I think this one is about to get as “ranty” as I’m ever going to get.  I’ll try to keep the noise down, I promise.  As many of you will already know from my previous blogs; we suffered another loss in January this year, at fourteen weeks pregnant.  Another baby who was set to be “incompatible with life”.  Our rainbow after Teddy just wasn’t meant to be; not this time anyway.

What I have failed to write about, until now, are the complications I have suffered since then.  For me getting pregnant hadn’t been unusually difficult.  Ten months to conceive Teddy (with long cycles) and another four months from having Teddy until I conceived again; pretty quick if anything.  After losing a second baby, I guess I thought we would just jump straight back on the baby-making wagon and I would be pregnant by Spring.  Oh how wrong I was.

People keep telling me since Teddy died that all of my writing, the fundraising and raising awareness;  it’s all “Making lemonade” with life’s pretty sh*tty lemons that keep being thrown my way.  I have given all of my spirit to stay positive; but how much can one human spirit take?  How long exactly is it before you start freezing those lemons and throwing them back at life (with a massive “F*ck you” to the world while I am there, just for the record)? The answer is; I don’t know.  At the moment I still feel pretty positive, pretty optimistic.  Don’t get me wrong; I am fed up, of course I am.  I am fed up that things can’t just be straightforward, and I am fed up that I am doing everything in my capability to look after my body and wellbeing; and well, my body is just ignoring me!

The latest turn of events sees me with no monthly cycle since we lost the baby in January.  I returned for scans thereafter in February, and at the beginning of March it was decided by my consultant that they would have to carry our minor surgery to removed “retained tissue” from the last pregnancy.  It was all made to sound so simple, so straightforward.  I felt like she would wave a magic wand and everything would return to normal.  The procedure included a general anaesthetic, of which I am terrified.  Yes, I am one of those irrational people who firmly believes she will go to sleep and never wake up again.  Give me a little break on that one though; every time we have been to that hospital in recent months it has been pretty sh*tty news.  Anyway, with my hysteria put to rest by a very quick and efficient anaesthetist on the day; the procedure was quick and I was in no pain afterwards.  My consultant confirmed everything had gone brilliantly and deemed it a “success”.

Fast forward five weeks and I return to the hospital for yet another internal scan.  Anyone who has ever encountered one of these will know only too well why my friends and I have forever coined the title “The Dildo Wand” for this bad-boy.  If you’ve not had the pleasure, just google it (Internal Ultrasound that is; not “Dildo Wand”, I’m not sure where that second one will get you?).  Anyway, the results of that scan were pretty positive; all looked great as far as the sonographer was concerned.  I came away thinking the magic wand (not the dildo variety) had been well and truly waved, and I was on my way to recovery.  Fast forward almost another four weeks, and it would appear not to be the case.  Still nothing.

Then, two weeks ago, I was subjected to the not-so-pleasuarble procedure that is the Hysteroscopy.  In other words, a tiny camera that goes “up there” and has a look around your uterus to see what on earth is going on.  No anaesthetic this time (not even local), but I took a couple of painkillers before I left home on the advice of my consultant’s secretary, which seemed to make it slightly less agonising (I think?).  Luckily, I had three very lovely, and what I might refer to as more “mature” ladies looking after me.  They did a sterling job with jokes and distraction, and were all very sensitive to my “story” and knew all about Teddy.  It helps that my hospital notes now resemble something more of an ancient tablet as opposed to a file of notes (I am not kidding; if that file gets any thicker they’ll need to start wheeling it in on it’s own trolley!).   Once again, the procedure went really well and she took a few snap shots of the situation with that nifty little camera whilst she was there.

It would appear I am now the proud owner of some uterine scar tissue. Fabulous.  This is as a result of the removal of tissue in the last procedure and can be quite common, particularly in women whose uterus has recently had a pregnancy (Check; two within a year).   Naturally I have done what every rational person would do in this situation and spent time frantically googling the subject. Dr Google strikes again.  Sometimes I wish Google wasn’t a “thing“, I mean ignorance is bliss and all of that jazz.  Although, on this occasion, it hasn’t left me feeling too helpless, infuriated, or indeed broken.  There are lots of things they can do; in fact the hysteroscopy procedure in itself may very well be the thing to get things moving (I guess time will tell on that one?).  So now I await another phone call , letter or perhaps a pigeon (one can hope?) sent by my consultant.  I am assuming this will be the opportunity for us to discuss the “Where to next?” plan.  Will I need further intervention; or more treatment to help?  Will this be the month that my cycles return to normal and serenity is restored? Who knows.

I do know this for my own sanity though; anymore bumps in this road to getting our rainbow, and those lemons are going straight in the freezer…….

Elle x