but it's not really the right furniture - is that about my worries about being a mother? Some of the stress is undoubtedly because my relationship with my mother is always stressful, but most of the day was actually ok. I feel bad for ruining it. I feel stressed about whether it's really right for Mum to come and help after the baby is born. And most of all I wish I knew how to make it all better.

This was going to be a post about the emotions of infertility and how they've changed, but I think that will have to come in a follow-on post, this is enough already.

I was wondering about those google searches...

If you've ever done a google search for this blog, you'll know that there is a singer called Thalia out there. She's the cause of a lot of disappointed visitors to this site, usually from Greece or Eastern Europe. They tend not to stay long. I was wondering why I'd seen an increase in random visitors recently, then I saw this:

Thalia talks about pregnancy and baby showers

That explains it.

It's nice that Thalia (who is married to Tommy Mottola and didn't he used to be married to Mariah Carey or someone like that?) is getting 4 baby showers, including a separate one for her gay friends. Because they can't mix with her other friends? Or because the gifts will be so much better at that one and she doesn't want to embarrass anyone? As previously discussed, baby showers really aren't top of my list, but do you think she might feel like sharing some of the loot? If I asked really nicely?

My doctor specialises in being reassuring...

I'm in good shape for 30 weeks (30 weeks!!!). Blood pressure was 110/75, growth is fine (he found the heartbeat of the baby right away this time!), I feel ok apart from the heartburn, ankles have returned to close-to-normal. However, discussing labour today with the doctor he broke the news that they might want to induce me around 38.5-39 weeks. The reason is that in a 'normal' pregnancy the risks to the baby of being born NOW go down until you get to 37 weeks. They then stay flat until about 40w+10, then they start to rise again. However, in women my age and with my history, the flatness doesn't last as long. They aren't sure how long it lasts for, so it's not very scientific, but it is something they worry about. The 2 increased risks are that of pre-eclampsia, which they can monitor for easily, and placental abruption, which they can't and which apparently doesn't always show up as vaginal bleeding. Given his statement last time, that they just won't take any chances with me, it makes sense. BUT I really don't want to be induced, and 38 weeks is really really soon! Certainly puts paid to the idea of working right up to 38 weeks, I know I'll want a bit of time at home to nest etc. before the baby arrives.

If I'm lucky enough to get that time. I went to my ante-natal class today, and one woman had gone into labour this morning, at 32 weeks. She was on terbutaline, so they might be able to stop it, but it was a real wake-up call that (i) we might actually have a baby, and (ii) I might not get the time I want. The doctor's statements just confirmed this.

What they'll do is monitor me carefully. Every 2 weeks from now, then every week from about 35 weeks. They'll decide whether or not to induce based on how I'm feeling, how the baby is growing, any signs of pre-eclampsia or placental abruption, how the cervix is looking, the position of the baby etc. Apparently sometimes they start induction and the cervix just doesn't respond. Sounds like fun, no? Luckily I'm not in any way averse to epidurals as they are more common in induced labour because it comes on so strong when it does start.

I might only have 8 weeks left. It's really quite terrifying. It's not long, and we aren't ready, and I'm realising all the scary things about having a baby. Yes I know it will be wonderful and exciting and the best thing ever, but I do have moments of thinking, as I did this morning when I woke up early and spent a relaxed hour on the sofa, wow, I'll never get to sit here and just simply enjoy this cup of coffee again. There will be someone who needs me. A lot. Almost all the time. That's frightening. And wonderful. And a bit overwhelming. I don't know how it's going to feel, really. But I do know it's going to be more than I can possibly imagine.

Back to semi-normal

I'm doing a good poor white trash impression right now. I did yoga this morning and haven't changed yet, so I've got on grey track suit bottoms, a black sports bra and a black maternity vest. The vest is rather grubby, since I've just finished making a batch of cookies for a picnic and concert we are going to this evening. My hair is tied back but isn't really long enough to stay there, so there are wisps hanging around my forehead and I'm sure there's a bit of cookie batter in there somewhere. When I've got up the energy I'll go and have a shower. For now it's good to sit down.

I'm so glad to be home. My feet and legs are much less swollen today, although they're still not back to normal size, so at least some of the problem was the altitude. I'm typing this on our lovely new machine. H cooked my favourite dinner last night to welcome me home, which somewhat made up for the 7 hours worth of travel I had to endure. I found a Penny Vincenzi novel I'd never read before at Munich airport, so that lifted my mood somewhat, although by the time I got home I was too tired to take in anything much. Must.slow.down. I have 4 episodes of Veronica Mars on the sky box to watch. The passenger is nice and active. I'm trying not to think about the few people at work who are screwing with me. And I'm ignoring that H only got part way through cleaning out the potential passenger's room - the bunk beds (left behind by the previous owners of our house) he dismantled are now sitting in our living room. But I'm pretending I can't see them. I'm doing ok. We're doing ok.

Aurelia, re your question on baby registries, we don't do them here, it's considered incredibly inappropriate to ask for something for the baby, so you just get what you're given. We also don't have such a thing as a baby shower, which believe me, while I was struggling to achieve pregnancy seemed an extraordinarily good thing. Both in the Jewish tradition, and in the UK in general, people don't tend to buy you anything for the baby before he or she arrives, but they send small gifts afterwards (a babygro, a soft toy, a bath towel, flowers, etc.). H's parents are buying us a car seat, and my mother is buying us a pram, other than that, we'll get the few essentials nearer the time, which from my understanding are:

• A few babygros
• A few vests
• A swaddling blanket or 2
• A moses basket (will prob inherit one from SIL)
• A few sheets for above
• A breast pump and accoutrements
• Nipple cream
• A few nappies and accoutrements (cream, wipes etc.)
• A changing mat or two
• Some muslins
• A couple of bath towels
• A sling?

