A little PGD progess, and why I find it hard to relax

So... Four days after taking my last Provera tablet, right on time, period arrived! So happy... My body never behaves as it should in that regard, so I am over the moon that it complied :). It must sound like such a small thing but it's led me to feel so very positive!

I started taking Microgynon pill on the first day, and now I hang tight for three weeks. A little nervous about whether I will get a withdrawal bleed from the Pill, as I didn't with my previous experiences of the Pill. I took it for 2 1/2 years after meeting my husband with not a single bleed in the whole of that time. However, with Provera working so well, I do feel much more optimistic about it.

I really can't wait to get started now. Trying to think of every small step as one step closer to having a child, whenever and however that might be.

I would love it if our first cycle worked but I want to also be realistic about the fact that it is more likely not to, and that that doesn't mean PGD won't work for us. Our friend's mum works at a fertility centre and she said most babies 'take' on the second or third cycle in her experience.

So the first cycle is just one step closer :).

This is all very difficult for me, as I am a planner, and would like to decide exactly when and how we will have a child. If I could, I would have a 10 year plan in my head detailing what the genders would be, how many we would have, and how far apart or close together we would have our children. Reminding myself at every available opportunity that GOD knows when we should be parents and in what way; however, I'm not seeing much evidence of this sinking in ;).

I have many, many anxieties: about whether I would be a good mum if I was an 'older' mum, about how hard things will be if it takes us several years to have a family from this point, and about whether we will get any 'good' embryos. Infertility has to be the most powerless I've felt in my life this far, although I've had a lot of times when I felt out of control or unable to control a situation.

I often relate it to the time I had suspected brain tumour or multiple sclerosis at 21. It was only a matter of weeks from me first presenting GP with symptoms, with her then panicking and rushing me into see a neurologist the next day, until getting the MRI results back (clear!). However, the imprint of that time has never left me. I had never faced anything of that magnitude and I remember lying awake at night wondering if I had something fatal growing in my head and how I would know, and whether I was going to die. It is by far the most scared I have ever been, ever, and it led me develop an eating disorder and an absolute belief I had throat cancer (?!) shortly afterwards. Deep in the midst of my throat cancer fears, I remember watching my granny die and absolutely believing I would see her again very soon. It was also only a few days after my granny died that I learnt about how serious the translocation is.

After learning about the translocation, my mental health deteriorated sharply and rapidly. I was at breakdown point within weeks, and I guess I could say that was my first real breakdown. I became increasingly convinced of the throat cancer. I limited my food more and more, calorie counting obsessively, and pushing myself to exercise more and more.

My ex asked me to get help - his dad died suddenly, so he no longer had the emotional resources to support me being crazy - and I went to the GP and broke down in tears. He referred me for mental health help and the result is where I am today - with several mental health diagnoses and years of counselling, both of which I have found very helpful (yes, even the diagnoses!).

The thing is, when I look back, it was such a bizarre time. I went from being worried about my own mortality to being told 50% of my pregnancies would be severely disabled to my granny and my ex's parents dying. I felt like the angel of death, and I absolutely 100% believed that God hated me and was punishing me for all my flaws.

So I guess that's why I find it hard to relax and trust (even though, as my husband pointed out, that episode eventually turned out well), and why deep down I still have a suspicion that I do not deserve good things and that God is punishing me... A 'good things are for other people, not for me' mentality. My husband does not understand why I think like this but I think if you look objectively at my situation it makes perfect sense. Huge things have happened in my life that were unplanned for and unwanted - my parents' divorce, severe mental illness, infertility. At 27 I neither have a job nor a degree, and I have spent 3 years of my 20s out of work; 2 of those on disability benefit. My reality is that tragedy happens, that unwanted things happen, and that the 'good things' seem to pass me by.

I would very much like to break this thinking... And I have also been very, very EXCEPTIONALLY lucky in maybe the biggest area of my life: marrying my husband. I hope very much that this kind of thinking will not dominate my life from here-on-out. But at the moment, in all honesty, I cannot trust in my safe deliverance from our childless state as my husband can.

Saying that, every little thing that goes right - e.g. my period arriving on time - boosts my confidence and gives me hope. So today is a very happy day :).

Good News and Dead Babies

Two things today:

1) We've had some news! The doctor who wrote the PGD funding policy emailed me last Friday. (I'd emailed the board who wrote the policy, asking for a definition of infertility in relation to the PGD guidelines, and then forgotten I'd sent it - was focused on trying to accept the present and live in peace not fear.) He said he couldn't give a definition without knowing our circumstances. He also said to ask any other questions I had.

