Ssssh!  We’re over here!  Come and say hello!

Sid was discharged earlier today.  The operation went well.  The tendon had been nicked and so they had to cut a little more to get to the damage in order to repair it.  He’s in good spirits though, and apart from not being able to walk at the moment and not liking the medicine at all is doing fantastically well.  It doesn’t even bear thinking about how much worse it could have all been.  I have to call the GP on Monday, to arrange to take Sid in on Tuesday for a change of dressing, then the hospital are going to contact us to take him back in order to remove the stitches which will most probably be done on Friday.

At 10.30 or so last night Mike and Sid still hadn’t returned from the hospital, so I made my way over there.  They had taken a couple of x-rays of his foot and he has a nicked tendon requiring surgery.  We were asked whether we wanted to bring him home for the night or willing to let him stay in hospital.  As we were completely unprepared we said we would bring him home and return in the morning.  The doctor said that they won’t know the extent of the damage until they actually operate and that he may need to stay in overnight depending on how much repair needs doing and how it all goes. 

We waited for his operation to be booked, and for his painkillers and antibiotics to be prepared and returned home at about quarter past midnight.  Mike immediately took down the remaining part of the light shade, I gave Sid some antibiotics and then we fell into bed for a few hours. 

We brought Sid back to the hospital just before seven this morning.  He wasn’t allowed anything to eat or drink before the operation due to the general anaesthetic, so I hope he isn’t left waiting too long there.  It’s now gone 10am, and I’m still waiting to hear from Mike.  I hope everything goes well and our sweet boy isn’t in any pain or discomfort.

A couple of hours ago Sid left for the hospital in an ambulance.  While lying on the carpet watching tv before bedtime a section of the glass light fitting silently fell from the ceiling in one large piece, landing on the inside of his foot.  The cut was deep and bloody and the poor love was shocked, shaking and screaming.  Stephanie and Caitlin rallied around, running for the first aid bag and roll of tissues.  Harry was crying and Sid was understandably screaming very loudly.  I screamed for Mike to come downstairs as he was putting Paddy to bed for the night.  Mike ran downstairs and tended to Sid and I phoned for the ambulance.  Once I had got off the phone to the operator Mike asked me to finish off putting Paddy to bed, when Ben said that he had already taken care of everything.  I’m now waiting for the call from Mike to tell me to go and collect them from the hospital.  I hope Sid is ok and not in any pain any more and I hope they aren’t too much longer as he’s likely to be extremely tired and miserable and wanting his bed.  Thank God that it wasn’t any worse, as it so easily could have been.  I hope this week gets better.

… because as I was leaving to collect Ben from school, I fell down the steps at the front of the house.  I was carrying Paddy so I twisted around to avoid falling on him and have hurt my back, gashed my ankle and have cramps in my stomach.  I suppose this is one way of ensuring an impending miscarriage won’t take any longer than it needs to.  Paddy seemed to enjoy the fall though, and I know that my phone is robust after it was thrown from my hand into the side of the minibus.   I’m sure there’s a reason we must appreciate days like these.  I just can’t think of it at the moment.

Last weeks bleed had stopped by Tuesday evening.  I was feeling more optimistic and hopeful toward the end of the week.  Perhaps there was still a chance, a strong one, that everything would be ok.  Last night it started again.  And a little more this morning. 

I also had a scan booked this morning at the Early Pregnancy Unit, and I was dreading it.  I woke shortly before five this morning – my morning wake up times seem to be getting earlier and earlier lately, and prayed that whatever happened and whatever showed that I’d be strong enough to deal with it.

After the school run I dropped off Eddie and Sid to my friend who had very kindly offered to look after them while I attended my appointment.  Paddy and I set off to the hospital and after a short wait we were called in.  A quick run down of my history and I was on the couch, very tense and very scared.  As the sonographer looked on the screen I knew all wasn’t well.  She could see the sac, and the bleed around it but no baby.  No baby, no heartbeat, it was empty of life.  She tried to reassure me that it could be that my dates were incorrect and recommended I came back for another scan next Wednesday.  And then she rested her hand on my arm and told me very gently that it was likely I will miscarry again before then.