As one good friend said, most of what we need immediately could be bought on the way home from the hospital, so I'm not too worried. Although I'd like the house to be a bit more sorted before hand (the basement laundry is still leaking when it rains. Which it's done a lot recently. Plus the whole 'living room full of bits of furniture' thing). But I'm not too bothered. I just want to relax and enjoy this stage a bit, enjoy the fact that it's just 1 more week to 30 weeks, and things start feeling safer then. Or so I assume.

It's just a question of living with uncomfortable legs, for now

I did go to the hospital ER, and a very nice, almost completely empty, clean and efficient place it was. All the (very young!) doctors and nurses looked terribly professional in their white t-shirts and white trousers, and all had mobiles which buzzed constantly to get them to attend to the next patient, deliver results etc. The nice young doctor tested my blood pressure and took a bunch of blood for blood tests (he was not a very skilled phlebotomist), and then the senior doctor showed up, he'd been called from home and was in jeans and a checked shirt. He patted my stomach in an affectionate way, checked to see if I had any pain anywhere, felt the level of swelling in my legs, and suggested this was just normal pregnancy swelling, particularly at a higher altitude, rather than anything more serious.

Once they got the blood tests back they confirmed I don't have pre-eclampsia, and although I didn't specifically get them to check for a DVT, they didn't mention it as a possibility. My blood pressure is 130/80 which is up from last measurement, but only by 10 points on each, and they weren't worried. My legs are not overly swollen, just a bit uncomfortable. All blood tests were fine, no liver enzyme problems, no infection, no elevated electolytes, blood clotting rate was spot on normal. The only minor issue was slightly low blood sugar so I was told to eat more regularly. Better than the other way round, at least. So they discharged me, with instructions to come back if I felt ill in any way.

Re DVTs I should point out that I do wear flight socks now on all flights, rather than just long haul. Previously I wasn't bothering on short flights, until I got swollen feet on a 45 minute flight from Paris about 6 weeks ago. I'm also still on baby aspirin which should lower the risk.

So thank you so much for your concern. I probably would not have gone to the hospital without your suggestions, and I'm really glad they checked me out. Thank you again. And remind me not to put on sandals with elastic that crosses over the feet. Not a good idea if feet are swollen!

Slowing down part 2

Last night my ankles got swollen. They've done it once before, after the last plane ride on which I didn't use flight socks. But the swelling went away overnight. This time the swelling didn't go away overnight and in fact my whole calf area feels quite uncomfortable. I feel bad for ever mocking women who complained about this. It's not the cosmetic thing that's bothersome, it's that it actually sort of hurts - it feels like someone is constantly gripping your ankles, quite hard, and the mobility feels very reduced. I've tried sitting with my feet up for an hour, I've tried a bunch of ankle/leg exercises that my yoga lady recommended, but they are still swollen. To be be honest, if my hands were swollen too I'd be getting a bit worried, but my wedding ring is still coming off and on easily so I know my hands are ok (had to take my engagement ring off a month or so ago as it was getting tight).

If it's still bad in the morning I guess I will go find a doctor so they can take my blood pressure to see if it's something serious rather than just annoying and uncomfortable. I'm in a town which is a popular skiing destination in the winter, so I know the medical facilities are good here, although I'm not sure how good they'll be with my patchy german. Let's just hope the swelling goes away.

It all means that I'm feeling increasingly relieved that this is my penultimate business trip. The doc has grounded me as of the end of July from any travel, and has already stopped me flying long haul. I've got one short haul trip next week, then I'm done. Our summer holiday will be within England (H wanted to go to the Hebrides but I nixed being so far from big medical centres) and will be very relaxed.

In terms of maternity leave, I have been planning to stop at 38 weeks, and to take it pretty easy between 36 and 38 weeks - I have one speech to give at a conference in central London during those weeks, plus I'll do some phone calls etc. Turns out now we'll be on holiday around 35-36 weeks, so that helps. Between now and then, I'll wait and see what the doctor says when I see him next week. So far he hasn't indicated that he thinks there's any medical reason for me to slow down what I do, and I've been feeling so well I haven't felt I needed to. But I am getting to the point where I fall asleep if I just sit down somewhere comfortable for more than 5 minutes, so it may be time to think about rearranging my schedule. We'll see. All those stories about babies coming early got me freaked out as we have NOTHING for the baby, but I guess those things can be acquired at short notice if necessary. Let's hope she gives me the full 40 weeks to get ready for her arrival.

Not slowing down yet

Everyone keeps asking me when I'm going to slow down. I wish I was slowing down already, but I stupidly said yes to various things in the last few months and these are all keeping me pretty busy through the beginning of August. After that I hope things will be a bit easier. I'm very envious of the women in my antenatal class who have already stopped work or will stop next month, much as I can't quite imagine not working - what do people do all day? Yes, once you have a baby I sort of know what you do all day, but if you don't?

