Fear

With my first pregnancy I was a bit anxious because it was all a new experience.  But I was innocent enough to believe things would probably be fine, until it all went downhill at ten weeks.

With my second pregnancy I was hyper-vigilant.  

I worried and over-analysed every symptom until we passed 14 weeks gestation. 

Now that we were out of the first trimester surely it was safe to hope everything would be okay.  I had three whole days of relative peace-of-mind before things went downhill again.

This time I have every reason to believe the pregnancy will go to term - we're now more than 75% of the way there.  I'm healthy and growing and gaining weight as expected.

But that is just in my head.  

In my heart is fear.

I know that babies can still die in utero in the third trimester.  

Some babies are stillborn.  

And some babies die due to birth complications.

Upon waking every morning the first thing I do is check for movement.  

Most often there is none and the cold fingers of fear start to crawl up my spine. 

Pickle seems not to be a morning person, preferring to save the major acrobatics for when I'm trying to fall asleep at night.  I know this in my head, but still the nightmare scenarios play through my mind until I first feel movement later in the day.

All I can do is treat myself well and hope for the best.  It is much more difficult than I would have believed.

There are no guarantees.

Crying over novelty socks - a new perspective on grief

Holey Socks Batman.

Yesterday morning Mr Duncan was wittering on to me about a pair of his socks.

Freshly laundered, he went to put them on and found them full of holes.  

This was no big surprise to me.  I don't know how he goes through socks as fast as he does, but he is regularly throwing out socks with holes in the toes and heels so I wasn't paying close attention to his complaint, especially once he started going on about moths and mothballs.  

We have not developed a moth infestation in the three days since he last wore those socks.  

I'm not saying that something didn't try to eat them while they were drying on the washing line though... we are not yet closely acquainted with all of Australia's creepy crawlies.

When I was first pregnant with Poppy I noticed a pair of Homer Simpson novelty socks at the pound shop in the days coming up to Fathers Day.  Mr Duncan is a massive Simpsons fan and we enjoy a couple of in-jokes based on Homer Simpson statements.  So I purchased the socks and gave them to Mr Duncan with a Homer Simpson Fathers Day card, from me and Poppy, assuring him what a great Dad he'd be.  

We lost Poppy less than two weeks later.

Time has passed and old wounds, if not exactly healed, are less immediately painful.  

Poppy's due date and first birthday have come and gone and in that time we conceived and lost Pipkin and now are hoping for Pickle to arrive safely in June.

While I frequently think of both Poppy and Pipkin, what they might have been like if they had been born, how our lives would be different...  its like a nostalgic feeling for what might have been and it doesn't trigger tears in the way it did in the past.

Later in the day I noticed Mr Duncan's Homer Simpson socks in the wastepaper basket by his desk and burst into a fit of hysterical ugly crying - complete with red face, heaving chest and breathless gasping.

Grief is a funny thing.  

Just when you think it is subsiding it rushes in unexpectedly and sweeps you off your feet.

Dates

82 boxes.

Today was Pipkin's due date.

We arrived in Australia to start our new life today.

I've always had a head for dates - remembering birthdays and anniversaries without any effort.  I'm glad that I can make this date dual purpose - and bring some positivity to an otherwise sad association.

I hope I can do that with Poppy's due date too.  

Although it was the middle of freezing cold January, we took the day off work for a trip to the seaside at Brighton.  It was good and healing to spend that time together and acknowledge what might have been.  

I hope the next time it comes around we can start something positive in Poppy's memory.  

In summer.

Its been an exhausting and busy week. 

I'm looking forward to a couple of weeks downtime in tropical Brisbane before attending to the graft of finding a job and a place to live in Melbourne.

L.

x

The Sword of Damocles

Conception room with a view

I feel like the Sword of Damocles is hanging over my head.  

Yes, I have another chance and I should be happy but I can't help but feel its all about to fall apart again at any second.  

Slip through my fingers...

I feel guilty that I am so... not negative exactly, but certainly not positive.  Not quite ambivalent as I do care, in my head at least, but I'm not ready to let myself feel that I care very much.  I'm too apprehensive. 

