Lumpy

My husband and I got married on 13th September 2008, prior to this we had discussed our options for trying for a baby. We had come to the conclusion that living 300 miles away from friends and family was not the ideal situation to bring a baby into the world. Our business was doing well and we were expecting to be in a position to pay someone to run it for us and move closer to home within the next year or 2. Satisfied with our decision we got married and went on honeymoon baby free.

2 weeks after returning from honeymoon we were away again, this time a business trip to Munich for the Europe Golf Trade Show. As we embarked on the ferry from hell from Newcastle to Amsterdam we settled into our shoebox/cabin and I realised I had forgotten my pill. The trip was only 3 days long and a busy 3 days at that so we decided abstinance was the answer.

Upon our return home I hastily resumed the daily ritual before bed of popping the little yellow pill, so small it required no water, no fuss, no babies!

Happy with our new married status, sucessful business and child-free lives we settled into a film the next night and were rudely interrupted by the ringing of the phone. Pausing the sky plus my husband answered predicting the content of the call to be football related as was usually the case. He greeted the caller with the standard taunt, considered rude unless between best friends who happen to support rival teams. As he let of a huge cheer and a round of congratulations I correctly made the presumption of yet another announcement. We are expecting our 2nd baby. Congratulations.

The announcement took me by surprise, not the pregnancy, that had long been awaited and expected. No, it was my reaction that surprised me. As my husband cheerfully completed the conversation with all the right questions, how far along etc. I slowly climbed the stairs, entered the bedroom, climbed into bed and pulled the duvet over my head just enough so he couldn't see the tears.

My husband being my husband, he knew exactly what the problem was, he knew all the right words to say, knew how long to hold me for, muttering words of support and knew exactly when to leave me to wallow in self pity.

The next day feeling very silly for not being excited for my friend and for my unexpected reaction I carried on with my normal routine of getting out of bed ridiculously late, skipping breakfast and moving straight onto lunch before settling into my favourite UKTV Food programs and usual internet haunts; Facebook being my second port of call behind You and Your Wedding, a habit I had struggled to break since our recent nuptials. Checking status updates and chuckling at such offering as, "I wonder if the Queen ever pulls the duvet up to her chin and say's, "Look Phillip, I'm a stamp!"?" is one of my favourite unemployed hobbies. On this particular day I was puzzled to find my husband's status set to, "David is thinking..." Of course being the nosy and habitually bored person that I am I immediately messaged him asking what he was thinking of, expecting a far less intriguing response than, "I'll tell you when I have finished thinking".

Later that night feeling like a child waiting for Christmas, I decided after a whole 10 seconds of holding off to ask the question that had been bugging me all day. "Have you finished yet??" As calmly as someone who has spent the day contemplating life can be he babbled out a whole heap of crazy about getting old, apparently the impending big 3 0 was causing more concern than the jokes let on. The upshot of all of this was the decision that nearing 30, having a semi successful business, by now the reccession is taking hold, a home and a happy marriage is the ideal situation for trying for a baby, after all who can guarantee instant success?

So started the next stage in our life, trying for a baby. Who knew what joy and heartache it could bring.

On that day I took the first step neccessary for this to be successful, I ditched the pill, cast aside into the depths of a small linen box in my bedroom reserved for any piece of crap I find lying around that I don't need but don't want to throw away. There they reside alongside keys for windows that no longer exist, a little teddy of who's origin I am not entirely sure, screws for furniture long ago dumped and decomposing on the rubbish heap, and now, a 5 month supply of cerazette.

The next day I took the trip I had dreaded making for the last 10 years of being 'sexually active' (Juno is right, what exactly does that mean?) the long walk of shame in Boot's from the 'family planning' section to the till where the nosy assistant trys her hardest to not stare at the multipack of First Response home pregnancy tests. That day though, the tables were turned. I didn't marvel at the insensitivity of the expression 'family planning', as if the teens lurking hoping to sneak one into their bag when no one is looking have 'planned' this. This time I took my time to peruse the different brands, the vastly varying prices and even took time to work out which was better value per 'stick'. I carefully chose, picked up some folic acid and went to pay, being careful to flash my wedding ring at all times, conscious that I am frequently mistaken for someone younger than my tender 23 years.

