The musings of a once infertile woman

Control

2011-03-11T01:54:00.000-08:00

I have decided to take control. The moment has come when battle must commence and that time is nigh. My middle aged waistline is the enemy and whilst control pants would be the obvious weapon of choice, it is not what I have plumped for and this is in part due to that dark, familiar shadow, called infertility. Not that I am really complaining: Sometimes, in our journey we are given the chance to glimpse our body's future: namely, how we will react to the menopause and when we are likely to go through it - and my prediction wasn't great: Sooner rather than later, which has to be good to know, in a sad you-are-not-a-normal-body type way.

So I am running - pounding the streets in a regular and progressive way and have been doing so since January, which has impressed me mightily. I am not a natural born runner - it is not the way I am built: If I say I run with 2 sports bras, you will know what I mean. But I made the decision that a good dose of a high impact sport was needed in preparation to combat any bone thinning and to keep me feeling young. I don't have the childcare or the time to join a gym so running was a no-brainer - I could put on my lycra, shoes, bras and just go. But what has made this into a genuine experience for me is this, a series of free training podcasts that provide the structure for my runs, with all the music and the support of 'Robert' who made them - it is just like running with my own personal trainer: 'Keep going' 'You can do it' 'Are your arms loose?' says my man from Southern California, and my arms and legs duly respond. Further more, I love it which is a miracle in itself: From Week One when I was running in one minute stints between walking, I can now run for 25 minutes without stopping and I have never, ever been able to do that in my life before. Doing something different, making a difference - it is just so invigorating.

My other decision regarding my health was that I wasn't going to go on a diet - I fundamentally don't believe in them: I don't believe in deprivation and think food is vital for the soul. What I do believe in eating healthily but would never decline a croissant as I believe they were put on this planet for a purpose. So I have been curious to see when my exercise would tip the balance into weight loss - and it has started. Running 25 minutes means I can almost eat what I like - although the comments of my changing shape have started before this which has also proved interesting as I know I haven't been losing weight, but possibly toning and building muscle? But this summer could prove a good one - as long as I continue, my bikini will see the light of day again. Cream cakes and a bikini? This has to be a good call.

Are you singing from the same him sheet?

2011-03-05T04:20:00.000-08:00

Our partners. We think of them as emotional crutches, our foundations, our total support network. There through thick and thin and always wanting the best. A partner in crime, a partner for life, one half of a whole. But is this right?

Maybe partners are battling their own demons.

Maybe they feel guilty: That somehow this is their fault, that it is ultimately their failure to impregnate you and give you, with a snap of their fingers and a loving moment, your hearts desire, especially when it appears that everyone else only has to do this.

Maybe they feel frustration: It can't be easy to stand on the sidelines watching as a beloved gets more and more upset and starts moving towards more and more invasive tests and treatment. The emotional and financial costs on fast rising trajectory.

Maybe they feel detachment: Always having to be strong, always having to be the man, always having to watch other men being dads whilst coping with a raging torrent of emotions inside.

Maybe they feel hate: Hate at what this is doing to you, at what it is doing to them, to all the things they hold so dear.

Maybe they feel shock: Male factor infertility is still one of the last taboos where a bad test result can strip a man of his perceived masculinity. He is now comparing himself to every other men with children and feeling a failure, less of a man, defective and sexually inadequate. It doesn't matter how you feel about him and his test results - it's about how he's feeling.

Maybe he is feeling remorse, because, just maybe, he thinks he wants this more than you and doesn't want to put you under yet more pressure.

Maybe he doesn't want to be a dad at all and doesn't know how to tell you.

Maybe because he is losing control he wants to run away either physically or mentally. Men have a very different response to stressful situations - we want to talk, they want to hide in a cave till they can come up with a practical solution, even if that solution means giving up on trying to conceive, because just making that decision gives the back a sense of control.

Who knows, perhaps there is even resentment.

Anger, disbelief, denial. devastation, injustice and inadequacy. These are all normal feelings but who can he discuss the situation with? You? You are the obvious person - but you are already low because of this, so chances are these undiscussed feelings become just another pink elephant in the corner. Who else can he talk to without fear of being misunderstood? everything that he has taken for granted, his personal identity, family, his marriage even, now seem insecure and at risk: Not easy subjects to open up to over a pint and a packet of crisps.

The truth is infertility is a medical condition not a personal decision or a personal failing.

What needs to happen is to take each emotion - the anger, the resentment, the frustration - and direct it in the correct way - not to a partner, but to the situation. These feelings are normal - it's what you do with them that matters.

Talk: This can be easier for women than men and has to be done in a safe way, if need be, find a good infertility counsellor, but the bottom line is that it is OK to feel out of control and full of fear.

Plan: Thrash out what you are both prepared to do, what infertility treatments, how many rounds, where and what price. Know where each of you stand and where your stumbling blocks are: I always thought that if fertility treatment didn't work for me there would always be the adoption route: it was my safety net. It was only when my daughter was born that my husband admitted his concerns about adoption and I was truly shocked: I don't know how I would have behaved if he had suddenly said he wasn't happy with adoption if we were already travelling down that route. Communication is a must.

Decide: You need to work out together how you are going to handle certain situations, like holidays and people. Are you going to be open? or not? Do you want to be around families at Christmas or would you prefer to leave the country? Plan ahead and stick to your guns.

Accept: You are two different people with two different attitudes and when one is up, it doesn't mean the other is and vice versa.

The only failure here and in life is a failure to love: to love your partner, no matter what, to love your life, to love yourself. Ultimately what this all means is you can honestly say you loved and stayed strong for each other through the hardest of circumstances, and that you both loved and would have moved heaven and earth for your children, before they were even conceived, let alone born.

Little update

2011-02-23T03:09:00.000-08:00

I had hoped to write a post for this week - there is one lurking up my sleeve on what this might all feel like for partners, but I have been rather side-tracked by the 'ICLW' week on my other Blog, the poetry one - to get to my official ICLW blog click here but you are absolutely and more than welcome to have a browse around this one which is a mixture of infertility and the odd family post, for instance I know a big subject on ICLW this month has been whether or not to tell people what is happening, so this post may appeal: in Jan 10 there is 'To tell or not to tell that is the question'. ICLW is rather like a Blog party where you join a list and agree to visit 6 different Blogs every day leaving comments. ICLW has been enlightening, amusing, heart-breaking and thoroughly engaging and I recommend anyone to make their way to the list for a browse. Go Here ( Ooh er - first time I have actually managed to do a link within a post. Sigh) You will see the purple box on the right hand side - click on that and it will take you there. I would direct you straight there, but I can't remember the address without it being written down, so bare with me. All I can say is that it will be worth the trip and you will be able to see for yourselves why it is so time and emotion consuming. And illustrates just how many brilliant Blogs there are out there.

A long time...

2011-02-09T04:37:00.000-08:00

No posting. Life has been getting in the way: A very active Charlie, falling out of the rhythm of writing - falling out of the rhythm of finding the time and before I know it, half a year has gone by. This little post is to say, bigger posts are on the way: a bigger plan is on the way...through my profile you will be able to see there is another Blog up and nearly running called 'Songs for my Unborn Children', the title of my infertility poetry. I have decided to grab the bulls by the horns and publish via a Blog the complete volume.

My reasons are simple: I didn't write the poems for commercial reasons, I wrote them both to salve my pain and to describe to those who didn't know the emotional, physical and social impact of infertility. So now, rather them have the poems sitting gathering dust in a cupboard, I would like them to reach an audience - to reach the people who don't always have a voice because sometimes, when you are in the thick of infertility, you just can't say these things out loud. But when someone does say the difficult things it hits such a chord and you think yes - that's exactly it, and the relief of recognition is enormous. And thats what I hope the poems will do.

Bit of a hunt

2010-05-17T06:50:00.001-07:00

Just posted a post, but it seems to have slipped down the list: Check down the list for 'Is it positive to be positive?'

LIttle Charlie x

2010-05-05T05:44:00.000-07:00

Today is my Charlie's first birthday. My little baby is one today, bless him.

It really makes you think: about this day last year, how tiny he was, how much better a c-section was, what a true miracle he is and just how lucky I am to be able to write ' love Mummy' in his card.

This day has far more relevance for me than for him. He is far too busy playing with bits of wrapping paper and cardboard boxes.

Bows, rows and boatnecks

2010-04-29T03:54:00.000-07:00

I have worked out there is a fifth and final stage of sleep deprivation: You sleep. Genuinely sleep. And wake up feeling worse.

Why? Tell me why??

Is it because something in your body knows you will never ever be able to catch up ever again?

It just seems and feels so very cruel.

It also seems cruel that I have a beautiful daughter to dress who doesn't want to wear any of the beautiful clothes I have bought her. I knew I would face this one day, but I hadn't appreciated quite how much it would gall me. Or that it would be this soon.

We have been having rows every morning. I lay out her clothes. She says no. I say yes. She says no. I say yes or no nursery: Shoot. Self. Foot. Again.

Mostly I win. Eventually.

But yesterday I decided I needed to take a step back and view this as an opportunity to encourage Bella's natural creativity and embrace her ability to express herself through her clothes as her own special little self.

I let her choose her outfit. She picked a hooded pink fleece, cherise leggings and a pair of Crocs.

Not a pintuck or peterpan collar in sight. No liberty print. No Gingham. No jaunty three-quater length jeans with a swinging sailor top and little pumps. A sweatshirt, leggings and...Crocs. the sweatshirt did not cover her saggy bottom (her bottom isn't saggy per se, it's just it's on the small side and the leggings are) and her legs looked stick thin, particulalry with the huge crocs on the end. I keep telling her - you wear Crocs with loose three quarter length trousers, if at all. But worst of all, my three year old daughter was a hoody who thought she looked 'cool'.