Its not safe.

I feel like a total ingrate and it seems unfair somehow to all women everywhere who want to be pregnant and aren't and unfair to the wee one inside me right now.

I feel bad that my emotions are not of sweetness and light, unicorns and rainbows. 

I am supposed to be the mother doing the best for her child.  

I know that relaxation and positive thought correlates with successful pregnancy outcomes and maternal anxiety correlates with adverse outcomes.

I know there are no guarantees and I have no control other than looking after myself in the same way I have been for all the years we have been trying to have a baby.  

But I want so much to be able to do something, cling to something, anything that might indicate that this time will be different.  

Cue symptom spotting mentalness, which I know is futile, but I don't seem to be able to stop checking in with myself for symptoms fifty times a day.

And even though I understand all these things in my head, I really don't have a clue what to do about changing any of it.

I had my last session with the grief counsellor this week and she said it is a normal part of grieving - that as this one grows, I re-experience my loss of the others.  That she'd be more worried about my mental health if I was all gung-ho and super upbeat about everything.  

Nice enough to hear, but it doesn't change things.

I started work at a new contract today - its only mornings for the rest of the month, but I'm hoping a new set of data problems to solve for work will help keep my mind focussed on things other than the feelings of impending doom that threaten to overwhelm me.

**********

In other news

• The movers are booked
• I bought our flights to Australia this evening and we're off in a month
• I still need to figure out how to say goodbye to Poppy and Pipkin before we go.  

I so hope I don't have to say goodbye to this one too.

Taking it day by day...

After I lost Poppy, I think I also lost my self a little bit.  

I took only two days off work, during which I mainly slept, then threw myself back into activity.  

I said I was worried about getting bored, but maybe I was just doing anything I could to avoid acknowledging the enormity of what had happened and the feelings which threatened to overwhelm me.  I drank too much red wine which helped me avoid my feelings but made me hate myself because I wanted to be healthy for a future pregnancy.

When I wasn't working, I did a lot of reading, to distract myself and to try to understand.  

I read many amazing blogs about infertility and loss and those gave me some perspective.  

I didn't know why I lost my baby, or if there was anything I could have done to prevent it, or if I did something to actually cause it.  I had lots of questions.  

What is the meaning of life anyway?

This questioning led me to some interesting books among the self-help shelves of my local library that have opened up the way I think about it all.  I'll write about some of those sometime.

I'm definitely doing it differently this time.

Post miscarriage acupuncture and the kindness of strangers

My scan after I lost Pipkin showed that there was retained tissue.  The doctor advised I give it a few days to see if it would pass by itself and scheduled a scan for the following week.  She said if there was still tissue then I'd need to have surgery to remove it.

I've only had a general anaesthetic once in my life, when my wisdom teeth were removed (they were growing the wrong way up into my cheekbones) and have no desire to experience that again.  I was also aware that a D&C can sometimes result in scarring which can affect the lining of the womb and implantation.

I was desperate to 'complete' the miscarriage on my own so emailed my acupuncturist with the news that I'd lost my baby and a request for advice.  I made an appointment to try to stimulate my body to expel the retained tissue naturally.

By the time of my first appointment, five days after my loss, the bleeding had subsided and I was just spotting.  The bleeding restarted quite vigorously within an hour of my first acupuncture session but after two days no clots had passed so I made a second appointment.

It was a nice day so I decided to walk the 25 minutes distance to my appointment.  The treatment went without any problems and I did notice on my way down the stairs that my legs were a bit trembly, but didn't think much of it as I set out to walk home.  

Within about 200 metres, my legs started feeling weird and I felt nauseous and faint.  I clung on to a garden wall as I felt my legs fold underneath me.  I felt a strong cramp and a gush of sudden bleeding.   

I was frightened and started crying.  

I had no idea what was going on with my body and felt alone and vulnerable in the middle of a main road in west London.  I made my way to the bus stop a few more metres up the road and took a seat, lowering my head between my legs to help with the fainting.  

