One long read to bring you up to speed
The reason we're here...
Usually happy with just tilting my cap to magpies, my superstitious-ness has been tested this last year. Back in June I found my first ever four leaf clover.
The next day I sliced the bottom of both my feet open walking over a buried broken bottle barefoot in Hampstead Heath.
I know, I know, 'you're not in Yorkshire anymore, lass’ - must wear shoes.
Lots of superglue, quite a few stitches later and I'm bed bound working from home for two weeks whilst my feet heal enough to be able to hop around on crutches. Two weeks later I threw the four leaf clover away - thinking it must be jinxed...
Fast forward six weeks and I'm pregnant!! I have no idea why, but walked straight off the tube one morning into Boots and bought a pregnancy test that turned out to be very much a positive. Since a couple of spats of treatment at the colposcopy clinic a few years back and some other factors, I've been under the impression it would be very hard, if not impossible to get pregnant. We'd been not not trying for over two years so I was very surprised and unbelieving. Eight tests later over the next two weeks and finally confirming with the Drs, yup, we are cooking a baby!!
Living in central London and battling the notoriously busy Piccadilly line every day with morning sickness wasn't fun - especially in mid summer heat. But with snacks, water and lots of dodging on and off trains at every stop to be sick into doggy-poop bags, we were coping. Just.
Getting to work in tears because you felt so sick, whilst trying to keep things secret for the first three months was HARD!
So I decided to tell my boss at eight weeks what was going on.
I work for an international insurance company in the city - to say running for the loo every 30 mins isn't really the done thing is an understatement. But with support from one particular colleague who was pregnant herself at the time, we made it through each painfully long day and collapsed every night as soon as I got home.
Counting the weeks to the first scan, I was still being sick and travelling was getting worse. Collapsing on tube platforms and throwing up in public multiple times a day takes its toll on anyone. I was fed up, embarrassed and really not feeling the glow - no matter how much others were telling me to enjoy it.
At 12 weeks we moved house so I had a couple of weeks off to get us sorted, my sainted parents came to help as I was pretty useless and on Drs orders, not allowed to lift anything heavier than my handbag - not much help to poor Lu at all.
I couldn't get out of bed and if I did, would be constantly gagging, heaving and throwing up. Not eased by tearful phone calls with the GP telling me, "morning sickness will end in a couple of weeks, eat ginger biscuits..."
I was so depressed. I'm a pretty strong willed person usually, but I was scared - really scared. I've never been so ill or felt so bad.
I shut down.
I couldn't eat, couldn't drink, plus add in all the normal early pregnancy stuff like: 'can we afford this', 'is this the right time', ‘are we sure there is really a baby in there?’
I couldn't stop crying and was seeing myself from other's opinions, telling myself to shake it off, it’s in my head but couldn't stop it. Nothing was working.
Finally a call with the lovely new midwife team we’d met at our first scan and Lu rushed me to hospital to A&E on their orders. I've never been admitted so quickly. Straight into a bed and hooked up to an IV for fluids and anti-sickness meds. The team were incredible and calming, even getting a smile out of me. It made Lu and I realise, this is real, not just in my head. I was suffering from Hyperemesis Gravidarum.
Lu, being ever practical and self sufficient was researching immediately. We'd never heard of it before, all of a sudden this whole condition was unravelling itself in front of us.
We were finally packed off home with boxes of anti-sickness meds, advice and some pretty strict instructions on how to stay rehydrated and what to watch out for. Time to call in sick with the office, I wasn't going anywhere but bed.
I was still hoping that everything I’d been reading in the books would come true, that this sickness was going end at week 14, week 16, week 20 but it didn't. Some days were slightly better, I could force myself up and make the 2hr commute to work, doggy bags in hand for the guaranteed vomit that was coming.
The embarrassment of being sick 10 inches from a stranger, multiple times a day was horrifying. Once at work, before the day had even started, I was in tears trying to pull myself together. Running for the loo multiple times, sometimes up to 30 times a day. Gagging on conference calls, excusing yourself from meetings for fear of passing out. Locking myself in the disabled loos so people wouldn’t hear and passing out on the floor after a vomit session.
I don't know if anyone has ever laid on the floor of a mixed sex toilet? It's not nice - and smelly - even in one of the most famous skyscrapers in London. All the while you are trying to get accustomed to becoming a mummy, bonding with the growing bump. But I couldn't help but keep detached, having the thoughts that I might not be able to do this - maybe we shouldn’t, or couldn’t keep this baby. These thoughts only make you feel worse - what a wretched, selfish person I must be to even allow this sort of thought to enter my mind.
The final straw came when I had a panic attack and blacked out on the streets of London. Those who say city folk aren't kind are wrong. Many people stopped to help me (the baby on board badge helped) got me to a cafe (thanks the lovely staff at Pod and the lady who sat with me) and saved me from the biggest panic attack I've ever had. I was terrified, for me and the baby.