Suffice to say, the experiment will not be repeated until she has firmly understood what cool is: So not for at least another thirty years.

For now, I fear there is only one course of action open to me: I am bribing her with chocolate.

Is it positive to be positive?

2010-04-28T07:02:00.000-07:00

After a bit of a break, an infertility post.

When bad luck keeps rearing it's ugly head, is it positive or even possible to remain positive?

If you think about infertility as a journey, the reason it becomes a such a long haul trip is because of the huge number of disappointments along the way, each one adding to a cycle of negativity that feels both personal and inevitable. So much so it becomes the natural choice to do something to counteract the forthcoming pain by always expecting the worst and preparing for it.

If I accept the pain now, how can it hurt me again?

But it does. Doesn't it. No matter how you try to prepare yourself for the worst, that it really hasn't worked, you know inside it hasn't, hope always creeps in, the hope that this time will be different, that this time will be the one. And when it isn't, the fall into darkness, the pain and the despair are as all consuming as ever.

So is it worth changing one's approach? Could it help?

Apparently, the answer is yes and it can.

Think about it: When people feel stressed their bodies react by releasing chemicals: stress hormones into their blood. Those under large amounts of stress can become tired, sick and unable to concentrate or think clearly. Symptoms include tension, irritability, trouble sleeping, dry mouth, pounding heart, difficulty breathing, stomach upsets, sweating, tight muscles.

If stress has the ability to cause or effect recognised illnesses, why not other things? Why not infertility?

And stress and all it's consequences certainly can't help when trying to conceive.

But how can one change such a natural path of negative thoughts, particularly with such an emotive subject?

Psychologist Alice Domar's latest study described here: www.domarcentre.com/news/study-stress-infertility.html has revealed that women who participated in a stress management program prior to or during their second IVF cycle had a 160% greater pregnancy rate than those who did not participate in the programme. The women were shown cognitive, relaxation and life style techniques to manage stress, helping to alleviate the emotional burden.

Certainly makes you think.

With Alice Domar's study showing such amazing results, it also makes me wonder why more clinics/doctors can't see the link between treatment and psychology. If stress management makes such a difference why isn't if offered at all clinics as a matter of course? Surely doctors can understand that patients would prefer to go through a 'stress course' than cycle upon cycle of invasive IVF? Bah. Infertility is too much of a gravy train for them: Patients are merely hamsters on an expensive wheel. But I digress.

It has been claimed that laughter can be the key to success in IVF treatment: Patients 'treated' to a clown just after transfer had a significantly higher success rate.

Having to face a clown after transfer does seem rather extreme and maybe not everyone's cup of tea.

But I can say, I laughed (minus the clown. Unless Mr B counts) through both my IVF transfers. The sort of pure relief, emotional laughter because in each cycle we only made it to the end by the very skin of our teeth: it was a joy just to have reached the point where I could be pregnant until proven otherwise and we were on cloud nine to be able say anything was now possible. And both transfers initially resulted in positive pregnancy tests.

If your clinic doesn't offer stress management, what can you do yourself?

1. Consider speaking to a cognitive behavioural therapist. Your GP can refer you or you can approach one privately. Look for the title MRCPsych (Member of the Royal College of Psychiatrists) or FRCPsych (Fellow of the Royal College of Psychiatirsts).

2.Try some self-help such as 'Change your life in seven days' by Paul Mckenna. This book has a simple message: Think better, live better. Patient heal thyself.

3. Try to change your thinking by using a basic mantra: I used Paul Mckenna's way of thinking to transform my attitude and approach from being reactive to what was happening to me, to pro-active in the way I saw things: It didn't so much matter what happened or how bad things got, what was important and what would represent me as a persons was not the bad news but was how I could deal with each disaster. I was a strong person who could show the world I was strong. The worst could happen, but I would deal with it in the best way possible. By changing this, I returned control to me.

The absolute truth is: Every time you reach out, every time you try, the potential pain of failure will always be there. So why not risk doing something mad, bad and dangerous and laugh in the face of adversity instead?

After all, what have you got to lose?

Faster writing

2010-04-17T10:05:00.000-07:00

Have you noticed my speed of posting has increased?

Bella is finally back at nursery and I am running a cunning system of keeping a rampant Charlie at bay by throwing him satsuma segments.

I fear it won't last long.

But he is a funny little fella. He has a completely angelic face, genuinely beautiful, (OK. I am biased. But he is) yet he manages to 'thump' around the place to the extent we have started calling him, 'Thug thug', (a habit we really must break before he starts to speak). But there is nothing 'airy-fairy' about him. He now refuses any baby food, insisting on eating anything solid he can get his (four) teeth into. We even laughed about him being a minature rugby player, (I already worry about his face, his beautiful face. Sigh) laughing off every injury and heading back into the fray. He saw us chuckling and launched himself at us, letting out a huge belch.

That's ma boy.

Tantrums: Not me

2010-04-17T03:05:00.000-07:00

Apologies for a theme running here, but lack of sleep is like a stone being thrown in a calm pond: The consequences ripple out.

However, it continually amazes me how normal you can appear to be. Or is that how normal I think I can appear? Admittedly the give away is the twenty odd years added to my age. That and the lack of funds in the patience bank.

I was in the supermarket yesterday and Bella decided to test the boundaries. She wanted a 'paper', and I was in no mood to give in, besides, I hate her to think that she only has to say 'I want' to get something. She was screaming, so I went down to her level and said, this is not going to happen and I hate it when you can't even say please.

Please I Want A Paper, Please I Want A Paper, Please I Want A Paper.

Like a stuck record. At full volume.

By this time we were at the checkout. With Bella lying on the floor, hanging on to my left leg trying to drag me back to the paper stand. The cashier was laughing (not sure it helped), 'Most kids scream for chocolate'. It really looked like I was denying this three year old a proper broadsheet and not what she wanted: a comic. I raised an eyebrow and said in a loud voice, 'These Financial Times obsessions really need to be nipped in the bud'. It was the posh supermarket and I had a fleeting thought this might make the punters more understanding. A vain thought.

I went down to her level again. Floor level. If you don't stop screaming, I will take away your scooter. She had it with her, so not a hollow threat. Having said that, it was a case of shoot self in foot as I had no idea how I was going to get her, still shackled to my leg, the shopping, the banned scooter, Charlie and the buggy all home.

If you take away my scooter, I will have to stay here and the bad men will come and get me. (where did that all come from??)

Bella. I can honestly say no-one will come within ten feet. Twenty at a push.

Mentally singing Somewhere Over the Rainbow through gritted teeth, I attempted distraction. Come on, darling child, fruit of my loins, thank the nice lady and lets put our green 'money' in the voting boxes (too long and uninteresting to explain). It worked enough for me to back away from the scooter threat, but not enough that she didn't start again as soon as we were out of the door. I changed tactic, always slightly worrying as I am a stickler about following threats through. If you don't stop screaming it will be straight to bed and no stories.

I want stories, I want stories, I want stories.

And still no please.

Please I want stories, Please I want stories, Please I want stories.

I decided a tight-lipped, stoney-faced silence was the better part of valour, especially as by now the buggy was so heavy with shopping that if I let it go to grab her, it and Charlie were likely to summersault down the High Street. And so we hobbled our way back, Bella in full flow putting Wagnerian sopranos to shame, me walking away, praying she would eventually follow and generally trying to outstare the pitying and withering looks of the unwashed masses.

Then John rang to say he was coming home.

I told him he may want to re-think. Particularly as at that moment Charlie was head-butting the floor.

Fast Awake

2010-04-17T02:35:00.000-07:00

There is a transitional stage between a bad period of sleep deprivation and a return to normality when one's ears (I say 'one's' ears as I fear it doesn't happen to my Best Beloved. Ever) seem super-sensitive to bat-like proportions. To the extent that even sleep is elusive as every creak and burping pipe is a potential child about to kick-off. As a result every nerve and muscle remain poised, ready to react, every molecule (except in my brain) is screaming Don't Go To Sleep, Being Woken Up Again Is Just Too Painful. But good Friend Brain wants to be my friend and is ready for the fight, bare knuckles up in preparation, he shouts Don't Listen to Them. Go To Sleep. You Need to Sleep. You Must Sleep. Now. Now. Now.

Sadly no-one wins. Least of all me.

But this phase, after a week or so, does pass.

And gradually you move from no sleep, to trying to sleep into the third transitional phase of sleep deprivation. You sleep. Only to be almost woken by the faint sounds of children crying somewhere in your subconscious.

Or is it?

Could it really be the mating call of foxes?

Or could it be that big, hairy, inconsiderate beast called 'Whistle Nose'? And who's? Yours? or Best Beloveds? And as you lie there, trying to work it out, breathing and listening, prodding and poking, until you are, without a doubt, wide awake.

Except Husband, the usual suspect, has this ability to grunt, roll over, and go back to a deep, deep sleep.

Me? well, brain takes over. Go To Sleep, Just Go To Sleep, Go To Sleep Now, It's So Nearly Morning And You Really Need Your Sleep, You Must Go To Sleep.

Or else I need to pee.

And so it continues.

Maybe drugs would help.

I need drugs. I really need drugs.

Or a nose muffler.

A rant, good and proper

2010-04-16T12:20:00.000-07:00

It's an interesting one. Sort of.

