Cameron McLennan James Marks birth story

As an IVF pregnancy, you have the option to be induced on your due date if you want.

Because I was DONE being pregnant (I loved it, hope I can do it again, and am forever grateful to have ever been pregnant, but was +5 stone, fat, HOT and sweaty: done!) plus the issues that had crept up with my heart, the long, hottest summer in 40-bloody-years and the fact I strongly suspected that I’d probably go the full 12 days overdue and still end up being induced anyway, just fatter, hotter and more fed up and impatient to meet our baby, (I feel like this is backed up by the fact that the first and only time Cameron stuck his foot in my ribs was in labour – as if he was trying to hook himself in!!) I took the induction. So, on Thursday August 30th, off we trotted to Musgrove maternity unit’s Fern Ward to be induced.

Induction can take a while. It’s started by placing a 24-hour pessary inside your vagina to get things going. If that fails, you try a 6 hour pessary, and another if that still fails. If all three pessaries fail to kick start labour, you’re popped on an intravenous drip which it would seem, can’t fail.. I fully expected nothing to work and to be in it for the long haul.. so packed a full 6 books to read throughout the wait…!

As it happened, “mild”, period pain style contractions started within an hour of the first pessary going in. I was given/offered paracetamol and oramorph (morphine) to help with the pain but I eventually realised they were doing buggar all and the best thing for me was heat on that area. Musgrove were amazing and sent me off to Bracken Birthing centre at one point so I could have a hot bath that night, and then my mother in law kindly brought over a hot water bottle, which did the trick more than anything – though I did accidentally burn myself slightly, somehow!

After that positive start, nothing more really happened, so the next day, at 3cm dilated, I was given the 6 hour pessary. For some reason, getting this in was really quite painful, and I kept pushing myself away from the midwife, so was told that if it failed, rather than trying the second 6 hour pessary, I’d go straight to the drip.

Fortunately, this wasn’t necessary!

Reasonably quickly, the contractions ramped up a gear, and although I could still function, I could feel things kicking along a bit now. I decided a walk to M&S and back would do me good with helping to shift things along (you’re encouraged to wonder round the hospital grounds in between monitoring to get things going, and had been walking sideways up and down the stairs of the multi storey the night before!), so off we went. Those of you that know Musgrove, will know that the maternity units are NOT particularly far from the M&S that you spend your life savings on whilst at the hospital. A 5 minute walk maybe… this walk took at least 20 minutes for me to get there. We were stop starting the whole way and bending over when a contraction was slightly longer. There is no way I could have done that walk without James because he was my leaning post!

I’m M&S we stocked up on my latest craving of their apple juice, as well as some other flavoured waters etc, and James grabbed a salad for lunch. Evidently, we couldn’t then carry all this and stop and support me through contractions, so we sat down so James could eat his lunch, before loading his pockets up with all the drinks we’d purchased and him half carrying me back to the maternity ward. My plan had been to pop to the loo and then lie down and try and get some sleep, as I’d got barely any the night before (standard Karen!)…

Well; the baby wasn’t up for that. The baby had decided that if we were going to force it out, then Mummy was not having any more sleep from then on in. As I stood up to pop to the loo, something trickled down my legs… I’d either wet myself, or my waters had broken, and it turned out, with a slight pink tinge, it was indeed my waters.

James will tell you a different story from here on in… and his is more than likely more accurate, but, contractions suddenly ramped right up on the pain intensity scale, and I wanted an epidural right there right then! However, it felt to me like I waited at least 5 hours for this, writhing around in pain, waiting because the midwives were helping other patients/anaesthetists were in surgery etc etc. James says it was about 5 minutes. I still dispute this! However, whenever-it-was, I was plopped in a wheelchair. By this point, I had stripped off and was wearing just a sports bra… 4 weeks post-wax 🙈… I imagine it wasn’t a pretty sight, but I honest to god didn’t care, I wanted the pain gone and the baby out, but my midwife kindly tried to wrap my lower half in a blanket…. which was wasted as my waters then completely exploded before they’d even started wheeling me over to labour ward!