I have various posts to come, but in 2 hours I have to leave for yet another business trip and it's making me grumpy enough that you'd probably just get whining if I tried to leave a long post. But here are some things to think about:

• Harry Potter 7. Two weeks to go. So will Harry die or not? If this story was to follow true heroic legends, he probably should die, or at least either Hermione or Ron should. What do you reckon?
• Also, presumably the death or otherwise of Harry will be broadcast by the morning of 21st July, since many people will purchase the book at midnight. If you wake up in the morning wanting to read it, how do you prevent spoilers?
• When the spice girls say they aren't getting back together for the money, but for the fans, can you actually hear Simon Fuller laughing in a hollow fashion behind them, or is that just my imagination?
• I hate to say it, but Madonna really looked great last night. I want to say that she's too thin, but really she just looked great. And fit. Damn.
• Ken apparently has some logic for why the Tour de France started in London yesterday. Apart from making it impossible to move around at all. And filling London with lots of annoying people. (blimey I am grumpy. Going to stop now).

All's well

Haemoglobin at 12.6, Blood sugar at 6.3 (sorry I didn't get the units). So I'm not anaemic and I don't have gestational diabetes. According to Dr OB, they don't need to test for GD again within this pregnancy, unless the passenger starts to grow too fast in which case they will look again. So I seem to be in good shape.

H was reflecting last night, as he admired my bump (he is very drawn to it but tends to restrict himself to just stroking it a little when we have a hug, I think he's scared it might bite him or something if he left his hands on it for longer), that it's really been quite a trouble-free pregnancy. And although my initial reaction was "are you kidding??? So the bleed at 13 weeks was just another day in our life???", I think he's right really. Yes, that day was terrifying, and yes, I have been tense on many other days, probably most days, but if you look back on it, other than the embryo being small at 6 weeks, and the bleed, everything else has been ok. The embryo/fetus always looked good from the 7 week scan onwards. All our scans have given us good news. The passenger has no obvious defects. I didn't have substantial nausea. I don't have gestational diabetes. I am not huge and uncomfortable (yet). I'm still sleeping well at night. The passenger kicks me on a regular basis.

I hate to type this as it's one of those gremlin-attracting posts, but I think we've been very lucky. Very lucky to conceive spontaneously given my age and my endo. Very lucky to have a healthy passenger (so far) given my age and what we've been through. Lucky I haven't been made ill by the pregnancy. Very lucky indeed. And today I feel lucky. And happy. And excited.

Fun and games at the doctor's

Today was scheduled to be just a routine OB visit, except it took place at the doc's new digs in London's fancy medical district. He's doing one clinic a week there, and it was convenient given where I'm working today. The only unpleasantness in advance was needing to drink a can of lucozade in preparation for the gestational diabetes test.

My amusement level was raised by seeing the names on the door, which included Dr Candour. I mentioned this to Dr OB, who said that this was a new venture by Dr Candour and one of his colleagues. Dr OB has been given space one day a week for his clinics. The clinic isn't really open yet, so all the equpment is shiny and new, and everything is very, well, polished. It's all very designer - one of those places where the chic upholstery fabric matches the artwork, if you know the kind of place.

The real fun and games started when the doc asked me to lie down on the (leather although covered with paper, and behind a leather screen) consulting-room bed, so he could listen to the heartbeat. He moved the probe gently around, and found my heartbeat several times, but couldn't, even after 7 minutes (I was counting to save my sanity) find the passenger's heartbeat. And although I'd felt her move not more than an hour before, I of course started to panic. The situation felt particularly ironic (or sucky, if you like), as (i) H had had problems getting there, so I'd told him to go home instead, and (ii) I'd just this morning got an email offering baby clothes on sale, and had been brave enough to purchase my first babygro. Very minimalist, I assure you, white egyptian cotton with two little footprints on the front in grey. Yes, of course this is the day my baby dies, I thought. Then I talked myself down off the metaphorical ledge using the conversation I've had in my head several times over the last few weeks. "No, my baby is not going to die, she's just not. We've got this far, damnit, we're going to have a baby." I know it's not logical, but repeating this in my head has been helpful to get through those moments where I panic because I haven't felt her for a while.

After 7 minutes, Dr OB went to get his "old-fashioned trumpet" to see if that would work better, but it didn't. So he escorted me downstairs to meet the very lovely sonographer in her very well-equipped sonography room. It even has an LCD screen set up, high on the wall opposite the bed, so that she doesn't have to turn the screen round to show you what's happening (although I don't quite understand why more clinics don't just turn the ultrasound machine around so that the sonographer has their back to you but the screen is facing towards you). The machine needed to boot up so there was a bit of downtime where Dr OB, the sonographer and I made polite, rather strained conversation. Then she apologised that her gel warmer wasn't on, squirted the cold gel on my stomach, and started the scan. She immediately showed us the heartbeat, at which point I nearly fainted with relief, and Dr OB disappeared to let her do a full growth check etc. Everything looked just fine, all measuring on track, and the passsenger is now head down. The sonographer carefully measured all the fibroids and said it looked ok for natural delivery to her, although the OB would have to decide in the end. The placenta still looks healthy, the passenger was bopping around with one arm up around her head, one leg tucked under her bum, and another stretched out along my side - "using all the available space," said the sonographer. So that was all ok.

The rest of the visit was rather uneventful. We discussed labour again, and Dr OB recommended I go check out this guidance on caesarians, to make sure I'm fully informed about what I want to do. So I'm off to read that shortly. He pointed out again that the stats are dramatically in our favour at this point, and that they will not take any chances with me at all, none at all. Which I do find reassuring (the second part rather than the first as we all know stats lie).

So I'm fine and the passenger is fine and it was just one of those afternoons. GD results will be in on Friday, fingers crossed those will be fine, too.