According to the tabloids, Katie Price/Reid/Jordan/whatever you want to call her has allegedly started fertility 'treatment' in a bid to conceive her fourth child. Which is all well and good, until you factor in 'they have been trying for a child' since February. A whole long two months. Bless them.

It is bizarre. The whole thing is bizarre and begs the question, is nothing sacred?

Or am I reading this wrong, maybe this is in fact a poignant reflection on the pain of infertility that someone with the means has made the choice to move to medical help with such speed to alleviate the terrible suffering that infertility inflicts?

Or is it a reflection of the medical profession that they will take this couples money even though they know it can take a 'normal' couple a year to conceive?

Maybe one of them is not 'normal'.

Begs the question, which one.

And if there is a one. A normal one. And what is normal?

Or is this a reflection of our modern society, where someone can yell, 'I want' and expect it just to happen now, that day, that minute. And particularly when they have TV ratings to think of. Call me cynical, jaded, a tad exasperated, but you can already see the future headlines of 'Is she isn't she', 'Yes. She is!', 'No. It Was Merely An Extra Large Sunday Lunch'. ''The pain of our infertility' (after 3 months) 'This Time It's true!'. 'It's triplets!', 'It's Quads!'

And finally, 'My Miracle Baby' followed by the christening and, of course the eventual break-up of the marriage, with each event further milking the ever rolling cash cow.

For me, what really grates is that infertility is a real drama for some, a true roller coaster ride of extreme emotions with loving, desperate couples facing enormous obstacles at the very edge of sanity. Call me old fashioned, but 'alleged infertility' should not be used as an excuse for exploiting yet more publicity, and, oh yes, that means 'more cash' by a voracious, narcissistic, pretentious, superficial, and plastic drama queen, her side-kick and their comic-strip life.

Leave the real pain to the real people luv and go and grab another headline.

The Easter holidays

2010-04-15T09:03:00.000-07:00

The dollshouse obsession has been gaining momentum. I persuaded Darling Husband to make the main house just before Easter. He was not particularly impressed when I asked him make it again with a few less internal walls, because, honestly, the kitchen just wasn't big enough. I didn't help the cause when I then took the family off to our nearest paint shop to buy paint: At Farrow and Ball. The sales assistant couldn't decide whether all his Christmas's had come at once, or I had completely lost the plot: I did my utmost to give him my best winning smile when I asked for help deciding between two shades of pale pink. Particularly as he had asked what the paint was for.

I have also discovered the vast array of 'dollshouse shops' online. Completely fatal, although I am doing everything I can to involve Bella, such as 'Darling, which wallpaper do you like?

The yellow one Mummy

Oh.

Surely you prefer the replica 18th century Versailles collection in Sahara sand? Surely, light of my life, it is the best?

No Mummy, I like the yellow one, the yellow one with ducks, lots of ducks.

I have of course been eminently sensible and completely ignored her.

However, I do have a lovely picture of her painting furniture which I will try and upload. One day. I am a complete technophobe.

Easter has now been and gone and once again we repeated all our mistakes of previous holidays: After a long term and desperately needing a break we went away to relatives to share a room with a coughing Bella and a teething Charlie. It was a nightmare. Even when no-one was awake, someone was snoring, usually Charlie, even though we put him in the ensuite (in a cot, mind). Having always been an angel baby and slept through, he was continually woken by Bella coughing or her zealous complaining about his snoring. And he soon learnt he could wake up and get immediate attention, because we had to to ensure no other family members (22 of them) got woken up, and he pretty quickly decided that he rather liked the extra bottles of milk we gave him to shut him up (in the nicest possible way) although nine times out of ten we were too tired coming to bed to remember to make up any bottles in readiness to take upstairs so this meant a ten minute cold trek (the house is that big), running the gauntlet of the dog, to the kitchen. And back. And even worse, one's bladder got used to the waking too, 'I'll just use this time to have a quick wee' soon became a nightly ritual. So Bella would cough, Charlie would wake, we would trek, I would cough, Husband would snore, Bella would wake, Bella would cough, Charlie would wake, all of us would wee. In the morning, said family members would ask us how our night had been. Terrible, was the usual answer. That is awful, they would say. And then the day would continue on as normal. It truly amazes me how people forget how cruel sleep deprivation is. And how normal you can pretend to be. It has taken a further two weeks for bad habits to be broken and routines to slowly get back to normal, though normal is still some way off as even last night Charlie was up at three and Bella at five. And we are still weeing. Darling Husband did ask if I was pregnant, I did snort, How? and surely this meant he was too?

The nights and the holidays have certainly taken their toll and now I am also suffering from a sore throat and more worrying, blocked ears, which means reverberation during the day and tinnitus at night.

But I suspect it is nothing that a bit of sleep wouldn't cure. Ho hum.

Time

2010-03-26T01:46:00.000-07:00

Things have been a bit quiet on the blogging front of late. Not from lack of inspiration or desire, more that life has been standing in the way. I am not a morning person, despite years of training from my best beloved jumping up and out at 6.30 every day. And that is Every Day. Even after a crap night. So writing then is not an option. But I have discovered, nor am I an evening person, if I don't manage to stop during the day. And just recently I haven't. I know this because each night we cover our downstairs sofa with various pouffs and large cushions to stop Molly the dog sleeping on it and now, come the evening, they are still there. This has been the case for the last fortnight. Just madness. Things aren't helped now that Bella has broken up from nursery for a whole month so I don't even get a quieter morning with just Charlie.

But I do get to spend some extra special time with my gorgeous daughter. So whilst I am not here, just imagine me filling my time fulfilling one of my long awaited dreams - whilst Charlie sleeps, Bella and I are painting dolls house furniture. In fact, we are making a dolls house together to last a lifetime. What I can't believe is that I am doing this with her. Fullstop. But I also can't believe that I am doing this with her and she is only three. But her skill and attention to detail - her attention even, is amazing. So is the buzz. And I'm not sure who is more excited.

When the journey for them is so long, when it tests you every step of the way, when you believe it will never happen, the prize is truly treasured.

Think of me tired, but with a huge, huge smile.

And covered in paint.

Can vitamins help conception?

2010-03-09T05:04:00.000-08:00

There were many little annoyances and sometimes big rasps during my journey to motherhood. One of these rasps was a lack of empathy from doctors. I could understand a lack of understanding from those who didn't know, but I really felt doctors had no such excuse. Yet how many times did I enter a doctor's appointment room to see a photograph of their happy, smiling family in a prominent position on the desk? How many times did I have to repeat my story. To the same person? And how many times did I never hear the words, I am sorry?

One such doctor that immediately springs to mind was a specialist miscarriage doctor who we went to see privately because she was meant to be the best. Her medical credentials were excellent, but her bedside manner was pretty brutal and we both found it hard to understand how she had become so lauded, particularly by her patients. By this time, I had found and read Marilyn Glenville's book, Natural Solutions to Infertility, and was pretty inspired by it. I remember asking said doctor for her opinion: If there was anything I could do lifestyle-wise to help my chances and what her views were on the value of vitamins and supplements. I thought she may have a few insights herself on things that other patients had found useful. She point blank poo pooed everything. I was a bit shocked, but who was I to argue with an eminent Professor?

Then much later, she headed a programme on the BBC looking into the value of vitamins. The programme concluded that people eating a balanced diet do not need to take supplements. It also criticised vitamin manufacturers for using trial data based on sick or unhealthy people to make claims for products marketed at healthy individuals.

OK. I can't fault proper research. But something was still bugging me, like there was a grey, unexplored area.

A good diet will meet most people's nutritional needs. But how good is the average diet? There are those that argue that we are lucky if we get half of the nutrition our parents and grandparents did in the fifties and sixties. They argue our food is now increasingly massed produced and we eat far more processed food that has been leeched of it's goodness. Also, how do you know if you are 'most' people? Can anyone truly hold up their hand and say they always eat their five fruit and veg every day, let alone the rest? Maybe there was an argument to say we should take extra vitamins purely as an insurance policy?

But this wasn't it.

Those intending to conceive and pregnant mothers, particularly in the early weeks, are all told to take folic acid - one of the b-group of vitamins, because it has been proven to help prevent neural tube defects in the developing foetus. A vitamin proven to help? So vitamins can help? Despite the fact this vitamin was available through a wide variety of food?

But there was something else.

It seems that we are very good at pointing the finger at what can negatively effect fertility, the main culprits being alcohol and caffeine. We know that in men, alcohol can even reduce fertility by as much as half by inhibiting the body's absorption of zinc. Lots of doctors say don't drink. Very few say Zinc is important for male fertility. Are we always given the complete information?

But still, this wasn't what was niggling.

There was another argument suggesting that the benefits of vitamins aren't researched and explored because the large drug companies are more interested in making big bucks out of their expensive drugs. In simple terms, they would prefer to have you heading down the IVF path then popping something from the high street.

It's possible and certainly worth thinking about.

But this still wasn't it.

What was bugging me was not whether vitamins helped or not. It was the lack of appreciation that by taking them, I was doing something pro-active for myself in an emotional situation where I had very little control and where there was very little I could otherwise do other than wait for a miracle.

Belief you are doing something positive, that you have the ability to change something is a powerful medicine. Even if the treatment is a sham.

Whether you genuinely think vitamins work or not, the placebo effect or the psychological response to treatment is a recognised powerhouse in it's own right. We want to believe, we are conditioned to believe that pills can make us better. In fact, the bigger the pills, even if they are only sugar ones, the greater the placebo effect. The fact that the subconscious mind can react and effect the body so conclusively is arguably the most interesting phenomenon in medicine.