She asked me if I had been referred and was a little taken aback when I told her that nobody wanted to help us.  She said I ought to go to another GP, but when I told her it was the hospital’s own doctor who didn’t want to help she was speechless.   I asked her if she didn’t agree that I should be offered the same care as anyone else no matter how many children they had and she silently looked at me.  She then handed me my appointment on a scrap of paper and said she’d see me next week.

I am so upset.  I am praying for a miracle, that maybe everything might be alright.  I am praying for strength to get through whatever is going to happen and I am praying for understanding, because try as I might I still do not understand why an abortion is so easy for medics to arrange while help in creating or preventing the loss of a life is solely their decision to make as far as they’re concerned.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted here.  I haven’t really been in the frame of mind as so much has been going on.  I didn’t really feel it appropriate to write it all in here but now I think, why not?

This year has been a difficult one.  In April we suffered our seventh miscarriage.  I was seven weeks pregnant when I began spotting.  An appointment for a scan was made for me at the Early Pregnancy Unit at the hospital a few days later, where we saw a beating heart on a baby little over a week younger than my dates.  The sonographer said that the pregnancy was viable and that I should go to the next department and book my 12 week scan.  I went home but over the next few days the bleeding increased, and on the Saturday, exactly a week after it began I passed by baby complete in the bag of waters like a coin dropping into the toilet bowl.  I fished it out, cleaned myself up and called Mike in.  I unwrapped the tissue I’d placed around it and showed him it.  So tiny.  That night we buried it under the plum tree.  The sadness and grief overwhelmed me.  I couldn’t believe that we had lost our seventh.  Seven live children and seven losses.  But all people seem to see when they look at us is the seven live children, not knowing how much we’ve been through to have them. 

In August, I found out I was pregnant again.  A week and a half later I lost it again.  I called my doctor who asked if I’d ever been referred for investigation.  I had, back in 2000, after the fifth miscarriage.  We were refused as we already had children.  We had three at the time.  Even after my third miscarriage (two live children at the time), I walked out of the room in which I had minutes ago had my scan to be told that my baby had gone, when the nurse told me “You already have two children.  What on earth do you want any more for?!”. 

I told the doctor that I didn’t expect anyone would help us now, as they didn’t help us years ago when we had fewer children.  He said that it didn’t matter how many children we had, we still had a right to know what is going wrong, as something surely is.  He gave me the forms to check for antiphospholipid syndrome (where clots form and stop the embryo from growing, resulting in miscarriage), and referred me to the gynaecologist. 

The results from the blood test came back normal.  To be honest it disappointed me a little, as at least it would have been a reason, something to explain our losses, and something which may have been helped with aspirin and heparin injections.  I felt we were back to square one, of not knowing.

Our appointment with the gynaecologist was on Friday just gone.  A few days before I had a positive pregnancy test.  I spent the time in the run up to the appointment feeling negative.  I knew of the reception we’d get even before we saw anyone.  For some reason, you aren’t supposed to want more than a reasonable number of children.  Reasonable in whose eyes I’m not sure but there is little comfort or sympathy if you experience losses as you are expected not to feel hurt or pain as “you already have “x” amount of children already so be grateful.”  Of course we’re grateful, but despite having seven children we have still been through eight miscarriages.  Eight times you hope for something and feel crushed.  Eight faces we won’t see and eight hands we won’t hold.  But somehow we’re not supposed to feel the pain of any more losses.  And heaven forbid should we actually admit that we want more children!

