One year on

It's 29 October 2015. Four days ago I had a massive gush of blood, I was six weeks pregnant. I would be seeing my consultant for a scan the following day. The day when we hold our breaths and hope to see a heartbeat. I knew deep down it was all over but I still had hope. The bleeding stopped as quickly as it started and Dr. Google told me that there was a strong possibility that the bleed could just be a clot and all would be ok. But I knew.

The 30 October 2015, when I was told we had a missed miscarriage and our fourth round of IVF hadn't worked started a chain of events I wasn't expecting.

Soon afterwards I lost my job. I became depressed. I reluctantly had a frozen cycle the following New Year which also resulted in a (strong) pregnancy but also resulted in another miscarriage (although this was far more dramatic and violent and heartbreaking - we had seen a heartbeat the week beforehand and I naively thought 'this was it.')

Since then I have lost the plot, regrouped and got myself a fantastic job that I love. It's funny how things turn out, isn't it? I have made a fantastic new 'barren friend' Katy. We were brought together through sad circumstance, introduced by my best friend, meeting for the first time on a 'blind date' at the Southbank in Spring. She's been through the toughest journeys and I was able to help her through it. Without my new barren friend Katy, I'm not sure how I would've gotten through this year. So from the pain of infertility and the dashed dreams of having a baby of our own, I have made a life-long, solid friendship and I feel blessed. I'm happy-ish, things seem to be on the up. My marriage to my amazing Hubster is the strongest it has ever been. I'm the fittest and healthiest I have ever been. There are lots of positives but we still don't have a baby. I'm hoping our luck changes.

As we approach National Fertility Awareness week 2016 (#NFAW16) I felt compelled to pick my blog back up. To take a deep breath and start sharing this journey with you all again. 2016 has been a pretty crap year in the Courtney fertility stakes. Our strength has been tested and I have been overwhelmed at times. Overwhelmed by life. Overwhelmed by people telling me how brave I am (I'm not brave - trust me. I'm just trying to become a Mother and that urge is strong. Not that I'm not already a Mother. My babies are Angel Babies who I never got to meet in person). I've also been overwhelmed by the love and support of friends and family as we have been forced to navigate through what can only be described as a living hell of grief. When life blurs by and you somehow, miraculously  'carry on.' 

I have been most overwhelmed by the brave, honest accounts given by my fellow infertilies in the Fertility Network's  #HiddenFaces campaign. My amazing Hubster and I recorded our account of what the journey has been like these eight years of trying to become parents. It was hard but something we both felt like we had to do and we're both glad we did it. You see, there's nothing to be ashamed of and if we want to get people talking about what it's really like then someone has to make the first move and start talking, so we stepped up to the plate.

Show your support for these brave people. They have been on a super hard journey that makes you question everything. I'll share our video when it goes live next week but for now, I'm thinking of my first Angel Baby and what might've been.

Much love, hugs, compassion and strength to everyone who is struggling to start a family of their own, and to those who have had to carve a new life out for themselves after experiencing infertility. We are not alone and our faces are no longer hidden.

#HiddenFaces #NFAW16 

My babies...

• You would have been about 7ib 4oz.
• You would have been quite dinky.
• You would have had a BIG big toe just like your Mum, uncles, grandpa and great grandma in Ireland.
• You would have been loud like your Mum.
• You would have had your Dad's nose and nice ears.
• You would have had blue, blue eyes like the ocean like your Dad.
• You would have crossed your legs and rubbed your feet together like your Dad, uncles, cousins, grandma and grandpa.
• Like your Mum - you would have had a head full of hair. Despite years of saying 'when I have my ginger baby,' you decided to stick two fingers up to the 'strawberry blond' gene that lurks in the background of your strong Irish heritage. Your hair would have been so dark it was almost black.
• You wouldn't have been born with height on your side but as the saying goes the best things come in small packages. 
• You would have been born bang on time - just when your Mum was expecting you. No sooner, no later.
• You would have been the most gorgeous, most perfect, most wanted baby in the world and you would have been loved so, so much.

How you were born is of no consequence. After years and years of trying to make you, your entry into the world is really of no importance. Gone are the days of visualising a homebirth with a private midwife in an all singing, all dancing birthing pool in my tiny front room. No need for hypnobirthing, trippy chilled out music with ambient lighting or a supportive husband tending to my back with a tens machine. Bring on the pain as with every painful contraction it means I'm getting closer to meeting you. Give me a back-to-back labour that is excruciatingly painful that lasts for days on end, give me an epidural, give me a rushed delivery in the car on route to the hospital, give me an emergency c-section - give me a birth - just give me any birth.

I don't know if you would have been a boy or a girl. I've lost you twice now so either or. Your sex is not important. I say both versions of your name in my head. I've tried to guard your names over the years, but as the years trundle on, more and more friends and acquaintances have their babies and they have your names. Sometimes your name changes in my quest to have a baby with a unique name. After 8 years of trying for you, I realise this is a fruitless exercise. When one day you do (hopefully) arrive I'll name you what I want. No one has a monopoly on names. And if anyone accuses me of 'copying your name' I'll tell them I've had your name on my list for years. When I dream of you sometimes you're a girl, sometimes you're a boy. All you need to know is that you were so, so wanted.

You would have been a Crystal Palace FC fan whether you wanted to be one or not! Like your cousins, you would have had your very own kit with your name on the back.

You would have been the baby of the bunch. The runt of the litter. Surrounded by a crew of mad giggling aunties who were all so excited to have welcomed you to our motley crew. Your fairy godmother would have been your Mum's pregnancy oracle. She knows every detail of how you were made and your journey here. She would have dropped everything for your arrival and she would have loved you so, so much. The Little Miss of Ibiza would have you by the hand the moment you could walk and you would look at her with wonder as the crazy, adorable little nutter that she is showed you the ropes. You'd get muddy with The Dude as he showed you where all the dinosaurs are in Crystal Palace park, and you can guarantee your Aunty Wes would have bought you a copy of 'Calm Down Boris' before your arrival. You would have had the biggest crew of ready made little mates who had your back.