I couldn't think straight. 

I didn't know what was happening and didn't know what to do.  Was this the haemorrhaging they warned me about at the hospital?  How was my blood pressure? Should I go back to the hospital?  I phoned Mr Duncan to tell me what to do.  He made me check my pulse.  A bit fast, but strong.  He offered to come and get me, but that would have taken over an hour by the time he took public transport home to get the car so we agreed I'd take a cab.

I know I was crying like a crazy person, but it surprised me how many people looked at me as if I was dangerous while giving me a wide berth.  Only the dope-scented old Rasta man at the bus stop asked if I was okay and listened to my incoherent response.  He sat with me and offered me his bus fare, bless him, but the buses weren't going in my direction.  He voluntarily missed bus after bus as he helped me hail a cab and saw me safely into it.  I feel a lot of gratitude to that kindly old man.

After about an hour of severe cramping, I passed a large clot and was given the all clear at my scan the next day.

Naming and honouring angels...

A lone flower among the lilypads

One of the few friends I can (and do) speak quite openly to about Poppy and Pipkin commented recently that she thinks it is so cute that I call my lost babies by those names.

Poppy is so named because the day I downloaded all the pregnancy apps for my iPhone, at all of 4 weeks pregnant, the What To Expect App told me 'The baby is as big as a... Poppyseed".   

And it stuck.  

It is useful to have a nickname to speak about the new life growing inside you.

Pipkin was named after the smallest rabbit in the book Watership Down, which Mr Duncan was reading aloud to me at bedtime around the time that Pipkin was conceived.

I have read a fair amount of information on loss and grieving since my first miscarriage and many suggest you name your lost babies to formally include them in your family and have a rite of passage, such as a funeral or memorial ceremony to acknowledge their loss.    

While I had certainly been looking at baby names prior to my losses, we had nothing like a short list.  

In fact it is unmanageably long.  

Maybe if they were older when we lost them, we would have had more of an idea, but part of me feels it is too early to decide before the baby is born and I actually get to meet him or her in person.

When I was in my 20s a close friend had his first baby and excitedly sent out the birth announcement to his friends that his firstborn was named Alexander.  Several days later we received another email, from his wife, saying that after a few days of living with him, it was clear that their son was not an Alexander after all, in fact he was a William.

So they remain Poppy and Pipkin, but I am so glad they both already had their names before I lost them.

Mr Duncan and I want to have some sort of ceremony for them before we leave to live in Australia (still crossing my fingers for the visa) - because they will of course be staying here.  

It would be nice to plant a tree or rosebush or something in our garden, but we're in rented accommodation so thats not really a possibility.  

I'll have to think about what would work for us...

L.
x

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Talking about miscarriage and loss

Something that surprised me when I had my miscarriage was the information that one pregnancy in three ends in miscarriage. 

I think that means statistically, for every three women I know that has a child, one of them will have had a miscarriage.

I realise that many losses are very early, often before a woman knows she was pregnant, and I wonder if the slightly late period I had the month before we conceived Pipkin was one of these early losses or 'chemical' pregnancies.  

This is why I don't test early.  

But why don't people talk about it?  

Given how open people are about every other aspect of their lives on facebook and twitter, it seems strange that miscarriage is such a hidden subject.  I recently read an article from Stylist which discusses why miscarriage may be the last taboo.

The material I had read on miscarriage said it would be like a heavy period.  So I was in no way prepared for the actual experience and I had no one to talk to about it!  

I read through lots of online forums, but there were very few accounts of what to expect.  

I guess its true that every woman and every pregnancy is different.  

I finally found the brilliant pregnancyloss.info site which offers 'information, healing and hope'.  It gave me practical information while I was miscarrying and assured me that I was not as alone as I felt.  

And I felt SO alone.  

In many ways I still do.

Very few people knew I was pregnant when I lost Poppy at 10 weeks, but at 15 weeks, we had just started telling people about Pipkin.  

People's reactions to my sad news was fairly consistent.  