Buying the 4 First Response tests that day was the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship between myself and peeing on a stick or POAS as it would soon be known as. As it turned out buying first response was my first and very expensive mistake. Believe me when you pee on as many sticks as I do, buy cheap ones or better still get some out of the garden, they are about as much use and satisfy the craving just as well!

I had my prenatal vitamins, I had sticks, all I needed now was a replacement for my You and Your Wedding obsession. As I had 'real world' friends on there and our 'trying for a baby' status was under wraps I decided the Baby section of YAYW would not be the most discreet place but YAYW's sister site Baby Expert would do fabulously! I joined under a new pseudonym totally unrelated to YAYW's lame attempts at hiding my identity and started posting.

That lasted a whole 10 seconds before I was frustrated and bored. Used to the fast pace and ever changing fraternity of YAYW's infamous General Chat, Trying to Concieve was slow and possibly the most clicky environment I had ever had the misfortune to be ignored in. I posted an introduction to myself and a friendly heads up to Boot's First Response BOGOF offer. 20 minutes and 0 replys later I gave in and logged off feeling as if my 'trying for a baby' wasn't as much fun as I expected.

Of course, lack of entertainment for the day and my enthusiasm for my new venture found me back on Baby Expert, or BE as it is known to its avid users, to find that later in the day more people come on, which of course means... more people to ignore me! Unperturbed I followed closely the ritual of the leaders of the pack picking and choosing their topics, their topic of choice of course instantly becoming the new hot topic while newbies like me go ignored. Sticking around and watching held one advantage, learning the new abbreviations that would soon become my second language in which I am as fluent as English.
"I POAS, an FR and CBD but then AF got me so I started a new cycle on my CBFM, I OV on CD 15 and we plan to BD on CD 12, 14 and then wait until 12 DPO to POAS, I need lots of PMA for a H&H 9 months after my mmc, my EDD will be 11th Sept." Er excuse me???

It didn't take long to be initiated into the TTC gang and my post count soon mounted. AF, aunt flo or the dreaded menses got me on 31st October, the first cycle began. I was very excited that using my limited secondary school biology I was expecting to ovulate on day 14 of my cycle which coincidentally was my Husband's 30th birthday. We all know what that means. A weekend away with my in laws...

As we checked into the lodge the in laws had kindly booked for the famed '90th' we ran around like children trying to 'Bags I' the best room, after all it was his 30th. Unfortunately, the Mother in Law could play the trump card, you see it was also her 60th, a complete and utter coincidence that my Husband should be born EXACTLY 9 months after his parents wedding anniversary and also on his Mothers 30th birthday, something I would later learn meant absolutely nothing, 9 months is an over simplified and innacurate term for the length of a pregnancy. Satisfied with our second choice of room we examined the Bang and Olufsen television then rang the other party comers to find out how long we had until their arrival. Don't you know I am ovulating...

Deed done and convinced pregnancy was just hours away, I prepared for the arrival of my parents and brother in law and his wife in the best way possible, getting very drunk.

Of course life doesn't work like that and 35 days after she last plagued me good old Aunt Flo was back rearing her ugly head and making my use of all but one First Response, a rather expensive waste of time and first morning urine.

9 days on and still very unwordly in the trying to concieve stakes I bombarded my cyber friends and google with questions of early ovulation wondering if I was interpreting the signs wrong. I decided my inexperience and first month baby free meant I was obviously not yet learned enough to start predicting such events as unpredictable as ovulation and resolved myself to seduce my husband at all possible opportunities.

Whenever has life gone as planned? 2 days later, during what I was led to believe was my most fertile time a charming bug took hold of my Husband, without giving too much information lets just say it involved a broken bathroom cupboard and me on my hands and knees cleaning the kitchen floor. Being the bad, self involved person I am my first thought was not for my poor Husband looking like death but for the missed opportunity.