We walked into the consulting room for the appointment and Mrs Kahn didn’t seem very impressed that we had the three youngest with us.  She asked for the history so gave her the run down of living children DOB’s and miscarriages. I told her I had a positive test on Tuesday and gave her a urine sample but she didn’t seem to believe me and started writing out blood test forms for Mike and I to have chromosomal tests done.  She said that if I was pregnant I couldn’t have these tests done as they wouldn’t be accurate, and I told her that I was pregnant.  She carried on writing the tests and we went back over that conversation (”if you are pregnant…”, “yes, I am…”) but still she continued writing.  The nurse then walked in and she looked up and exclaimed “It IS positive!”.  “Yes, I know” I told her.  So she then put all the forms (three or four of them) that she’d written out to the side and said there wasn’t anything they could do.  I asked if they would monitor me at all and she said no.  I asked if there were any tests they could do during the early pregnancy to see what was going on and she said no.  I asked if I could have a hcg and progesterone test carried out and she said no.  I said I was sure there were some tests they could do to find out what if anything was causing the miscarriages and then Paddy (14 months old) started crying.  She huffed in his direction several times, and rolled her eyes at him, then asked us to go outside and she’d call us back in after she’d spoken with the consultant.  Five minutes later she beckoned me in and said “I only want you in here.  They can wait.” and I said I wanted my husband with me.  She huffed and rolled her eyes again.  We went in and she said the consultant said I could have the hcg and progesterone tests done but even if they showed anything wrong they wouldn’t help me.  I asked what would happen now and she said if I miscarried again I would have to try to re-arrange another appointment like todays via a referral for six weeks afterwards, then have the chromosomal blood tests done which she doesn’t think would show anything anyway, and if they do show anything they will make a decision ”about” four months later as to whether they will help us.  No other tests are possible, and if they are possible we can’t have them. 
 
So the long and short of it is: No monitoring, no investigation, no nothing. Waste of time and hope.  Two referrals, one with five miscarriages and three live children, and eight miscarriages and seven live children, and both refused.  Why aren’t we worthy of help?  Why does this keep happening?

This morning I woke up, went to the toilet and have begun spotting again.  It seems likely that this will be our ninth loss.  My faith is being truly shaken, we have nobody to turn to and nobody to help us.  I’m supposed to be strong, be grateful, and carry on as normal pretending everything is ok.  After all, I’ve already got seven children, right?  But having them isn’t making me numb to feeling the pain of losing another.  I wasn’t born with a limited amount of love to give.  I’ve got plenty of it left.  We shouldn’t be denied help that another person would receive in the same circumstances, but for the fact that they only had one or two children.  Finding support is hard and this is why I’ve resisted posting about it here, as I expect to receive some very negative comments. 

I don’t know why this is happening.  I feel like I’m being punished for something I’ve done.  My head feels so empty yet so full of questions.   There’s nothing left we can do that I can see. 

I can’t believe that the bleeding has begun again.  I can’t believe that I am dealing with this a ninth time.  I can’t believe nobody wants to help us find out why.  If you could please spare a prayer for a good outcome, and if not that then the strength to deal with whatever we face.

If it didn’t and you’d be interested in watching it please let me know! Or if you can tell me how to get a pps on here, I’d really appreciate it!

Editing to say that if it comes up so you can click through the slides, click on “Slideshow” at the top of the page, then “View Slideshow”.  That should make it work!  (Hopefully).

climate_change_by_caitlin_sullivan21

Caitlin spent much of the day putting together her first ever powerpoint presentation.  The topic is climate change.  We’re very proud of her and hope you enjoy it.  (And I hope this works!)

These plants are growing in a container, supported by canes. Quite impressive, I think!

…cumbers!  Lots of them!  Considering I had a few attempts before they managed to grow to a size where they could produce I’m very pleased.  Problems included 1) Young children or cat snapping a young plant in half, leading to it’s rapid decline; 2) Slugs – bloody annoying, horrid, slimy, disgusting, yukky slugs.  I hate the buggers;  3) My not so bright idea of putting salt around the plants to kill slugs.  It turns out salt around the plant also kills it.  Lesson learnt. 

Now we have a couple of plants in one pot producing several cucumbers.  Some are tiny, some are 7 or 8 inches long already.  Another single plant in another pot again producing but not as prolifically as the first and a third plant in the top raised bed which is only just beginning to form a few cucumbers.  All have been given a few canes to climb up and seem happy with it.  First tasting should be tonight hopefully, along with some tomatoes and lettuce from the garden and omelettes made with eggs from our hens.  Our second homegrown meal of the week with the first being some mixed roast vegetables from the garden with yorkshire pudding made with our eggs.  Ok, so the flour and milk for the yorkshire pudding was shop bought so does that disqualify it from being considered “completely homegrown” ?  This is such an achievement in my opinion.   I think this proves that anyone can grow food or keep chickens.  After all if we can do it…!