On labour ward, as expected, our midwife wanted to check how dilated I was, but I was so uncomfortable I couldn’t stay still, and frankly, gas and air was doing absolutely sod all! So they said they’d check this after the epidural was in place. I was lucky in this sense, because once the epidural was in place, I was 10cm dilated – I’d probably not have gotten the epidural that late if they’d been able to check before!!

So, naturally it was then time to start pushing. For those that have never given birth before, pushing is weird… a baby comes out of your vagina yet you seem to need to push more from your backside! Thankfully, we had really great midwives who really helped with how to/where to feel you are pushing, otherwise, I’m not sure I’d have ever gotten anywhere with it!

After a while, it became apparent that I was still in some amount of pain, which is when we then discovered that the epidural had only worked to numb one side of my body, the other I could feel. At the same time it appeared the baby and I would need some further help, so off we went down to theatre, epidural was pulled out and a spinal block was given instead, because of forcep delivery didn’t work, I’d need an emergency c-section. I don’t remember a lot – although the gas and air did nothing for the pain, it did seem to succeed in making me completely out of it – I do remember that I was determined not to have a c-section after everything! The spinal block numbed me from my chest to my legs, and with the help of some forceps, with another 2-3 pushes a gorgeous, bouncing baby boy arrived!

I can tell you, it is extremely strange watching someone else push compression socks up your legs when you can feel absolutely nothing!

OHSS

Bare with me a little, as I’m writing this from mostly notes, 7 months after I experienced Ovarian Hyper-stimulation Syndrome (OHSS).

OHSS is a condition that affects women undergoing fertility treatment. Because during fertility treatment (IVF/ICSI) your ovaries are stimulated to produce as many follicles as possible, your ovaries become enlarged from the extra work they are doing and stimulation they are receiving. Once you have triggered ovulation and had those eggs collected from the follicles, those follicle sacs are left empty. If a successful pregnancy then occurs, the HCG pregnancy hormone floods your body, filling all of those empty follicle sacs back up with fluid.

I never asked but I would assume this does happen to every women when they’re pregnant… but as most women only release 1/2/3/4 (and likely only 2/3/4 if multiples run in your family!) then it goes unnoticed, as one follicle filling with HCG is nothing compared to 20+…!!

The OHSS I experienced was only ever considered mild-moderate. And I was fairly uncomfortable, scared, and poorly. I was hospitalised for two days/nights and placed on a protein transfusion drip due to low proteins in my blood. All fluid intake and outtake was monitored quite strictly which meant lots of peeing in cardboard potty’s!

I had not been a particularly high risk – as such – for OHSS, as at egg collection, 15 eggs were collected. With my clinic (and, I would think/hope all responsible clinics), if any more than 20 eggs were collected a “freeze all” approach would be taken and a fresh transfer of embryo/blastocysts would not go ahead within the 5 days after egg collection, giving your ovaries and follicles a chance to shrink back and return to normal (ovaries) or disappear (follicles).

At my final scan pre-egg collection however, I had been advised that 25+ follicles were seen and thus it was unlikely I’d be able to go ahead with a fresh transfer. I was disappointed to say the least, but now I understand why! And with hindsight, we wonder perhaps if all 25 eggs had been released from those 25 follicles, but for whatever reason 10 or so got lost or weren’t mature enough or what not… but then those 25+ follicle sacs started filling with the wonderful pregnancy hormone. Because… yes! We were finally pregnant!

After egg collection, I was given medication called Cabergoline which I took each evening for 8 days as prescribed. The day I stopped taking the cabergoline was the day I noticed OHSS symptoms kicking in. I was bloated and uncomfortable with sharp pains all over my tummy. After a call to our clinic, one of my favourite nurses advised this was a good sign, as if OHSS symptoms worsen, the chances are, you’re pregnant! It’s a funny position to be in; uncomfortable and ill, hospitalised, but really, it’s all good because you’re pregnant!

By the early hours of the night after, good old V&D had arrived. At 6am that morning I was convinced nothing could have survived the amount of vomit and diahorrea is expelled from my body that night, and that is when I first peed on a stick. Having peed on the stick, I felt like I was about to faint, so I left the test on the side of our sink and belted it back to bed. When I left the test, it was negative. Minutes later I felt more sickness coming so ran back into the ensuite, only to stop dead at the POSITIVE pregnancy test staring me in the face! I couldn’t believe it!

yes, I did SEVEN tests in the end! ❤️

Completely empty, the V&D finally stopped, but the OHSS didn’t disappear. Throughout that day I was progressively just feeling worse and worse – I actually can’t remember a lot as I was pretty out of it! I just remember being quite uncomfortable/quite a lot of pain, my temperature couldn’t be controlled and I felt swelteringly hot, despite it being December – 4 days before Christmas! James eventually called our clinic in a worry and they called us up, which is when it was noticed my proteins were low. On the journey up, I couldn’t have anything touching my stomach – I had a loose fitting dress on and had to hold the seatbelt away from my belly area – for the entire 40 mile journey! I was pretty weak and faint, and when I was finally admitted to the ward – which was literally across a small car park from our IVF clinic, I had to be wheel-chaired over as I couldn’t walk!

For me, I was bloated. Hugely. And that seemed to cause crazy discomfort and heat! That was the most noticeable thing about me. I was 4 weeks pregnant, but I looked 5 months! My ovaries were quite dramatically enlarged, and follicles were filled with fluids. A woman’s ovaries usually measure between 3-4cm. Mine were each 11cm+, covered in follicle sacs which were filled with fluid, some of which were measuring up to 6cm! My belly circumference when I was admitted to hospital was around 38″!! Pre-pregnancy, I was about 27″!

After a couple of days in hospital I was determined to get out for Christmas, but also so we could host our annual neighbourly Christmas drinks! In hindsight this was probably not my best idea as I wasn’t much fun – still bloated and uncomfortable but very glad to have the drip out of my hand and be home for Christmas! The hospital and our clinic were quite pleased with me as I was eating EVERYTHING – no longer a concern for underrating, I couldn’t get enough food, and whilst a high protein diet is recommended for OHSS, they were happy for me to eat what I needed (carbs!). Again as an avid avoider of carbs (particularly white!) pre-pregnancy, this also probably wasn’t my best idea as it would have been such a shock to my system and bloated me more – but that’s all the baby wanted for 20 weeks and so needs must! It’s also recommended that sports drinks help with OHSS, and I have to say – I found the below pictured electrolytes added to water helped me massively – I thought those electrolytes were destined to go out of date as I was no longer running long distances, but they were used up quickly to reduce the OHSS!

IVF

I was recently tagged in a blog post (from someone I don’t know – not sure if it was an accident!) about IVF and how she felt like it was a dark, dirty word. Like she had failed herself and her family and society in being unable to do what we are placed here on earth to do: reproduce.

I have to say, although it is a living hell finding out that it just isn’t going to happen without some help, and I wish upon anything we had been able to conceive naturally and just been able to start our family 3 years ago as per my ideal. I have never, ever, been ashamed of IVF. Quite the opposite – I am proud of it. Fascinated. I could talk about it all day and I LOVE when people have a million questions for me about it! I think it is incredible what the powers that be of science and medicine can achieve. That without their little bit of help we wouldn’t be able to have the family we so desired. That the words “Baron Karen” that always echo around my head, are a thing of the past thanks to science. I forget if it is 1 in 4 or 1 in 8 couples trying to conceive struggle to do so, and do need some help. So those that do need help are far from alone.

A card which my husband received for his birthday that we found funny… and which won’t be true for our children! Another woman knocked me up! 🤣

And I guess – alongside the fact that I appear to be quite the “oversharer”! That this is why I share about it, talk about it, and write about it openly. Because we aren’t alone. When I first started blogging about IVF I had two old friends inform me they too had struggled and had IVF. They are two pregnancies I remember distinctly being announced and thinking that it wasn’t fair – “when is it our turn?” So sometimes not everything is as plain as the eye can see – others struggle too, and knowing we weren’t alone suddenly made me feel better – and bad; for making the assumption!

There isn’t a day goes by when other pregnancy announcements hit me hard – when it appears that everyone else conceives so easily, which is why it was/is important for me to share that for some – it just isn’t so easy, and that really, if we don’t laugh about it, it just makes it all harder.

Spotted on instagram 😂

Therapy.. and why I’m done

Throughout our IUI/IVF TTC/Fertility journey, we (in particular, me) were encouraged several times – well meaningly – by some of our lovely nurses to see the therapist. And every time I refused. I just do not see the point.

Yes, I was often a crying mess. Frankly, I’m not sure I know many couples where at least one of them is not a crying mess to have gone through/be going through the hell that is infertility. But;

No therapist in the world was going to make me pregnant.

No therapist in the world is going to change my mindset. In my opinion, therapists help but no one can change you.

At the points in which I underwent counselling, CBT (Cognitive Behavioural Therapy) and CAT (Cognitive Analytical Therapy), I was just learning to talk about these things. These feelings and emotions and behaviours that had essentially been locked up for most of my life – ALL of my adult life! I had bottled them all up for so long that they caused huge breakdowns in me, and so talking to a therapist felt like the only option. At that point I couldn’t have discussed some of those things with anyone, and the leading questions you are offered from a mental-health trained therapist to get you talking are next to nothing expert level! At that point in my life, that’s what I needed. But now I’ve learnt to talk, and write openly. To not be ashamed or scared of what my mind is telling me. It’s still not always easy but I can discuss things far easier now with those around me, than ever before. But often because, everything I’ve been through is quite open, so everyone knows. Everyone else is now almost-expert at leading questions/being open and accepting of discussing subjects that may not have been discussed before! I’m definitely a pretty open book now – nothing is off limits for discussion here!

Don’t get me wrong, my therapists were great. And some time in the future I may need therapy again. But I’m quite picky about what I need from a therapist and wouldn’t just stick with anyone if it wasn’t right for me. But right now, I’m back to Karen. I’m pretty good at talking to anyone and everyone about anything and everything, so therapy is just not needed here. The question of “will our baby have a severely mentally ill mum?” Has crossed my mind. But for now, I’m good. I’m not worried about post-natal depression, but I know if it happens that support is out there.

A favourite extract from Matt Haig’s “How to Stop Time”. ❤️

Pro-Choice.

As a non-Irish woman, living in England, I don’t know what else I can do other than use my social media platforms to add to the right for #prochoice

I have never had an abortion. As a woman who, without the aid of fantastic fertility clinics and the development of science, would not be able to have children, it is unlikely I will ever be faced with what I can only call a dilemma as to whether or not to abort my unborn child. As a woman who is currently 26 weeks pregnant with our miracle IVF baby, I am grateful for this – because I honestly do not believe it is a choice I could ever make. But a choice which, would be mine nonetheless.

I describe abortion as a dilemma because, not for a second can I imagine that any woman would blindly enter into aborting her unborn child without a lot of reason, thought, and heartache going into it. Aborting a child won’t just end there – with the baby gone; I’d imagine that no matter what circumstances surround the need for abortion, that the knowledge of having done so will live in within you forever.

Physically, it might seem easy. Mentally; not so.

But, as a human being – who doesn’t believe herself to be particularly intelligent, but does pride herself on her common sense – I understand. I understand that whilst we can all be so similar, we also can all be so different, and thus, we need choice. I have never, ever understood why individuals find themselves so worked up and concerned with the matters of other individuals; it does not concern them. Which is exactly why I love this image – if you don’t like/want something: don’t do it. That is YOUR choice. Why does anyone feel they have the right to decide how another person – female or male – should live their life? Lesbian, Gay, Straight, Bisexual, Transexual, In need of an abortion, in need of a home, in need of medication to stabilise your health [i could go on] – by and large – who’s choice should that be but that of the individual(s) involved?

For those fighting for pro-life… I too, am pro-life. However, once more, that is, MY CHOICE. I have never been raped, and thus never fallen pregnant with a child conceived from rape. I am so, so thankful that I am not pregnant with an “unwanted” child. That I am not pregnant with a child so deformed it would not survive labour. I am lucky that I have not had to make the difficult decision of whether or not to abort a child, and I hope that is a decision I will never have to make. For me, the second we knew we were pregnant at 3 weeks 6 days, that was our baby. It was a life, one we had finally created. Our perfect, miracle baby. But, medically, it is deemed an embryo until 8 weeks, and a fetus until birth. Not a baby, an embryo, then a foetus. It is MY CHOICE to consider it our baby from the word go. It is MY CHOICE to consider it a life worth fighting for, or not fighting for. Choice, is what’s important here.

It’s 2018 for goodness sake – why can’t we get on with our OWN lives without consistently having to battle for such simple human rights; choice. At the end of the day, that’s all it boils down to. The same as the choice I make to run. To own, walk, look after and love a dog. To pop to the shops or not. It is my choice.

Food/Eating Disorders/Pregnancy Cravings – we each know our own bodies better.

I was riled, a few months ago, watching a couple of programmes regarding eating disorders – something I always watch if I know it’s on, because I am simply fascinated, still. The first, was the “Wasting Away: The Truth About Anorexia.” And another with Louis Theroux. I remember, whilst watching, that both James and I were gobsmacked – and I have, from experience, a lot more understanding and knowledge of Anorexia.

What I will say from the offset, is that anyone that can be considered a role model should think very carefully about what they are saying/posting, although I believe if you are going to suffer with an eating disorder (or any other mental health issue), you will probably do so regardless of what you see/hear etc. I think you are pre-disposed within your genetic makeup in the same way some people get Cancer, and others don’t. However, I don’t believe the likes of Kim Kardashian (pains me to even write her name in one of my blogs 😫!) and the idiotic things she – or other similar individuals – say/do/post are going to cause eating disorders in young men/women, but I do think at times they are selling utter shite. If you are hungry, food or drink (not booze people🥂🍾!) will suppress your appetite, not a lollipop 🍭, ladies and gentlemen. In fact, I am currently eating a Chupa-Chups lollipop and am quite sure that once I’ve finished it, my appetite will no longer be suppressed and I’ll simply move onto another snack..

I seem to have this inbuilt part of me that has this need/want to help and support others, hence why I continue to write this blog.

Mark Austin and his daughter Maddy gave an incredibly open, and honest account of life with anorexia (Wasting Away: The Truth About Anorexia). Everything they both said is the exact kind of situation that happens with mental health illness and destroying families. The exact same happened in mine: anorexia isolates you, it makes you cunning and kuniving and it destroys relationships. Parents – or those that have no chance to understand – are angry, frustrated, exasperated. I hope history doesn’t repeat itself, and when I first started writing this – I was also still hoping anorexia hadn’t entirely destroyed my ability to have an embryo/blastocyst implant and carry a healthy pregnancy/birth/child. Thankfully, I have made it 25 weeks in and everything is healthy so far.

But it still hasn’t been easy. Whilst I am beyond in love with the ever-growing bump attached to the front of me, I am not thrilled with how I currently look overall. I stopped running in order to conceive – and anxiety meant I didn’t try again until we were 13 weeks, by which point, all fitness was lost and I was not in a position to push myself for fear of hurting our much-longed-for, unborn baby. Whilst I don’t doubt from other people’s comments that I perhaps still see myself as larger than I actually am (although believe me, I am heavy now!) my thighs, therefore {to me} are enormous. I have craved, and thus eaten non-stop carbs for the past 25 weeks; foods which I would normally reserve for never due to their ability to make me gain weight just thinking about them. I still live with mental health issues that I fight against daily, that no one can ever fully understand, and thus no one can ever fully have an input – especially if it is unasked for – thank you very much!

Recently, I’ve found people telling me what I should and shouldn’t be eating. People that will never be pregnant are included in this (aka men, or those older who have never wanted children) and I spent a drive home from an anxious hospital appointment a few weeks ago in tears, fuming and thinking about it, and the things I’ve done to my body over the years:

When I was 16, upon waking and realising no-one else was home, I leapt out of bed and ran through to my parents ensuite to weigh myself and see if the scales were acceptable to me yet.

I knocked myself out on a door frame/TV cabinet on the way through because I was so dizzy and fainting. In the 5 days prior to that morning, I had eaten just one apple. Nothing suppressed my appetite, I tried everything to be constantly thinner, and as a result of hunger, passed out.

In 2015, over ten years later, aged 26/27 I spent a month barely eating, and sneaking off to throw up everything I did consume. I taunted and teased myself by joining in with others and accepting free hot chocolate the work canteen was offering at the time – throwing it all up as soon as it was finished. Months later at 27/28 I struggled to push myself – desperately – through a 5 mile run because all I’d allowed myself for three days prior was “juice diet”. “Healthy” green liquid or water only. Less than a mile in I could feel my kidneys in pain, my muscles physically unable to run through a full 5 miles from lack of fuel. And yet mentally, I was livid with myself still. Angry at my body at having to run-walk-run as someone who knew they could usually run for miles on end and love it. You cannot function on nothing. Food, is fuel.

I remember lying to my friends that I’d already had dinner/was eating dinner at home later. Lying to my parents that I’d eaten out with my friends. I remember trying to throw up the smallest bit of cheese I’d sucumbed (BECAUSE SUPPRESSING YOUR APPETITE DOESN’T EXIST!!) to eating off my friends pizza, in the Pizza Hut toilets aged 15. I remember flushing food down the toilet or chucking it in the bin whilst exercising for a minimum of an hour every single day. I remember asking my parents for school dinner money rather than food so that at least I wouldn’t waste the food; because, whilst adamant I didn’t deserve food, I still felt a resounding guilt that I was simply throwing food away when there were – are – thousands of starving people in the world. I remember that I wasn’t kidding anyone. I remember it all too well, for someone who’s memory is largely shot to pieces. How can you forget such hideous self punishment?

Having been diagnosed “Anxiety with depression” aged 26, in 2015, I also honestly believe anorexia/eating disorders are a side effect, a symptom, a coping mechanism for wider issues. When I had my first mental health breakdown in March 2015 I had spent the previous 6+ weeks over exercising, marginally under eating and regularly throwing up everything I did eat. It was something I could control. It was a coping mechanism to deal with my heightened anxiety, my low self confidence and self esteem, it was an outlet, but it kills.

So what I don’t understand now, is how anyone thinks they have the right to tell someone – anyone – let alone someone who has been through what I have – what they should and shouldn’t be eating, when they’ve not asked, but particularly through pregnancy. I believe after all these years I am more than aware of what I should/should not eat in order to achieve weight gain/loss. I also instinctively believe I (we: baby and I!) will crave what we need. This pregnancy, that has NOT been salad. And I do love me a good salad. Maybe, if I’m lucky enough for a future pregnancy(/pregnancies?!) perhaps salad will be craved.

Yes – I am eating a lot of (ok ONLY!) carbs. Just because that isn’t considered an “odd” craving to many doesn’t mean it isn’t a craving, and is just an “excuse” to eat them. I have never eaten carbs like this before – I used to avoid them like the plague. I have never wanted or apparently needed carbs like this before. I can’t remember the last time I allowed myself a jacket potato (rather than sweet potato), or white pasta (rather than spelt). Crisps used to make me feel uncomfortably bloated and thus I would still avoid them even at parties when they were laid out as nibbles. The last time I actually ATE a regular breakfast, rather than drinking a protein shake, or smoothie only, (and after running 3/5/7 miles), I was about 10 years old.