But none of this has happened.
All of this is in my imagination.
I don't know if I'll ever meet you in person.
Even with the Wizard of Harley Street on my team, you are yet to become a reality.
Years of healthy living, years of tweaking diets, years of hope, years of sadness.

People's words of 'congratulations on reaching the first hurdle' are playing over and over in my head. Unless you have travelled the journey I have you'd realise that is a platitude that a fertile person should never say to an infertile when they excitedly tell you 'I'm pregnant.' It's closer to the tenth hurdle of that round of IVF. To get a BFP is THE DREAM. To have that BFP turn to miscarriage is the nightmare. For it to happen twice is the nightmare on Groundhog Day. For it to happen after 5 rounds of IVF is cruel. For it to happen when you have no embryos left in the freezer signals the end of the dream. It means despair. It means I have to find strength to get back up again and try and get past what must be the one-hundredth hurdle - not the first. The first hurdle is making enough good quality eggs my love but in your naivety how are you supposed to know that? In your mind it is the first hurdle. In my mind a BFP is a massive achievement and marks progress and hope that the impossible is possible.

When an infertile woman gets her BFP everything above happens in an instant. A millisecond. No amount of your caution or warnings of not to get excited will stop that from happening. If I ever get a BFP again my excitement will return. As will my fear. When your friend who has struggled for years to get a BFP finally gets one be excited for her. Keep your caution to yourself. She's petrified enough and needs all the hope and positivity she can muster. Her entire journey to get to being 7 weeks and 3 days pregnant has taken 8 years, 4 of which include fertility treatment. For this entire time she's been scared but has done everything in her power to be positive. She really doesn't need anymore caution or fear - she has enough of her own to go round. She is so in-tune with her body she Googles every single twinge. And when the blood appears on her liner after a breathtaking cramp on the train to work (that she tried to convince herself was stretching ligaments), the blood drains from her face, she goes dizzy and she has to grab the wall to steady herself. Her mind races. She needs to get home. What does she say at work? She needs her baby to stay. Someone make the inevitable stop. She knows pain that you have not one iota of what that feels like (and she doesn't want you to feel her pain. No one should ever have to feel her pain or deal with society's discrimination and judgement against childless women). Just be there to pick her up if it all crumbles. She can't get all of the 'told you so's' out of her head. Yes, you were right not to get excited - happy now?

It's 10:27am on 6 April 2016. Exactly a week ago today I was on day 4 of my new job. Preparing to rush home and 'rest' as you'd just signalled that my dream yet again might be disappearing. I left at 10:55am, I was home by 12:10pm and I was covered in blood. Saturated. Your Dad opened the door to find me crying, desperatly trying to hide the blood with my coat, I was finally home and I could crumble, peel my saturated clothes off and get to the loo and let nature do her worst. I thought you might be taking me with you there was so much blood (part of me wishes you had). There was no warning. In the morning you were with me, in the afternoon, you were gone. I was left bereft, in pain, bleeding heavily (little did I know the bleeding and pain was set to ramp up a gear over the next few days. The bleeding still hasn't stopped.) A week ago I was full of panic and fear and yet I was also calm - I knew what was coming but I didn't know what to do with myself. And I still don't know what to do with myself. 

I just want you back.

The second time round you made your presence felt immediately. I was certain I was pregnant before test day - I didn't need a blood test to tell me that I had a baby on board. The highway of veins that exploded over my body a week after transfer were evidence enough for me. Bring back my ferocious temper that scared your Dad, what I would give to spit a sip of wine out as it tastes of vinegar, or to have a mouth that tasted like I'd been sucking on coppers. As for peeing - that's when I knew you had really left me - the last time I was up to pee in the night was 8 nights ago. 

I diligently jabbed myself every morning with progesterone and blood thinners, I took metformin first thing to keep my blood sugars low (and I hate metformin but will take it every day of my life if it means I get to meet you one day), the steroids came after breakfast to stop my body rejecting you (fat load of good they did), oestrogen followed and daily progesterone pessaries were added to the mix just to be sure.  

Out of all the would-be Mum and Dads past and present, I know no one who wanted you more than your Mum and Dad. We are more than ready to be your Mum and Dad. We've wanted you longer than some of our friends with children have even known each other. I don't want or care about anything else. And yet here I am, 8 years on since your Dad and I started trying to make you and we are back at square one with our savings diminished. Time has stopped. How could you leave me so abruptly and violently? I'm searching for answers to questions that I'll never find. And the only explanation is that it's down to me. I did everything in my power to make you and keep you, but for some reason, you couldn't stay.

What now? What is your Mum supposed to do now? How can she ever be happy if you're not here?

• She'll take Dong Quai and Shatavari to try and dampen her immune response.
• She'll introduce fresh ginger and organic apple cider vinegar into her daily routine.
• She'll go and get a Mayan Abdominal Massage to try and get her womb to tilt the right way - that must be the reason you couldn't stay? You just weren't comfortable. 
• She'll go to acupuncture, meditate and become a yogi master.
• She'll continue to be the IVF oracle and she'll battle down the painful tears when more pregnancy and birth announcements are made.
• She'll hate herself for being jealous.
• She'll hate herself, even more, when friends get their BFP (no matter how hard fought their battle is) and all she can think is that it should be her and not them as she's tried harder for years. She's done EVERYTHING but they drank and smoked and got wasted - why them and not her? It doesn't mean she isn't happy for you when you tell her, it doesn't mean she wants to be excluded, it doesn't mean she'll steal the baby when s/he arrives, it just means that you have achieved the one thing that she wants and with relative ease in comparison to her battle and she finds that so hard to deal with. Be gentle with your friend. She loves you and she really is very happy for you, but her pain squashes your joy. Give her time.
• She'll scream it's not fair.
• She'll feel guilty.
• She'll cry daily for you.
• She'll start running again.
• She'll rant on this blog intermittently.
• She'll pretend to be happy.
• She'll throw herself into work so she can save to try and make you again.
• She'll repeat the cycle again and again and again.
• She'll do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes to make her husband a Dad. Whatever it takes to take his pain away.
• She'll tolerate people's well-meant advice and she'll try oh so hard not to scream F**K OFF to all the well-meant platitudes. 
• She's somehow going to get through 15 June and 15 November. These were the dates that you were supposed to arrive.
• She's avoiding Christmas this year - like the plague. Please don't make her join in. It's suffocating and painful and she wants nothing to do with it.