Ask any women who has been trying to get pregnant for some time how she feels in the days running up to when her period is due. She will name every pregnancy symptom under the sun: The mind is a powerful tool.

And yet so often it is ignored.

It wasn't the Professor's lack of knowledge that got to me, it wasn't even her cold demeanor. It was her lack of understanding of the bigger picture: That the little things can sometimes make a big difference whether this is treating your patients with compassion or appreciating the full power of popping a few vitamin pills.

I personally believe that psychology plays a huge part in infertility and I wish the part it played was better understood. And what was understood could be better applied, particularly by those who really ought to know better.

And if that means allowing patients to take a few extra vitamins, then I say stand back and let 'em.

Little acorns

2010-02-27T11:04:00.000-08:00

The butterfly effect or 'sensitive dependence on initial conditions' is alive and well in our house. The seemingly minor event of a dead mouse has set in motion seismic changes with a builder coming to quote for a loft extension next week. It is a long story. Maybe not that long.

Our house is an old, redbrick Victorian number with wobbly floorboards and holes in the cellar. Perfect access for our furry friends who have then had easy travelling through the boards to the rest of the house. So we are thinking of laying a new floor (with character, please note) in the hall and front room where the wobbly boards lie directly over the cellar. Which sounds an excellent idea - it will cut down on drafts and will seal a greater percentage of the cellar, if we ignore various conduits of movement like heating pipes. But I also want to take an internal wall down between our hall and our front room to open up some more space and light. Which all sounds excellent. Except we have one final loft space left, and if we take down the wall before we do the loft, nothing will pass building regulations at our local council. Well, it will, but we would have to put up the wall again, which seems rather bad planning. Particularly as we paid good money to have various support beams strengthened so that if we ever wanted to extend into the loft we could. So why not take advantage now, bite the bullet and get the loft done?

Because it costs the pocket a packet and because of the emotions involved with mess, people, expectations and potential disasters. And I swore I would never ever do any more building works.

The plus side is the room would be a study. A place of peace, calm and tranquility with a door that could close with me on one side and distractions on the other.

What bliss.

Miscarriage: What can help you, including a practical guide

2010-02-16T02:36:00.000-08:00

Pigeon poo today. On Bella's pink coat which is a children's traditional woollen duffel number. And can only be dry cleaned. Surely a major design flaw or at least an oxymoron. However, they do say a bird pooing on you is good luck, though I have a yet to work out why a bird shitting on you from a great height should be. Bella certainly took some convincing. But at least the mice are on their way out - five sonic blasters (just one is meant to do the job) , poison (goes against the grain, but I fear we had no choice) and a now rampant Molly who has developed a taste for their blood: she is slowly redeeming herself. I was initially worried by the poison/killer-dog combo, but so far she has only caught one and seems none the worse for it. I don't think she viewed it as a new delicacy on her menu and was happy to proudly present it to Mr B before burying it in the garden. As long as they don't reappear, in any which way, I am happy too.

The following post is written from a UK point of view and through my experience of the UK health system. I suppose I should say that I am not a doctor or in any way qualified to give out medical advice, but I think that would be demeaning to your intelligence.

If the worst happens and you start bleeding, particularly in early pregnancy:

1. Keep holding hope: Things may yet be ok, bleeding is common and doesn't always end in a miscarriage. Having said this, brown blood is better than red. And if a miscarriage is going to happen, nothing will stop it. But stop yourself: Put your feet up, if only for your own sanity and to know you tried everything.

2. If it does lead to a miscarriage, I will be honest with you: There is no cure. Doctors can do nothing to halt it except prevent hemorrhaging and/or infection. Doctors don't have the answers to everything and certainly not to problems in early pregnancies. Post 24 weeks is a different matter.

3. The service a GP can give you is limited, but they can refer you on to your hospital, if you have one.

I know that one hospital I went to would only see patients in their EPU (Early Pregnancy Unit) who had been referred to them via their GP's. If you turned up at this EPU as an emergency case you were sent to 'Accident and Emergency'. And then referred back again. One of the great medical systems designed to help the patient. Not. The moral of this story know your system - does your hospital have an emergency EPU? is it open 24 hours a day? is it a walk-in or do you need to be referred to it?

4. Be aware that some EPU's shut at 12.00 pm and referrals need to be made before then. It is never, ever like it is in 'Casualty'. This is because of point 2. And because there is nothing they can do for the physical you, the emotional you will be ignored. Very sad but true. If you want any counselling or understanding, you will have to find it through other sources.

5. What can they do? They can do a blood test to check your hormone levels to make sure they are still rising. They can do a scan post 6 weeks to check for a heartbeat. They can offer you an operation (ERPC) to 'clean out' the contents of your womb.

6. EPU's and antenatal clinics can be one and the same places. And if they aren't, the scanning facilities are often shared. So whilst you are facing trauma of losing your baby, you can be surrounded by growing, glowing bumps. I know - you expect so much more from the 'caring' medical profession, but I did say there would be no understanding. And there really isn't.

7. In early pregnancy, the scan will be an internal one. And no, it is not easy to receive bad news with a dildocam up your privates. Be prepared. And some scanning suites don't even have a curtain for you to change behind or privacy to wipe away the tears. Let alone somewhere to clean the lubricating gel away. You might get some tissues.

8. You may be given the option of either a 'natural' miscarriage or an 'ERPC': an operation under general anaesthetic. This is a personal choice. Having experienced both, I would always go for the ERPC as at least you are not living in limbo, waiting for it all to start, which in my humble view is just an additional form of torture.

9. ERPC's are not carried out every day, so even if you are in hospital, there is no guarantee you will have the operation that day. However, if you go early in the morning, you have more chance (if it happens to be that day they are operating) . If you want to take your chances, don't eat anything from midnight onwards because it will be under a general anaesthetic.

10. Insurance companies: On the one hand we are told that miscarriage is common. On the other, ERPC's are not always covered. Axa PPP is one such company that does not cover them. I am sure they have their own, bizarre reasons for this. Check out who your insurer is and what they cover.

11. Write down you case history and have copies ready - this will avoid the need to re-tell your story over and over again. It will also mean you have all your relevant information close to hand for filling in forms. It should contain: name, address, date of birth, age, name, address and tel of GP, date of LMP, how many weeks pregnant you are.

12. Take a book, and one for your partner. Nothing will happen quickly.

13. If you go down the ERPC route, take your own sanitary towels. Theirs are like bricks. Also worth taking your own slippers and dressing gown. If only to cover up the gaping holes down the back of hospital gowns.

14. Also, you may be given painkillers for afterwards, but I found it useful to have some as a back-up at home, just in case - paracetamol with co-codemol worked best for me, helped me to sleep as well which had to be a bonus.

15. Again Hospitals vary on this, but for my last ERPC you needed a pound for the locker to store your clothes. Which nobody told me until after I had handed my purse to Mr B for safe keeping. Forewarned is forearmed.

16. Because you are having an op, they will want you to remove your rings. I found this an emotional leap too far and refused. Call me stubborn, but I had never taken off my wedding ring since my wedding day and had no intention of removing it then. The nurse was completely horrible. But I remember saying, you are taking enough from me, you are not having these. They taped them over with surgical tape. A small success, but worth it.

17. Afterwards: Keep up your fluids to flush the drugs out of your system. Physically, you recover quickly: The bleeding should stop between three and two weeks. Emotionally, things take longer.

18. Whatever else you do, give yourself time to grieve. If you can, get away: If you can't escape yourself, escape your surroundings.

19. Think about finding some source of remembrance: A tree, a plant, name a star, a special piece of jewelry.

20. This is not a punishment and you have done nothing wrong. It is life. And sometimes I think this happens to the strongest, because they are the ones that can handle it. Eventually.

21. Look at writing as an outlet, even if you then burn it. Some people have found writing a diary helpful as both a link to your baby and something that you can look back on, over time, to see how far you have come in the healing process.

22. It can be scary meeting up with friends and family afterwards, even the ones you really love, because of a strange combination of things: Their distress for you, the spotlight on your sense of failure, the fear they will say the wrong thing and just not wanting to be told. Anything. If you think there might be a problem, set some rules and even say upfront that certain topics are just off limits.

23. It is a fact you will judge other peoples bumps, wonder how far along they are and whether they will make good parents.

24. Different people have different belief systems. Some name their 'angel' so they can grieve and move on. I always had a problem finding names I felt comfortable with and the truth is, thinking of my babies as angels doesn't support my belief system. But think about what suits you.

25. Self blame is inevitable, as is yearning for your lost child.

26. With grief there is the expectation that time will help the healing. With miscarriage, time itself can be the enemy and a constant reminder: There is your monthly period to face, the knowledge that to become pregnant again you have to try again and the loss of your youth as that very time moves on. Think about what changes you can make to make next time different: a healthier lifestyle? vitamins? exercise? Check out Marilyn Glenville's site on the sidebar. This is more about doing something for your own peace of mind than saying you 'have' to do this to have a successful pregnancy.

27. And then if you fall pregnant again, you know you will have to face the risk of it all happening again: A miscarriage means a loss of innocence and a heightened sense of paranoia for the future. Some hospitals understand this and offer early scans whenever you need reassurance. Others don't. The support boards on the net can help you find women in a similar position and together, with understanding, you can support each other through these difficult times. Check the side bar for the ivillage support board: Pregnancy after loss.

28. Do not assume your partner will feel the same way as you at the same time. They may deal with their emotions in a very different way. This is not wrong, just different. If it does become a problem I really recommend reading John Gray's 'Men are from Mars, women are from Venus'. The writing is not great, but the ideas are.