Usually happy with just tilting my cap to magpies, my superstitious-ness has been tested this last year. Back in June I found my first ever four leaf clover.
The next day I sliced the bottom of both my feet open walking over a buried broken bottle barefoot in Hampstead Heath.I know, I know, 'you're not in Yorkshire anymore, lass’ - must wear shoes.
Lots of superglue, quite a few stitches later and I'm bed bound working from home for two weeks whilst my feet heal enough to be able to hop around on crutches. Two weeks later I threw the four leaf clover away - thinking it must be jinxed...
Fast forward six weeks and I'm pregnant!! I have no idea why, but walked straight off the tube one morning into Boots and bought a pregnancy test that turned out to be very much a positive. Since a couple of spats of treatment at the colposcopy clinic a few years back and some other factors, I've been under the impression it would be very hard, if not impossible to get pregnant. We'd been not not trying for over two years so I was very surprised and unbelieving. Eight tests later over the next two weeks and finally confirming with the Drs, yup, we are cooking a baby!!
Living in central London and battling the notoriously busy Piccadilly line every day with morning sickness wasn't fun - especially in mid summer heat. But with snacks, water and lots of dodging on and off trains at every stop to be sick into doggy-poop bags, we were coping. Just.
Getting to work in tears because you felt so sick, whilst trying to keep things secret for the first three months was HARD!
So I decided to tell my boss at eight weeks what was going on.
I work for an international insurance company in the city - to say running for the loo every 30 mins isn't really the done thing is an understatement. But with support from one particular colleague who was pregnant herself at the time, we made it through each painfully long day and collapsed every night as soon as I got home.
At 12 weeks we moved house so I had a couple of weeks off to get us sorted, my sainted parents came to help as I was pretty useless and on Drs orders, not allowed to lift anything heavier than my handbag - not much help to poor Lu at all.
I couldn't get out of bed and if I did, would be constantly gagging, heaving and throwing up. Not eased by tearful phone calls with the GP telling me, "morning sickness will end in a couple of weeks, eat ginger biscuits..."
I was so depressed. I'm a pretty strong willed person usually, but I was scared - really scared. I've never been so ill or felt so bad.
I shut down.
I couldn't eat, couldn't drink, plus add in all the normal early pregnancy stuff like: 'can we afford this', 'is this the right time', ‘are we sure there is really a baby in there?’
I couldn't stop crying and was seeing myself from other's opinions, telling myself to shake it off, it’s in my head but couldn't stop it. Nothing was working.
Finally a call with the lovely new midwife team we’d met at our first scan and Lu rushed me to hospital to A&E on their orders. I've never been admitted so quickly. Straight into a bed and hooked up to an IV for fluids and anti-sickness meds. The team were incredible and calming, even getting a smile out of me. It made Lu and I realise, this is real, not just in my head. I was suffering from Hyperemesis Gravidarum.
Lu, being ever practical and self sufficient was researching immediately. We'd never heard of it before, all of a sudden this whole condition was unravelling itself in front of us.
We were finally packed off home with boxes of anti-sickness meds, advice and some pretty strict instructions on how to stay rehydrated and what to watch out for. Time to call in sick with the office, I wasn't going anywhere but bed.
I was still hoping that everything I’d been reading in the books would come true, that this sickness was going end at week 14, week 16, week 20 but it didn't. Some days were slightly better, I could force myself up and make the 2hr commute to work, doggy bags in hand for the guaranteed vomit that was coming.
The embarrassment of being sick 10 inches from a stranger, multiple times a day was horrifying. Once at work, before the day had even started, I was in tears trying to pull myself together. Running for the loo multiple times, sometimes up to 30 times a day. Gagging on conference calls, excusing yourself from meetings for fear of passing out. Locking myself in the disabled loos so people wouldn’t hear and passing out on the floor after a vomit session.
I don't know if anyone has ever laid on the floor of a mixed sex toilet? It's not nice - and smelly - even in one of the most famous skyscrapers in London. All the while you are trying to get accustomed to becoming a mummy, bonding with the growing bump. But I couldn't help but keep detached, having the thoughts that I might not be able to do this - maybe we shouldn’t, or couldn’t keep this baby. These thoughts only make you feel worse - what a wretched, selfish person I must be to even allow this sort of thought to enter my mind.
The final straw came when I had a panic attack and blacked out on the streets of London. Those who say city folk aren't kind are wrong. Many people stopped to help me (the baby on board badge helped) got me to a cafe (thanks the lovely staff at Pod and the lady who sat with me) and saved me from the biggest panic attack I've ever had. I was terrified, for me and the baby.
Luckily my mum was in town for a conference, she normally lives 200 miles away - and came to my rescue before packaging me home to Lu who was waiting to collect me off the train. I needed my mum right then, nothing else would have calmed me like she did. I was five years old again needing a mummy hug.
