Metaphorically, I Look Like A Fat, Drowned Chihuahua

Still here. Still haven’t changed the duvet cover. Still twinging. Still sicky. Still stressed.

But, on the bright side, the bleeding is darkening and tailing off; the pain isn’t getting any worse, at least, and John is turning out to be surprisingly domestically adept when he is given no choice. He’d even washed and dried Harry’s school uniform since Tuesday ready for his afternoon nursery session today, which made me narrow my eyes a little in thoughtful contemplation of future division of household labour.

I believe I mentioned something rash about going for another scan today; I have no better news than failure to bring you. I spoke to a markedly less sympathetic nurse on the phone who, after eliciting that I was not doubled over in agony or standing in a bloody puddle, told me that I would do better to come in for a viability prognosis after the bleeding had stopped altogether. When I politely demurred, she told me flatly that they had no appointments – this is a gynae A & E – until next week.

It is my usual practice, when thwarted by the NHS, to instantly, and with complete absence of any type of qualm, throw money at the private sector. I rang my local private ultrasound clinic, only to discover that they do not work on Fridays. Bugger. The only remaining option would be to drive many miles to another clinic, a much more expensive one, in a location I don’t know, alone, when I am supposed to be sitting down doing nothing. The risks didn’t seem to outweigh the benefits, quite, so I am sat here calculating just how many hours of weekend I have to get through until 3pm on Monday.

Not, of course, that Turbo’s continued survival at that point will mean a great deal in terms of prognosis. Julie will perhaps correct me if my memory is adrift here, but I remember reading some years ago, somewhere in the depths of her wondrous archives, that her husband Paul had once spoken words to the effect that: even the most reassuring scan can only ever tell you what has happened. Past tense. How true. Because, of course, I am now simply sitting here under the suspended sword of Damocles, waiting – and shall continue to wait for the entire undetermined length of this pregnancy – for the next crucifying haemorrhage, for the sharp, harbingering cramps.

It’s a shit of way to spend a few days. Weeks. Months, if we’re lucky.

I knew this was a strong possibility when we embarked on this cycle, but a little part of me was stupidly, illogically optimistic, and was clinging fast to the unquenchable, refulgent spark of the It’ll Be Alright This Time hope. I have been thoroughly fire-extinguished, and am sat sodden, shivering, deflated and depressed  – and in a stinking bad mood to boot – in the spreading puddle of my hopes for Uncomplicated and Straightforward. I don’t think my fur is ever going to look the same after this.

*** Updated to add***

In a return to my previous Champion Doppling form, I have just picked up 8+4 weeks Turbo on my doppler, chugging away determinedly at 175 bpm still. Probably IS wearing a tin hat.

37 Responses

  1. Still following, lurker-style. I wish I had something to say that could fix everything and make you feel all better but of course that’s impossible.
    But I can say you’re in my thoughts every day which is a really weird thing when I have literally never spoken to you and you don’t have a clue who I am.
    I hope everything resolves itself, I hope you’re OK.

  2. *Handing my Chihuahua comrade a hairdryer, along with a big glass of some powerful grog, and a big slice of cake*

    I am so sorry. I would say I get it. I don’t, I am sure, but what I imagine I get is an almighty stressful and deeply sickening headwreck.

    I hope mightily things are settling down and you are not in for the horrendous ride you fear.

  3. Not being able to DO anything. Check anything. Se ANYTHINg. Nightmare. But you did right not to go out. Good girl.

    What to say? Nothing remotely useful. Only am thinking about you and turbo and John and Harry.

    Am sending hugs and anything else I can!!!!

    Can your brain cope with movies??

    M x

  4. Years ago while caged up in the hospital and trying to remain pregnant, I remember a lovely and warm midwife (we have a few of them in the NHS!) patting the back of my hand. I remember her telling me that they will keep watch on things, but ultimately in early pregnancy the body will make decisions that medicine cannot interlope. It was one of those “THIS is your definition of comfort?” kind or moments for me, but ultimately that was the painful part she was right about. In early pregnancy there’s little they can do. It’s shit, it absolutely is, and the “What’s going on in there?” can drive a person crazy.

    I’ve put a call into the Moirae. Atropos must have cut a long sodding string on Turbo. You have that kind of good karma coming.

    • To my shame, I just had to google the Moirae! Sodding classics degree, too. 🙂

      Strangely, there IS a certain comfort to the whole ‘Here I stand, I can do no other’ type-attitude. It’s the ultimate fall-back position of calm, but I never seem to reach it without an almighty mental punch-up.

  5. oh lovey. I know what that feels like. It’s a shame you can’t take your brain on a holiday for a few months and just let your body get on with whatever it’s going to do. I always felt that was much the best way in these circs. Lots of love and patting of bedraggled fur.x

  6. Oy. OY I SAY! Glad you stayed in, but BUGGER! How frustrating!

  7. I was going to say ‘but if it becomes months, you’ll feel better, won’t you?” but remembered you are not me.

    • Depends. 4, 5, 6 months: no. 7 months: cautiously, yes. Although Harry’s 33 week exit wasn’t anything dreadful in terms of prematurity, he damn nearly died, regardless.

  8. Ack.

    And bowing to your doppler skills. And to Turbo’s tin hat.