They said sorry and then changed the subject.  

But both my pregnancies and both my losses are part of my life - I don't want my babies to be guilty secrets or hidden!  I want to be able to talk about the pregnancy or miscarriage when it comes up and have people listen, not awkwardly turn away.

After my first loss I spent a lot of time reading about other people's losses.  I found it oddly comforting and it helped put my loss in perspective.  

Many women have gone through the experience of miscarriage or loss and many of their stories are so much more difficult than mine.  One very powerful site I spent a lot of time on was facesofloss.com.

I also started reading a number of infertility blogs from the amazing Stirrup Queen's Completely Anal List of Blogs That Proves That She Really Missed Her Calling as a Personal Organizer which reminded me that while I have experienced loss, I still have hope, and my journey so far has been comparatively straightforward.   

My favourite is Maybe If You Just Relax - it makes me laugh and I am impressed that the author has been able to write about her difficult journey with such honesty and humour!

I have written about the losses of both Poppy and Pipkin with the hope that these stories may in some way help other women going through this difficult experience.

And because I believe it is important that we as women talk about miscarriage and loss.  

We need to acknowledge and honour the short lives of our lost babies for the information and understanding of others, and for our own healing.

L.
x

Pipkin angel

Pipkin

Its been less than six months, but I don't remember finding out I was pregnant with Pipkin.  

My Fertility Friend App shows I had a positive pregnancy test at only 12 DPO, which is quite early for testing.  I prefer to wait until my period is *late* late, in order to avoid the excitement/disappointment that goes with a so-called 'chemical pregnancy'.

I vaguely remember having a baby dream.  I don't normally remember my dreams so that may have prompted me to test. In any case - when we found out we were pregnant again, there was none of the excitement or anticipation of the future we had when we found out about Poppy.  

More like... trepidation?

As with Poppy, my nausea was mild, but I had strong cravings for ginger and dairy.  I could have been perfectly happy with custard for all meals - which is part what prompted my Custards blog (loss of Pipkin and Mr Duncan's blood pressure is what has suspended it, but I hope to get back to it in the future).

So we were really on tenterhooks until our first scan.  Especially since we never had a scan with Poppy.  

At my booking in appointment, the midwife offered to call EPAU - and managed to sort out a scan immediately.  It showed a strong heartbeat and okay size for dates. 

What a relief!

Our next scan at nearly 13 weeks showed a high nucal fold reading which is a marker of chromosomal defects.  I declined testing to confirm if/what defects existed as, for me, it would be inappropriate to have a termination for medical reasons.  

I knew the risks of 'elderly' conception and we were okay with the idea of having a Down Syndrome baby and a baby with more serious chromosomal issues is much less likely to survive full term. I thought it best to just let nature take its course.  

So I guess we knew it was possible, but when  my nausea and breast tenderness started to subside at 14 weeks, we attributed it to the move between the first and second trimesters where the hormones settle down a little and many women start to enjoy pregnancy.  

And glow.

In retrospect, Pipkin probably died around that time.

On the Wednesday evening, I attended a prenatal information evening at my hospital where we were taught about how to move our bodies order to promote a healthy pregnancy and birth.  This included practicing kegel exercises (uterine contractions)? so when I noticed a tiny bit of brown blood the next morning, I attributed it to the activity the prior evening.

I was still spotting the following day, and called NHS Direct for advice.  I was told it was normal, but maybe it would be good to get a bit more rest, take it easy.  So I worked from bed on the Friday.

After an extremely rest oriented Saturday, Mr Duncan and I had been watching a primetime movie on TV and were just getting up to head to bed when I felt a huge gush of liquid between my legs.  I was pretty sure it wasn't my bladder, went to the loo to clean up and noticed the browny coloured water stain on my underwear. 

Less than 10 minutes later was another gush down my legs, so I called NHS Direct again who, after asking an endless list of questions finally said they'd get a doctor to call me back.  About 20 minutes later the doctor called and said it was probably fine, but I should go straight to the emergency room to be safe.