Retail therapy gone mad

Well, as you can tell by the presence of this post, I bought the Mac. H will be delighted so I don't feel too awful about spending that much money. He can't access many websites from his work laptop so he regularly borrows mine to find what he's looking for, which irritates both of us. And a Mac with all the lovely imovie-type software is just the ticket for that increase in photo taking and home film-making that we hope will start sometime in September. It's really silly to buy one here when I could have bought one in the US for half the price. But I'm not doing any more long haul travel until the baby can come with me, as a separate person, so if we want a Mac any time soon we have to pay UK retail prices. Ouch.

It's been 8 years since I've regularly used a Mac, but my love for them has in no way diminished. They've only grown more beautiful, not to mention faster and with better software. Just touching this MacBookPro is making me happy. The brush against the metal, the resolution of the screen, it's all, just so yummy.

Sorry, lost myself there for a minute.

I now need a bunch of technical help. I managed to download Firefox but it doesn't seem to have loaded properly - it's sitting on the desktop as if it's a separate disk. I downloaded Acrobat but Firefox doesn't recognise that it's there. Any ideas? I also can't turn off the underlined links thing in Firefox - I think it makes things look very messy so I always turn it off in IE.

Although I haven't had the relaxing day I had planned, I did go and spend an entertaining couple of hours (I had no idea how long I'd spent til I got home) in West London's new foodie mecca. It's a very seductive place. I don't usually get to do the food shopping as H has us set up with a weekly delivery of an organic veggie box, and he picks up the other stuff we need himself at our local providers. I'm a very bad food shopper. I buy what looks good with only a small care for what we might actually cook with it. So I've come home with very exotic items, like soft tortillas and salsa, some oven roasted tomatoes and some fresh heirloom tomatoes the like of which I've never seen in this country before; and some simply extra delicious items, like British organic strawberries. I do have a plan. I'm going to roast some corn-fed organic chicken thighs with lemon and basil for dinner, and eat them with some new potatoes and asparagus. I've already snacked on some edamame. For dessert I'll have some of those strawberries with cream. Then for H tomorrow night, not that he deserves it, I'll make a butternut squash curry with chicken, ginger, chard, and thai red curry paste, and we'll have roasted peaches for dessert.

I'm feeling a bit crampy now but I'm hoping it's the passenger settling down after a busy day. More water is on the horizon, and I need to start cooking. Tomorrow I'll get on with relaxing.

The alien inside me

The movements have been so strong that I thought it must be possible to see them. Sure enough, while she was having a real go at me on Saturday night I lifted up my t-shirt, and whomp there she was, my stomach moved. I couldn't help keeping on looking whenever the kicks or punches felt particularly strong. So far pretty much every quadrant of my bump has been observed to move. Very odd but very wonderful.

She's not always that cooperative. Sometimes she doesn't move in a way I can feel for hours and I really really freak out. I've even poked her to try and get her moving. Doesn't work. I've eaten sweets to try and get her to move. Also doesn't work that well. If she isn't in the moving mindset she doesn't move. Or, more likely, she gets herself in a position where I can't feel it. But it's scary nonetheless. I do know that I feel her more at weekends, so either she moves more when I'm more relaxed, or I am just more conscious of the movements when I'm relaxed. I've also been massively stressed at work, so that probably doesn't help. It certainly helps me freak out that I've killed the baby because I'm too stressed. Melodramatic, much?

It's started to feel really really real. That we might have a baby. I know I keep saying that, perhaps at each stage it just becomes a bit more real. Well, right now it feels real enough to talk about names, and maternity leave, and how to clean out the room that will be the passenger's when she arrives, without me freaking out every 10 minutes. Please let it be when, and not if.

Letting go of the crutches

It's a bit like going to the gym, blogging, I've found. You get out of the habit and it becomes hard to see how you ever managed to post every couple of days or so. I have been ill, and I have been travelling, but still, there are the 20 minutes before I go to bed, or the 15 minutes waiting for a meeting, surely I could have filled those with an update. No? Well, here I am. I decided, just like the gym, to type SOMETHING, just to get myself back in the loop again.

The cold was really awful. It was just a cold, I don't think I ever had a temperature (funny how we English say that. I mean, I always have a temperature of some sort, but we describe having a raised temperature as just 'having a temperature.' Doesn't really mean what it says), but I felt absolutely awful for a few days. You can tell it's a bad day for me when I don't want to either watch television or read about how all of you are doing. Despite this I stupidly struggled to work on any day that wasn't an actual holiday. It's been a really busy time and it was hard to justify the time off, despite feeling like death warmed up. It's been nearly 3 weeks since I started feeling bad and I'm just now shedding the final symptom, which is a hacking cough that makes me sound as if I've been smoking for 60 years.

The really bad weekend in terms of how I was feeling was 2 weeks ago now. Last weekend, despite the coughing, I had a fun time in US City, including buying rather a lot of pairs of shoes at an exceptional sale, getting my nails done, going to the theatre with a colleague, and having a relaxed morning in my hotel room with the New York Times, some french toast, and half a season of ANTM. Despite having had a perfectly fine time, this weekend I'm home and it's distinctly preferable.

The passenger is doing very well. We had a scan on Friday to see how she was doing and how blood was flowing through the uterus, to see if I could come off the clexane (LMW heparin, same drug as Lovenox). The answer is she measures bang on track, and already weighs 750g or 1lb9oz. That feels big, although as H pointed out, she's going to hopefully at least triple in size before she makes an appearance. Which makes me a little nervous given how big I feel already. My blood pressure was 85 over 50 (??!), the blood flow through me, the passenger and the placenta all looked fine, the resistance in the arteries was low, which is good apparently, and so the advice of Dr OB was that I stop the clexane.

