C-Section Awareness Month

Well, it's another month no doubt made up by social media companies that I can jump on the bandwagon about.  And shout about.  Angrily.  What a surprise.  Me, angry about something? Noooo.  

Well I'm fucking furious about this one. Livid.  The words to truly explain how I feel about this don't exist.  I even wrote the below and sent it to the recent birth trauma inquiry in Parliament. How fucking ridiculous that there is an inquiry going on in an establishment that's meant to look after us; but day in day out interferes and meddles with birth to suit their timelines, and their policy made up on bullshit 'science' mainly stated by men over 100 years ago.  I shit you not.  And the trauma and the guilt are long-lasting and impacts on bond, breastfeeding and more which is also devastating.  And no, it's not ok to say 'well at least the the baby is safe'.  That's a fucking cop out to allow people to get away with what they are doing and to not deal with any of the consequences of their actions.  Also the mothers mental health is so important and if that gets trashed at birth, as mine did, it makes those first days and weeks which are meant to be magical, fucking awful.  Horrific. And no mother should go through that because of the ease of hospital staff.

I haven't really written about my, sorry, our, little magical girl.  Because once again a lot of it isn't my story to tell. It's hers.  It's why I basically never post photos of her, very rarely her face.  I don't want her to pull me up on it and be angry when she's older that I didn't protect her privacy by plastering her face all over social media.  For likes and follows. So I keep her fairly secret.  And when she's older, if she wants to put her life on social media, she can.  As it's her decision. And when I say older.  I mean older.  You know, maybe at 25. Lolz.

Anyways.  I was coerced into a c-section with the dead baby card played by an obstetrician as she was breech.  It terrified the shit out of my now ex who didn't understand why I didn't want a c-section and thought I was putting our baby at risk.  I'm informed.  I'm educated. I knew the risks.  But I was nearly 39 weeks pregnant feeling very vulnerable and alone. With no one in my corner.  It was horrific. The last 2 days of my pregnancy were ones of stress, arguing and wanting to leave.  And then my waters broke in front of my now ex.  So I could only do one thing.  Go to the hospital.

''Her birth was a complete car crash of everything I didn’t want to happen, happening.  All my requests were denied.  I suspect this was due to her being an ‘emergency c-section’ born at 12.51am on a Monday morning, so I got the graveyard weekend staff who clearly put all their wants before mine.  It was still ‘covidy’ so I had to wait on my own for a few hours until going up to theatre where I was allowed to be with my partner.  I think he had to wait in the car, so that’s also not great in terms of trauma for him.

 

I live with Chronic Myeloid Leukaemia and I had to wait for 14 years of chemotherapy to be in a place where I was safe to have a baby.  My consultant refers to her as ‘our miracle baby’ so my pregnancy and her birth were meant to be incredibly special. 

 

I found out she was breech at 38+4 due to developing high blood pressure and needing a growth scan, and I was refused a vaginal birth because of a lack of skillset of midwives and obstetricians who choose not to upskill to allow women to have the birth they want.  A breech baby is not a hazard or a danger, it’s a variation of normal that the modern medicalised birth system governed by outdated and often unfounded research which shapes policy, chooses not to recognise and instead puts mothers and their babies at risk.  

 

I had a failed ECV (trying to turn the baby) at 38+5 and my waters broke at 38+6 around 7.30pm.  We spent 3 hours at the hospital when I had my ECV and the only thing my partner heard from the conversation with the obstetrician was the dead baby card he played when I said I wanted a vaginal birth not a c-section.  C-sections are really damaging for mother and child and the rate at which they are used is shocking.  C-section babies are more prone to eczema, allergy and asthma because of how their microbiome is disrupted at birth. So I had no time to get into place anyone or anything to help assist me in what I wanted to happen.  

 

When being consented for the surgery I asked for a gentle c-section which was denied for no reason (I believe it’s because they take longer, and they wanted the surgery to be over and done with as soon as possible).  I also asked for delayed cord clamping which also didn’t happen.  Because my body wasn’t given the time it needed after the spinal block, (I believe because it was the middle of the night, and I was just another women being cut open that evening) I could feel pain when I shouldn’t have done.  I managed to hold out until my daughter was surgically removed from me and I then needed a general anesthetic.  

 

I didn’t have my golden hour or immediate skin to skin.  She didn’t get the cord blood that was hers because of the general anesthetic and needing to prevent her from getting any through the placenta. I was separated from her for between 2-4 hours after she was born, I can’t remember how long.  My breast milk was delayed because of all of this so I was put on a horrific and stressful feeding programme when she was 5 days old because of ‘too much weight loss’ even though c-section babies lose more weight as they are born with all the fluid in them that normally gets squeezed out during a vaginal birth.  I also don’t remember my first words to her or being given her.