29. Your sense of loss is just as valid if you have other children. You know what you are missing and can feel what has happened has robbed your family of a beautiful sibling. You have every right to grieve.

30. Why is counselling never mentioned? All through the process, I know I was never given so much as a leaflet about what services there were. There was never any acknowledgement from any doctors I saw of the emotional trauma involved. It is not a weakness to ask for help and if you think you need more help, speak to your GP.

31. If you don't think counselling is your thing, there are some fabulous support boards on the web. You can write anonymously about all your deepest thoughts and fears, and there will be people out there who will understand your every word. As time moves on, you will provide support for new sufferers and in doing so, in the giving and taking, there is a positive, cathartic process that is the best form of healing I know. Check out the ivillage site, Coping with Miscarriage, in the sidebar. This was the best thing I ever did in terms of healing.

32. It is very hard to discover if there was any underlying reason for your miscarriage. The NHS will investigate if you suffer three, but until that point, you will not be taken seriously. Which is very hard. There are private clinics which will investigate, but it could be a long and expensive journey.

Miscarriage is not easy, she says with huge understatement. But hold to the hope, it is common, it does happen but it does not mean you won't ever be a family. Statistically, you are far more likely to have a successful pregnancy next time, than another miscarriage.

And I know, for that dream of a pregnancy, you will be prepared to risk going through all this again. And again. And again. For that, and because women are so special and strong, I wish you all the love and luck in the world.

A little update

2010-02-09T09:38:00.000-08:00

I thought I saw a Magpie in the pear tree. Turned out to be a blackbird, but it really has been that sort of week.

We have mice. And one of them is dead in our main living, eating, watching television room. The smell is indescribable and has put the room completely out of commission. And this is the room that Molly lives in. And she is allegedly a ratter. And to further increase her embarrassment factor, they have been gathering under the sofa, next to her bed, next to her food bowl. To add to ours, we have previously spotted a mouse in the garden hiding under the outdoor sofa, next to the water butt, and happily waved at it. With the children. How sweet, we said, as it wasn't in our house. How rare to actually see one. And in our garden too. The buggers. On the plus side, they are not in the kitchen and seem to have been quite content just dining on Molly's food.

After an extortionate quote from Rentokill, Mr B decided to attack the problem himself. And to start with he did very well - the mouse is somewhere in the heating system which basically runs all round the room and looks like old fashioned skirting board. A cunning design. The mice obviously thought so too as it seems they have rather enjoyed the running, safe from Molly. It all came off. He found the smelly, roasted mouse, including the full extent of their run and the hole through to the garden to the water butt, left over from when we had a bathroom in that corner. Which means they have been free to run in and out of the house, and have benefitted from undisputed access to Molly's food: Eating it when she is fed inside, and having no problems getting to it when we have moved her food outside.

Mr B then managed to puncture the radiator and with a large gush of water the mice poo and attending detritus were successfully carried along to all four corners of the room.

Seriously. I spend my weeks dealing with poo.

And now we have no heating.

Coping with Miscarriage: How to help

2010-02-05T12:33:00.000-08:00

It has been a mad, bad week: Lots of play dates (the kidlies) and another project on the go. With a deadline and a general lack of time, I have felt like a knifeful of butter spread over a large loaf of sliced bread. I have realised I need a stash of draft posts to cover me for blips like this rather than writing from scratch every time, but it is all part of the learning curve, and even the learning takes time. Sigh.

And the dog. I know you want to know about the dog. Well, the one night we didn't leave the potty out, she did a dump on Charlie's toy dumpster truck. Was it a dirty protest or does she have a sense of humour? Honestly, this never used to happen. Maybe she is getting old and incontinent. Doesn't really bear thinking about, but the potty will be back out tonight. It's either that or nappies.

Time to move back to the main programme: Miscarriage and what you can do as a friend or relative to help. Deep breath.

I look back on my miscarriages as a very dark time in my life. I had few words and limited experience to describe the pain and sense of loss I felt: The crashing sense of failure against everything I held dear, the humiliation that I had failed, and the crystal clear knowledge that this failure was totally down to me. I thought then that I would never forget, that every nuance and moment had been painfully burnt onto my brain. But I have to confess, my mind has a mind of it's own and it has wiped or blanked a great deal. I remember generalities: The baby due at Christmas, except I know it was Boxing day. Or the baby due in August. It was the 18th. My memory is definitely on two levels: the broad strokes and what I don't want to.

However, I still vividly remember the huge gulf between what I was feeling and what I felt I was meant to feel. I was meant to 'get over it' and 'move on' as after all, 'at least I could get pregnant', as the GP I saw so kindly pointed out. I remember being surprised then, and later at how unintentionally callous people could be, even with the best intentions: It took many miscarriages to receive so much as a card. And how soon I learnt to mask my true feelings: The hurt person standing in the shadow of the living, breathing one, but both being gradually sucked of confidence and self-esteem. A swirling grey smoke of my former self. But I knew then, if I ever managed to get beyond the pain, I would re-visit the past and try to educate those who don't know, but in particular try to educate those that really need to know if they are going to help someone they love.

And I know it is not easy to help: On the one hand we are told that miscarriage is common, on the other, it is rarely discussed. So for people on the outside it can often be find it very had to find something comforting to say, relying instead on cliches.

Which don't help. Then when the lines of communication get muddied resentment can fester: When sufferers see their alleged supporters struggling they can take their pain elsewhere and use the lack of understanding as a focus for their grief. And that focus could include rejection and anger. Of you. For grief is a powerful drug.

A miscarriage could be some of the most extreme emotions your loved one has ever had to face and it will be up to you to judge their level of pain and need. Having said this, different people will have different reactions and whilst this will be an incredibly traumatic experience for some, it is fair to say that for others, it will not be. The level of grief will come down to many factors such as character, age, the length of trying, the level of desire for a child, the chances of another pregnancy and if there was a previous history of miscarriage. A big issue will be the risk of permanent childlessness and my heart goes out to anyone who has suffered a miscarriage after fertility treatment.

And because of the emotions involved, you may have to prove yourself worthy of trust, including double thinking what they really need: You can't take anything at face value because if you fail now you will forever get the forced smiled and the closed internal door. But how will you know who is suffering and who is not? What is a mask and what is truth?

So, to be a friend in need:

1. From the start, treat their pain as real: Acknowledge it: send a card or flowers - a plant to grow and bloom in the garden, maybe one that flowers when the baby was due. Just something.

2. They may be scared to let you in on how much this has hurt them. They may not want to upset you or for you to see them so raw. There can be an overwhelming desire to create distance, run away or hide till it is 'over'. Listen to what they say, and what they don't say: They may not want to talk, they may want space. Just let them know you are there.

3. This is the difficult one: Walk with care: Be careful what you say: If you are worried you may say the wrong thing, admit to being worried up front. However, here is the big truth: Somethings are for them to say, not you.

These include:

It wasn't meant to be.
There must have been something wrong with the baby.
This was for a reason.
At least it was an early loss.

Instead, what to say:

You will be/are fantastic parents.
You don't deserve this.
If anyone can get through this, you can.
And - 'I am so very sorry' - goes along way.

The talking bit is hard. Maybe the best way to illustrate this is to say, if someone I know turns to me now for support - if my daughter does one day - I will not get it completely right. I will do my very best: I will care, talk and listen, and it is true my past experiences will help. But success salves the wound and the memories do fade. I have seen that just in returning to write about miscarriage. And now I am in a different place, I am part of a success story tinged with gold, so whilst I was there once and can empathise, I can never presume to know.

But I still know it helps to hear positive and constructive things.

4. Remember when the due date was, send a card, make a call, take them out for a meal, a glass of wine. If they still don't have a baby or are not pregnant by the following year, remember the date of the miscarriage. They certainly will.

5. If it happens, don't protect them from your pregnancies, this just increases isolation and alienation. You can never hide the news from them, so why try? Instead be open and honest. Know that they will feel deep emotions when you tell them, but when and how you tell will make a difference. Eventually.

You can even try the opposite: involve - use judgement, common sense and find where the balance lies. However, don't be offended if they want to back away - just give them choices. Most infertility sufferers feel like lepers around those with families, like there is a dividing line: them and us. If you can involve, do so, with sensitivity.

If you can do these things, if you can hold their hands and let them cry, if you can listen to the silence and talk through the pain, if you can be broad shoulders and a gentle hug, you will be a friend in-deed.

Poo gate - the continuing story

2010-01-28T03:42:00.000-08:00

Before I get back to the thorny subject of miscarriage, I am persuaded to tell you a little bit more about our dog, Molly, as the incident on Monday was not the first of its kind, and in her own way, she is part and parcel of our fertility journey and family. But to explain more, I need to go back to the very beginning as the tale of Molly and her interesting bowel movements began as soon as we got her as a tiny puppy.

We made the decision to get a dog after I had suffered yet another miscarriage. I had found this one particularly distressing as it had taken me over a year to get pregnant, we had told absolutely no-one so there was no burden of expectation and we thought, because we had kept it secret, there was no chance of jinxing anything. I had even made it, counting each snail-like day, to my first ever midwife booking-in appointment, which was like a gift in itself. It was a devastating shock when I started bleeding the day before my twelve week scan: so near and yet so very far. The two nail biting months of waiting, the knicker checking and the hoping had all come crashing down again and I felt completely let down and utterly drained to the core. On the friday, instead of our victorious scan, I was in hospital, silent and stony faced for a D&C. And then on the Saturday we were meant to be going to Bath for our celebratory weekend away. We went anyway, keen to escape, despite it probably not being our best idea after the op. But instead of visiting baby shops we licked our wounds, drank lots of wine because we could, and bought a book on 'choosing the right dog'.