Maybe not praying to St. Joseph is the reason you left me? Maybe I need to go to confession and confess all my sins so I am forgiven? Maybe then I'll stop being punished and maybe then one day I'll meet you? Maybe I should be on my knees? 

But you see I am on knees. I've been on my knees for years. I'll do whatever it takes.

I'm sorry I couldn't look after you for 9 months.

Mummy is sorry x

Big Fat Negative

Eight days post six day transfer (8dp6dt)

Not sure why we're surprised or upset or heartbroken or shocked or devastated? Once again I didn't even get to test day and once again I have had to endure a very heavy and painful period. 

We were told at Embryo Transfer in no uncertain terms that we needed a miracle to get pregnant. I thought given our recent run of seriously rubbish life experiences that some good karma was due to come our way, and that we would get our January 2015 mini-me.

But it seems it's just not meant to be. Not now anyway.

I can feel myself becoming 'one of those women' who just keeps on having infertility treatment in a quest to become a mother and I don't want to be 'one of those women.' I just want to bonk and get pregnant - is that too much to ask? You ladies who get pregnant the traditional way really have no appreciation for just how lucky you are - for the miracle that has taken place in your womb. There's only a 20% chance of getting pregnant when two healthy people have sex on the right day of the woman's cycle. Eggs need to be in tip-top condition as do the swimmers - after all they have a marathon to swim to reach the egg. A lady's cervical mucus needs to be the right PH, it needs to be swimmer friendly, if not then there's little hope of even the fittest of swimmers reaching the egg in her fallopian tube. Even after conception the embryo still has five days to travel until it gets to the womb and then it has to burrow in, and then after all of that the lady's body needs to accept this foreign body that is trying to feed off her supplies. This is one reason why some women suffer from recurrent miscarriage - their body rejects the embryo, sees it as invading its space and then disposes of it normally in the first trimester. The point I'm trying to make is that we all just presume that we will be able to create mini-mes very easily but as I go to show - it's not always that easy. Every time a woman gives birth a miracle has taken place.

When do you stop with fertility treatment? When do you finally pack it all in and give up on achieving what we are put on this earth to do? I can't see myself ever giving up. I want a baby, I want to be pregnant, I want to get a 'baby-on-board' badge and scowl at commuters on the train home who won't give up their seat for my heavily pregnant belly. I want to moan about indigestion in the third trimester and worry about what my boobs will look like post baby. Unlike most western women I want to go through labour, I want a drug free birth, for my body to take over, to use the pain to help me bring my child into the world. I've imagined all of this and more. I know the names of my much longed for baby girl and boy, I've imagined what they'll look like with their brown hair and blue eyes like their mummy and daddy.

The saddest place in the world is a fertility clinic waiting room. It's full of people from various different backgrounds, some older, some stinking rich, some have flown in from another country and have an interpreter, some are same sex couples, some ladies are trying to become parents all by themselves, some couples are like my wonderful Hubster and I and have saved long and hard to be sat waiting in that room. But what unites every single person in that room is that they all want a child of their own and it reeks of desperation, loss and hope. 

By the time a couple have arrived in that waiting room they have been through quite a tough journey; they have suffered loss and they are grief stricken. They are tired of a life congratulating friends and family as they get pregnant over and over again, tired of suppressing that green-eyed monster called jealousy every time a pregnancy announcement is made, tired of gathering reserves of strength every time they are invited to a baby shower/christening/first birthday party etc, tired of feeling guilty for being jealous, tired of being happy for someone else, tired of looking longingly at baby clothes, tired of being the odd one out, tired of the well meaning questions about when they are starting a family, tired of being asked 'why don't you just adopt?' A fertility clinic waiting room is full of grief for the babies that have never been, and you can hear the tick-tock of biological clocks getting louder and louder the longer you have the misfortune of waiting in that room.

So here's my plea to all of you who are in denial about your fertility and when to start a family.

Chaps: Did you know that most of your sperm is in fact abnormal? Did you know that if you have an abnormal sperm count of 75% you are perfectly normal? Did you know that because of all the crap we put into ourselves on a daily basis that the average sperm count for men has dropped quite significantly over recent years? Did you know that it might not be as easy as you think to get your wife/girlfriend pregnant? If you've been talking about having kids one day (but not just yet as life is just tooooo much fun right now) then have the difficult conversation - work out a strategy, talk about your fears with your lady, take a leap and embark on the biggest adventure of your life. What I'm urging you to do is to is to man-up and grow a pair of balls, get your swimmers tested and find out how they are shaping up. If they are swimming in circles and have two heads then you know that there are changes you need to make to your life to fix that, so when the time is right to have a baby hopefully you are ahead of the game. If your significant other wants babies now (and her age demands it) and you're not quite ready yet - what will you do if it takes years? Have you thought of the consequences? What will you do if you have left it too late? Have you thought about it? 

My Hubster's swimmers are in great shape after dietary and lifestyle changes and taking oodles of supplements especially for male fertility, even after spending £7000 at one of the best fertility clinics in the UK we still didn't get pregnant. My message to all the men out there putting off starting a family as their life right now is so great: take control of your fertility and never presume that you'll be able to produce loads of offspring.

Chapettes: If you are are over 35, have a great job and have a packed social life and think 'ah - I'll have kids in a couple of years time,' or 'now's not quite the right time' or your fella just isn't keen on the idea of making babies 'just yet' PLEASE don't make the mistake I made. It took my body 18 months to start 'cycling' normally after coming off the pill - I thought I'd be pregnant within the year. I knew nothing about infertility. Getting pregnant is not as easy as you think, the longer you leave it, the harder it will be - take my word for it (or if you don't believe me go and sit in a fertility clinic waiting room and experience the despair for yourself). 