Christmas was soon upon us and along with it came the much awaited visit of my adored parents. We laughed, we raced each other on Mario Kart, we played on the new Wii Fit and I cooked a meal big enough for 20 people which of course got polished off by the 4 of us.

As has been the same since the invention of the calender, a week later and New Years Eve was upon us. Not my favourite time of year. The only one I have ever ventured out on was the turn of 2000, aged 14 I got horribly drunk on vodka and sunny delight (I kid you not) and my only memory of the night was being caught by my boss kissing behind his restaurant to be sent home to my parents party where I got caught by my Father kissing a family friends son, a full year my junior. Since then my reluctance to repeat the debacle and my refusal to spend £8 per drink has always left me feeling slightly lame when friends plan out the biggest night of the year while my Husband and I plan a nice meal, some champagne and a film before watching fireworks and being in bed at an unfashionable half 12. This year though being in Edinburgh and having free street party tickets due to the location of our business we decided to brave it and have a night out. Cue 7pm when we decided we couldn't be bothered and went shopping to buy something nice for dinner and a bottle of tequila to see in the new year.

By the end of the evening there we were in the spare room watching TV while I wish my friend Happy Birthday over MSN. We discussed our trying for a baby status, she has been trying long term and has fertility problems. I explained that a stomach bug was our fertility problem that month and we discussed our favourite mutual thing, POAS while I squinted with one eye, the only way I can focus following a large tequila intake.

The next morning, slightly hung over and regretting the final shot of tequila washed down with a bellini that stopped being bellini and became peach juice stained champagne around 10pm, the mood took me to POAS. Judging my aim to be a little off I grabbed a plastic cup from the kitchen and shuffled nonchantly up the stairs, wrongly presuming he wouldn't know what I was up to. I peed in the cup, dunked the stick, replaced the cap and returned to my hang over discarding the used superdrug cheapy home pregnancy test as an expensive habit. Once done I turned to throw it in the bin and with shock counted the lines. It was a pretty easy job, 1 not pregnant, 2 pregnant. I can count to 2 quite easily but for some reason decided my Husband should take a shot, after all he didn't drink as much as me and wouldn't be seeing double like me.

1... 2. 1... 2. 1... 2. There are definately 2 lines there.

Disbelieving and feeling slightly wobbly I calmly took a photo and posted it on my lifeline, Baby Expert, only to find a long list of "Wow what a strong line" "Congrats, thats a definate BFP" and "Have a happy and healthy 9 months" staring back at me as instant confirmation.

I am pregnant.

Ever the optomist my husband decided he needed confirmation and since I had just peed on the only stick in the house we went on a hunt for a clearblue digital. For anyone who ever decides they need a home pregnancy test on new years day in Edinburgh, save yourself the petrol, the holy grail would have been easier to find.

After the longest day EVER the 2nd finally came around and I woke to find him shaking a box over my head containing not one but two clearblue digital tests. I did my thing and waited eagerly for the result. The magic word appeared quite soon... PREGNANT... but still the wait sign was flashing, next came up the most disheartening phrase, 2-3 weeks. Is that it? 2-3 weeks, thats nothing, how are we going to wait the next 10 weeks to tell everyone, how are we going to wait the next 38 weeks to meet our baby? Then I realised, thats since conception, since my last menstrual period, a phrase I would hear too often over the next few weeks, I was nearly 5 weeks pregnant, a much more managable number.

Floating on air off I headed to take my friend to buy paper for her wedding invites, I felt like I was keeping the best secret in the world. My Husband sent me frequent loving and tender messages during my day out and I couldn't help but smile to myself. As if she was sensing my new found motherhood my friend asked me out of the blue, "Are you pregnant?" Shocked and speachless at the blunt and intuitive question I blustered a frantic "No!!!" but then to cover my tracks admitted we were 'trying' but didn't want people to know, hence my confused reaction. She seemed happy with my response and we enjoyed the rest of our shopping trip.