 

Her birth, which was so special to me, was completely taken over by ‘health care professionals’ who were simply following their own agenda.  They didn’t care about me or what I wanted or what I was going through.  No doubt to them it was just another c-section to bill for and more money for them.

 

I cannot put into polite terms the negative impact this has had on me.  Also learning to be at peace with my body and the ‘pouch’ caused by the surgery.  I have body dysmorphia and the horror of having this for the rest of my life, a daily reminder of how my daughter came into the world and all that it shouldn’t have been but was.  It’s been so damaging mentally to me and has also had serious and negative consequences on my relationship.

 

It’s taken me 2 years to be able to talk about this without bursting into tears immediately.  For the guilt to lessen that I failed her. I wasn’t there when she was born.  She didn’t get a third of her bodies blood and stem cells that are in placental blood.  As someone living with a blood cancer, I really hope this doesn’t impact negatively on her future health.

 

I have officially complained to the hospital and got an apology back.  That everything that happened, shouldn’t have.  But if I can’t have any more children, nothing will truly get me over that night.  How the people who are meant to look after you when you are so vulnerable failed completely.  If I have another baby I will have it at home regardless of womb position.  I will not trust anyone in a hospital setting around birth because they do not care.''

Family times are hard

 Again. So much to write. Getting the words out is hard. Moving through the stages of grief. Anger. I’m so fucking furious at the moment. With the lies. The mistruths. Being told one thing whilst the actions taken are the opposite. Wanting to be alone. Apparently. But with a new girlfriend lined up waiting in the wings. Better. Shiner. More exciting. And apparently I’m bitter. 

No. I’m seething. 

My life is on pause. Nearly 40. Back with my parents. Not knowing when I can move back to London. Desperately trying to build my work back up whilst looking after a 2 year old. Feeling like a complete fucking failure. 

No house and garden of my own to be loved up in. To have lazy weekends together. With our dog. 

The hurt and betrayal is all encompassing. And I just want to scream into the wind 

What about me?!

I tried so hard. I loved 100% every day. And it wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough. 

But someone else and their children are. 

And it’s devastating. For me. For our little girl. Thank god she’s only 2. Trying to explain this to an older child would be so hard. 

And I’m the one on my own. Trying to navigate it all. Wondering if I will ever find someone. Before it’s too late for another baby. To have someone with me at family events. To be excited about family members weddings and anniversaries. 

Rather than wondering why the fuck it hasn’t happened to me. I’m so sick of being alone  

And so I sit quietly. And smile when it’s appropriate. Whilst my heart breaks into a thousand pieces. 

Family time is hard at the moment. I’ve lost my family.  And now it belongs to someone else. And I don’t know how to forgive that. 

I’m still here

It’s been a while. Years. So many things to say. So much I can’t. Because it’s not my story to tell. It’s ours. We were a we. And now I’m an I. With a little girl. Navigating a new life. On my own again. Processing. Not really letting it all filter through. It’s too much. Being here again. But not just me. Us. She is me and I am her. Everything I do has to be for her. Not just me. 

And out lovely chocolate boy isn’t here anymore. It’s been 14 months. I saw his double today in the park. My heart aches for him. Still. He visits me. He’s still with me. My boy. I need him so much right now. 

And we got a new pup. A girl. I have resented her for not being the same. Of course she won’t be. Different dog. Different breed. Puppies are a nightmare coupled with a baby. So often on my own to manage both of them. With no true understanding of how hard my days are. 

And then we stopped being a we. And the dog isn’t legally mine. But she’s mine. She’s ours. Another thing to sort out. To work out what’s best. And when I don’t have her I miss her so much. And worry about her. 

But she’s not mine. 

And so the days merge into one. 

Someone said to me yesterday how it’s great it’s a short week this week with the Easter weekend. And I looked at them blankly and replied ‘I have a 2 year old’. I don’t get short weeks and long weekends. The days don’t change. She needs the same looking after regardless. I don’t have my person anymore. 

He has someone new. 

And I just can’t get the words out. 

So much I can’t. Because it’s not my story to tell. 

I had hoped. …I still have it. Anyways. This is not the way I thought it would be. This year was going to be so different. Back in London. Work picking up. Baby number 2 which I so desperately want. Still chemo free. Thank you to my magical miracle baby girl for that. I’m sure her stem cells are keeping me safe. 