This made me a little nervous.  If everything looks fine while I'm on the clexane, isn't that a sign that I should stay on it? Apparently not. Given that there are no controlled studies on this situation, they don't really know what good looks like or how to tell what treatment is really needed. So the fact that the blood flow is normal is taken as a sign that the clexane has done its job and I don't need it any more. The hypothesis is that at this stage the placenta has thoroughly invaded the wall of the uterus and there's no more work for the clexane. Given what Julie's placenta looked like when Charlie was delivered this feels a little unconvincing, but then her mutation is Factor V Leiden, not MTHFR so perhaps that explains the difference?

"Of course, if you feel psychologically dependent on it, I'm ok to keep you on it for another six weeks or so," he said, reassuringly. "But leaving you on it til full term increases the (very low) risk that you'll get bone thinning problems, which can be severe, so I don't feel happy about doing that." I don't know if he was TRYING reverse psychology on me or if that sentence just came out that way unknowingly, but either way it was effective. I agreed to leave the surgery without a new prescription. I know that he wouldn't take me off clexane if he didn't think it was the right answer, the best answer for both me and the passenger. I know that he knows more about pregnancy with MTHFR mutations than anyone else in the UK. It is still nerve wracking. However, clearly not that nerve wracking as I still had 2 syringes left, and thought I'd use those to wean myself off, but it's Sunday mid morning now and I haven't used them. My last injection was Friday. My stomach is already thanking me.

I'm still on baby aspirin, "can't hurt, might help" according to Dr OB, and the mega folic acid, so the passenger still has some protection. I will return every 3 weeks from now on to check in on both me and the passenger to make sure we are doing ok ("we would have done this anyway," he said. "But you can come in every week if you want."). Dr OB wasn't completely reassuring however. "You may get complications," he said. "Your age, the genetic profile you have, and the fact that the blood tests that have been done show that you have a high concentration of red blood cells in your blood, all these are risk factors for pre-eclampsia. But if you get complications we won't know if it's due to coming off clexane or not." Cheers, then, I'll just go away and relax now.

No, really, I feel ok. I do trust the doctor, and I do know that the passenger is doing just fine. She's very reassuring. Every time I worry that I haven't heard from her for a while, she'll deliver a beautifully timed poke in my stomach, and I know she's ok. She seems to move around more just after I've eaten, but whether that's physiological and she's reacting to an increase in nutrients, or just psychological on my part and I'm more aware of her just after a meal, I don't know. But I do know that eating a couple of tropical fruit flavour life savers just before a scan makes the sonographer's job a lot harder.

24w3d

Alive!

Am alive, I promise. Just unbelievably busy at work, travelling and suffering from a really awful cold which laid me low all weekend. You wouldn't think a cold could make you feel this bad. The passenger, however, seems perfectly happy and bounced around all through my coughing fits. I can feel movement most of the day now, but still sporadically - sometimes once an hour, sometimes she has a real party in there for a few minutes. During one of these, on Monday night when we were both ill and feeling very sorry for ourselves, I managed to get H's hand in the right place and he felt her move. To say he was chuffed would be an understatement.

More probably not til the weekend when I'll be alone in a hotel room since I've got meetings in US City on Friday and again on Monday so it's not worth coming home. Sure I can find something to occupy myself.

The Labour and Delivery story

Sorry for wigging anyone out on the last post. I really wanted it to be about our lost son, which is why I didn't get distracted with the L&D visit. But I appreciate the throwaway mention wasn't very helpful. So here is the story.

I've learnt through pregnancy that any number of pullings and often sharp pains in various places in my abdomen, groin and hips are perfectly normal (for me). Some of them can be really painful, but they are over in seconds. Last week I started to get some shooting pains which appeared to be inside my vagina. This was a bit more worrying, but several of you have mentioned that you had something similar, and that they have the same cause as the abdominal pains - ligaments stretching. On Thursday I did a day trip to Rome, and was without water for a few hours in the afternoon, in a meeting in pretty hot room. On the way back to the airport I realised I was feeling much crampier than usual, and started to drink. I got through a litre before I got on the plane, but the cramps didn't really seem to go away. They also felt more like cramps and less like shooting pains. Not hard, full-on contractions, but lots of cramps, like mild period pain.

They continued on Friday, and by the evening I was worried. I felt around in the abdomen and realised I could feel lots of what felt like fast muscle contractions going on low down, where I imagine the uterus is relatively accessible. I remembered Mainland Girl's advice to always ask the doctor rather than trying to be a big strong girl, so I called the 'emergency' number we've been given, which is the labour and delivery ward. I spoke to an extremely harassed-sounding young woman, who after about 1 minute of me talking, told me to come in since she couldn't check anything over the phone.

So we went in. It was around 2245 by the time we got there, and a few people were milling around in the reception area, but no one was there to talk to. After a while a nurse in scrubs came in, dealt with the people ahead of us, then talked to me briefly. After a few minutes she came back to let us into the ward (they are very hot on security in L&D wards here). She couldn't have been nicer, despite the fact they were clearly snowed. She showed us into a private room, and told me she'd be back shortly. Within 5 minutes she'd checked the baby's heartbeat (fine), my blood pressure (fine) and temperature (fine). She told us that a doctor would be in as soon as possible, and then left us to wait. We waited not more than 30 minutes before a doctor in scrubs, who looked about 15, showed up. She was also very sweet, and very apologetically told me she wanted to do an internal scan to look at my cervix. I told her they held no fears for me, and she laughed. She checked my abdomen, which was soft (good) and then did the internal exam, which was no more uncomfortable than usual. She was busy telling me to relax as she put gel on that metal instrument of torture, the speculum, and H and I both had to laugh, it was such an incongrous remark given the images conjured up by the equipment! If they want us to relax they need to make them in nice warm plastic and in nice, friendly colours, or at least amusing ones (polka dots perhaps), IMO.