So yes, it’s a lot of carbs. Yes, I’ve gained a lot of weight, no, I am not thrilled about it: in fact if I could take scissors to my thighs to cut off the extra chub, I would. But I don’t think I am massively complaining about it – yes I’m calling myself “fat”, a “beached whale”; that’s how I feel right now, but I say it in jest! I am not going to do anything about it whilst I am carrying our miracle baby. I am not entirely stupid – enough so to think for a second all of this weight will just “fall off” the second the baby pops out. I will have to work at it, hard – but does anyone honestly think this is something I’m not prepared to do? Someone who, when working full time would get up at 5/5.30/6am to run, and spent most days ensuring she exercised twice? Someone who is known to have got up during worst bouts of insomnia and run for 5+ miles at 1am?? I am not prepared to risk something we have wanted, and tried for, for so long. I tried to run to keep off some weight, but it’s not for me – not this time, this pregnancy anyway; it’s too late, too hard and therefore too much of a worry to me to keep trying until the baby has arrived. I have never craved, or eaten, carbs like I am doing now, and so, I believe there must be a reason for this, and for once in my life, I am not going to deny what my body – our baby – is asking for.

I have said time and time again that unless you have physically experienced a mental health issue, you will never fully understand – no matter how much training you have had. I had two incredible (NHS) therapists providing me CBT and CAT over the last few years but for both of them I always felt (particularly the first) that you just don’t really get it until you’ve had it – and I wouldn’t wish anyone to have mental health illness. We all have mental health – some of us are just lucky enough not to have mental health illness.

HOW is it, that 23 years ago – yes, you read that right, TWENTY THREE – the incredible Princess Diana opened up and spoke about her mental health – her eating disorder, and yet here we still are in 2018 with still so much stigma, a distinct lack of understanding, and with idiotic products on the market promising suppressed appetites and “miracle” weight loss to those vulnerable and desperate enough to believe them?

Bigger arms, bigger thighs, bigger bum and bigger boobs. But a beautiful, beautiful, healthy baby bump. Oh, and my “appetite suppressant” lollipop.. which as it happens I’ve just finished… time for crisps!

ALSO:

  • Rufus
  • My husband
  • My health
  • My friends and family

xxx

EDIT – to add the below screen grabs that I’ve had saved on my phone since forever, because they make such valid points! Thanks to AliceLiveing for the words!

Thank you, BCRM x

We will never be able to thank the amazing team at BCRM enough for what they have achieved for us. If it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t be pregnant with what felt like the impossible – our first little miracle IVF baby – and we wouldn’t have four potential siblings frozen for future.

But sure – any fertility clinic can likely get you pregnant and achieve the seemingly impossible, right?

I actually only chose Bristol Centre for Reproductive Medicine over slightly-closer-to-us Exeter Fertility, because my best friend and godchildren live in Bristol; so I figured after any major stress or upset I could nip in on them and have a hug and make it all better…

Except that was never the case, because the team at BCRM really, genuinely care for you. Yes, there is a therapist available for [mental health] support – let’s face it, battling infertility isn’t easy – but, stubborn old me was done with talking to therapists. However, I never needed to see her anyway, because they take the time to find out about you, care for you, and if you need a hug, they’ll give you one. And in my simple opinion – a hug fixes everything! The nurses and HCA’s there are some of my favourite people on Earth now.. I hope they never change and the team stays the same forevermore…! They’ve got tonnes of patients to see but they won’t let you out that door if they feel like something is up with you – they’ll coax it out and you’ll feel better for it…

I am so glad we were squeezed in before the NHS funding was removed from BCRM, as I really didn’t want to move clinics and have a potentially less supportive team!

Extra special thanks to Jane our “named nurse”, Carrie who impregnated us (😂) Anne, Lydia, Jackie and Sue.

All the flowers, cake and words in the world will never be enough, but thank you BCRM, and I hope that you do all know – really know – how amazing you all are xx