On the way home I began to feel some odd cramps in my tummy that came and went, hoping they would go away I dropped her off home and drove to pick my husband up from his male-bonding snooker session. Feeling apprehensive and frightened of what I might find I went to the toilet. Realising my fears I found a pool of bright red blood soaked all through my underwear and onto my jeans. Unsure what to do I summoned my Husband into a corridor and whispered what I had discovered into his ear. Taking charge he excused himself and ushered me to the car then drove me straight to A&E.

Upon arrival I gave my details, explained what had happened and found myself moments later having blood taken and being wheeled to the ward where I would spend the next terrifying 5 hours waiting to be seen by a consultant. After hours of waiting I recieved a rather unsatisfactory observation and was sent home with another appoitment booked in 3 days time to take yet more blood.

3 long days passed and off we went again to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, this time the early pregnancy unit where someone took blood and tried to put my mind at rest that lots of women experience early bleeding, known as implantation bleeding. A few hours later I rang for the results of my hormone tests. The pregnancy hormone in my blood had risen satisfactorally from 600 to 1600. Just to be sure I was expected back 48 hours later for another test. Again a significant rise was found from 1600 to 3800.

Our minds completely at rest we headed home to visit family with the intention of telling my parents in law about our pregnancy and asking for advice on whether to tell my Husbands very sick Granddad. Their negative response to the pregnancy was not unexpected but upsetting none the less and we decided not to tell his Granddad.

Upon our return home we visited the early pregnancy unit again, a week after my most recent bloods, for a scan. By this point I was a little over 6 weeks and feeling very confident due to my newly developed symptoms, morning sickness, sore breasts and dizziness to name the most pleasant...

As I lay waiting for the scan I marvelled at how little the room looked like the bright spacious scanning rooms you see on TV, no jauntily angled bed with a shiny new machine here, just a dark room with what looked like a large TV on a stand in the corner and a primary school style chair for my Husband to sit on and hold my hand.

The sonographer performed the scan, noted a cyst on my right ovary and showed us the yolk sac. A few quiet tense moments later and the sonographer allowed me to relieve my busting bladder and performed an internal scan, something I had been warned might happen at only 6 weeks. A few ominously quiet minutes later and I was sent to clean up and then taken to another room for a 'chat'. The sonographer explained that they would have expected the pregnancy to be further along and my HCG hormone results suggest they should be seeing more. There was a 'slight' chance something was wrong and could we come back in 2 weeks so they can measure the growth from this scan.

I remained stoic until we returned home when I climbed into bed and broke down. My ever strong Husband reiterated the 'slightness' of her concerns and told me to be strong. Lumpy will be fine he assured me using our new name for our tiny baby.

2 slow and agonising weeks passed, each day becoming slightly more positive as no more bleeding occured. Finally the day of reckoning and we arrived at the scan to find the 'evil nurse' who had taken blood so humourlessly 2 weeks previously, chaperoning. Again after a few tense moments I was asked to empty my bladder for an internal scan, by then I should be 8 weeks and there should be no need for an internal scan, my heart dropped. The sonographer called someone for a second opinion before whisking us off to the 'bad news room' as it had now become. We were told to go home and expect the worst, in the event that I didn't miscarry in the next week another scan appointment was made.

I joked after the event that my Husband was 'ugly crying' a term my aunt first used to describe someone who gets so emotional they can no longer restrain themselves and sobs uncontrollably. Looking at him made me struggle to hold it together so the next few hours were spent alternating between sitting in silence avoiding looking at each other and sobbing holding each other. Needing a sounding board I found the strength to post on baby expert what had happened and recieved some warm, heartfelt condolences that would later become a huge source of support but at the time were too painful to read.

The next day was one of mixed emotions, although still in shock and very emotional, I tried to enjoy my 24th birthday as much as I could. I did my hair and make up, a rarity for me but neccessary on this day to draw attention away from my puffy bloodshot eyes. We enjoyed a subdued lunch at our favourite place in Scotland before returning home and sharing a birthday cake with the children I looked after for over a year. I dreaded seeing the little boy I had cared for since his Mother returned to work only 4 months after giving birth but his cheeky smile and limitless affection helped my mood.