She reported that my cervix was long and closed, and that she'd done a swab for any infections, and left us, promising to return with a bottle for a urine sample. I was in the bathroom doing that when our OB showed up. He confessed to being disappointed that they'd been so efficient that they'd done everything before he arrived! He had another go at my abdomen, reported again that it was nice and soft, and then spent a good 10 minutes going into the details of exactly what I was feeling, and getting me to rate frequency, pain levels etc. He finished with a detailed description of what kinds of pains I needed to be worried about, and what were fine. This included the highlight "if you feel something like a knife, stabbing through your vagina, that's perfectly normal and nothing to worry about, it is your pubic symphysis opening up." The ones to worry about are when your uterus closes up like a fist, and stays that way for more than 30 seconds or so. Sharp stabbing pains have to be lived with. I can do that.

At no point did anyone make us feel bad for coming in. I did feel a bit silly, but the OB told me they weren't going to take any risks when a 20 week patient called saying she felt crampy, and that it was totally correct that we came in. Then he told us to go home and chill out. I can't tell you how much better I felt throughout the rest of the weekend, knowing that what I was feeling was normal and that everything still looks fine.

And then on Saturday (during a waxing session with my usual lady which didn't hurt any more than normal, so yah boo and sucks to that awful woman who did it last time), I started to feel the baby move. It feels like bubbles, or tiny pushes on my insides. I'm not feeling them regularly, but the baby had a good sesssion last night while I lay on the sofa watching West Wing. It is totally amazing, and bewildering, and joyous, that we've got here.

This time last year

This time last year, I thought I was pregnant. If we take Saturday 13th of May as a year ago, I didn't know for sure, but I was, in my own words, scarily hopeful. I had suspected that I was pregnant for a few days before that. I'd never been pregnant before, to my knowledge, but I knew that this felt different. That those uterine tuggings and pullings I was feeling were like nothing I'd ever felt before. I didn't want to believe it until I knew, but it was hard not to hope.

The following morning I eventually took a pregnancy test just after 4am. And it was positive. I have rarely been that happy in my life. I woke H up, we laughed, we cried. I wrote you all a long post, and I went back to sleep for a while. It was a wonderful feeling.

It didn't last. On our wedding anniversary I still believed it, but the weekend before our 6w scan I stopped believing it. I didn't feel pregnant any more. My boobs shrank. I 'knew' I was no longer pregnant. It didn't end then, but it ended 2 weeks later.

That baby would have been born about 3.5 months ago, or about 1 month into this pregnancy. There was nothing wrong with him genetically, we don't know why he didn't make it. But he never got as far as having a heartbeat.

It's hard to think about him now. In all the discussion of whether the baby of this current pregnancy is a boy or a girl, and how I felt about that, I did think about him, but found it too hard to mention him in the posts. If he had survived, I wouldn't have had this pregnancy. I wish he had survived, but I also don't wish this baby away. I had a dream early in this pregnancy, I can't remember if I typed about it or not, and I can't remember the details now, but it involved 2 babies, or being pregnant with twins, and being told I could only have one of them. In the dream I screamed and cried, but in the end I had to give one up so the other could live and thrive. It seems pretty bleeding obvious what that was about, no?

I know I'm lucky. I got pregnant 3 times in 8 months, after all, that barely qualifies as infertile, even if 2 of them were through IVF or FET. I know I'm lucky in that nothing seems to be wrong with this pregnancy or this baby (but remind me to tell you about our Friday night trip to labour and delivery when I get the chance. Short version, nothing's wrong, but it felt wrong enough to get checked out). I know I'm lucky in so many other ways. And I'm not saying I'm suddenly too sad to appreciate what I've got. I haven't woken up this morning and felt suddenly bereft. I'm still so very excited about this pregnancy. I miss him but I'm happy to be pregnant with his sister. It's the usual mess of feelings that we all walk around with every day. We're happy to be pregnant but worried what it does to our community and how it will make our friends feel. We're relieved that the failing pregnancy is finally over, yet we are still grieving the loss of the baby that didn't get to be. We're thrilled to finally be submitting our home study, but a part of us still mourns the biological children we lost. None of it is easy, none of it is straightforward, but we're all just doing the best we can to get through it ourselves, and to support others as they suffer, too.

This morning I'm remembering my son who didn't made it. 

It's good to be home

I'm buzzing with good energy, having just finished my second pregnancy yoga class. Or more accurately, having had the second session with a yoga teacher who comes to my house to teach me. Yes, I am utterly aware of my privilege at this point. The teacher was recommended via my previous trainer, the one who moved to New York, through another client of hers who also went through IVF. The yoga teacher is lovely, although perhaps on the chatty side, but she's rapidly diagnosed my issues and choses the exercises to deal with them - particularly how tense my shoulders are. Having just arrived home this morning after a really rough transatlantic flight, it was a particularly good feeling to stretch everything out and feel looser and more relaxed.

It was tough to be away for a week. I missed H, and I missed the doppler. I did think about taking it with me, but thought that was a bit pathetic. In retrospect it wouldn't have been a big deal to take it, but I did ok without it. Most of the time. I have lots of cramping and quite a few of these cramps feel like a little creature is stamping on my cervix. This increases my nervousness that the cramps actually signify incompetent cervix. But my cervix looked fine 10 days ago, so I've spent a lot of the last week alternatively freaking out and feeling happy that so far everything has looked so good. Having said that, I arrived back through the door around noon today, and the first thing I did was to check in on our passenger. And there she was, heart pumping away. What a lovely noise.