I already had a specific picture in my mind: I wanted a puppy - she was a baby substitute after all, I wanted a small dog as they did smaller poos (how fortuitous), but not handbag sized as I had to consider Mr's B's feelings. A girl puppy was important as I didn't want her humping the mother-in-law. And I had always been rather fixated by Tintin's dog, Snowy, but I was worried he was a bit on the feminine (poodley) side for the husband. So we settled on a characterful long legged, broken coated Parsons Jack Russell.

Having a puppy is a bit like having a newborn baby: they are edible, rather helpless and completely reliant on you. Which is exactly what I wanted. I loved the bond, the commitment. I wanted to train her to be a super dog like Lassie, to follow me around and help with the housework. But I hadn't really taken into account the fact she was both an alpha female and a terrier.

Our first indication of her unique nature came within days. Molly, straight off, did pretty brilliantly on the toilet training side of things: During the night, when I had the most concerns, she was clean. It was during the day things went a bit pear-shaped. Every morning I would take her for a long walk on the Common, lapping up the oohs and aahs of passersby admiring my very cute, furry bundle of energy. Pocket-sized Molly, in return, would be trying to nibble the knees of every large dog that came within range: Alsatians, Rottweilers and Great Danes were all considered fair game. Each morning we would return home exhausted and lucky to be in one piece. And Molly would poo on our doormat. Marking her territory, said all my books. Bonkers, said Mr B.

She did eventually grow out of this habit (though never the large dogs), transferring her attentions instead to the discarded plastic wrappers from cigarette packets. With the whole expanse of the Common at her disposal, she would prowl until she had spotted a wrapper, then position herself, like a cabbage white butterfly laying her eggs on a trembling leaf, to do her business. Sometimes this meant balancing on just three legs, but she always performed her deed with concentration and amazing precision. And the three legged thing? it continued - she started regularly walking around with her back right paw in the air, which precipitated a rather galling visit to the vets. A purseful of pounds later I was told there was absolutely nothing wrong with her and it was just a terrier 'thing'. In fact, she still does it to this day. People often stop to tell us our dog is limping, and are pretty shocked when we just laugh. Of course, it's like the boy who shouted 'Wolf'. We never think something could actually be wrong and one day, it probably will be.

I remember another strange incident before the kidlies were born: an architect came to visit to show us her proposals for some building work. We were upstairs in our then kitchen, going through everything. Molly had been remarkably quiet, so I went to find her. She was downstairs, in the front room, guarding a pile of stuff she had literally nicked out of the architects bag - tissues, purse, mobile phone, keys. It was staggering. She had been coming in whilst we were chatting, taking something from the bag and slinking off back downstairs to add it to her growing loot. Nothing was chewed - it was all just beautifully piled. Why??

And about a year ago, there was a particularly busy time when I was potty training Bella and dealing with builders: We were having a patio laid in the back garden, and hit a problem - Molly couldn't be let out for her evening constitutionals because the newly laid concrete needed to set without the benefit of paw prints. Still being rather particular about where she does her business, she refused to go in the front garden. As we couldn't force her to perform (rather like my daughter) we had to leave her locked up downstairs as normal(not a tactic we tried with Bella). So imagine our surprise when we came down the following morning to find a perfect poo in Bella's potty. Honestly, if we'd manage to get that on CCTV our fortunes would have been made.

But it does beg the question, why did she do a poo in Bella's boot on Sunday night? Maybe, because like the potty it smelt of Bella? or perhaps she felt she deserved something soft and warm? I just don't know. But in view of her strange habits and mini obsessions - and to avoid the boot incident ever, ever being repeated again - we are now leaving Molly each night with her very own potty.

Now we just need to install the cameras.

Poo gate

2010-01-25T07:18:00.000-08:00

I did wonder if I would write about subjects other than infertility and whether I would allow my family to venture in, but I have the need to vent.

Our mornings of late have been a tad stressful. Bella (my three year old) has never been a good eater, never, ever. But we follow the fussy eaters guidelines and never make an issue of it. Ever. Every day, I put three plates of food down in front of her (Note: not all at once) and generally, I get three plates of food back. I just smile and wave and call her Sparrow. She is not the sort of child you can say: Eat your cereal and you can have a slice of cake, as she is not interested in cake. She is the only child I have ever seen to knowingly leave chocolate, and friend's laugh when they catch me saying things like, 'Go on, eat a chip, try a chip even?' Food has no interest for her, it just does not float her boat. Having said this, she is the only child I know who will eat green vegetables over meat. Why? I have no idea, but basically, I have to take a step back and hold to the belief that if she was hungry, she would eat.

However, things have come to a head: She has started waking in the night (translation: started waking me) saying she is hungry, which is really rather galling to say the least.

And a bit of sleep deprivation soon makes breakfast a massive issue: You will eat your breakfast or no nursery. She loves nursery so it's not a hollow threat. Nothing. OK, no nursery. It is now nine o'clock and we are meant to be there. Penny drops. She eats something. Now we can go, except because we weren't going, we aren't ready, so now we have to get ready very quickly. And it's winter and cold and we all need our layers on, and now she needs a poo and Charlie (eight months) has done one. We finally get there very late. We have to ring the bell and Miss M, the scary headmistress opens the door. I tell Bella she has to apologise and explain why she is so late. Both of us then try to explain to Bella that if you don't eat, you don't have energy and risk falling over. I am hoping scary third party intervention will help because honestly, I am at my wits end and teetering on two barrels - the eating one, and the time issue thing: I hate being late. This presses all my buttons, even if I have to pretend it doesn't.

Next day. Same thing again. Day after, I send her back to bed. She tells me, you can't tell me off, because I am a white rabbit. An interesting concept. She does apologise eventually and we get to nursery really late. Again. At least scary Miss M is playing her part well and suggests to Bella that she might want to eat her breakfast in her office in future. This was on Friday. Today is Monday - and with Miss M's suggestion still ringing in her ears, everything went without a hitch. She ate her breakfast beautifully. OK, Charlie didn't do so well - despite being trussed up like a bee keeper he has managed to plaster his clean clothes in blueberry and banana, which isn't ideal as we are meant to be going straight on to his Monkey Music class, but such is life. Charlie is the opposite of Bella, he can spot a breadstick from across a crowded room and will charge for it at the speed of a slightly arthritic race horse, then use his (two) teeth to scale your legs before ripping it from your grasp. I am also amazed where this food ends up - underneath everything, he wears pretty figure hugging popper vests, yet every time I change his nappy I find a mottley selection of grapes (peeled), brocolli florets and half gnawed carrots. The moral of this story is: Never change Charlie into his proper clothes till after breakfast, but not so easy when Monkey Music is on the programme. Sigh. But, ignoring a purple Charlie, for the first time in a week, we are going to be on time. Except when Bella goes to put on her sheep skin boots there is a huge scream. Mummy, mummy, mummy, there is a poo in my boot. I can't believe it. But there is indeed a poo in her boot. I can't for the life of me imagine the contortions the dog went into to plant this particular delight or why on earth she wanted to, but I swear these things are sent to try me.

Do you know, there are times when my darling husband, Mr B, has a good rant and tells me that all he does at work every day is shovel shit. I can sympathise to a certain extent, except that I know for a fact that I do.

Miscarriage

2010-01-22T07:02:00.000-08:00

In our language we have a word for mother, we have a word for pregnant and we have a word for miscarriage. We have nothing for a woman who was pregnant but lost her baby.

Yet she will have words, deep heart-wrenching words.

Ashamed, humiliated, rejected, unlovable and inadequate, vulnerable, fragile and exposed, despair and bitter recrimination, a raging sadness, a lifeless anguish, loneliness, confusion, self-reproach, disbelief, failure, withdrawal.

And whilst she is trying to make sense of what has happened, those around her will be doing their best to help. But the chances are, they will sorely underestimate the depth of her pain and grief.

They will take the general view that miscarriage is a part of nature: Statistics show it happens frequently, and people recover physically and try again, which in itself says recovery is just a matter of time.

They will hold to the popular wisdom that because there hasn't been the opportunity to touch, feel, see or hear the baby, there is nothing to miss. In simple terms, they see the embryo as a 'non person' and consequently believe that there is limited emotional trauma. It is a brief 'disappointment', not a serious loss, 'only' a miscarriage.

So why this great gulf between sufferer and supposed support network? why the widespread misconception over the level of grief deemed acceptable or expected with miscarriage?

People forget or don't know. They forget we are not exposed to death in the same way as previous generations and that this could be the first touch of tragedy in a normally well-ordered life.

They forget or don't know the cosmic force, the hold your breath, rock your world impact of discovering you are pregnant. The joy, the enormous excitement, the tidal wave of changes that then hits every aspect of your life from the moment you see that blue line and know you have started a new life: The instant leap from couple to parent, from parent to grandparent, from sister to aunt, baby to sibling, daughter to sister. The invisible spotlight illuminating a hundred and one considerations that need to be ready to make way for this tiny being: Is the house big enough? What building work can we get done in the time? Where will they sleep? Can I give up work? Will I give up work? Where can I buy a pregnancy book? Who does the best maternity clothes? Which hospital? And as you plan, you dream: Hair colour, eye colour, sex, names, even schools and careers, the future real and inscribed inside.