But no. Temporarily back at my parents. Whilst I piece myself back together. 

My Rainbow Baby

Well my lovely bloglets,

I’ve been sitting on this post for a while. Not that I’ve actually written it. Well I have in my head, numerous times, but haven’t sat down to type until now. And I’m not sure why. It’s such amazing and wonderful news. But part of it also wants to keep it for me. Because it’s been so longed for. For such a long time. And now it’s my reality. And it’s amazing. But it’s also surreal. 

My rainbow baby. Because my fertility is fucked according to the hospital. Well. Compromised is the nice way of saying it. With a very low egg count. 14 and a half years of chemo has definitely made its mark. But that didn’t matter. I have 22 year old eggs frozen and I was getting my body ready for IVF regardless. And who knew that ALL those hundreds of pounds spent on functional medicine tests and supplements with a couple of tweaks to my diet meant that IVF wouldn’t be needed. 

And then there was the agonising 8 and a bit week wait for my first scan after having a positive pregnancy test to check that all was ok. And that there was a baby in there! I did think just before the sonographer put the gel on my abdomen. What if this is the most epic phantom pregnancy ever?!?!? But no. A baby appeared. Doing what it should be doing with development and growth on track. A huge sigh of relief. And now a much shorter wait to the next scan and the ‘half way point’ (because due dates are a load of bollocks). 

So no need for IVF. No need for the Hopeful Baby Diary - I’ve deleted the Instagram and that blog will be going soon as well. 

I don’t think it’s coming across. I’m beyond excited about this! I actually loving all the body changes, and completely in awe as to what’s going on. Which is good as I started showing around week 6. And yes. Granny did comment in how fat I was getting.

 C. L. A. S. S. I. C. 

I was also very good earlier in the week and didn’t cry when a pair of size 10 maternity jeans didn’t fit. I also didn’t completely freak out, although my blood pressure shot up, lolz, when I put on 5 kilos in the first 10 weeks. And yes. Yes I did genuinely wonder if it was twins. But I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I was told this couldn’t happen. I was going to be doing this on my own. And I did it and I’m not. I also don’t think I’ll be allowed another year off treatment so this is it. My, well, our baby. The little determined miracle who really wanted to be. God. If they are this determined already, I dread to think what’s in store!

I’m not going to go crazy with sharing everything about this. I now have others to think about and how much I want to share about them, especially when they can’t speak for themselves yet. I will update on my haematology stuff though. So far all good! Leukaemic rate hasn’t budged after 2 months off treatment which is also pretty epic. Let’s just send all the good thoughts it stays like that!

So until next time... I’m not sure I need to sign off with love and hope anymore. Because for once. Things are actually pretty perfect. 

XxX

More Processing and a Plan

Well I was going to write yesterday but my tube journey instead of being a long one ended up being broken up into two and when I write I like to do it in one hit as things change and breaking the writing impacts on the post. I like to be in the zone continuously even if it’s just to ramble shite that no one really cares about. But it’s important for me. To process. To get it out of my head. To stop it circulating. Anyways. 

So yesterday I was going to write about my recent appointment which I have also put in my Hopeful Baby Diary blog so maybe I’ll just stick the link in and keep this more about how I really am rather than the slightly tempered version I put in that because of clients reading it etc. https://thehopefulbabydiary.wordpress.com/2021/03/20/funding-clarification-and-obstetrics-referral/

In summary if you can’t be fucked to read the link it is that the consultant I saw helped me get a plan in place. Funding appeal is going in. It might take months. It might still be a no. So whilst I decide what to do in terms of waiting or just sticking it on my credit cards, is to pick the sperm donor as I have to pay for that regardless and get it to The Hammersmith. Well. Actually The Queen Charlotte’s. But anyways. They sit on the same site. And I just call it The Hammersmith as that’s where my Haematology care is. And now I’m questioning if the fertility clinic is actually The Hammersmith. Anyways. Completely irrelevant. So buy the sperm and then it’s there with my eggs. I’ve been referred to the obstetrics team to discuss my treatment plan. And ‘the impact of the disease on pregnancy and the child’ and other fun things. 

It’s when I read things like that it really brings home how serious CML actually is untreated and the pre the oral chemos it really was a killer. Not that I’m concerned about coming off treatment. If my haematology consultant thought I was in any danger no fucking way would this happen. It’s why it’s taken 14 fucking years to get here. So anyways. Really looking forward to that conversation!