So Mr Duncan and I bundled into the car and I thought we were extremely lucky that a) our hospital doesn't deal with the usual Saturday night drunken and car crash emergencies and b) there were only three other people waiting.

Four uncomfortable hours of sitting in the freezing waiting room (and about six trips to the loo) later I started to bleed red blood and told the receptionist, who managed to get someone to try to get the gynaecologist down to see me about 30 minutes later.

The doctor examined me with a speculum, and said although there was a lot of blood, my cervix was still closed and she could admit me for the night, but I "seemed quite sensible" so if I preferred I could go home and come back for a scan which they scheduled for Monday morning.

Sound familiar?

To be honest, at that point, although the doctor was trying to be reassuring, with the volume of blood I was losing, I thought it was likely I'd also lose Pipkin, and I'd rather do it in my own home than some random hospital bed amongst strangers.  The doctor warned we should come back immediately if my blood pressure became too low or if I started losing blood really rapidly - ie more than one maxi-pad an hour.

I don't want to be too graphic, but when I got home I alternated between bending over in convulsions of extreme abdominal and pelvic pain and sitting on the toilet allowing the blood to gush out of me.  

Who had time to put on a fresh pad and measure how much was coming out in an hour?  

I was worried about haemorrhage and checked with Dr Google, but despite the faint spells, my pulse was strong and not too fast so we decided I was okay without going back to the hospital.

Mr Duncan was a hero looking after me, comforting me and dealing with the general gory mess, but I could tell he felt helpless.  

As did I. 

The intensity of the pain and blood finally lessened at about 7am and we went upstairs for a sleep.

When I woke up I needed to pee and when I wiped, there was a tiny baby body on my toilet tissue.  

I vaguely remembered reading something about ziplock bags and refrigeration from pregnancyloss.info after I lost Poppy, so in my dazed state I put the toilet tissue and all in a ziplock bag in a Tupperware container in the fridge and went back to bed.

Before my scan, I delivered Pipkin's tiny body to the Centre for Fetal Care, who sent it away for testing.

About a month later we went in again and received the news that Pipkin was a little girl and that she had Trisomy13 which is considered 'incompatible with life'.

Poppy angel

Woohoo!

When we found out we were pregnant, I was working from home, which minimised stress and enabled me to take catnaps at lunchtime (I was mega tired).

The trade-off was a two night trip to attend meetings in Paris every few weeks.  

Having never been pregnant before I was a bit nervous about it all.

My nausea was mild which worried me, but trawls of the message boards showed huge variation in morning sickness among women.  

I read somewhere that you don't get much in the way of cravings or nausea if your body is getting the right balance of nutrition, so I just hoped I was having an easy time due to good nutrition.

I was aware I had a higher chance of complications due to my age.  So when I went to the doctor for my first appointment, I told the doctor about my working arrangement.  I asked what did I need to know in case something happened while I was in Paris.  She just said to see a doctor if I started bleeding red blood, and to make sure I carried my notes with me when I was away.

The week before I lost Poppy I was asked to attend a last-minute, all day meeting in Paris in the week between my usual scheduled trips.  No.  It couldnt wait.  No, there wasn't budget to stay the night.

It was a long day with a 5am start, two 45 minutes long tube trips, two 30 minute long metro trips and two 2.30 hour eurostar trips.  

I got home after midnight exhausted and fell into bed.

The following week I went to Paris as usual, but was feeling off.  I put that down to the pregnancy.  At lunchtime on the second day I noticed a small bit of brown blood when I wiped.  I was concerned, but not too worried.  Apparently spotting is common in pregnancy and a little bit of brown blood is nothing to worry about.

During my Eurostar trip home, I felt damp between my legs so went to the train toilet to investigate.  Ugh.  Disgusting.  The blood was still brown, but there was more of it.  I cleaned myself up the best I could with the non-absorbent tissue.  I wanted to phone the doctor for advice, but we were just entering the chunnel.

