Revisiting guided meditation

Now that Pickle is six months old, I've been contemplating a return to work.  

I have been self employed for most of the past 17 years, working long hours as an IT consultant but I don't think I want to go back to that life.  

Pickle is too precious to me to only see on weekends!

Over the years I have kept a few journals.  Sometimes I write out what is churning in my head.  Other times I brainstorm possibilities for the future.  I tried many different types of guided meditation while trying to conceive and sometimes made notes on these.

Today I was leafing through an old journal today looking for what my Australia work ideas were and came across some notes on a meditation I did when I was still reeling from losing Poppy a few days earlier.

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The notes say

"I just did a meeting my spirit guide meditation on YouTube.

In the meditation I walked along a road, sealed, but with no cars.  The tunnel was like a train tunnel and the gate was a metal one like outside houses in London.  I wasn't aware of the surroundings.

I didn't *see* my guide but as I asked questions in my head, answers were given - like in a proper conversation.  

I need to keep my head clear of monkey chatter so I can pay attention to my guide.

• Her name is Alia like my friend.  
• I need not to worry about having a child.  She will come to me.  I don't need to do anything different.  
• My goal is to teach people - love and forgiveness.  I can carry out my goal in any way I choose including working in personal change or IT.
• I need to go to Australia.  I need the sea and she said that I know that.
• My guide will help me.  "Of course Lisa, that is what I am here for".  She will help with the physical tension and releasing energy blocks.  I need to open my chakras and allow my intuition to develop."

*************

I don't have a clear recollection of even doing this meditation.  To be fair I was pretty upset at the time.  It is interesting to me to see in retrospect that according to my subconscious, all those things I did to try to get pregnant were unnecessary.  

If only I listened to myself...

I am glad we are in Australia, I do need to be near the sea.  

I am thrilled Pickle came to us and wonder if I should be figuring out how to work towards my goal rather than how to return to work.

So, what worked? - TTC edition

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I know I'm very lucky in naturally conceiving and bearing a healthy first baby in my 40s.  

I'm recording what I did here, both for posterity and to remind myself of the hard work good luck often is founded upon.  

I put in a lot of work to conceive Pickle and on those days when I start to wonder if I am not cut out to be a mother, I can remind myself of how much I wanted her and the effort I put into it.

For the record, I think IVF is an amazing tool.  However, at 40 it was strongly inferred that, although my numbers all came back okay, I was simply too old.  

For that reason (and the fact I dislike the idea of unnecessary medical interventions) I didn't pursue the referral the doctor half heartedly offered but decided to do what I could to create an optimum environment in my body for conception.  

If I fell pregnant, then good.  If not, I'd be in better health in my 40s than in any other time of my life.

Ha!  I say that like I was sane, but in fact I was like any other woman having difficulty falling pregnant... slightly obsessed.

I did a lot of reading on fertility and fertile health in both men and women.  

I learned more about my cycle.  

Until my late 30s I was unaware that my menstrual cycle could be straightforward and pain free.  I had always experienced extreme pain from cramping, dark blood and large clots.  I thought this was normal and just to be suffered.  

It was eye opening to learn otherwise.  

Seriously - this information should be taught to girls when they first menstruate instead of teaching them to self medicate with painkillers.

I started recording my basal body temperature with a bbt thermometer each morning and learned I was still ovulating regularly.  

I made changes to my (already pretty healthy) lifestyle to improve my cycle and the health of my eggs.  

• I ate for fertility 
• ensuring my diet was rich in nutritious foods.  
• On the advice of Emma Cannon's "The Baby Making Bible' introduced both red meat and home-made bone broth into my diet.  
• I started eating breakfast and cut out alcohol and sweets to promote stable blood sugar.  
• I bought a slow juicer and drank freshly made organic green juice every day.

• Following the advice of Zita West and Marilyn Glenville, I took supplements (COQ10, Royal Jelly, Omega3, clover infusion, nettle tea, spirulina, maca, selenium) to improve my reproductive health.

• I've never been one for cosmetics, but swapped my skincare products for olive oil soap and coconut oil as moisturiser to decrease my exposure to topical toxins.  I have to say my prone to eczema skin has never felt better.  