This past week has been really fucking hard. I’m not going to lie. It’s so much better today. As I lost my bubble 10 days ago, haven’t been in my sister's child care bubble since the first week of January, and I had a negative Rona test yesterday morning I saw my brother, sister in law and niece yesterday and had a hug. For the first time in 12 days from a human. Last dog cuddle with ‘my dog’ was 8 days ago. And it has made such a difference. I can’t imagine how it’s been for others who live on their own who haven’t had access to anyone for a hug. I’m so tactile and to not have that whilst dealing with all this fertility fuckery with funding and all the dog owner shit which all came to a head 10 days ago has been pretty horrific. 

So basically I feel like I’ve turned a bit of a corner in the last 24 hours. Yesterday morning I had one of my (legally allowed) home visits and the talk therapist who is part of the care team asked me if I was ok because of how my eyes looked. (The rest of my face was covered by a mask) And he could see how sad I was and the impact of the burden I’m carrying. 

I’m also tired. My energy levels are shot to shit. 2 and a half years of the trial drug and I’ve hit that sweet point of my body saying. No. Fuck this. I’ve had enough. 

God this is a real ramble today. 

Should I set up a just giving page? Quite a few people have asked and said they would donate. I just. I don’t know. Whilst this isn’t my choice it’s also my choice. I don’t know what to do. 

I’m allowing myself another week off fertility stuff. To get my head back to where it was. When I was excited. When it wasn’t all another fucking car crash. Oh and I’ve requested my notes so I can complain to the general medical council about IVF consultant number one. Just to see exactly what they did/didn’t do. I might be nice and smiley but you don’t fuck with me. I will retaliate. 

So in a nutshell. Today is better. I saw some of my family. And my brother who is my nearly twin. Ish. 13 months younger than me. I’m not great when I don’t see him. And now I’ve gone into complete babble mode. Enough. 

As always. With hope. 

XxX

Another set back

 Well my lovely boglets,

For those of you who follow my IVF-specific blog (www.thehopefulbabydiary.wordpress.com) you will already know this, but I wanted to write on here too.  Although if you can believe it, I'm even more pissed off today than I was when I wrote last night on my other blog.

There's been another bump in the road.  Another hurdle to get over. Another battle to fight. And I'm so fucked off and fed up of it all.

Basically, my fertility funding has been denied because they haven't stated it as an issue with my fertility, because I'm not technically infertile or have a condition like PCOS etc even though I'm doing this because I live with a fucking chronic cancer and only get a year off treatment and it's taken 14 fucking years to get to a point where I can do this.

And the fucking IVF consultant who I saw in the summer who told me he was sure it would be covered didn't actually fucking check or apply for funding like he should have done, so I found this out yesterday.  When I should have known last fucking August.  So I'm lodging a formal complaint against him because once again he didn't do his job.  When I had my eggs frozen under his 'care' 14 years ago he also didn't apply for funding and just put me through as a private patient.  So I'm absolutely LIVID with him about this.  I wish I had recorded that conversation.  And I am SO tempted to name him but I won't.  But I want the GMC to know because he's now at a new hospital so complaining to mine will do sweet fuck all.

ARGHHHHHH.  It would be SO nice if something went my way for a change.  

So I'm feeling very sorry for myself today.  And had an argument with the dogs owner so he can fuck off too.  And I suspect he might read this or my hopeful baby diary blog.  So enjoy reading this is if you are.

Doing this on my own is so much fun.  I know children are expensive but I really hoped I would be going into it without loading up my credit cards and owing around £8,000 if I'm lucky and it's only one round.

It's times like this that I really wish my life was the parallel life that I should have got. That wasn't fucked over by a chronic cancer diagnosis. That meant I did all that I was going to. I met someone in my 20s who wasn't put off by my health and all it entails and not drinking because none of that happened or existed.  That I didn't meet someone so perfect but it could never be because of life stuff and then I met the dogs' owner and thought that finally I might get the happiness that I deserve. Maybe, maybe it's the dogs owner I should be with.  Who doesn't care about my cancer. Who likes the fact that I don't drink. That we share so much in common. That we work together as a couple.  But no.  A big fat solid fucking resounding no.  Because I am destined to be alone and unloved because in so many ways my life is completely and utterly fucked. Because of a non-lifestyle-related genetic mutation that my body couldn't deal with.

I am so fucking tempted to start drinking again.

So yet more FUN TIMES in this life of mine. Not that it's much of a life to be honest.  It's really shit actually.  And I want to bring a child into it. Picking the father from a list on a website.

God I'm so bored of myself and this self-pity. Right. I'm off.  And if you have gotten this far, well done you.  You deserve a reward.