By the time we got through the tunnel to the UK, the bleeding had increased in volume, but it was still brown.  I called my doctors surgery only to be put through to the after hours service which rang and rang and rang.  Sometimes I got cut off due to gaps in the mobile service along the rail track.

I finally got to speak to the after hours doctor as we pulled into St Pancras.  

By this time I was panicking and crying hysterically crouched on the platform as the other passengers disembarked.  The doctor said brown blood is not a problem but I should take myself to my maternity hospital for a checkup.  

Tube? No, cab.  

I found my way to the exit, but couldn't find the cab rank due to the construction at Kings Cross.  Cue more tears and confusion.

Some blessed American tourist asked if I was alright (which I so wasn't) and I sobbed that I needed a cab to the hospital but couldn't find the rank.  

He stepped right into the road and stopped a black cab for me to get into.  

I told the cab driver that I needed to go to the hospital but I only had 20 pounds and some euros.  He got me to the hospital emergency room in less than 25 minutes during rush hour traffic on a Friday, told me not to worry about the money and that he would pray for me and my baby.

I waited in the emergency room for about an hour.  Mr Duncan came and joined me as soon as he could.  

The emergency room doctor examined me, said my cervix was closed and that given it was brown blood we probably didn't need to worry.  The Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit had closed for the day, and he didn't want to get an ultrasound operator in if it wasnt necessary, so could I come back at 9am tomorrow for the scan, just to check everything was okay?  

He assured me it would be.  

He told me not to worry, I would hold my baby in my arms next January when it was due.

We went home to bed and I started bleeding red blood in the night and experiencing painful cramps.  

Somehow Mr Duncan managed to sleep beside me despite my constant squirming/getting up to change pads.  

We arrived back at the hospital in time for our appointment at 9am, and waited until 10.45 to be seen.  The ultrasound operator asked I change in the toilet and gave me a robe to wrap around me.  

As I started to lower my underwear I felt a strange rush and looked down to find something the size of my fist balanced on the top of my underwear.

I screamed for Mr Duncan and explained I was losing the baby.  The ultrasound operator came in with a recycled cardboard kidney bowl to collect it.  She then went ahead with the ultrasound, but my womb was completely empty.

Or as the ultrasound operator put it, there were "no products of conception retained".

Honestly, its not easy.

Tranquility in the Okavango Delta

While its been relatively easy (and sort of fun) to photograph and document the meals I make to keep myself and Mr Duncan in optimum health in the hope of conceiving again in the future...   

I have more than a dozen unpublished posts in which I have written about my pregnancies/loss/reactions to the world at large. 

Especially the pregnant and mother-of-newborn world which seems to be so prevalent in the media at the moment.   

Grrr.

One of the reasons I started this blog was to help me work through the feelings - what is it to grow (eg gardening) or create (cooking, sewing) something and have it not work out in the same way that my babies were created and real, but didnt work out.

Maybe draw some parallels.

Maybe have an outlet for expressing the rollercoaster of awe and fear and love and bitterness and hope and despair and jealousy and pragmatism and acceptance and anger I feel.

But my unpublished posts seem so inadequate to express what I am experiencing I've been storing them up to re-work until they do.

Maybe I'm just not ready yet.

I mean, writing it all down has its own value.  But sharing?  Even to no readership -  it still seems a step too far.  

Like its actually real. 

Which is seriously is. 

But still....

I had a total meltdown last Thursday which (once I regained some semblance of perspective) just reinforced the fact that I need to deal with it.

But really... it is not easy.

Sewing Maternity-wear for Fun and Love

Super-cute maternity cargo pants

The past week had just proved to me I no longer fitted my usual clothing as I'd been holding together my various skirts and trousers with hairbands.

So I took the opportunity of the rainy day to sort through what I could and couldnt continue to wear in my wardrobe.

Cue pile of stuff that I wouldnt be able to use again until I lost the baby weight.  This included most of my work tops, as they were too short to cover my just emerging 15 week belly and that tell tale hairband.

Cue pile of stuff I could continue to wear with the use of some clever tricks.

Hmm.  

That second pile has very little in it.  

