I remember the night my Dad died.

Today, I want to talk about my Dad. On Wednesday it was 4 years since he died. I think about my Dad often. Look at his photos, light a candle. But, I rarely allow myself to think about the night he died. The memories are locked up tightly in a box up high to the right of me. If I stretch my arm up to the right hand corner of my ‘presence’ or my ‘aura’ or my ‘bubble’ I can feel the box. But I don’t open it. It is too painful. This week the memories have rippled to the surface and seeped out. And so to help me deal with them I felt it would help to write them down.

·       I remember the phone call from my Mum to say he had collapsed. 6 o’clock, Friday night. We’d just sat down and poured a drink.

·       I remember being stuck behind the slowest driver in the world. My husband overtook him in the end. The ten minute journey took forever.

·       I remember as we drove up to the house my husband saying “oh god”. I hadn’t seen him at that point.

·       I remember the cold, the darkness. He was lying on the drive outside the front door.

·       I remember my mum repeatedly calling an ambulance, which took an age.

·       I remember my Dad saying “I’m dying”

·       I remember him rolling over him car keys causing the automatic locking system and lights to keep flashing on and off.

·       I remember his ear phones wrapped around his neck and could hear the music playing.

·       I remember trying to give him mouth to mouth out of complete desperation. He pushed me away and said “no Sofie, don’t.” This is the last thing he ever said to me.

·       I remember the neighbours quietly joining us, supporting us.

·       I remember the ambulance turning up, just one man and a car, and my mum saying “should we complain about the wait time?” and me thinking “for god sake just let him get on with his job”.

·       I remember him calling for another ambulance and sending us to get overnight clothes.

·       I remember looking at my mum and exchanging a glance which said “he won’t be coming home though”. We just knew.

·       I remember phoning my brothers to tell them. My eldest was on his way from Norfolk with his family, for an early Christmas get together. They spent the journey not knowing if he would be alive or dead by the time they got here.

·       I remember my other brother’s voice breaking when I told him he had to meet us at the hospital as he said “ok”.

·       I remember my dad’s eyes rolling and him foaming at the mouth as my mum and I screamed at him in the streets to hold on, to keep fighting. I take a little comfort in the fact that the last thing he would have heard was our voices fighting for him and telling him we love him.

·       I remember the paddles, trying to bring him back.

·       I remember knowing he was gone.

·       I remember the ambulance arriving, and as they took him away, they didn’t put the sirens or lights on.

·       I remember meeting my family in the dreary, bleak, beige bereavement room.

·       I remember my eldest brother and his family arriving, my teenage nieces not really knowing what was going on. They shouldn’t have been there.

·       I remember the Dr coming in to prepare us, telling us that his heart was incredibly weak.

·       I remember going to see him. I believe he waited until we were all there together.

·       I remember his face was yellow and peppered with bruises from where he fell on the gravel.

·       I remember families around us looking at us with such pity.

·       I remember crying and my shaking my head at my nieces who burst into tears.

·       I remember the Dr telling us there was nothing more we could do, and how matter of fact my mum was.

·       I remember going to see him again, in a different room, I had to ask my husband if he was dead or alive at that point. He had to tell me again that he was dead.

·       I remember the touch of his skin, I will never forget that feeling.

·       I remember driving home and the first thing I said was “who will walk me down the aisle?” I am thoroughly ashamed at this.

·       I remember pulling his glasses out of my coat pocket and saying “what do I do with these now?”

·       I remember us all sitting around the table and my mum saying “how will I cope financially?”

·       I remember every light in the house flashed on and off repeatedly for a few seconds. This has never happened before or since.

·       I remember a toy from A bugs life,  which my dad had bought me when I was at Uni and poorly, which I hadn’t seen for at least ten years and which hadn’t worked for longer, was in the spare room where I was sleeping. At 3 o’clock in the morning it went off, laughing manically. I have been unable to make it work since.

·       I remember the next day I phoned all friends and relatives. I noticed an answer message flashing (neither of my parents knew how to work it) I pressed the button, and it was my Grandmas voice, who died 2 years earlier, almost to the day, calling my dad’s name. I’m convinced she was letting us know she had him, they were together.

I remember the night my Dad died. And now, back in the box you go. 

And they lived happily ever after. Or did they?

(*disclaimer – I am new to all this. I haven’t yet had these experiences, I’m just trying to make sense of what I have learnt so far. If I have made any mistakes, incorrect assumptions or anything else, I’m sure the experienced adoption community will gently correct me, which I welcome gratefully).

I haven’t written a post for a long time, simply for the reason that it is generally therapy for me and I haven’t felt the need. But, now that we have finally began Stage 2 of the adoption process, my thought and feelings have been brewing and stirring and it’s time to try and formulate them into words.

