Still here

I went back to work, and work was merely being it’s normal dull, reassuring, mildly irritating, busy, finicking self. Nevertheless, by Friday I was weepy with tiredness. You’d’ve thought that The Powers That Be had made me rebuild all four storeys of book-stacks from scratch while fighting off a herd of wildebeest and negotiating Israeli-Palestinian peace. Actually, They made a valiant attempt to limit my hours on the front desk (thwarted by my colleagues falling ill in relays) and let me off anything involving heavy lifting.

And my colleagues were fine too. They divided neatly into those who came over to tell me they were glad I was back, and to hope I was better now, and then delicately nipped off again, and those who literally fled from the room when I came into it in their desperate desire not to be entangled in an awkward exchange (next time we met, we’d both pretend I’d never been away at all and talk earnestly about rotas and such until it all felt natural again).

Physically, the Cute Ute is lost in the Land of Meh. I have been spotting non-stop since, well, since the first day I mentioned I was spotting (when was that, by the way? Let me check – oh, right. Since the 14th. That’s more than two weeks ago now. ARGH). The cramps and back-ache are intermittent, and not so very bad. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had any all week. See? Meh.

I don’t know what the ‘meh’ means, though, in terms of whateverthefuck is going on inside. Have I completely miscarried and is this just my hormones settling? In which case, where the fucking fuck was all the blood? Is an apple-pip-sized Zombryo still clinging on with an HCG level of stupidly-just-above-totally-dead? (Probably). We shall find out on Wednesday, as I have taken the morning off work to haul ass down to Mothership Hospital for the Seventh Beta of Hell.

And I have to somehow, some-fucking-how, find the strength and with-it-ness to call the RMC about the blood-tests in December AGAIN, and call Doc Tashless to ask about referrals to Professor Regan and her Clinic Of Excellence In These Matters, and call the ACU and point out the end of May is a craptastic date for a referral, also, what the buggery hell do they want to see me for, given that they’ve sent me off to wait for IVF (ahahahahah)? Can they do anything about this situation?

I do not really have that strength right now. All the excitement and immediate fuss and bustle is over, and life is carrying right on with its usual spectacular tactlessness, and it’s now, now, that my sense of humour has completely deserted me and all I want to do is cry and possibly take narcotics.

I can’t bear the thought that I’ve lost at least three babies. I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it, I can’t bear it.

I have to bear it.


19 responses to “Still here

  • Jo


    It is truly amazing what the human spirit can endure. Some days I find myself wondering how on earth I am still going, when I was sure that a miscarriage would kill me. It didn’t, and the world kept spinning, and that still shocks me sometimes.

    Thinking of you, and hoping a nice relaxing weekend is in your plans.


  • bir

    Sending you companionable hugs, dear May x

  • Nina

    Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine your pain. I know where I was this time last year, and I’m sure it can’t even compare. Just know we love you and are thinking of you.

  • a

    You are bearing it. You got through work. You can clearly elucidate the next steps. You are writing. You’re bearing it. If you need to cry and take narcotics for a while, that’s fine.

    I’m sorry that you have to bear it. I hope the blood tests and the Clinic of Excellence etc. will have answers for you, so you never have to bear it in this way again.

  • QoB

    I wish there was something better I could say. There is peculiar timing in grief, it’s never worst when you expect it to be.

    I vote for the doctors doing their job, and no more of this, no more.

  • manapan

    If you ask me, crying and narcotics are a perfectly legitimate means of dealing with it. (((Hugs)))

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I was beginning to feel uneasy at your silence; I did wonder if things were becoming even more difficult inside now the veneer of normal life is being re-applied.

    It undoubtedly takes energy to steer yourself through clinics and tests – because you DO have to arrange it all yourself. They should do it for you, but even when you’re only being seen at one solitary hospital, they don’t. The NHS bureaucracy sucks hairy donkey balls, it really does. It means that you are obliged to be busy-busy about phone calls and messages and explaining (again) and note-chasing and emails and even more explaining, at a time when you are entitled to be cuddled up on a soft cushion whilst every secretary, admin assistant, appointment clerk, nurse, doctor and high-faluting professor in London brainstorms How To Make This Better for May. I hate the way this works.

    Luckily, I found this badgering process a welcome release from my reproductive helplessness – bossily organising people is a treat for me on any day of the week – but I understand you a little better and I can picture just how the drag of sorting the NHS the fuck out is heaping extra loads of stress onto your existing dejection. Not good.

    I know H often feels in practical terms helpless, and here is something he could perhaps shield you from a little – beginning to tackle some of the tiresome medical To Do list? He sounds as if he might be in a better state of with-it-ness to perform the requisite NHS chivvying and prodding with a sharp stick. Unless, of course, his office is a cube farm, and he doesn’t have a photocopier room to retreat to. Where Are My Wife’s Recurrent Miscarriage Results, You Procrastinating Inefficient Bastards is, admittedly, not the best conversation to conduct one-sided in open-plan.

    Oh my sweet, sweet May. I’m so mortally, profoundly sorry.

  • Valery

    Land of Limbo, Land of Meh connected by the river of Despair with rolling waves of Grief or Anger. If only you could follow the chocolate crumbs to the hill of happy ever after. or at least to some place where there is some light, and clocks have rythm.
    Spotting for two weeks + isn’t there something not dangerous to or speed up or stop this?
    I think with my miscarriage my doctor said to come back if the bleeding hadn’t stopped after two weeks. Maybe the same applies after two weeks of limbo?
    wishing you a warm hug from a soggy snowy country.

  • Teuchter

    Am sending hugs. Have been thinking a lot about you and H and the wee lost ones.

    Having to bear the unbearable is ineffably sad.

    Much love.

  • nh

    It’s c*** – there is no other way to describe it.
    Just go one tiny step at a time, and when you can’t bare it anymore shout, rant and rave.

  • Betty M

    It is so crap in all ways. Only wish that we could take some of the burden from you.

  • thalia

    Yes, it is truly crap. Sorry there is so much to handle.

    Found this thread for you about St Mary’s and referral times.

    Hang in there.

  • Mary

    Thinking of you whatever it’s worth xxxxx

  • Twangy

    Thinking of you, too. I think you’re amazing.
    Wish I could make some of those telephone calls for you. I am just in the mood. Grrrrr.


  • arminta

    Oh, honey… All I got is {{{hugs}}} which I know is no where even close to enough.

  • Katie

    If you have any HCG around at all, you could also be extra tired and extra weepy because of the hormones – still thinking of you up here.

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