  9. Still keeping everything crossed, but YAY for mad doppler skills! May this wonderful streak of tenacity Young Turbo appears to possess be a delightful pain in your ass for many years to come!

  10. The doppler has made my smile. i have every confidence in Turbo’s tenacity.

    (And I too had to google Moirae, bloody Classics degrees I might have well spent four years in a pub not attending lecturers … oh).

  11. Cheers for the Doppler!

  12. Oh the nearly unbearable weight of wait…Wishing you peace in this pregnant pause of life, as Turbo churns merrily along. The optimystical part of me believes that she/he desires this particular experience with you.

  13. Fantastic that you can track Turbo on the doppler already! Glad he/she seems to be coping in there.

    Wow, there are a lot of classics degree lags around your blog! Haven’t seen such a collection since my graduation. Shall we all dash off a quick sacrifice to Clotho on your behalf?

    • By all means!

      Sadly, even taking careful note of The Spot, it won’t be easy to find a second time; damned difficult picking up heartbeats this early.

  14. Laying in bed waiting to see if my body was going to expel Dee was one of the worst parts of my life. I’ve been there, and it suuuuuuuuuuucked.

    I learned a lot of new things on bed rest. Sewed many felt Christmas stockings. A frigging tree skirt. I learned to knit. Watched the entirely of the hurricane Katrina coverage on TV. And many many many many books.

    Mourning the loss of the uncomplicated pregnancy was very difficult. As were the well meaning relatives and friends: ” Good thing you’re getting all that rest in now, before that baby comes!” no jury would have convicted me.

  15. good turbie. keep on keepin’ on.

  16. So glad to hear that Turbo’s tin hat raised a smile 😉 Now imagine a few sandbags heaped up to add to the barricade . . .

    Genius Doppler skills by the way.


  17. Christ, woman, I look away for a few days having no internet time and all this goes on. I think from now on I better stick a bit closer by. With an umbrella (for soddenness) and probably some cookies.

    And damn, I want me a Doppler.

  18. The number of times I have clicked over to check your blog would reach immense proportions if the wordpress app on the phone of strange would let me see other peoples blogs!

  19. Oh my dear. I cannot begin to imagine. I have been behind in reading blogs, and I had no idea. Good luck. Good luck. Good luck.

  20. Well, the update made me happy. I sneaked over while I was still at work because I couldn’t take the tension, and spent the rest of the shift grinning happily at even the most obnoxious of punters.

    Please spend months and months, at least seven, maybe eight, like this. Turbo, remember, there’s a knitted pony in it for you.

  21. I have been there (not via IVF, but method of conception matters not at this point) and it sucks loudly indeed to just be WAITING, feeling like you’re trying to forcibly keep your cervix closed. Nothing energizes me more than being told I must take to my bed, a place normally thought of as heaven on earth, which becomes the hottest corner of squirmy hell during enforced bed rest.

    God bless tinfoil hats! Hang in there, Turbo!

  22. Yay for Turbo!
    Now: rest.

  23. Special form of torture is being forced to sit and wait under circs like these. Glad you got the doppler working though.

  24. […] – Now go and say something gentle to HFF, who is on bed-rest. Which sucks. But Turbo’s still in there, which doesn’t. And the […]

  25. Now I’m glad that I waited until this evening to read this post – hurray for tin hats and heartbeats. Keep up the good work.

    I think the initial pregnancy consult should occur before 6 weeks if possible, and one of the things they tell you should be “In the event you appear to be miscarrying in the first trimester, there’s really nothing we can do for you.” Just so you’re not surprised to hear it later.

    Now I’m going to have to go and google stuff – you and your classics degree. Although, Atropos is ringing a bell somewhere in the back of my mind…hmmm. Oh well, Biochemistry degrees are completely useless!!!

  26. Here from the Roundup, so sorry to read of your frustrating situation, and hoping against hope … and long, anxiety-producing waits … for you and Turbo.

  27. You probably have a subchorionic hematoma. You’ll be fine. Good luck.

  28. yay for turbo, merrily gestating away still. s/he has obviously inherited your stiff upper lip.

  29. Phew for the tin hat. Will send Andersen shelter too if it helps.

  30. Thought I’d made up for starting out with a science degree by dedicated study but the Moirae defeated me as well. Well played, that person!

    Hope you are less bedraggled and chihuahua-like after the weekend and that everything is settling down nicely. Especially Turbo and his fetching tin hat.

  31. Doppletastic! Yeah!

    I don’t feel like I’ve learned as much as I should’ve in my time on this earth, but one lesson I’ve learned the hard way is how hard it is on us humans to be in a state of uncertainty. Loss of control is difficult but, as you mentioned in a comment here, sort of soothing at some point, once you get there. But uncertainty is just awful, especially when the stakes are so high. In the most practical medical nature a scan may not do much, but in terms of emotional health it is a must-have. So I’m thrilled you doppled Turbo and I hope you can get him/her back in dopple range again.

    After reading Julia/Hippogriff’s account of her bedrest I will never think of it as an enjoyable thing, but if bedrest is working for Turbo, then I know you can and will do it without a second thought. In the meantime, sending lots of good wishes to you all.

  32. P.S. I learned about the Moirae from Piers Anthony; not sure how the classically educated among you should feel about that 😉

  33. Update, woman, I need an update!
    Liking the tin hat – are they for sale?

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: