The donor-cycle diaries, pt. 8 (when we are 12 weeks pregnant).
Trigger warning: this post contains scan imagery.
Happy New Year! It's 2019 and I am starting the new year with a brand new sensation; being pregnant and not being anxious (well... sort of). It's been a while since I last wrote - mainly because I've spent the last month asleep! But, nonetheless... this is currently the mood in our household:
I'm pleased to say I quickly moved on from this. With every bout of sickness, every tired day, every constipated poo, my body has reminded me that it's ME WHO IS PREGNANT. I am not a fraud, I'm someone who has battled relentlessly to fulfil our dream of parenthood and I intend to give myself permission to feel like any other pregnant woman. Thankfully, the first test of this came when I broke the news to mum at 8 weeks. ALL SHE CARED ABOUT IS THAT WE ARE PREGNANT WITH A HEALTHY BABY. Given that, if anyone, it would be mum who might share my angst at the lack of a genetic legacy, she didn't give a hoot. I could have been impregnated by an alien for all she cared - what was important was that finally, our much longed-for baby was coming. Yay mum!
Weeks 8-10 were reassuringly shite. I spent Christmas asleep - taking much needed naps when ever I needed and felt wholly unable to stomach any food, living on Heinz Tomato Soup, toast and as much fruit as I could shovel into my face. Nausea was very much confined to the evening, which was handy - as I could sleep through it.
Talking of which, sleep has also got into an irregular pattern; dead to the world by 8pm then waking to pee at least twice per night - at exactly the same time each night. Poor Husb has now been relegated to the spare room to a) avoid him having a disturbed night and b) to avoid him having to deal with my midnight rantings: "Honey you're snoring, I can't sleep"... "Honey you're fidgeting, I can't sleep"... "Honey you're touching me, I CAN'T SLEEP!" Poor darling has barely been able to so much as breathe beside me without being yelled at by my new irrational and sleep-hungry self! Patience. Of Saint. So every night, he tucks me in at 8pm and the next he knows I'm creeping into the spare bed beside him for a wake-up cuddle the following day.
In other news, I've also had the pregnancy 'super-smell'. I'm channelling a blood hound. Again, poor Husb... "Honey you can't eat that in here because it makes me feel sick"... "Honey you stink of garlic, I can't be in the same room as you". I refer you all back to my previous comment. Patience. Of. Saint. But, I suspect, he's loving every minute of it - as every hormonal and peculiar rant or rave reminds us both I'M PREGNANT.
Weeks 10-12 were a different kettle of fish. Boobs suddenly started to feel better, which bugged me. I also went from not wanting to think about food to feeling ravenous (but only for certain things). Anxiety started, once again, to knock on the door of my brain but, intuitively, I felt that there was no need to panic. Plus I was starting to experience a brand new sensation; baby brain! I can't catalogue here the amount of absolutely stupid and unlike-me things that have been happening but let's just say that I've accidentally taken the train to St. Alban's (when I meant to go to Kentish Town), I've double-paid for my groceries at least once and I've sent at least ten work emails with the wrong attachment, to the wrong person or hit send before writing anything at all!
You'll already know that I'm not the world's most patient person - so the run up to 12w has been excruciating, with minutes feeling like years. On the eve of our scan (which was conveniently scheduled for exactly 12w) I lay in bed thinking. 60% of my brain was worrying that we'd have yet another disappointment - we are so used to it... but the other 40% tried to envisage the moment we'd see our baby again. According to all those baby sites that analyse every minute of a baby's growth... our baby should be the size of a lime right now. So I tried to imagine it, buried deep inside my body - ripening healthily.
When we arrived to the hospital (one of the rare occasions when Husb has actually been on time!) I started to clench up but, thankfully, we didn't have to wait too long before we were ushered into a scan room where a lovely lady actually listened (so important) when I explained a little of our story and what this day meant to us. She couldn't have been more amazing - putting us out of our misery quickly and talking us through every measurement and detail. I know that medics aren't allowed to give subjective information - but she reassured that she saw absolutely no reason to worry as she pointed out the limbs, heart and placenta and checked for signs of Downs Syndrome. We laughed as we saw our little baby's hand up by it's forehead - like a little face-palm happening inside my womb. And, as I looked at the screen, my first thought was 'this is MY baby'.
Reassured and happy, off we trotted clutching the photo we never thought we'd have. For obvious reasons, we hadn't actually put any thought into what would happen next. So we had a celebratory hug, texted mum (who was also killing herself with worry) and then sat in our car staring at our little blob until it was time to go home! Before telling any of our friends, we were desperate to tell Husb's parents, who we would hopefully see in two days time. Unaware of our present situation - and also of our decision to try donor conception, I spent those days mentally rehearsing how we would share the news and imagining their joy - given they have also shared in our pain and our impatience. When the time came - our carefully rehearsed speech went to pot - and of course, their over-riding emotion was of joy, just like ours. FINALLY WE CAN ALL CELEBRATE!
I think that's probably enough for today - there are two things I'd like to write about in more detail - particularly about how we're managing the narrative around our donor-conception journey - and also how we've decided to move forward - given this is completely uncharted territory. But these things are by no means small things, so I'll write in more detail about that next time.
But, for now, thank you for staying with us. It's 4am (high time I went back to sleep) but, for tonight and hopefully for more nights to come, I'm sleeping soundly in the knowledge that all is well in our world.
Happy New Year! It's 2019 and I am starting the new year with a brand new sensation; being pregnant and not being anxious (well... sort of). It's been a while since I last wrote - mainly because I've spent the last month asleep! But, nonetheless... this is currently the mood in our household:
I have to admit that I've been floored by the experience so far. Last time I wrote, you'll remember I was struggling with early pregnancy-after-loss anxiety. I ummed and ahhhhed about whether to go for an interim scan. The wait for 12 weeks was KILLING ME and I also wanted to share the news with my mum, who would be staying with us over Christmas and New Year (and, given my current pathetic and limp state, it would be bloody obvious that something is afoot) - but I didn't want to set her (or myself) up for disappointment. On the other hand, I didn't want to find out I'd miscarried two days before Christmas. Perhaps I should park the scan until after Christmas, when I would have the headspace to deal with the fallout?
In the end, I decided to bite the bullet. Not far from my house is one of those 'reassurance scan' places - Window To The Womb (hideous name); they charge seventy quid for a quick peek. Off went Husb and I (me still being convinced there would be nothing there). But no! There was an 8w3d old bean, with it's little heart fluttering away healthily. "I see absolutely no reason to worry here" said the sonographer. "Your baby is in a great place in your uterus and it's the perfect size for 8w3d".
"Happy Christmas!" said I and off we went.
 |
| Baby bean at 8w3d slightly resembling an alien |
In the mean time I had read about women who had become 'addicted' to these scans - unable to function without seeing the weekly development of their baby. I decided I did NOT want to go down that path - and would only venture back again if I felt that something was wrong. So far so good.
But that left me with.... MORE AGONISING WAITING. The gap between 8 and 12 weeks has been immense. Over-analysing every single little symptom has become my daily past-time; "I felt so sick yesterday but today I'm ravenous....hang on, my boobs aren't hurting today... what's that all about" and so it went on.
I know this is common - every pregnant woman goes through same. Women who have known loss are, understandably, pre-programmed to worry even more. So, to help me cope with this, I gave myself a mantra: DO I HAVE AN ACTUAL REASON TO WORRY TODAY? Every time I've been tempted to over-analyse, I've questioned whether I have any actual evidence that something is wrong. The natural temptation is to invent problems based on 'what if something bad has happened but by body hasn't noticed yet'? My first miscarriage was a 'missed miscarriage'. I carried my pregnancy for 11 and a half weeks but my baby had stopped developing at just over 8 weeks. So, of course, I've been worried that history might repeat itself. But I've done my best to manage things - I've discussed my anxieties with Husb and mum and, I've been to see my counsellor, who always helps put things in a new light.
But that left me with.... MORE AGONISING WAITING. The gap between 8 and 12 weeks has been immense. Over-analysing every single little symptom has become my daily past-time; "I felt so sick yesterday but today I'm ravenous....hang on, my boobs aren't hurting today... what's that all about" and so it went on.
I know this is common - every pregnant woman goes through same. Women who have known loss are, understandably, pre-programmed to worry even more. So, to help me cope with this, I gave myself a mantra: DO I HAVE AN ACTUAL REASON TO WORRY TODAY? Every time I've been tempted to over-analyse, I've questioned whether I have any actual evidence that something is wrong. The natural temptation is to invent problems based on 'what if something bad has happened but by body hasn't noticed yet'? My first miscarriage was a 'missed miscarriage'. I carried my pregnancy for 11 and a half weeks but my baby had stopped developing at just over 8 weeks. So, of course, I've been worried that history might repeat itself. But I've done my best to manage things - I've discussed my anxieties with Husb and mum and, I've been to see my counsellor, who always helps put things in a new light.
Aside from this, there has been so much else going on in my little reptile brain. Sometimes overwhelming, I've really had to dig deep to maintain some sense of self-control. I've already told you a little of how I'm feeling to be pregnant after loss. But what I couldn't have anticipated was how it would feel to be pregnant with a donor egg. My mind is a whirl with sensations I could never have predicted.
Imposter syndrome?
Once the knowledge that there is an ACTUAL BABY growing inside sank in, my mind turned to a new concern. The reality was setting in - I am pregnant with another woman's egg. How do I feel about that? I had spent so long focusing on simply trying to BE pregnant, I hadn't thought much about how I might feel once it had actually happened. Suddenly a strange feeling began to seep in. AM I A FRAUD????
It's hard to explain but suddenly I wondered if people would think that somehow I had cheated the system? Would I be considered a second-class mother? Will my baby be considered a second-class baby? I'm not (or should say, was not, pre-pregnancy) an irrational person but suddenly I was filled with fear and dread - that somehow my baby wouldn't have the same birthright as a "normally conceived" baby. Even though my baby is still 100% my Husb's baby and is growing in my body. But still the worry set in. WILL I BE JUDGED?
I'm pleased to say I quickly moved on from this. With every bout of sickness, every tired day, every constipated poo, my body has reminded me that it's ME WHO IS PREGNANT. I am not a fraud, I'm someone who has battled relentlessly to fulfil our dream of parenthood and I intend to give myself permission to feel like any other pregnant woman. Thankfully, the first test of this came when I broke the news to mum at 8 weeks. ALL SHE CARED ABOUT IS THAT WE ARE PREGNANT WITH A HEALTHY BABY. Given that, if anyone, it would be mum who might share my angst at the lack of a genetic legacy, she didn't give a hoot. I could have been impregnated by an alien for all she cared - what was important was that finally, our much longed-for baby was coming. Yay mum!
Weeks 8-10 were reassuringly shite. I spent Christmas asleep - taking much needed naps when ever I needed and felt wholly unable to stomach any food, living on Heinz Tomato Soup, toast and as much fruit as I could shovel into my face. Nausea was very much confined to the evening, which was handy - as I could sleep through it.
Talking of which, sleep has also got into an irregular pattern; dead to the world by 8pm then waking to pee at least twice per night - at exactly the same time each night. Poor Husb has now been relegated to the spare room to a) avoid him having a disturbed night and b) to avoid him having to deal with my midnight rantings: "Honey you're snoring, I can't sleep"... "Honey you're fidgeting, I can't sleep"... "Honey you're touching me, I CAN'T SLEEP!" Poor darling has barely been able to so much as breathe beside me without being yelled at by my new irrational and sleep-hungry self! Patience. Of Saint. So every night, he tucks me in at 8pm and the next he knows I'm creeping into the spare bed beside him for a wake-up cuddle the following day.
In other news, I've also had the pregnancy 'super-smell'. I'm channelling a blood hound. Again, poor Husb... "Honey you can't eat that in here because it makes me feel sick"... "Honey you stink of garlic, I can't be in the same room as you". I refer you all back to my previous comment. Patience. Of. Saint. But, I suspect, he's loving every minute of it - as every hormonal and peculiar rant or rave reminds us both I'M PREGNANT.
Weeks 10-12 were a different kettle of fish. Boobs suddenly started to feel better, which bugged me. I also went from not wanting to think about food to feeling ravenous (but only for certain things). Anxiety started, once again, to knock on the door of my brain but, intuitively, I felt that there was no need to panic. Plus I was starting to experience a brand new sensation; baby brain! I can't catalogue here the amount of absolutely stupid and unlike-me things that have been happening but let's just say that I've accidentally taken the train to St. Alban's (when I meant to go to Kentish Town), I've double-paid for my groceries at least once and I've sent at least ten work emails with the wrong attachment, to the wrong person or hit send before writing anything at all!
When we arrived to the hospital (one of the rare occasions when Husb has actually been on time!) I started to clench up but, thankfully, we didn't have to wait too long before we were ushered into a scan room where a lovely lady actually listened (so important) when I explained a little of our story and what this day meant to us. She couldn't have been more amazing - putting us out of our misery quickly and talking us through every measurement and detail. I know that medics aren't allowed to give subjective information - but she reassured that she saw absolutely no reason to worry as she pointed out the limbs, heart and placenta and checked for signs of Downs Syndrome. We laughed as we saw our little baby's hand up by it's forehead - like a little face-palm happening inside my womb. And, as I looked at the screen, my first thought was 'this is MY baby'.
Reassured and happy, off we trotted clutching the photo we never thought we'd have. For obvious reasons, we hadn't actually put any thought into what would happen next. So we had a celebratory hug, texted mum (who was also killing herself with worry) and then sat in our car staring at our little blob until it was time to go home! Before telling any of our friends, we were desperate to tell Husb's parents, who we would hopefully see in two days time. Unaware of our present situation - and also of our decision to try donor conception, I spent those days mentally rehearsing how we would share the news and imagining their joy - given they have also shared in our pain and our impatience. When the time came - our carefully rehearsed speech went to pot - and of course, their over-riding emotion was of joy, just like ours. FINALLY WE CAN ALL CELEBRATE!
I think that's probably enough for today - there are two things I'd like to write about in more detail - particularly about how we're managing the narrative around our donor-conception journey - and also how we've decided to move forward - given this is completely uncharted territory. But these things are by no means small things, so I'll write in more detail about that next time.
But, for now, thank you for staying with us. It's 4am (high time I went back to sleep) but, for tonight and hopefully for more nights to come, I'm sleeping soundly in the knowledge that all is well in our world.
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