Then people forget or don't know what it is like to be pregnant. That it is something you carry with you every second of every minute of every day. How it isn't just a slowly expanding waistline and a missed period, it is tiredness, sickness, tingling, bloating, heightened sense: You are continually aware. But you embrace it, because you are doing something so special, so remarkable.

We test earlier now and know for longer and they forget what it is like to hold that precious secret and how slowly time passes: What it is like to feel pregnant for 24 hours, for a week, a month, 2 months, 3 months. And then through blood and nightmare, it stops. And how all you want is to feel like that again.

They don't know the crash of hormones as the body adapts to its new, unpregnant, repugnant state. The shock, the bewilderment.

They don't know the terrible feelings of total inadequacy for failing at something the rest of the world seem to manage with ease. How where ever you look there are people who were all babies once, or women who are having babies or babies. Every where, pregnant bumps and smiling babies.

And yes, she can try again: The need and want for a family will outweigh the terror. But with another positive test will be the unspoken fear, the loss of innocence that it can happen again. And whilst they are trying, she still has to face her period every month, the reminder of what has been lost and also the memories of how that loss happened.

If we want to do our best for our friends and family, we need to understand the psychological reaction to miscarriage, even an early miscarriage. We need to appreciate fully the proven fact that the length of a pregnancy has no bearing on the depth of the depression. We need to move away from the idea that the further along in the pregnancy, the greater the sympathy should be. A loss is a loss. Pain is pain. It is true, there will be some who will feel this loss less than others: Society is made up of different characters with different ways of coping. But ultimately, we must not let our perception of how we think a sufferer should feel overtake the truth of how they actually do feel. We must take our lead from the individual, treat their pain as real and allow them the courtesy of a right to grieve with understanding.

If we ignore this invisible tragedy and don't recognise the trauma, they will cope, they will try again. But that doesn't mean it goes away.

She will never forget, but instead the disappointment will not just be about what happened, but also about the people she thought she trusted.

Infertility: What can help

2010-01-14T03:21:00.000-08:00

I am sure this list can be added to. Please feel free to make suggestions.

1. Hold onto your dreams. Allow yourself the luxury of time to make them happen, but not too long.
2. Relaxation CD's can help, give them a chance.
3. Chinese herbs? I never tried them, but if someone had said stand on your head on the fifth night of the summer solstice, wearing a paisley tie and eating cold baked beans, I would have tried it.
4. Look at life style changes you can make, and not just for infertility. Check out Marilyn Glenville's website based on her book 'Natural solutions to infertility'. Whilst it can be galling to feel that you have to pop every vitamin pill in sight whilst everyone else is popping babies, the flip side is that making changes can help in taking back control. There is a link to her site in the sidebar.
5. Knowledge is power.
6. Have a plan B.
7. Keep very good records: Cycles, doctors appointments, tests, results, when and where. Not only will this give you control but it is both amazing and frustrating how often the medical profession will lose a vital piece of paper.
8. This relates to the last point: Separately, and preferably on just one side of A4, write out your own infertility history:

General info: Date of birth, age, name of GP, address of GP, NHS no., hospital number if you have one.
Fertility history: Date periods started, history of smear tests: date of last one, results. What contraception you have previously used.
Conceiving history: The date you started trying. Please list any miscarriages: number of weeks gestation, whether ERPC or spontaneous, where.
Tests: Blood group, Karotype, hormone tests, thyroid function tests? List them all with results.
Tests for partner: List results, when and where done.
Any treatment? List protocols, drugs used and anything else that might prove useful: Adverse reactions etc.

The above information will not only help you fill in all the forms you will be faced with during your journey, but will also help if you have to repeat difficult information over and over again. If it really gets to you, hand over the paper.

9. Don't expect your partner to always feel as you do.
10. Keep talking.
11. This destroys the soul. Anyone who wants to combat this needs to boost morale, confidence and self-esteem. Use your time: Learn to salsa, run a marathon, climb a mountain. Whatever it takes.
12. Allow yourself to unload when you've reached your limits. It is unhealthy to hold it all in. This can be through talking, shouting, exercise, or sometimes something completely different like writing it all down and burning it in a planned ritual. Again, whatever, just whatever it takes.
13. I used the mantra: I can't change what will happen, just the way I deal with it. It gave control back to me. Notice a theme?
14. Find fellow infertiles. They offer the best support because they know exactly what you are going through and can understand with only a few words. The internet is a great starting point. See the link to ivillage on the 'Interesting infertility sites' listed here.
15. I found Paul Mckenna's book 'Change your life in seven days' useful.
16. If you feel you can't do anything. Read a good book or watch a dvd. Can't do it? Just do it, you will feel better.
17. Acupuncture and reflexology are proven to help. Find a practitioner experienced in infertility. Hypnosis can help if feeling positive is a problem.
18. Find other childless couples to do really great things with. Make use of that freedom, it is a gift also.
19. The pair of you are a family, and don't let anybody else tell you otherwise. Don't treat yourself as second class.
20. You are not to blame for this and you are a good person. You deserve this as much as anyone. Hold onto the core of who you are and know this is purely medical, nothing else.
21. If it is really becoming a problem, seek support and don't be isolated. Counselling can put things into perspective and give you coping strategies.
22. Sometimes to see your self, you have to look through other peoples eyes. They see a lovely, successful person, which is what you are.
23. If I had a magic wand, I would come and find you.

Infertility: If you tell

2010-01-12T06:02:00.000-08:00

It would be very easy to write that the only thing more painful than having children, is not having them. But this description, although true, does not even come close to the multi-facetted disillusionment and sadness that is involuntary childlessness. Infertility is the silent disorder, the insidious creep that starts with such joy, but leads to a dark and lonely place where it remains, ever present in the shadows, secret and isolating. But exposure has it's own problems.

Safety in secrets

Why avoid the pity and the sympathy,
are they not the antidote to hurt and pain?
It's all we know, without these
we don't know how to cope.
Nor do we,
but will you catch me when I fall?

Do I want you to see my hurt?
Not if it becomes an object of general discussion,
not if it become trivialised with everyone owning a piece,
not if it feeds the monkey on my back
turning it into a pampered pet.
Do I want you to see how this has chipped away at me,
or do I want you to see the me I want to feel?
Walk in my shoes, then tell me.

But infertility is a big word, and sometimes it isn't possible to carry it all yourself. If you do tell, the following may help:

1. Decide who are the safe people to talk to, who to let into your circle. Do you want to be reminded about this all the time? My circle was quite large because I got fed up and reached the point where I wanted to educate those around me. However this takes time and depends very much on your character.
2. Decide how you will both answer questions like, 'Do you have children?' and 'Do you want children?'. Nice, vague answers, like 'Maybe sometime in the future, but we are trying to enjoy life first,' work best.
3. If people know you've been trying for some time and you need some space, tell them it's not your priority at the moment and list the things that are. Be happy, generalise and then change the subject.
4. If you don't want to talk, don't.
5. Consider appointing a family 'contact' who can inform others of where you are at and what is happening. It saves you repeating the same information and can be particularly useful in relation to tests, treatments and results.
6. Pull back from family if you need to. Put yourself and your needs first.
7. Sadly, other people will not stop having children just because you are having problems. But take heart: they are not doing it to spite you and maybe it was you who inspired them to get on with it.
8. If you are unfortunate to suffer a miscarriage or failed treatment, I am so very sorry and send such love. People are going to ask you how you feel - have something ready like, 'On a general level I am fine, but the rest will take time.' You can't open the flood gates every time, and you shouldn't.
9. Once they know, your nearest and dearest will be desperate to help and scared about doing or saying the wrong thing. They will.
10. Try not to be disappointed when you feel they let you down. Stand back and know that they don't, which has to be for the good as you wouldn't wish this on anyone. And the truth is, even when they get it wrong, it has come from a place of love.

It is not a weakness to ask for help. Sometimes it helps to have acknowledgment of how hard this is and the reassurance you are not going mad. It is and you aren't. Xxxxxxx.

Welcome fellow Nicola Morgan revellers!

2010-01-10T01:28:00.000-08:00

Welcome, welcome, welcome! Come in, shut the door - still bracing out there, hey. Give me coats, hats, scarfs, shoes? oooh, nice shoes. Glass of red? Bubbly? Rose petal bellini?? And make yourself at home.

This is only a baby blog, as in just started, so the advantage is a browse will not take you long. Also it might be a bit different as it doesn't showcase my writings as such, although it very much exercises my writing muscle, but I am developing it as a spring board. I know. Let me explain. I have a volume of infertility poetry I am keen to find an outlet for, and this is all part and parcel of that larger plan. Having said that, this is something I am compelled to write about.

So yes, I confess, my genre is poetry. And I feel mean not giving even the tiniest taster, so two wee nuggets for you all:

Scrambled Eggs

Darwin and his gene pool suck.
All I can hope
is that evolution takes charge,
and men start having babies too,
which will not only benefit infertile women,
but also the work place, society
and the world in general.

Relax,
they say.
Don't stress,
they insist.
Easy words,
I think.
Open your eyes
and sit where I am sitting,
read a book,
watch TV,
go to the cinema,
visits friends,
a trip to the theatre,
music, opera,
advertising,
radio,
newspapers,
magazines.
Only one word
makes the world go round.
Procreation.