Both H and the yoga teacher think that my bump has grown considerably over the last week. I noticed the same thing when I was looking down at it to do the doppler. Of course it's not a very attractive bump, with considerable components of fat, and covered in bruises from the clexane (lovenox), but it's a bump, nonetheless, so I'm trying to cherish it and enjoy it for what it is.

Tonight H is cooking me guinea fowl, and I'm going to relax on the sofa and catch up on all the crap TV our sky box has recorded for me over the last week. Tomorrow back to the fray.

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.

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

Bleeding, not bleeding, what do I care?

Yup, bastard brown stuff is back again as of about 1030 this morning. Brown and not red, and quite dilute - seems like there's quite a lot of discharge which dilutes the brown. The discharge itself I understand is fine (or would be fine if it was clear rather than BLOODY BROWN!). I'm trying not to let this phase me, although it does. I'm trying to figure out what it's related to. Perhaps slightly increased exercise? I did a good 20 minutes relatively brisk walking today, and did about 30 minutes last wednesday when I had the red stuff, after having been pretty sedentary for weeks other than occasionally taking the tube to work. Perhaps stress? I had a small piece of glass dug out of my toe this morning, and it hurt like hell, so perhaps that's caused it? Perhaps a lot of standing? I did some cooking last night and again this morning - made pancakes for H's birthday breakfast, and it started last Monday after I'd spent a lot of time on my feet cooking for that dinner party. It can't be sex as I'm too terrified to have any, despite it being H's birthday today so I'm sure he'd appreciate a bit of loving. I'm not going to tell H that the brown is back because it upsets him every time and I don't want him to be upset on his birthday.

I know the fetus is probably fine, but I will check with the doppler when I get home later today. The good thing, I guess, is that I'd started to think that maybe I didn't have to stick to the travel grounding as all seemed fine, but now I'm more convinced than ever that I'm not getting in a plane any time soon, who cares if there is no evidence that flight has a bad effect on pregnancies at this stage.

Eating for two

Sorry about earlier. I was trying to do something funky and typepad got upset it seems and just posted a blank post, I apologise. I've been writing a work memo all afternoon and didn't notice I'd messed up until I saw your comments arrive in my inbox.

I am fine, and the baby seems fine too. I listened, gently, to the heartbeat yesterday and it was still clocking in at a steady 148-150 bpm. That makes me happy. The bleeding seems to have all but stopped, so that make me VERY happy. There is still a tinge of brown on the loo paper, but it's just a tinge now, not a discharge any more, so I figure it's mostly gone. I've only seen red once, on Wednesday night, so I hope to all the powers that be that it's over. Nothing like tempting fate, eh?

We had a totally splendid meal yesterday. We started lunch at 13:30, and finished at 16:45, so it basically took the whole afternoon. We both had the tasting menu, and H had the wine tasting menu along with that and so was pleasantly pissed by the end of the afternoon. I have rarely coveted a glass of wine more. I did smell each glass and sipped a little of one or two of them, and they were all very delicious and quite unusual. Service was fabulous, and they were perfectly happy to substitute various dishes for me to deal with my pregnancy restrictions. The only one I didn't get an alternative to was the first dish, the nitro-green tea and lime mousse, which is egg white whipped and flavoured, aerosolised into a vat of liquid nitrogen at the table, stirred, removed onto a spoon, dusted with green tea powder, and then a lime and vodka mixture is spritzed into the air around you so that you are surrounded by the flavour. I got H to describe every sensation to me, though, so I didn't miss out too badly.

In terms of substitutions, they were very precise. For example, the salmon dish came with a mayonnaise. I told the waiter who took our order, when he explained this, to just give it to me without the mayonnaise, but he blanched and told me that was out of the question. Instead I got a whole different dish, a variation on sole Belle Helene, with truffles inside a small fillet of sole, a parsely foam, a caramelised grape, and champagne gelee, topped with "onion rings" (an approx 3cm by 6cm composite of multiple wafer-thin spring onion slices, baked very slowly to sweeten them and stick them together). Instead of foie gras I got a beautiful cep, big fat slices grilled then coated with crushed amaretti, with tiny cubes of amaratti gelee, and almond mousse. Instead of the oyster starter I got a tiny portion, served in a huge glass cocktail dish, of a smoky lentil dish flavoured with black peach and thyme. Attention to detail was such that I was served a personalised butter pat, made with pasteurised butter, while H got to choose from a range of salted and unsalted, pasteurised and unpasteurised butters for his bread.

The only flavour that didn't work at all for me was in the the 'oak moss and truffle toast' dish. This arrived as a large wooden crate of oak moss, which was placed on the table. Perched on it were two small plastic containers, shaped like those containers which hold mouth fresheners that are shaped like small rectangular films. Inside each container was a film which we were told was flavoured with oak moss, a relative of the truffle. On a separate dish, which arrived separately, was a small, thin piece of toast with tiny pieces of truffle on it. We were told to eat the film, then start on the toast, as the flavour released by the film would intensify the taste of the truffle. At the same time the server poured boiling water onto the oak moss, to release the scent. I HATED the flavour and texture of the film, although the toast was delicious (I don't like those mouth fresheners, either).