Our current topic at school is Fairy Tales. It got me thinking about the characters in the stories – almost all had experienced trauma growing up. Cinderella – neglected, treated cruelly, used as a slave. Snow White - again, treated cruelly by her step mother, and abandoned; her father choosing his wife over his daughter, also repeated in Hansel and Gretel, mirroring the frequent scenario of mothers in abusive relationships choosing their partners over their children. Rapunzel repressed and abused by her mother, the princess in Rumpelstiltskin being forced into arranged marriage…I could go on but you get my gist. Most of these stories end with, as we all know, as I teach my class of 4 year olds: 

‘they all lived happily ever after’

Actually, not for all of us mate.

When we first started talking about adopting we thought we would get our happy ending and, despite knowing that our children may potentially have experienced some sort of neglect or abuse, we would love them, fix them and we would all live happily ever after.

But through endless research, reading blogs, and the adoption preparation days it is now very clear that it is simply not that simple. Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel would have been left deeply traumatised by their neglectful beginnings. They would struggle with issues of attachment, trust, and anger. Cinderella, more likely than marrying her Prince Charming, would have taken up with an equally abusive partner, due to her incredibly low self-esteem and belief that she is worth nothing. They would struggle with impulsivity and self-control as no one would have taught them those skills, amongst many other possible issues.

The phrases ‘children are resilient’ and ‘all children do that’ crop up time and time again when I talk about adoption, demonstrating a lack of understanding about the issues surrounding it (totally understandable – I didn’t have a clue either – but a clear indication that more needs to be done to educate others in how to support adoptive families.) Yes, children can be resilient.  Some of these children have often endured more than you or I could ever possibly imagine. But that does not mean they are not deeply hurting and deeply scared, in ways we will never understand, and which manifests themselves in ways in which we can never make sense of. And 'no, not all children do that'. Their early traumas means they process the world in a very different way, and this is physiological, not a choice.

I am very grateful that the twitter community, who share their daily tweets, insightful blogs, trials, tribulations and #glowmos (the moments that would seem insignificant to most families but these small steps of progress and moments of happiness which mean the world to their parents) – which are helping to me prepare somewhat.

But, I am ashamed to say, I have been asking myself over and over one question:

Can I do this?

I read the stories shared on twitter and put myself in their parent’s places, living out the situations as best as I can imagine it. What would I do? What would I say in that position? Can I be therapeutic enough? How will I cope?

Then, I remind myself that it isn’t about me. These children did not choose their lives, they were born into it and are trying to make sense of the world the best that they can. If I can give a child a safe, loving environment to do that in then I will just do my best to cope with the rest, whatever that is.

The thought occured to me the other day that my children could be out there somewhere, possibly scared, alone, hungry. And I felt heartbroken. But more importantly, I felt fiercely protective of the little children I haven’t even met.

So the answer to my question is

I don’t know if I can cope, but I’m going to do my damndest.

Many thanks for voting me #7 in the top adoption blogs of 2016. What an honour! 

Letting go, moving on, giving up?

• Hey. So it’s a few months after my last blog and this is where I am. I have worked with my applied kinesiology lady weekly over Skype - which is very weird - but she has been amazing - my doctor, my counsellor, my friend.  I have no doubt she has helped me in many different ways. But to cut a long story short this is what I have discovered:  

·        I don’t ovulate properly.
·        All these years of OPKs have been a waste of time as PCOS throws them off.
·        We have probably never got the BD timing right.
·        Taking my temps daily, checking my cervix, looking for signs of cm leads me to bad places.
·        I cannot do this anymore.

It all came to a bit of head when I was on a weekend in Mallorca with my best friend. Despite the fact that I could tell AF was on her broomstick I still kidded myself I was pregnant. The period pains were implantation cramps. The brown blood was implantation bleed. My temp dropping and staying low was implantation dip. I scoured the internet for similar stories like mine that ended in pregnancy. (there were none) Even though I knew. And as I sobbed on a Spanish beach (well, if you’re going to sob anywhere…) I gave up.

I gave up the dream of having my own child. Because this is slowly destroying me. I cannot do it. I am not strong enough, a fact of which I feel utterly ashamed. But a new friend on twitter recently said to me

“that the real strength lies in the simpliest things – like having the courage to be honest about the hardest things”

and I take heart from that. It’s time to be honest, I cannot do this anymore. I dreaded broaching the subject with OH but when I did he said to me “I never thought we would do IVF again anyway, it kicks the shit out of you”. Ah, love him. He made it so easy and he never once made me feel like a failure, or like I have let him down.

Of course I want my own child. I want everything that comes with being pregnant. But I didn’t ever feel strongly about having my own biological child. What I want is a family, and it seems crazy to continue this when we can be a family and create a family for children who desperately need it.