Stereotypes

I am not a mother,
but nor am I
a career woman
or over forty.
But if I was,
should I be judged
for using my brain, my talents
and forging a successful career?
Should I be criticised
for finding unsuccessful relationships
and not for finding Mr Right?
After all, it takes two
to make a baby and create a family,
and some people genuinely believe
that stability and life experience
are defining factors in bringing up children.
Contrary to popular opinion,
not all women consciously think
I'll be OK, no matter what,
let me choose where the kids will fit in,
there's always the easy option of
fertility treatment and IVF
with their gilt-edged guarantees.
I can always buy
an egg, sperm, an embryo a baby.
No. It is not thoughtlessness that delays
the decision to have a family,
far from it,
for the majority, it is life.

Sending you much love and very much looking forward to my own alcoholic blog crawl.

Kate Bentley x

Infertility: You are told

2010-01-09T03:14:00.000-08:00

My previous post may have seemed complete. But it wasn't.

It just tickled the surface of one of the hundreds of complexities and contradictions surrounding infertility. There is another, deeper truth I need to explain:

Even if you tell people you are having infertility problems, you don't really tell. You will still continue to protect yourself and those around you by regularly putting on a brave face and then, because of that, carry around a huge burden of guilt for always having to pretend to those you care about the most.

But what if you don't tell anyone? Well, then you protect yourself and those around you by putting on a brave face and then, because of that, carry around a huge burden of guilt for always having to pretend to those you care about the most.

So, no matter what, you are living a lie?

Welcome to the world of infertility. These are the facts, and nothing will change them. But there is something that can be done: Those on the outside can recognise there is an issue, learn how to cope with it and thereby do their very best for their loved ones to support them through this awful time.

If you are lucky enough to be told about someone's infertility problems, the following should be of help:

1. If someone opens the door to you, you are in a very privileged position. Tread carefully because you hold their heart and dreams.

2. Don't treat them differently, just with care.

3. If you are told, you could be in line to witness some of the extreme emotion swings associated with infertility. Be prepared and don't take things personally.

4. Keep in contact. Distance hurts. Really hurts.

5. Nurture the positives, the negatives are all too easy: Women lose faith in their ability to conceive, and also in their ability: A little praise goes a long way.

6. There is ignorance of the depression suffered by women struggling to conceive, it has been rated as high as those with HIV. Think about what this means.

7. Listen, just listen.

8. Being infertile is not catching.

9. If you feel ignorant, say you feel ignorant, if you feel uncomfortable, say so. If you are worried about saying the wrong things, tell them. It really is this simple.

10. Not every conversation should or can be about infertility. Allow some normality. And don't expect them to tell you everything, this is about them and what they need. Ask how they are and want to hear the answer.

11. There will be good days, and there will be bad days. On the bad days, don't ring for the men in white coats and conversely, on good days, don't think it is over. It won't be.

12. The men in white coat days? These are entirely normal. See number 6.

13. They may want to grieve, and if they do, it will be in their own way, in whatever form that takes. If they withdraw, they are just trying to find a way to cope. Again, don't take it personally. Just be there for their return.

14. Be aware there can be anniversaries. All sorts of anniversaries: due dates, miscarriage dates, failed cycle dates. Number 13 will apply. And Birthdays, Christmas and Mothering Sunday all suck.

15. Infertility changes you. Fact.

16. If they get emotional and cry, please don't run away. Emotional outbursts are cathartic. Be sensitive, ask if they are OK. see numbers 11 and 13.

17. If they find it hard to be around newborns or young families this is not because they are bad people but because it hurts them. Hurts them in a way that I hope you will never feel.

18. Sometimes, just sometimes, bring the subject up. It shows you care. Be sensitive, follow their lead.

19. Regarding information, by all means find out how all this works but never presume to know more. And I mean never.

20. Never call someone about this or any subject related to infertility at the work place. Ever.

21. This could take a long time. Years even. It will be a large part of their lives. Be prepared, no matter how positive you feel, for the long haul.

22. A compassionate shoulder can also become a pregnant bump. This is a fact of life, but please, please handle with care (This subject will have it's own, future post).

23. This could cost a shed load of money and a lakeful of tears. For nothing. But your loved ones will move heaven and earth in their quest. Watch and admire their strength, they will amaze you.

No-one would ever intentionally hurt someone they love, but infertility does alter your perceptions and erodes your inner core. If you want to avoid causing more pain then walk with care, learn to think beyond the obvious and by doing so, be a true friend in a time of great need.

To tell or not to tell, that is the question

2010-01-07T08:34:00.000-08:00

Do you consider yourself to be an open, easy going type of person who talks about everything to everyone? Before you answer, think about what this means in terms of trying for a baby and then the definition of 'everything' and 'everyone' . Now think beyond the mechanics of making a baby to a worse case scenario - what if, month after month, that baby never happens, what happens then? Wanting to share the excitement and intended joy of your future plans is completely understandable, but are you ready for all the questions if things start going wrong?

And what if the problem isn't with you, it's with your partner, are you going to speak for them as well? Do you think they'll be OK with that? Be warned, once people get a whiff of the fact you are even considering trying for a baby, you will both become a piece of public property with anyone thinking they can ask you about every intimate detail. Are you ready for that? Is your relationship?

I remember I used to think it strange that women would even wait for successful 12 week scans before announcing their pregnancies, particularly when it meant going through the worst part of morning sickness without anyone knowing. It seemed totally illogical to me. I could understand the risk of miscarriage was an issue, but I thought, if the worst did happen, surely you would want your nearest and dearest around you at such a time, if they didn't know, how could they help?

Now I am older and wiser, I have been there and smelt the roses. Yes, there is a huge joy in the telling. But the untelling is terrible and to be avoided at all costs: the more people you have told, the more people you have to untell, and the more people you untell, the more you have to repeat your story over and over again, re-living it each time. Imagine. You have just reached the point where there is a glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel and are putting some shopping into a basket at the local supermarket. You bump into someone you haven't seen for a while, and with your mature cheddar cheese midway between the chiller cabinet and your shopping trolley, they ask you how things are going and where is your bump?

I speak from experience.

Time moves on. You have been trying for over a year and things aren't happening, the joy and the euphoria has turned to fear and stress. Who do you talk to? Maybe you need those around you to live your journey with you, to understand the emotional fall-out, the waiting, the frustration, the feelings of failure, to be a shoulder in your time of need. But there is a flip side - whoever you tell, you now carry their expectations as well as your own, their hope and disappointment when things go wrong. Will this just increase your feelings of inadequacy and unfairness?

And whenever and whoever you tell, be prepared for them to become an overnight expert in your problem for with disclosure comes well-meaning advice or success stories or tales of couples allegedly coping with a harder situation than yours. Although told with the best of intentions, an attempt at bonding? or maybe even trying to be positive on your behalf, these conversations, particularly on a bad day, can just be the last thing you want to hear and simply confirm an increasing sense of alienation and isolation.

There is also an assumption that in life, things get easier with time and therefore you will learn to deal with your situation and so seeing babies and young families will stop being such an issue. What isn't realised is that the pain of infertility is something that tends to increase over time as that very time slips through your fingers. Yes, you can put on a face, conjure up a smile, but do you want to lie to your loved ones on a daily basis? To have to laugh through tears? To always wear as mask? And then there will be those moments when it all gets too much or when someone says something unintentionally that slams a raw nerve without realising the pain they are causing. If you have the courage, you will say you are upset. They get upset you're upset and say you are being too sensitive and so the emotions escalate.

Or else you say nothing and you beat yourself up for feeling too weak to say anything. But what is too sensitive? What is weak? The very nature of this beast called infertility is that day in, day out, it is there, it is in your facing shouting 'You are barren. You are different to everyone else. Your genes aren't worth passing on.'

Infertility twists the little things into huge monsters, it leeches out your confidence, eats away at your self-esteem until sometimes there is just no more emotional resources left to focus on anyone else.

So what I say is, be very careful about who you tell, when you tell, if you tell even - they will mean well, they really do. But the truth is they can empathise and they can care, but unless they have been there, can they ever truly understand?

Why Blog?

2010-01-05T12:15:00.000-08:00

My first ever Blog post and a leap into the unknown.

Where to start?

The first thing that springs to mind is why would I want to write this Blog when surely, with two kids under my belt, I now have the perfect passport to walk freely in the 'normal' world without anyone knowing about my past.

It is hard to explain.

In the dark days of infertility I felt too vulnerable to criticize or comment, swept along by the emotional rollercoaster of the journey. There was a sense of wanting to play by the rules and not making life any more difficult, holding to the hope that next month would be 'the' month and desperately wanting to be the one deserving of a miracle.

Afterwards it is all to easy to walk away. A sense of being too exhausted by it all and not wanting to be reminded. But because of this, I believe people, doctors and others get away with a great deal: We can't complain, and then we don't want to. I truly wish for infertility to be better understood on a psychological level and for infertility sufferers to be treated better and with greater humanity.

I know there are many, and some very brilliant infertility Blogs, but I want to do something a little different from following an emerging journey. I want to open the door to broader subjects like the attitude of the medical profession - is it patient, client or customer? To look at what practical help there is from a patient's perspective and to note the little things that can actually make a difference. I want to try and shed some light on a few of the many emotional contradictions of infertility, like wanting to be understood yet not wanting to talk or trying to be positive when everything always fails.

My journey to motherhood took nine years: Six long years to have my daughter with seven miscarriages, numerous tests, five hospitals, 3 IUI's and a course of IVF. Then three years to have my son, who was conceived naturally the very month after a failed course of IVF that had initially been successful but miscarried at eight weeks. A miracle.

I have drunk from the bitter cup of despair and I know first hand the emotions that make up the word 'desperate'. It is true I now hover outside the bonefide circle, but I have gleaned knowledge, experience and still have this need to share. So I am starting a new journey and seeing where all this leads. Until next time, KB xxx