I am fertile, I have a high AMH of 43 (very unusual for someone my age - the average is 15 - apparently I'm one of the lucky ones as I have a very decent ovarian reserve), and I have a follicle count of 28 on a natural cycle (that means I can make 28 follicles all by myself every month - without the aid of synthetic FSH injections). After four and a half years of trying and this includes two fresh IVF cycles and one frozen cycle I'm still not pregnant. I'm mourning the loss of 18 embryos. 18 potential babies. 18 mini-mes were made in our two fresh IVF cycles, 12 in our first, six in our second and not one of them attached, they all died either in-vitro, in my womb or they didn't survive being defrosted, despite all our love for them and desire to become parents - none of them survived and this breaks mine and my Hubster's hearts. I don't wish our pain on any of you so if you are over 35 and delaying starting a family for one reason or another please don't.

I hate to be the one to tell you this but after the age of 35 your eggs start to diminish, after the age of 37 your ovarian reserve drops off a cliff, after that the quality of your eggs will start to deteriorate quite dramatically. The ideal time to have a baby is in our twenties not in our thirties and forties - no wonder the fertility clinic waiting room is such a sad place, all those ladies know their time is running out and are desperate. Get off your contraception, let your body get back into it's grove and work out when in your cycle it's baby-making time or no jiggy allowed time, learn how your body works, get yourself checked out, find out what your ovarian reserve is, find out if you have adequate thyroid function and whether you ovulate every month? The longer you are on the pill/injection/coil etc the less time you have to fix any problems that you don't even know you have yet. My message to you is the same as the chaps: take control of your fertility and never presume that you'll be able to produce loads of offspring.

If I could speak to my younger self I'd tell her to start trying for a baby straight after she married the love of her life almost eight years ago. I thought by the age of 35 I'd have at least two children by now but I don't have any. There's a massive void in my life and I feel like I'm asking for the impossible - to get pregnant and have a baby.

Laters xx 

2013 is over. Halle-bloody-lujah!

Hello there,

It's been a while since my last blog post, sorry about that. 2013 without a shadow of a doubt was a big fat pile of stinking poo and I am oh so glad to welcome in the New Year and all the hope and optimism that the start of a New Year holds.

Our optimism for 2014 was shattered at around 4am on 1 January 2014 by some nasty words from someone who we had only just started to get to know. I thought this woman was going to become a friend of sorts - I felt like she had nice vibes and although I don't always agree with her often controversial opinions my gut told me she was a good egg. Oh how wrong my gut was. I told this woman about our failed IVF attempts in the Summer and she gave the best reaction anyone has given - she hugged me. No words, just a massive hug - she seemed to know that was exactly what I needed and I was touched by her intuition, so her words in the wee hours of 2014 came as a shock. 

Despite blogging and being quite open with friends and family about our IVF journey it is still quite hard to talk about and is also something that I don't want to define me - I am so much more than a woman who has been trying to get pregnant for just over four years. As my Hubster and I decided to call it a night on NYE we went to say our goodbyes to our friends who we knew would try their hardest to convince us to stay. Upon saying goodbye to this woman she decided that we shouldn't be going home yet, she tried to get my Hubster to take his coat off - the usual shenanigans when one decides to leave early (when in a past life we were known for going the distance). Anyhow, the 'goodbye' quickly turned into some weird verbal assault on my wonderful Hubster. This woman who barely knows us decided to call my Hubster 'repressed' and then said that she would be 'having words with him later', whilst hugging him tightly and not letting him go. My brother-in-law and I looked on bemused, I tried to intervene but it seemed useless, she'd let go of him in a minute and then we could go home! Then, out of nowhere she pipes up ' you and Johanna need to accept that you'll NEVER have children.' 

EXCUSE ME? Who the hell do you think you are? Some form of oracle who has been granted the right to tell people their future? What is your agenda? What is your motivation for saying these things and why oh why are people duped into being friends with you? One good thing came out of your words: you have shown your true colours and my Hubster and I are glad to have started 2014 with you removed from our lives. 

This woman was privileged enough to be let in to our little world earlier this year - I told her about the pain, I explained that's why we don't go out partying anymore, that's why we keep our heads down and yes - it is why we're no longer the life and soul of the party as we have been grieving; IVF changes people who have had to go through it and not got the desired results but we're trying to live life to the full once again and have fun. We were delighted to stick two fingers up to 2013 and to welcome in the New Year. We'd just got our confidence and optimism back, we were full of joy, we were with our fabulous friends and and family who love us and were pleased to have us out celebrating with them and we were happy to be with them. And then this woman who I had trusted enough to tell her what we'd been through decided to project her negative, warped view of the world onto us. We left the party feeling sad, shocked, sullen and angry. But no more. She can keep her words, stick them where the sun doesn't shine and she can choke on them for all I care - we're not going to let her words ruin all the hard work we have done in repairing our souls in the second half of 2013.

That's the strange thing about infertility. Everyone has an opinion:

'Why don't you adopt?'

'Pray and God will hear your prayers and grant you a child'

'Just relax and it will happen' 

'Have you tried monitoring your cycle?' REALLY?! Are you REALLY asking me that?! For goodness sake - I know more about natural family planning than most doctors and I know the workings of my body better than anyone. 

Here's my reply - keep your thoughts to yourself please. It's actually none of your business so hush your beak, you don't really know the ins-and-outs of our situation and have no right to comment. Don't tell us to relax or just forget about it. It's akin to the itch you get just after receiving a mozzie bite - it can't be ignored and has to be scratched. Relaxing doesn't stop the urge to have a baby and it doesn't help conception.

OR some nasty people decide to tell you:

'You'll never have children.'

To the woman who said these words to us: How dare you inflict such negativity on us. How dare you. My husband is far from repressed, if you want to have 'words' with him you have to get past me first, hurt a member of my family again with your words or actions and you will rue the day you ever met me.

What does help a couple working their way through the land of IF is love, compassion, laughter, a shoulder to lean on and support. Bring on a year full of positivity, hope and love. 

My lovely brother-in-law responded to this vitriol with heartfelt love; his words touched our hearts and they have been echoed by all our friends and family who heard what happened. He told us that we'd be great parents one day, and I believe him. We are blessed to have loving friends and family in our lives. Thank you for being our rocks - we love you all very much x

Where's your head at?