That was it, time to tell work HR department not just my manager, I couldn't risk fighting getting to work everyday, letting my work quality slip, this was getting dangerous.
My day to day job is helping build websites, mostly solo managing multiple external teams, so I can work from anywhere. I pushed myself trying to juggle working a very demanding job from home whilst throwing up for a month. For some areas, the amazing team around me were able to help, but with everyone at capacity and no team growth to absorb my heavy workload was told that I wasn't available enough and my time at home had exhausted any paid sick leave, even with the GP’s advice of staying home and to not travel. So at four months pregnant in November, I was forced to sign off on Statutory Sick Pay (SSP), accept the 80% pay cut and drop everything.
Lu is a freelance photographer, mostly shooting weddings as fashion photography doesn't pay these days (unless you’re Annie Leibovitz) - this was THE worst time of year for this to happen, but he immediately took control over the situation, not letting the bills and fact that SSP wouldn't cover even a third of our rent be a reason for me to stress further. He got himself more paid work outside of the photography world to keep us afloat.
I can't express how much I love this man. How he's kept things together for us, how supportive and unbelievably affectionate and calming he's been. I can’t wait to have our wedding and be his wife on paper, not just in practice.
My six months of maternity pay was also triggered early due to being signed off so six weeks later this kicked in to help us until March when the little one is due. We'll deal with this problem and potentially having to go back when the baby is only three months old later.
Luckily throughout all of this baby has been blissfully unaware and is happy and wriggling around in its little house. We've kept finding out the sex of the baby a surprise, that's why we're always referring to it as baby!
I've been generally pretty shocked by the responses to HG and NVP from employers to GP's. With the standard advice from four GP’s being, ‘eat ginger’ and ‘you look ok’ from the 10 min consultation they are able to offer when you are able to get to the surgery.
I've tried a range of medications, even been given some that are dangerous and being withdrawn immediately by other GPs when they've found out or we’ve queried the research. Essentially being left to our own devices, it basically leaves you feeling untrustworthy and confused about any advice given and acutely aware of a serious knowledge gap in the research department of this very scary condition.
I've been generally pretty shocked by the responses to HG and NVP from employers to GP's. With the standard advice from four GP’s being, ‘eat ginger’ and ‘you look ok’ from the 10 min consultation they are able to offer when you are able to get to the surgery.
I've tried a range of medications, even been given some that are dangerous and being withdrawn immediately by other GPs when they've found out or we’ve queried the research. Essentially being left to our own devices, it basically leaves you feeling untrustworthy and confused about any advice given and acutely aware of a serious knowledge gap in the research department of this very scary condition.
If it weren't for advice from one colleague who has first hand experience and Lu's research into a plethora of vitamins, supplements and THE strictest food and water regime I would have been lost and certainly back in hospital in a much worse state than I am today. He's literally kept me and the baby going: nutritionally, mentally and physically. Months of being confined to bed, unable to dress, walk, even read and entertain yourself takes its toll. We’ve had some pretty dark moments. But now things are easing and they will ease for anyone who may be in a similar place. Keep going, one day at a time. Keep talking to your loved ones and thank them for their help. You’ll need it, even when you are so frustrated that you snap. In the moment and the day to day, you can’t see past it, nine months seems like forever, but as the Persian Sufi poets have been saying for many a moon: “This too shall pass”.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing though, it’s taken me this amount of time to even consider writing things down. From the blogs and other research we've done where ladies and their families are writing about it themselves, we've not been as severe as some have it. For those who have been continually hospitalised, tried everything, been signed off, have even called things quits you have my full sympathy and support. Keep researching, keep pushing and so long as you make the right, educated decisions for you, you will eventually feel better - I promise.
To my family, whichever side of the pond you are on.
To my amazing fiancé.
Thank you for keeping me and this little baby going.
Oh and I still wonder about that four leaf clover and wish I hadn’t thrown it away! Every time I’m in the park, I’m scouring the floor for another one to replace my lack of faith in lucky omens - that’ll teach me for being impatient.
Hindsight is a wonderful thing though, it’s taken me this amount of time to even consider writing things down. From the blogs and other research we've done where ladies and their families are writing about it themselves, we've not been as severe as some have it. For those who have been continually hospitalised, tried everything, been signed off, have even called things quits you have my full sympathy and support. Keep researching, keep pushing and so long as you make the right, educated decisions for you, you will eventually feel better - I promise.
To my family, whichever side of the pond you are on.
To my amazing fiancé.
Thank you for keeping me and this little baby going.
Oh and I still wonder about that four leaf clover and wish I hadn’t thrown it away! Every time I’m in the park, I’m scouring the floor for another one to replace my lack of faith in lucky omens - that’ll teach me for being impatient.
Comments
Post a Comment