H's favourite dish was the lamb, which was superb. I think mine was the sardine on toast sorbet, which was served with the thinnest slivers of fennel, tiny fragments of daikon and another seaweed, a wonderful toast/parmesan composite which was exquisitely thin and very strongly flavoured, and a single, 1cm in diameter, piece of perfect mackerel. Each dish was exquisite, with china designed to complement each dish. For example, the tea jelly, which was part of the second desert, was served in a jagged-edged white cup, I think made to look like a boiled egg after you've broken the top off - this desert dish was flagged as "now we'll make you breakfast". Even my tea at the end of the meal was served with great ceremony, and accompanied by perfect chocolates, flavoured with fresh mint, and served in a hollowed-out cacao pod, on a bed of cocoa nibs.

They don't stint once you are there, for example they refilled H's glass when he'd finished his wine serving before the end of a particular course, which is unusual in my experience for tasting menus. It was worth every penny, and no more than H deserves given how wonderful he is. I'd do it again, but I'd love not to be pregnant next time (i.e., in about a year's time if you build in breast-feeding, thank you very much).

Coming up, I hope, are some more non-totally-pregnancy-related posts. I can imagine those are becoming a little wearing.

P.S. For those of you puzzling at the non-kosher-ness of some of these items, I should explain that I am a bad jew, who due to my family having lived in the UK for over 400 years at this point, and therefore having forgotten or lost many traditions and observances, wasn't aware til I got to my teens that as a jew I was not supposed to eat shellfish. I had figured out the pork bit from childrens' books, so I always knew that one. I still don't eat pig products, which meant I just avoided them on this menu, but I never quite managed to feel that shellfish were really not to be eaten. Except now I'm pregnant!

Sensible OBs

I am only seeing brown blood again this morning, so am somewhat calmer. Just spoke to my OB. I pointed out to him that he (and everyone else) had said not to worry about brown blood, so that when it turned red I understandably was suddenly more worried. He laughed and said as soon as I'd mentioned red blood he'd kicked himself inwardly for going on about how brown blood was nothing to worry about. He said that there was really no point coming in, which is what I thought, since we'd seen that everything was fine on the scan, and that Monday's scan didn't show any blood clots or haematomas or anything like that, so they really just won't be able to tell where the blood was coming from. He insisted that:

• At this stage of the pregnancy, bleeding does not materially affect the chances of the pregnancy turning out ok, particularly after all the good scans we've had. Lots of people have more bleeding than this and things turn out fine
• Intermittent bleeding seems likely to continue, and I have to try not to let it freak me out
• Getting on a plane is now a stupid idea, so I am grounded
• Everything looked fine this week, twice. No sign of any fetal distress

He said to stop the progesterone now, I've got a bloody great placenta pumping out more progesterone than the suppositories can touch, so no reason to continue. So "another karen" we can see if your experience is the same as mine! I do so hope so, it would be wonderful to be able to relax a little, which I think might happen if the bleeding would only stop. Doc is going on holiday for two weeks after Easter, so has booked me in to see him on the 5th. He suggested that we don't need a scan, he will just look for the baby's heartbeat with the doppler. We'll see how I feel when we get to the 5th!

His office called to set up the appointment and were really kind. They gave me a 24 hour number to call in case anything goes wrong, and told me to just come in to one of the wards if so (and not to go to A&E, which is a relief).

So I still think we are in good hands, and I do intellectually know that probably everything will be fine. I do know that, but not sure I'm feeling it just yet. But hopefully it will be back soon.

Why oh why?

Now I'm bleeding and it's red, not brown. Apparently only a few hours of happiness are allowed at point in this pregnancy. We're not going to casualty because I know that as of 1030 this morning everything was fine, and there was no blood in the uterus. I will call OB in the morning to see if we can come in and he can perhaps do an internal exam and see where it's coming from. But it does suck. It would be nice if things could just be straightforward for a while.

1 in 1297, or the same chance as a "promiscuous 15-year-old"

The great professor's clinic was all it was cracked up to be. All white and shiny with a somewhat eclectic art collection. And for anyone who ventures there in the winter, FREEZING cold. Wear your woolly socks.

We waited a while, but not as long as we'd feared, given we'd had estimates of them regularly running 2 hours behind. All the staff were very friendly and kind. The phlebotomist was quick and listened to me about which vein to use. Our sonographer, who seemed to be Spanish, was lovely and sensitive and explained everything to us. They even had a warmer for the gel. We saw kidneys, and arms, and legs, and the spine, and fingers and thumbs. We saw all four chambers of the heart, and were told that the heartbeat was normal, and that the valves of the heart were operating normally. Apparently 65% of Downs babies have valve defects. We heard the heartbeat again. We saw the hemispheres of the brain. I thought I saw something between the legs but she moved the wand so fast (or the fetus moved fast enough) that I can't be sure. It took her ages to be able to do the nuchal fold measurement as the baby just moved around constantly. She kept talking to the baby, asking it to turn just a little bit for her, and even tried poking it at one stage which looked really funny on the screen! Eventually she did the measurement. 1.1mm in one spot, 1.4 in the other. Normal. Everything looked normal. What a lovely word.

The professor came in and took over the wand. Cracked a bunch of jokes. Didn't really look at much, but looked at the print out. The sonographer went to get the blood test results so that they could combine them with all the morphological results. When she'd pressed a few buttons, the professor had cracked a few more jokes and waved the wand about for a little longer in a desultory fashio, the professor told me to sit up, and showed us their calculation screen. Chance of Downs 1 in 1297. Chance of trisomy 13 or 18 1 in 2996. 1 in 1297 is the same risk as that of a 15 year old. "A nasty, promiscuous 15-year-old," said the professor. So there is no need for further testing we said. And he concurred. At 20 weeks we can check everything is still normal, but for now I am happy. We are happy. Relieved and happy.