Well I'm back, after a six week break from blogging; not only are the Hubster and I back on the quest to make a mini-me, but I feel like my head is almost back in the room (but even I'm the first to admit I have my moments - this week was challenging to say the least. I blame the crazy Libra full-moon for some strange goings-on but not everyone agrees with my belief that the moon can do strange things to people).

Pregnancy loss is not nice; not having something tangible to grieve over means that some people think you recover quickly and also find it hard to fully understand what you're feeling. What's more after embryo transfer you are considered PREGNANT UNTIL PROVEN OTHERWISE (PUPO). You have a personal responsibility to treat your blastocyst as an implanted, developing embryo - you have a responsibility to behave like you're pregnant and this isn't an issue as you want it so much. What is shockingly hard is coming to terms with is NOT being pregnant. 

I've been devouring a great book called Navigating the Land of IF (IF is the online acronym for infertility - infertility is full of acronyms - it takes a while to learn them all) by Melissa Ford. The way she writes really appeals to me; she says it how it is and I think this is a vital read for all of you who have found yourself on the Land of IF and if you have friends who are going through it then I also recommend you have a read - you'll soon discover those tit-bits of advice you give with good intentions normally have the opposite affect. EG: saying "I can feel it in my bones, this cycle is going to work for you" doesn't help - all we can do is hope, how your bones feel has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I'll conceive (and how were your bones feeling during my failed cycle? Could you feel my cycle not working then or did your bones give off the wrong signal? You can see the futility of such a comment now I bet?) Anyhow - she describes exactly how invested a couple are in IVF, both emotionally and financially - so much so that I want to show you an excerpt from her book where she explains the financial point to non-iffers (non-iffers are those of you who are fertile and live on the mainland). I think the financial point also illustrates quite clearly the emotional investment as well:

What if, during your eighth month of pregnancy, you were told by your obstetrician that in order to get the baby out, you would have to shell out the equivalent of a year of college tuition?

"But I thought I'd have eighteen years to save!" you'd exclaim, staring down at your belly, where the child you've been dreaming about for the last eight months waited.

Alas, you need to cough up the cash ... immediately.

You somehow gather together and fork over the money, but your doctor stares at the wad of cash and says, "Sorry. I guess I wasn't clear. This money is just for me to think about it. You'll need to come up with double this to get me to  actually do anything."

Once again, committed to having a child, you pull together the money ... only to discover that there are more hoops, more bills - and not one of the payments you make will result in the absolute promise of a live child

By the time you're ready to enter treatments or adoption, you - like those already expecting - are committed to the idea of parenthood. It's a strong impulse to procreate and/or raise children. Either you have that impulse or you don't, and if you have it, it is not something you can talk yourself out of or fulfill with a puppy.

Melissa Ford, Navigating the land of IF - Understanding Infertility and exploring your options, pg 26, Seal press, California, 2009.

So while many of my friends who have found themselves pregnant are twitchy and panicky during their first trimester and wondering what the hell they have gotten themselves into - are they ready to be parents? Their age says they bloody well should be but they didn't expect it to be that easy... Coming to terms with the new life that is growing inside of them I don't doubt is a head fu*k, of course it is, but us Iffers are already one step ahead of them emotionally - we're ready to be parents NOW, it just so happens that it isn't that easy for us. So being PUPO then finding out that you're not pregnant is like being sucker punched, winded, broken... The urge to become a Mum is so strong in me, that despite not really feeling ready to start all over again, my heart is over-ruling my head and I am back with both feet firmly in the IVF process - this time with Frozen Embryo Transfer (FET), although this time I'm not excited: I'm wary, apprehensive, cautious and overall I'm scared. Scared of my heart shattering again, but the Hubster and I want more than anything to be pregnant, IVF is not for the feint hearted. I've heard that after a failed cycle you're never truly ready for the next one - you just get on with it - it's all to do with the strong impulse to be a parent.

It seems like a lifetime ago that I was howling, I entered a very dark place, so dark in fact that rather than wait for my one counselling session provided by the NHS (which I am still waiting for) I took matters into my own hands and am now paying to see a "head doctor." My head doctor - Elise is registered with the British Infertility and Counselling Association (BICA) - this is why I chose her. During my dark place (which I still have half a foot in) I started to have panic attacks, I've managed to reign most of them in with controlled breathing and just stopping whatever it is that I'm doing and having some rescue remedy  but anything can set me off: not being able to find my keys in the morning, going to a party where I'll need to speak to people who will ask me "what've you been up to Jojo?" As you might've guessed I'm quite an open person, I'm also a shocking liar so any attempt at telling a fib and I go a particular shade of crimson and get the sweats... I also can't bear not being in control, I hate not knowing what I am doing when and what is expected of me, it makes me feel uneasy - I've always been like this to some extent, I'm just a little worse nowadays - I find this very disconcerting. I've always known I'm a control freak when it comes to certain things but our recent IVF loss has exacerbated my typical feelings of insecurity. Normally I can reign these feelings in but even telling you all about this anxiety is making my heart rate increase, I then internally chastise myself for being silly and then of course - the anxiety gets worse - it's a vicious circle so you can understand why I had to do something about these feelings hey?

Gone is the vivacious, chatty, confident Jojo of old, replace her with a timid, tongue tied, hand twisting angry little girl. That's what our failed IVF cycle did to my head. At a very good friend's birthday party less than two weeks since it all went wrong a well meaning friend who has a wonderful little boy as a result of IVF insisted on talking to me about IVF, and she just wouldn't shut up. She was like a wood-pecker who kept peck, peck, pecking. Despite telling her three times to stop and my wonderful sister-in-law telling her to stop she just wouldn't let it go until on the third time I told her I was visibly in pain and on the verge of tears. Apparently I need to go to Spain as the clinics are sh*t here - no they're not, they're amazing and they've already made us five mini-mes, one of them just didn't fancy sticking. I was a mixture of angry, intimidated, shy and all I wanted was to say beam me up Scotty and to find myself in my PJs, tucked up nice and safely in bed. Instead I found myself sobbing in the loo feeling too timid to come out and have fun. Party animal Jojo was no more, I just wanted to curl up and cry - someone who has been through IVF should know full well that your first public outing after a failed cycle is quite a big deal and one where compassion and love is needed; it's not an opportunity to dissect your failed cycle.