I became very worried about my Husband over the coming week. He was clearly struggling, not only with the current situation of not knowing, am I pregnant, am I not? Will the baby survive or will it die? If I go to the toilet will there be blood everywhere or will I dodge the bullet once more? But also he was in turmoil with the seemingly hopeless situation the poor financial climate had rendered our business into. Not knowing how to help him I felt helpless and a bad wife adding to the never ending list of problems I was facing.

We had discussed our options. If the scan returned bad news whether to end the pregnancy medically or wait it out but also we discussed what we would do if the scan revealed a baby undersized, unhealthy, unviable but alive non the less. We decided we would request a termination to end the uncertainty and move on. We were faced with tough decisions and a long agonizing wait.

Finally the day arrived and we went with a heavy heart to the scan, back in the same room with the demon sonographer and her 'second opinion pal' standing by they delievered the verdict of a missed miscarriage. The baby had stopped growing and had most probably died at 6 weeks, I had been carrying a dead baby in my uterus for 3 weeks.

Moved into a new bad news room we were bombarded with information and leaflets, all telling me things Google had already done so, we had come armed with a decision. We would like medical intervention, a evacuation of retained product of conception or erpc. We were explained what would happen and taken through forms and then left to wait for a doctor to sign off on the operation that would take place the next day.

As we waited the open door yeilded an unusual but not unfamiliar noise. As my Husband looked in puzzlement at the door I explained that it was the sound of a babies heartbeat as an apparently healthy scan was taking place in the room opposite us. I suddenly felt a huge sense of guilt that my body had not done its job properly and had failed to keep my Husband's baby safe and have never provided him with the joy of hearing his baby's hearbeat.

Forms and blood tests complete and appointment booked we took the long drive home, knowing we had to make the return journey early tomorrow, the last journey our baby Lumpy would ever take. As I prepared for the operation the following day I thought about what was about to happen and the reality of it all finally sunk in. As I lay in bed being held I explained my worrys and fears and drifted into a restless sleep.

Awaken early I got my things together and climbed into the car feeling slightly like someone heading towards impending doom. A long wait in the most characterless waiting room lay ahead, punctuated by occasional jaunts into various rooms to meet consultants and anaesthetists and to have my blood pressure taken and to have tablets designed to dilate my cervix shoved unceremoniously into the furthest reaches of my vagina.

A little while later and I was summoned to don a backless robe which showed off more skin than I care to share, paper knickers and a rather attractive paper hat. I looked somewhat like Victoria Wood in dinnerladies. Grateful of having my own slippers and my Husband's dressing gown which makes me feel inexplicably safe, I entered a new waiting room with only one occupant. I sat down nervously knowing the inevitable question would follow... "What are you in here for??"

As I mumbled whilst holding back tears she nodded knowingly then proceeded to share her stories of every person she has ever known who had lost a baby, as if thats what I needed to hear! Luckily she was moved out of the room pretty quickly although I soon felt lonely and frightened and almost wished she was back. Of course I spoke too soon and there she was again, just in enough time to finish her story about when she lost twins!

I was mercifully saved by the nurse who double checked my details and took me into a room with lots of machines that bleeped and the highest bed I have ever seen. The friendly anaesthatist who I met earlier was there, still displaying the shortest trousers known to man. As he fumbled away with my right hand I explained my veins get a little camera shy and suggested he try the left hand which is more yeilding. Of course he ignored me and prodded and poked until he had hurt me sufficiently to move onto my left hand where he immediately found the vein and successfully inserted the canula that would cause me so many problems over the coming weeks.

A cocktail of drugs was then introduced to my hand in the most painful way imaginable and my irrational fear that I would not be completely to sleep became more troublesome than it seemed in the waiting room. Someone who sounded far away said I should be feeling woozy by now and I looked up at the light to watch it move from side to side. As I went under I said, "OOOH it's like drinking tequila."

More to come....