• I stopped using the sauna and hot tub in the gym.  I can't remember exactly why.  Probably in case I was pregnant before I knew it?  I think I read something about overheating the body making it less likely for a newly fertilised egg to implant and couldnt find anything more about it.  Not taking any chances regardless!

• I was uncertain about acupuncture until I bought and read 'The Infertility Cure' by Randine Lewis.  
• I started seeing an acupuncturist and after only two treatments, my next period, for the first time in my life, was of the painless, bright red blood associated with fertile health.  
• I was thrilled to conceive Poppy the next time I ovulated after that.

• I practiced meditation and yoga (as best I could) and fell asleep listening to the Circle and Bloom natural cycle fertility programme playing under my pillow every night.  

• From a spiritual/energetic perspective I decided that if I wanted children in my life then I should have children in my life. So to that end 
• I volunteered for the local cub scout troop each week.  
• I also made an effort to focus on creation and nurturing.  
• Starting a garden to nurture, 
• Inventing recipes to nourish, 
• Even starting this blog to foster and record my creative side.

• After my losses I sought massage to help me physically and emotionally process the grief.  I also consulted a hypnotherapist to identify and address any mind/body issues.

Of course with so many things, I don't know what, if anything, was the 'magic bullet'.  

There is simply no way to tell. 

 It might be that after nearly five years of 'trying' it was just my time statistically.

On reflection, making an effort to do something (Anything. Everything!) to increase my odds gave me some sense of control and definitely helped my mental state.  Also taking good care of my body made me feel vital and healthy which also contributed to a better state of mind.

While I (probably like every other not-yet-pregnant woman) would be quite happy to throttle anyone who says 'maybe you should just relax' -  deep down I believe that, for me, (a bit of a workaholic), there may be an element of truth in it.  

Not in taking a brief holiday, or not thinking about how to conceive, or anything cursory, but in consciously taking actions to de-stress my mind and body and prepare myself to be a mother as much as possible.

Ultimately, I believe not working and practicing extreme self-care gave me the opportunity to take a physical break and discover the mental space needed to slow down and allow a baby to come to me.

I am so grateful.

Microblog Mondays: Family resemblances

I look like my father. While I have my mothers facial shape, I have my fathers features and colouring.

Pickle is the spitting image of me, but with Mr Duncan's darker colouring.  I have black and white pictures of myself as a baby that could easily be mistaken for Pickle now.

When my mother was in the emergency room, hooked up to 5 drips and a heart machine, she kept arching back and craning her neck to try and read the monitor behind her (she used to be a nurse).

There was something about that movement.  In her determination to see.  In the curve of her neck, the set of her jaw... her vulnerability...  I saw my baby daughter.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.

Woe-is-me Wednesday - Sandwiched Between Generations

Warning: this is just one big rant.

I'm feeling sandwiched between the other generations.  

Squashed completely.  

No room to breathe.  

For the past couple of weeks it feels like I've not had a moment to myself.  

I missed Microblog Monday on the 3rd because I didn't even notice it was Monday until it was Tuesday already and other Microblog Monday posts appeared in my reader.  I missed Microblog Monday this week because of a medical emergency. 

More on that later.

Pickle's teething and age appropriate development means she is being a little more demanding than usual.  

Fine.  Thats to be expected.  She's adorable.

But there is nothing like a new baby to bring doting grandparents flocking to your door and despite the best laid plans I have three of them in Melbourne at the moment.

My mother.  

She's been banging on about wanting to do a cruise in the Caribbean for a couple of years, having not left her rural hideaway in the north of New Zealand for twenty years.  Knowing that she'd hate a crowded floating hotel, I suggested before she invested the time and expense of getting to Florida, she try a three hour flight to Melbourne and a three day cruise between Melbourne and Tasmania.

She didn't want to wait until March for that particular cruise before meeting her granddaughter so we agree'd she'd come over for a week and I booked a two night paddlesteamer cruise on the Murray River for the four of us.  (That was great.  The boat only accommodated 18 people, so it was peaceful and relaxing.  Pickle loved it).

My mother turns up, complaining about the flight and how much walking you have to do at airports, on a one way ticket.  With tickets for a 16 day cruise around Australia.  From Sydney to Perth.  And tickets for a two night train journey from Perth to Adelaide.  She refuses to fly to Sydney.  So I sort out train tickets and accommodation for the night in Sydney, train tickets from Adelaide to Melbourne and a flight back to New Zealand.