So, I've taken back some control and I'm getting some help dealing with how I feel - I've worked out the hard way that infertility is a tough island to find yourself on, I knew it was a tough place to be before I landed on the island of IF, but I never really understood what it was like. Everything is out of your control and for a control freak it's a rather tricky thing to get your head around. So I'm taking control of my emotions by going to counselling. Being in control is something that is central to my feeling ok - my counsellor and I have worked this out together quite quickly so she's helping me control my emotions and to find an outlet for them. Sudden bursts of anger and frustration can hit me without any warning and some things really annoy me (more than usual) - I'm working on managing these outbursts! She's also advised me to take control of aspects of my life that are 100% in my hands and the main thing that has been a source of stress is debt and my finances.

I'm taking control of my finances by clearing my debt and I'm a heartbeat from being debt free for the first time in my adult life. I can't tell you how amazing that feels; debt is BAD for the soul and it really annoys me how socially acceptable it is nowadays to be up to your eyeballs in debt, we all blame the bankers for the state of the economy but is it the bankers' fault that a lot of us have whacking great big overdrafts and several credit cards maxed out? No it's our own greed and inability to budget and save - it's not big and it's not clever, in fact it's stupid. I know the economy is up the creak without a paddle but it's about time we all started to take responsibility for our situations and take control of our expenditure, if you spent the money then it's your own fault (it took me a good while to learn that - in fact it's taken the majority of my adult life to work that conundrum out). I hate seeing all of my salary go on paying back creditors and I can't wait for when it's all gone (nearly there - the last student loan payment has been paid - now to clear the teeny-weeny bit that is left, then I'll be free and in a position to save for things rather than saying "sod it, I'll whack it on my credit card.") If you're in debt then my best piece of advice to you is to sacrifice and get yourself out of it, that £3000 overdraft you have ain't gonna clear itself and the dreaded bank could withdraw it without any warning. Knowing that I've finally cleared 99% of my debt is liberating. This is one of the main benefits of making yourself fertile (other than making a baby of course), you actually realise how much money you wasted on nights out that you can't fully remember; you no longer feel crap for the first half of the week only to get clubbers' lurgy for the second half. Feeling healthy and taking control of my finances is one thing I'm sticking to, I feel great (and people I haven't seen in a while are commenting on how well I look - fancy that?!) 

I want to be able to cope, be chilled, I don't want to be angry, I want to be pregnant and my hope is starting to come back. I want to be in control of what I can control and I'm starting to except that there are certain things I can't control, such as whether my two defrosted mini-mes are going to a) survive defrosting and b) whether they'll implant. No one can control that - not even the clever doctors and scientists, I just need to continue doing what I'm doing and looking after myself and hope for the best. As that's the best my wonderful Hubster and I can do is hope. We're getting there slowly.

I still have my moments however, certain things wind me up more than ever:

Anger towards our funding: this quite upset and shocked me - another Iffer who paid for her treatment who (as Melissa Ford would describe it) has left the island of IF and has joined the mainlanders after a successful first cycle that resulted in twins. Upon telling her that our funding covered medicated FET she unleashed a wrath of anger in a text that I wasn't ready for, that the NHS "took all her money." REALLY?!?! I have never known for the NHS to forcibly take money from us - we pay our taxes and when we're poorly we go and get treated be that at the doctors or hospital - most of the time for free. Yes, sometimes (unfortunately and often unfairly) some people don't qualify for free fertility treatment but the NHS doesn't take your money to pay for it, you opt to pay for your treatment, that is your choice. I will save and pay for whatever treatment the Hubster and I require once our funding has been depleted; I feel lucky to have funding but don't begrudge me for getting treatment when you have what you want - your babies (and you didn't have to experience what IVF loss is like - you're VERY lucky). I'd cough all the money up and some this very instant if I was guaranteed a baby at the end of it but as the excerpt above states, money / no money / emotional investment etc - there are no guarantees when it comes to IVF and I tell you what, whether you pay for your treatment or are lucky enough to receive funding - it doesn't make the pain easier to handle if your cycle doesn't work - I would never wish that pain on anyone. What REALLY annoyed me about this anger was if this person actually qualified for funding, neither her or her other half would've been able to quit smoking (a prerequisite of IVF treatment on the NHS and rightly so), their cycle worked first time and no real effort to stop smoking was made once pregnancy was achieved ... Why exactly should the NHS fund such treatment if you're not going to jump through the required hoops to get free treatment when there are others who remain infertile despite treating their bodies like temples? GRRRRRR!

Another thing that riles me right up is people that say: "you're so lucky you don't have kids." If you think this stupid bloody comment is supposed to make me feel better then you really are a dumb-ass. Lucky?! REALLY? Check page 96 of Melissa Ford's response to such nonsense - if anyone says this to me then they can expect to be on the receiving end of a hard punch to the face! I also hate it when people whine about losing their evenings as they have kids to feed and put to bed, and then work to do due to their job (which they're probably moaning about as well as it doesn't pay enough and they have to work too many hours) - that was your life choice so why don't you just shut up or take responsibility for your situation and change it?

So - as you can see, my tolerance levels aren't what they used to be! I still have my moments of anger but I do feel the anger I have is justified - I just prefer the happy me and not the angry me. I've started running again which is really helping me sort this out (as well as seeing Elise), I've also started making bread! Odd I know but I'm quite obsessed about it now - it's very satisfying so I strongly recommend you go out and buy a bread maker!