So I nervously sat on it all weekend and emailed him with our circumstances on Monday. I didn't expect to hear from him for another week or so at least. So it was AMAZING to hear back from him right way, especially as he said he didn't think PCOS would qualify us infertile (he did say that PCOS varies in severity, to cover his back) and that we should qualify for the funding. Have been in such a better mood since hearing that. Praise the Lord for His goodness; He keeps me so safe.

However, having given into the fears, I am now living in a world where I have recognised all of the potential things that might go wrong for us, so I am still living in the present and trying not to fear. This experience has really brought home how shallow my faith really is. That's fine - it's as deep as it's needed to be, so far - but from now on it's time to work on a new faith; a faith in which I love and trust the Lord in a way I never dreamed existed before.

Also, it's coming home to me lately that even if all goes as well as could be, we will only ever have one baby. Please don't think I would be ungrateful for this - I would feel so blessed to have a baby. Please don't think I would be ungrateful if we adopted in the case of this not working for us, either. I would truly feel so honoured to be a mum in whatever way it comes. But to know I will only birth one baby; that we will only have one baby from birth; only see one baby in those first few days, weeks, and months of life - that does make me feel sad. When I see women with large families, through facebook friends or blogs (it hurts more online for some reason), I am so jealous and so sad.

I've always loved newborn babies so very much.

2) I've found myself reading 'dead baby' blogs lately (just the past couple of weeks or so) - blogs by women who have lost children. I don't know why - partly feeling I have lost children, I guess, and partly wanting to know something of what 'should' have been my lot, under other circumstances. I find myself thinking about how one of our children won't exist. We have two names picked out, but we will only ever use one. (When/if we adopt, their name/s will already be fixed, according to UK adoption laws.) I always assume our baby will be a boy. So does my husband. So I find myself thinking of the Light - how we will never know her. I can picture her; I have such a vivid picture of her. And it feels like a loss; it feels like something's been taken away from me, that we're being attacked. (Which I do believe we are.)

I find myself obsessively going over baby names in my head. What would be pick for a second boy? Thinking of names I like; names that mean something to me and I'd like to pass on - and then, how I never will.

I have been picturing little memorial stones in the garden, to mark the children we've had taken away from us. A place where they will never be forgotten; a place where I can remember them.

The Start

Well, I'm doing it. I'm creating a blog. (This is actually my second blog, and the first didn't go to well. I think it totalled 4 posts. We'll see how this one goes.)

I'm calling this "Light and the Prophet" because those are the meanings for the names we picked for our children. (I say 'picked', our boy name was definitely not picked... But more on that at another time.)

I need a place to focus on what is positive and to not get overwhelmed with the fear at the moment. A place to believe and hope. Also a place to be real.

It's currently 4:50am. I've not been doing too much hoping tonight. I've been trawling the internet. This is never a good sign. In amongst this I've stumbled across some really helpful stuff.

I can hear our lodger and she is up talking on the phone. I don't know how long I can keep going with this.

My brains feel like they're falling out my ears at the moment and I'd like to retreat into a cave and gather myself, and I can't. I keep telling myself; "He is teaching me; He is teaching me; He is teaching me". He is teaching me.

But this is the most I've ever had to cope with - here, in this moment. The past five years have been leading up to this moment. That's intense.

The realities of daily life; realities which have changed and expanded a lot over the past three months - life has been evolving and growing in the most wonderful way the past year; these realities are stretching me; I can feel the stretching going on within my head.

Too many fears to mention.

But today, I choose to be thankful that we have this opportunity. That not only do we have THIS opportunity, but that I have all the other mind-blowing opportunities that make my life so exquisitely wonderful and worthwhile: the young asylum seeker project, the marvellous institution that is the Open University and the set of circumstances that fell into place so that I could study, the changing relationship with my parents and in particular at the moment my relationship with my beautiful mother, and of course the wondrous blessing that is mental health care and my amazing counsellor. How I love her.

I am so grateful every day for mental health care. Yes, it is flawed, and yes, it is evolving, but it has given me a precious gift of life and that is something older members of my family were not given: it has given me rest, understanding, and respite; it has made me feel valued and important. When I think about the pain-in-the-backside that is Seroxat, it seems like a small price to pay for all of that.