It turns out the cruise left Sydney a week later than she thought it did, so she stayed with us an extra week.  Although she wound me up (she IS my mother) she was on her best behaviour.  Careful to blend into the background and allow the house to run normally.  Careful not to overstimulate Pickle.  And made an effort to contribute to the household - I'd turn around to do the dishes or fold the washing and find it already done.  

She was a very considerate guest and it actually went much better than I expected.

Throughout my Mother's trip around Australia I received text messages on the phone she bought for the trip to keep in touch.  She hates the cruise.  Its too crowded.  The air conditioning is too cold.  The ship is too big, she keeps getting lost.  She's pissed off that they're charging for water.  She made the Indian Pacific train from Perth to Adelaide but got laryngitis.  The hotel in Adelaide wont let her check in (at 7am) so she's just sitting outside.  Now she has heatstroke but drinking lots of water and sleeping in her hotel room until she feels better.

**************

Mr Duncan's parents have come to visit Melbourne for a month.  Their plans?  Oh, no plans other than see their granddaughter.  They're staying in a hotel down the road.  Can they come around now?  They'll see me in ten minutes  ...and stay for the entire day.

Mr Duncan's mother and I have history.  When she first met me (and Mr Duncan and I were simply travel partners, not together) she threw a tantrum and forbade him to see me, (not that he was at the time).  Forbade her 30-something year old son!  Once we DID start seeing each other she sent him text messages.  How much he disappointed her.  It was his fault she was depressed.  She might like to kill herself.  Over me!  Please.  I had little respect for that behaviour.  What the hell did she want for her son?

Since she learned he was not going to obey her, she started being fake-nice to me.   I'm not very good at that (or small talk), but it is important to me that Pickle has a relationship with her grandmother and I work hard to be cordial.  

Its not easy.

Mr Duncan's mother is in Pickles face.  

Loudly.  

All the time.  

Doesn't shut up. 'Ooh look at this, here's a nursery rhyme, look at this toy I'm waggling!  Aren't you a pretty girl'.  

Poor Pickle gets quickly overstimulated.

Mr Duncan and his brother were mostly raised by his maternal grandmother.  His mother went back to work after six weeks and his maternal grandparents stayed and looked after the children Monday to Friday and went back home on weekends. 

So I think she must have forgotten (or never have actually known) just how much time 5 month old babies need to sleep.  Pickle is ready for her first nap of the day after just an hour and starts rubbing her eyes and yawning after about 90 minutes the rest of the day.  'Do you have to put her down now?  You don't want to sleep do you Pickle?  Here look at this!'  Will she go down?  

Hell no.

As is usual for a baby Pickle's age, she's interested in the world and curious about anything new she sees or hears.  So she does not feed properly or happily go to sleep while she can hear their voices and knows they are here.  

I have a tired, hungry, grumpy baby waking several times in the night for marathon feeds to make up for her light eating during the day.  She has black rings under her eyes.

Mr Duncan's father is a fairly laid back affable bloke, but when Pickle is sleeping Mr Duncan's mother seems to require an audience.  Not just any any audience though.  And not her son.  

Just me.  

"Lisa, I'm telling you about...  Lisa!  Lisa I'm talking to you".  I want to say "Well excuse me and f*ck off Mrs Duncan but my baby is waking from her nap and takes priority!"

I'm no wallflower and calmly but assertively set my boundaries.  The same boundaries are ignored when I leave the room.  Mr Duncan does not support them. 

He has a lifetime of practice appeasing his mother in return for a quiet life.

Its driving me effing crazy.

**************

My mother is due to arrive back in Melbourne on the Monday evening and her flight is first thing Wednesday morning.  The respective grandparents want to meet each-other.  

A lunch is agreed for Tuesday.

**************

Because her train into Melbourne arrives at Pickle's bedtime, Mr Duncan picks my Mother up from the train station and takes her to her accommodation.  The plan was that she'd check in, then come up the road to spend a couple of hours with us before going back to bed.

Mr Duncan arrives home alone.  

He said my Mother didn't seem very well and would I go down and see her?  She's sitting having a cup of tea but has little voice and is very weak.  Not to worry, its the heatstroke, she's just a little dehydrated, she tells me.  She hated the cruise (predictably), it was too crowded, too expensive.  They charged for water.  Thats why she's dehydrated.