What's next then: I've started the first phase of down regulation so I'm on microgynon again. Those of you who have been following my blog will know that I seriously hate being on this pill, it does funny things to me. Then as with my last cycle I start the down regulation jabs - oh boy - I can't wait for those fun and games to start again but at least I know what to expect this time round. Once I've shut down I then start on estrogen as opposed to the gonal-f stimulation drugs - I'm quite pleased about this, the thought of getting OHSS again is horrid. The estrogen is to make sure my womb lining thickens nicely so I should quite like that feeling I imagine, then our two best surviving mini-mes are defrosted - these are 4BBs (see my previous post on grading embryos for an explanation), hopefully they'll both survive, be transferred and you never know - they both might implant (but I'm not going to make the mistake I made last time round and start thinking I'm pregnant with twins - trust me, I've learnt my lesson this time round).

So, after a long blogging break I'm back with a vengeance. To help keep me sane I repeat the lyrics of Basement Jaxx's Where's your Head at? One of my all time favourite tunes - why don't you have a listen?

Catch ya later :) x

Roar, roar, roar

Let's just get one thing straight: I'm NOT over the IVF thing ok!

Two throw away comments yesterday reduced me to a howling, snotty, angry mess last night, and they came from people who should know better. Just because I'm trying VERY HARD to get on with my life, to be positive and happy, it does not mean that I'm over it - far from it. Those two stupid comments have made me feel like I've taken a step backwards and I once again have that heavy, suffocating feeling. I'm writing this on the train into work and I just want to turn back and head straight for my duvet.

My lovely, darling, amazing Hubster decided to share a how to get pregnant tip with me last night: a chap he knows whose wife got pregnant in no time at all (I swear she just looked at his willy and she was up the duff - women like that really p*ss me off right now - I told you - I'm feeling angry!) Anyhow, this chap shared a sex tip with my Hubster yesterday and for some reason unbeknownst to me; my Hubster shared this tip with me. After sex, if I raise my hips and do bicycle legs for 15 minutes, I'll get pregnant! REALLY?!?! Well why on earth didn't someone share that nugget of information with the world ages ago? It would've saved thousands of women like me all the hassle and inconvenience of daily injections, hot flushes, mood swings, insomnia, OHSS, egg collection, having your foof on display for what feels likes all the world to see, fake pregnancy symptoms and then the heart-break and emotional trauma of a nasty, heavy painful period.  

Well knock me down, why didn't you tell me that before I decided to put myself through hell with IVF? Jeez, if I knew that the bicycle legs made that much difference, not only would I have amazingly toned legs but I'd also have a brood of mini-mes driving me demented!

Infertility is about so much more than post-coital bicycle legs. So here's my warning, do not insult me by giving me shonky advice such as that: IT DOESN'T HELP! I've tried every goddam trick in the book (although not the bicycle legs I must admit).

• Pee sticks to monitor ovulation
• Checking if I have egg white cervical mucus every month so I know when the Hubster and I need to get jiggy
• I don't get shitfaced every weekend
• I eat healthily
• I take nine, yes nine different vitamins/minerals every day (some even get a double dose) - see below for pictorial evidence
• I quit the fags (best move I've ever made)
• I'm quite fit and go to the gym (admittedly I'm yet to go this year but me thinks I've had a decent enough excuse don't you?)
• And yes - I stick my legs up in the air after a bit of jiggy if you must know. 

Argh - you have no idea how angry I am today - no idea what damage stupid comments like that can do to my recovery. I shouted angry tears at my Hubster yesterday as he unwittingly told me this tip - my poor Hubster - it's not his fault - he's the last person I want to hurt in all of this. 

It's all so raw what I'm feeling and despite my honest blog people still tell me their stupid tit-bits of advice - just because they got pregnant in no time at all - well bully for you - aren't you the lucky ones? Anyone who thinks I am over the IVF can think again. This time last week I could barely drag myself out of bed, I was bleeding so heavily I had to change pads every two hours (yes - I had to go back to the days of being a teenager and use pads - thank goodness for always ultra is all I can say - but every two hours is ridiculous - that is how heavy and painful my failed IVF cycle was). I was convinced I was pregnant; our referral to Kings ACU happened over a year ago, my due date would've been 23 October 2013. So you see in my head I should be pregnant now and complaining about morning sickness but I'm not, how on earth do you expect me to be over it that goddam quickly?

So despite everyone thinking I am strong and amazing for sharing this with the world, I in fact feel weak. I want to hit and punch and scream. I'm trying oh so hard to be happy, and jolly and positive but be mindful of what drivel comes out of your mouth when you speak to me. Just because I'm trying to be happy and have a positive outlook, it doesn't mean I'm in a good place emotionally. Whilst Googling "emotional impact of failed IVF" I stumbled across a blog entry that articulates VERY well how a woman feels after a failed IVF cycle, this lady hits the nail on the head and I encourage you to have a read. If you have a friend who is going through IVF and it doesn't work out take care of her heart - she needs you more than you realise, even if she doesn't answer your calls, just knowing that you are there is enough. The IVF roller-coaster doesn't stop the moment you have to face the reality of not being able to get pregnant even with all the help of very clever scientists; I actually think this is when the real roller-coaster starts as you're unable to blame the hormones that you willing pump into yourself, it’s just your emotions - give me down regulation over this any day - I at least had hope then, now I feel empty (and yes - I know I can have another go before you say anything).

Today I just want to hide. Today I want to cry gut wrenching tears that make you hyperventilate and make you sick. Today I am sad. Today I am heavy and I feel like I'm suffocating with grief. Tomorrow is another day and I hope I don't feel as bad as I do today. Thank goodness for small mercies such as a backlog of work I need to catch up on - I need as much distraction from this pain as I can get.

What a difference a week makes

It's a week since I first realised that our first IVF cycle had ended with a nasty, heavy, heartbreaking period. In retrospect, not having the opportunity to use one of the eight pregnancy tests I'd bought compounded my woe. Life just isn't fair: FACT.

BUT there is a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

I won't lie, last week was hell on earth, I have no idea how I would've gotten through it if it wasn't for my wonderful Hubster. He really is my rock. I pretty much lost the power of speech and found myself only being able to speak to him or my bessie Emma. My bessie is expecting her first baby, we were all 200% convinced that our IVF cycle was going to work as I'm so healthy and our issues are with the Hubster; my bessie and I were soooooo excited about having our babies together and going on maternity leave together. I guess it just wasn't meant to be this time round.