So, we attended an adoption open evening and came away feeling so excited! We have the forms to fill out. We have asked for a sibling group under the age of 5. We know it will be really tough but I feel so much lighter now. I feel like myself again. There is no pressure on me anymore and I won’t have to keep failing and failing and failing. I can rebuild myself.

We have a lot to grieve about and a lot to do. But I’m ok with that.

What better thing can you do with your life than give a home to children who need it?

I have never actually had a dream about being pregnant or having my own child. But this week I dreamt we adopted a little girl, with black hair, who was angry, and no-one wanted. So I think my subconscious is on board. And I think I always knew.

I always suspected this would turn into an adoption blog and it looks like that is what will happen. We have one more month with my lady trying naturally but I am moving on. Perhaps, as I mentally let go, a natural miracle will happen but I refuse to focus on that. I have committed myself to this now. And this is good.

So, no, I have not given up, just following my dream on a different path. 

PCOS? Yeh, whatever.

                                                           Could this be our year?

Happy New Year everyone! Sorry it's so late. It's been a while I know. How are you? I'm doing pretty good :) Since my last angry, bitter post I have somehow managed to pick myself up. I'm must confess, I've never been as low as I was at that point. Dark days. But now, genuinely, I'm doing pretty well.

I have since had a few follow up consultations and tests that have revealed something key for me - I have a mild form of polycystic ovarian syndrome. For those of you who don't know this is a hormone based syndrome that affects 1 in 10 women. It is also the leading cause of infertility in women (although bizarrely, not in our case). It is a syndrome that 'strips you of your womanhood' - excessive weight gain around the middle - regardless of what you eat or how much you exercise - hair loss, hair growth, insulin resistance among what seems to be another 100 symptoms. This answers a lot of questions about me that I have had since my early 20s. I had alopecia and never knew why. I didn't ovulate properly. Over the last 3 years, perhaps, I have steadily gained weight on my tummy which I struggle to lose, never slept through the night, visited the toilet at least 3/4 times each night and fell asleep at around 7/half 7 most nights. The most common words out of my mouth was 'I'm tired' (my other half tried to make me pay a pound every time I said it at one point).

This is what PCOS can look like. Brave lady.
                        
                                        

I visited the doctors for all of these reasons but nobody twigged until my fertility consultant tested my AMH levels and they were off the chart (this is all about how many eggs you have left - I have millions apparently. Be nice if they bloody worked!). She asked about PCOS, raised her eyebrows when I mentioned the hair loss and promptly booked me in for an ultrasound.

And there you have it, all these health issues were suddenly explained. I felt like a weight was lifted off my shoulders. This was a massive turning point for me. I began to research it and discovered although there is no cure it can be managed by diet and exercise. I changed my diet pretty quickly and over Christmas began to notice a huge shift in my mood. So I am now following a Low GI, low carb, gluten free diet - and to boot I was already a veggie. It is easier to ask what I can have, not what I can't have! Needless to say, the invitations for dinner have dried up!



But I feel like a different person and this has been noticed by family, friends and colleagues. I feel like myself again, like I have my spark back. It is tough, but it is most definitely worth it.

So how does this affect our TTC journey?

As I mentioned earlier this is not why we cant get pregnant. Tests have shown that I do ovulate. But it could explain why I have had such varied responses to the drugs. Our fertility consultant wants us to try again but on different drugs. We were all set to pay for one more go at IVF but I felt like I wanted to give myself a little time for my body to adapt to all these changes and also my mind and emotions to continue to heal somewhat (although the scars will never heal, of that I am certain).

So we agreed not to rush into it. We are enjoying not living in the IVF bubble and just being ourselves again.

And best of all, that feeling of hope that I had long given up on has returned. I am hopeful. This will be our year. I will (possibly? maybe? might? perhaps?) have a baby this year. Once more, I am imagining myself pregnant, mentally decorating the nursery, thinking of names. Foolishly, perhaps, but it is making me happy for now. We are working with a holistic therapist (applied kinesiology). I'm not to sure myself what this is but we have been offered this service for free so why the hell not. This lady is convinced she can get us pregnant naturally and so we are going to give it a shot. Nothing to lose right? It all seems bonkers but we don't have to do much and it isn't really costing us. It does mean going back to a bonking schedule, and back to that monthly roller coaster of desperate hope and resulting disappointment but I am willing to try for a little while at least. If it doesn't work hopefully our bodies will be at our peak of healthiness ready to deal with another go at IVF.

A huge thank you to everyone who has read this but mostly to my loved ones who were there for me every step of the way. I love you. This journey isn't over, and I may fall down again, but, for now, I am holding onto this thought........................