Fuck Me, What A Year

 Well my lovely Bloglets,

As I have been so shit with this blog for a couple of years now, I thought I'd do a yearly round-up.  For those of you who are lovely and care, and to prove I'm still here!

Well fuck me.  WHAT A YEAR!  2020.  Who would have thought?!?  All in all, I can't complain. I'm fine. My friends are fine.  My family are fine.  I think I had 'Rona but I wasn't very ill.  I just had achey legs and was very tired for a few days, but they are my fatigue symptoms anyways, so who knows?!? It was also before everyone who sneezed went to get a test, so I'll never know.

The one arse has been that I was meant to come off treatment in November and can't until Spring.  I was so fucked off at the time, but on reflection, it was the right thing to do. It's also given me time to do some functional medicine tests to see what's going on with my hormones at a much deeper level than the NHS blood test, a hair mineral analysis which to be honest I am a bit dubious about.  The test did get one thing bang on, but some of it really doesn't represent my lifestyle, and the doctor I had the consultation with didn't take my meds into consideration, so, the jury is very much still out.  I have also done a test to look at all the omega ratio's which is interesting and actually reflects my NHS blood cholesterol blood test and also shows me some other stuff so I can help correct things.  All of this means that I'm taking 13 different supplements a day, which is costing a fuck tonne. But.  I am focused on helping my body after a battering of chemo for the last nearly 14 years, and adult life stress and all the rest of it.  And I want to only have one round of IVF next year.  So it's worth it. And for those of you who think supplements are bullshit and quackery (as some lovely person said to me on twitter this week before I blocked them),  there are GPs and Pharmacists who recommend them.  So there.

And on baby stuff, I didn't write about it on here because I wasn't ready for people I know, and potential family members to read it, as I thought I was pregnant a few months ago.  I"m pretty sure I was and it just didn't stick, which is so common, which has also given me a kick up the arse with supplements.  It is also highly likely that it wasn't me, but the sperm.  Did you know that 60% of miscarriages can be due to the sperm, NOT the woman?  So men, if you want a baby, and it's not happening most of it can be up to you.  So part of me was very sad that I wasn't as it would have made everything so much easier, but it has also given me time to get life shit sorted before starting fertility treatment in the early Spring.

It also still looks like it will be me on my own doing it.  I really hope not. I would love it if it happened with the man that I've 'not been in a relationship' for the last nearly 3 years.  But if it's not, I'm at peace with that.  I will do this regardless.  Anyways, I've ranted about this before.

Back to this year. Well I'm still 'not with' the man.  He did admit that we are 'seeing each other' not long ago. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.  And when I got my elephant tattoo, he sent a text to my father saying what is it with girls with tattoos going out with men with vans? (He has one for work).  So anyways.  Read what you will into that.

So I got my elephant tattoo!!!  Managed to get it in between the November and current lockdown. No. It's not tier 4.  It's lockdown. For fucks sake.  To remind me to be strong and to keep going. As I do.  They are my spirit animal.  They make me so happy.  I don't know why.  They just do.  They are amazing.

And when Christmas was canceled I got stuck in tier 4 as I had clients to see in person, who yes, I am legally allowed to see, and I wasn't going to bail on them last minute, and until today, I was going to be on my own, but I will now be with man and hound which will be very nice. It is going to be a fucking weird Christmas though. Not going to lie.  I think we will, probably like most of the country, have our family Christmas in the Spring.

Work has also been good this year. I'm so fucking fed up of seeing most of my clients on zoom rather than in person, but.  It has meant that I have had many who I wouldn't ever have seen de to location if it had been in person, so that's a plus.

And my jeans of doom STILL FIT!  So I think that's a WIN. Hopefully, they still will next week... I did manage home exercises for about 3 weeks and then life took over and energy levels crashed, so I'll pick that up again...

I'm not going to lie, this year has had its difficulties. Its ups and downs,  Going back to my parents for lockdown 1 and not spending it with the man and hound was incredibly hard and hurtful. To be told you aren't wanted and to go back to your parents is not nice.  But that was before I mentioned baby stuff and a true end for us if he's not the father. So it's been different since the end of June when I came back to London.  As always, I am ever hopeful.

This year has also been a year of lasts.  My last birthday on my own, my last Christmas on
my own.  My last year being 'the single one' in the family. Because if everything goes my way next year, and it really fucking should after all the shit I've had to deal with in my life.  This time next year, I will either be heavily pregnant or with a newborn.

So with love and hope,                                                                                                                               XxX