My other wonderful friends have been persisting with the missed phonecalls and texts, I just haven't had the strength to speak to them. Texting, emailing even blogging are easier than actually speaking about it. Today is the first day since it happened that I haven't woken up with the choking, heavy hearted, suffocating feeling, and I finally felt strong enough to go back to work.

I am feeling angry though.

Very angry.

I'm angry at myself for truly believing I was pregnant when I obviously wasn't. I'm angry at myself for not listening to words of advice from friends who have also experienced IVF loss: the drugs screw with your body more than you realise. I'm angry at the doctor who pulled rank and did the transfer with the new, softer catheter - if the lovely Indian lady doctor had done the transfer as planned would my mini-me now be a permanent fixture? Who knows but what I do know is that this anger isn't going to do me any good so I'm dealing with it - anger turns to hate and I don't want to hate.

I've received so many lovely kind messages from all of my friends and I'm really glad that they weren't the type of messages that I didn't want to hear - apart from one. A friend who I had started to drift apart from replied to a text I sent the weekend prior to us finding out the IVF hadn't worked. I told her about my heartbreak and sorrow (it was very, very raw for me last Wednesday), given how I felt her response knocked me for six (and I'm still reeling from it). Having spent the day howling and knicker checking, feebly trying to cling on to my PMA - getting a message that said I shouldn't let it rip me apart, I need to chin up, this could take years and I should take up yoga and have a hot bath did not help. I'm not sure what she was thinking when she sent that message but there was zero empathy in that message, zero understanding about what grief is; in my opinion it's an illustration of why we have drifted apart as friends. How anyone can think that telling your (apparent) friend in her time of sorrow and heartbreak to chin-up, this might take years would be of any comfort is beyond me? Think it by all means but have the tact not to actually say it. Her response baffled me and I still can't work it out. IVF is much, much more than a few injections - it is a process where you put all of your eggs in one basket and when it fails, you can feel the hope being ripped out of you, and the pain is horrid. 

So - what next?

I went back to work today and my lovely colleagues kept me well stocked in tea, chocolate and giggles - just what the doctor ordered. Yesterday was the first day since it happened that I didn't cry, I did cry today - but only briefly. I'm starting to feel strong enough to face the world again and to contemplate what my Hubster and I will do next with regards to making a mini-me... Obviously we will try the traditional method :) We're both so healthy at the moment the Hubster's super swimmers may find their way to one of my eggs all by themselves - wouldn't that be amaze balls?!?! I'm back on the agnus castus to help encourage ovulation and to help get myself back on track asap - a batch of 30 pee sticks are winging their way to me so I'm ready and waiting to get tracking my cycle again. I'm going to throw myself into the gym - having stopped running to help with fertility issues two years ago I've decided that I need to start running again, it makes me feel amazing and I need all the endorphins I can get my hands on.

Our follow up is 14 March - I'm writing my questions down so I can make sure I know what we can do for our frozen embryo transfer (FET) cycle. I think this will be natural with a only a few HCG shots and progesterone pessaries so I guess it will be easier for us to handle? I want to know how many embryos they defrost at once? What if all of them are defrosted, they all survive and I can only put one back in - what happens with the rest? It seems every which way you turn with IVF you have more questions, questions, questions...

Till next time you lovely lot, to all of you who have left me kind, heart warming messages - thank you. Your love is helping me heal and although I didn't think it last week - positivity is the way forward - you've all helped me remember just how strong I am. To my wonderful friend Mel in Jersey - thank you for our delicious chocolate brownies - I can't wait to give you a big fat hug when I see you next week. All of your support has been phenomenal - you've made me feel strong when I've needed it most. And to my two other friends who have also had failed cycles pretty much within a week either side of my failed cycle - keep the faith - 2013 is our year.

Catch ya later :) x

Crumbling

15 days post egg collection, 10 days post embryo transfer

It wasn't meant to be like this, I wasn't supposed to start spotting 8 days after our mini-me was transferred, the spotting wasn't supposed to turn from brown to red, and the red spotting wasn't supposed to turn into a heavy, painful period but it has: the IVF hasn't worked and I'm heartbroken, devastated, grief-stricken and I'm heavy - oh so heavy. My arms and legs are heavy but most heavy is my heart, I can feel it breaking.

My friends were amazing last weekend, all of them rose to challenge of distracting me - I was happy to watch them drink booze whilst I drunk elderflower, I even tried half a Guinness on Saturday and I thought it was the foulest thing I'd ever tasted (anyone who knows me, knows how much I love my Guinness). This along with boobs changing, twinges down below and spotting a few days after transfer all convinced me I was pregnant, I even started thinking we might have identical twins. Silly Jojo - I should've known better than to run away with myself. 

I've never really felt heartbroken before, but I do now. I've never howled like I have howled over the past two days and I'm crying writing this now. I so wanted our mini-me to stick, I put so much work into making my womb a VIP womb, and what with having a grade 5AA blasto I just can't see why it wouldn't work? I know I did everything possible to make it work and I know it's not my fault (doesn't stop it feeling like it's my fault though). Ho hum, I guess our mini-me was a bit fussy and didn't fancy it? All is not lost, we have mini-mes in the freezer so we can have another go, but for now I'm staying in bed, sleeping when I want to sleep, eating when I feel like eating (but having to force myself as I have no appetite) and just letting the tears flow. The Hubster came home from work yesterday after breaking down himself and after hearing me howl down the phone, it breaks my heart that little bit more when I see my darling Hubster broken - I do love him so and together I know we will be fine, it just doesn't quite feel like that right now. He's gone back to work today which is fine, despite crying already this morning I feel marginally better than yesterday - he needs to go to work, I need to rest. I had the foresight back in November to book a weekend away in Jersey at the beginning of March; we have never needed a break like we need this one - it will help us clear our minds and regroup, right now we're grieving.

I'm signing off for now - it might be a while till I'm back, I don't know - depends how I feel. If you're reading this and we're Facebook friends, please don't post any comments on my wall, please post them here or PM me, and if I don't reply please don't be offended. Despite being quite open with our journey, I'm not that ready to share my grief with the world of Facebook.

Catch ya later x