My mother is a diabetic.  I'm concerned.  She seems confused.  

I don't know what to do.

I remember when my mother was diagnosed with insulin dependent diabetes.   I was about four.  I knew my numbers.  She asked me to dial some numbers on the old fashioned rotary dial phone so she could talk to her friend.  She couldn't see the numbers.  Her blood sugar was too high and affected her eyesight.  Her friend came and took her to the hospital and she was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes (not the neurosis her doctor was prescribing valium for.  God love the '70s).

As I grew older I learned how to test her blood sugar levels with a prick of blood on a plastic stick to determine whether she needed insulin or glucose when I found her passed out on the floor at home.  

This happened more often than I like to think.

I call the Australian equivalent of NHS Direct, the public health medical advice line.  They recommend I take her to the emergency room.  She protests but I take her anyway.

The upshot is that my mother was suffering from ketoacidosis.  This is where the blood sugar is so high, the blood turns acidic.  This can affect the function of all the major organs.  

Her blood sugar was over 30.  It should be under 8.  

At 2am she was transferred from my local hospital to the major one in town that had a specialist endocrinology team and an ICU.  

The paramedic in the ambulance who transferred her told me her numbers were so bad that if I hadn't taken her to the emergency room when I did, she'd probably have been dead by morning.  

He said "next time, call an ambulance".

Mr Duncan defrosted expressed milk for Pickle for the overnight feeds.  I return at 6am for her morning feed, express some more milk, get 30 minutes sleep and go back to the hospital.  My mother is still critical, but seems to be stabilising.  

Mr Duncan's mother is upset that he would prefer they don't come around today.

This morning I wake up, feed Pickle, express for her next feed, go to hospital.  I keep missing feeds and my supply seems to be dwindling.  I get home in the afternoon.  Pickle just woke from her nap and is not due for a feed for another hour but sees me and demands to be fed.  

I'm happy to.  

I've missed her.  

She yawns and rubs her eyes as she feeds and falls asleep on the breast.  I hear Mr Duncan's parents outside under the sunshade.  I put Pickle in her cot asleep, but she wakes a few minutes later and I cannot settle her.  Eventually I go outside to announce my presence and hand Pickle to her Dad so I can have a shower.

Mr Duncan's Mum says oh it must be difficult to have so many people making demands on you at the moment.  

Its nice to think she's noticed.

But it seems she doesn't have the self-awareness to do anything about it as she asks what time I'll be ready for her to come over tomorrow.

Sigh.

Microblog Mondays: Insidious thoughts

Over the years of trying to get pregnant and my two losses I sometimes had insidious thoughts, especially during the throes of disappointment after another fruitless two week wait.  

Or over the weeks months of hopelessness and futility following a miscarriage.

The thoughts undermined my confidence, my positivity, my hope:

• I shouldn't have thought/eaten/drank/worked so hard/flown/exercised/waited so long/done...
• I don't deserve to be a mother
• I shouldn't have invested so much time in work/travel/that relationship
• I should have married that wrong-for-me boyfriend when I was younger.  We'd be divorced now, but at least we could have had a family before it was too late
• I must have done something wrong... to displease the universe/in a past life
• Babies don't want me to be their mother
• I'm being punished for... any number of things I feel guilty about
• Maybe I'm just not the mothering type... 
• If only I had/hadn't...

I have always held a job with a lot of mental stimulation, responsibility, long hours and stressful deadlines.  Looking after and breastfeeding a baby is probably the most physically demanding and socially isolated work I've ever done.  It is non-stop though doesn't keep my mind particularly occupied.

I know I am lucky to have a baby, and such a contented one.  After five months of interrupted sleep and a few hard weeks with Pickle feeling her teeth coming through, I am tired and find my mind churning:

• I'm no good at this, it comes to real mothers naturally
• No wonder it was so hard to get pregnant, I'm not cut out to be a mother
• I love my baby but I'm not all in love and mushy like, the other mothers.  Maybe there is something wrong with me
• A real mother would...

I recognise these thoughts as products of my tiredness but they feel so very familiar.

Not sure what #MicroblogMondays is? Read the inaugural post which explains the idea and how you can participate too.