What am I going to wear to work on Monday!?

When I was pregnant the first time my job involved attending lots of boring conference calls that other people regularly called in to up to 20 minutes late.  

That is a long time to keep focussed on work when nothing is happening.  

I took to browsing sites showing how to sew for maternity - both mother and babe.  

I looked at LOADS of links (thanks Mr Google and blogging pregnant women everywhere) and bookmarked the ones I liked.

So I went back to a few of these bookmarks and made my plans.  

I had a pair of cargo pants I've mostly only used for gardening since the zip broke, and a tank top in a similar tone that had shrunk in the wash and was NEVER going to be able to cover my belly again.  With them together I could make maternity pants.

Perfect for re-fashioning!

I also identified some of Mr Duncan's shirts I could potentially repurpose for maternity tops.  

I started with about 8 shirts I'd never, ever seen him wear. After some intense whining on his part negotiation I ended up with these two with which to do what I wished.  

They're not even in my colour.  Sigh.  Needs must.

I thought I'd try to make the long sleeved purple number into the very cute refashioned maternity top at romantic history and the short sleeved shirt into the shirred maternity tunic top from DIY Maternity.


I could look in some charity shops for appropriate shirts to make tops from some of the other tutorials I liked:

Babydoll maternity top
Pintuck shirt
Snug belly T
T-shirt to pin-tuck tunic

I was all set to commence with the sewing machine in the morning.  

At 11.50pm that night I experienced a sudden gush of brown water which ended in the loss of my second baby.

So that was that.

I hope, one day, to post my own versions of these tutorials.

L.

x

Hypnotherapy for fertility blocks II

Nightfall in Namibia

So after I made the appointment with the hypnotherapy practitioner I found out that Mr Duncan had 'failed' his medical for the Australian visa we have applied for.

Also that the baby I lost at 15 weeks in May had Trisomy 13 and they wanted to test us for translocation - in case either of us had passed the chromosomal defect on. 

Given one of my motivations for making the appointment in the first place was to discover if there was something in my mind stopping my body from holding on to my babies, this was actually quite a relief.

I'm not proud.  

I had a total meltdown the night before the appointment and turned up tired, emotionally exhausted and hungover.  I also felt guilty as I'm supposed to be healing my body, not getting drunk to avoid dealing with my overwhelm.  

So while I had a clear intention which I discussed with the woman when I made the appointment, I was just a complete mess when I turned up.

It didn't help that the therapist thought I was there for past life regression.  

But given the new information and new stressors, my original concern that I was somehow letting go of my babies because I had 'blocks' to holding them to term was no longer valid, we agreed to just let the session flow...  

A bit touchy-feely for me, but I was in no condition to argue.

I shouldn't have worried. This is what came up for me:

My subconsicous mind is

1. afraid of not being good enough, not able to have a baby
2. afraid I might not be able to take care of a baby
3. concerned there wont be enough money to give the baby the life it deserves
4. worried I dont deserve it

The therapist asked to speak to any parts of me that needed to be heard.

There was a part of me calling itself 'Malevolent' who is extremely disdainful. 

Malevolent is strong and has a masculine voice.  

Malevolent just gets on with it and takes care of stuff that needs taking care of when Lisa is overwhelmed.  

Malevolent resents having to do this and gets its revenge by making Lisa worry.  By causing Lisa physical pain like the frozen shoulder that mysteriously materialised after my last miscarriage.

Malevolent doesnt trust Lisa to take care of herself even though she's now an (extremely) capable adult.

There was also a part of me who was very little and vulnerable.  She couldnt tell us her name, she was too shy and spoke very quietly.  Maybe she was 3 years old, she wasn't sure. 

No one was taking care of her.  

Who was going to take care of her if Lisa had a baby?

Most interesting!

In the session, the therapist dealt with all of the concerns that came up and then invoked mother earth metaphors to lead me into a future progression of a successful pregnancy (note, not birth).

It all took less than 1.5 hours and I went home to sleep the rest of the day.

I've been feeling a bit more sane since.