** Firstly, apologies for the poor formatting or any mistakes – I wrote this on my phone as I don’t have an Internet connection at home at the moment **
Ok, so, here it is. The update I promised earlier in the week.
As you know, I went for my scan on Tuesday. I was massively nervous and spent the whole day at work with my heart in my throat and a serious case of nervous butterflies.
For those of you that don’t know, when you have an ultrasound scan you have to have a full bladder, so they ask you to drink a pint of water an hour before your appointment, which I did. Now, this is modern science and I understand that, but I can’t help but think there must be a better way of doing this – I was nervous, sat in the waiting room shaking like a leaf, and a full bladder which was desperate to empty itself. Not a great combination.
After spending a good 20-minutes staring at the toilet across the waiting room and pleading with myself inside my head not to wet myself in public, the nurse called me in. I hopped on the bed, told her I was desperate for the toilet and asked her not to press too hard with the scanner as there was a risk it would make me pee all over the bed.
As you can probably tell, although I was nervous, I had absolutely no expectation of being told there was anything wrong with me. Although I’d sat there thinking of loads of different things that could be wrong, in my heart of hearts I thought I’d go in there, have a scan and be told there was nothing wrong and the weirdness of my body was just “one of those things”.
The nurse rubbed the gel on my stomach and started running her scanner over me. She was a lovely lady, probably in her late 30s or early 40s and she was laughing and joking with me. Then it all changed. She looked up from my stomach and at the screen and the only way I can describe it was to say the smile literally dropped off her face. Suddenly the cheery nurse had gone and instead there was one frowning, staring at the screen and asking me to stop talking as she needed to concentrate.
At this point I thought maybe she could see my coil was in the wrong place, or there had been some damage caused by the Endometrosis that the specialist last week told me she thought I had. A short while more of silence and then the nurse said “Sorry, sorry I’m not talking to you, but I need to concentrate on this as it’s not that common.”
I looked up to the ceiling and said “Ok, no worries!” when in fact, inside my head I was screaming “What? What’s wrong with me?”
It probably wasn’t even 30-seconds, but after what felt like a long time the nurse explained I have a Bicornuate Uterus. I asked to look at the screen and she showed me what she meant. The best way to describe it is to say that when I was a foetus, my womb didn’t form as it should and it’s split in half down the middle, so I have two separate womb areas, each with ovaries coming off of them. (My ovaries are fine though).
I told her I couldn’t understand what I was seeing on the screen (I can never see babies in those ultrasound images – it’s all just a lot of fuzziness to me) so she went and got a book for me.
Being me and awkward as I like to be, I haven’t got the most common kind of Bicornuate womb. Oh no, I have the uncommon version and the version that causes the most issues.
The most common kind of Bicornuate means the womb has a split at the top making the womb into a heart shape. This affects the ability to have children but it’s still possible.
The kind I have is known as a ‘complete split’ which basically means what it says – the split is complete rather than just slight, meaning the womb is split in half all the way down.
With my ovaries being fine, I shouldn’t have any issue actually falling pregnant, it’s do-able. The issue I will have is keeping any baby alive long enough to give birth to it. With the womb being split in half, the baby won’t have the amount of room it normally has to grow, therefore, it will get to as big as it can in the half it’s locked in to and then it’ll decide to come out – making it premature. There’s a higher risk of any baby I do conceive having something wrong with it. And miscarrying is very likely. Any pregnancy I had would be considered high risk and would have to be monitored closely by doctors.
So, although it’s not completely IMPOSSIBLE for me to have a child, it is UNLIKELY. As I said, getting pregnant shouldn’t be too hard, but it’s quite likely that I won’t be able to keep it alive.
All my life, even when I was a little girl, I said I didn’t think I’d be able to have children. I had a feeling that I wasn’t able to – which sounds weird now and I sort of feeling guilty, like I deserve it for saying those things, but it’s just how I’ve always felt in my heart of hearts. However, hearing those words and now knowing for a fact that it’s unlikely has torn me apart. I’m absolutely devastated. I can’t explain the pain I’m feeling, I can’t get the words out. I don’t like showing emotion at the best of times, but to be dealing with a grief that I can’t even comprehend makes it all the more impossible to talk about it. People have told me to talk to them – my family, Kris, my best friends – but even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I don’t have the words to describe how I feel. There are no words.
I’ve sat down a few times to write down what’s happening in my head, but without the words to describe it, it’s impossible, so instead of trying to form a cohesive, understandable document, I’ve just been writing down the thoughts in my head as I’ve had them. It’s been pretty therapeutic. Writing has always been my escape and my vent, it’s always been easier for me to write what I feel rather than say it out loud, but even that isn’t enough now.
So, I think the only way I can explain it is to write my thoughts as bullet points. I know some of them probably look crazy and melodramatic from the outside, but this blog has always been open, honest and transparent and as this is one of the most major things that has ever and will ever happen to me, it’s important (for me) that I cover it here.
And sure, crazy and melodramatic may be what you think when you read this, you may think I’m making a huge fuss and that there are people worse off in the world than me – I know there are, I’m lucky to have the life I have, I know that – but, my heart hurts at the moment, my brain can’t cope with the information and emotion it’s got to take on board, and so those thoughts aren’t perhaps understandable, but I’m just being honest.
Inside the mind of a woman with a broken womb and a broken heart…
• The sole purpose of a female in any species on this planet is to make a baby, keep it safe and give birth to it. • The fact that I may not be able to do that makes me feel like a failure.
• Kris told me once that he would love to have twins. Sure, twins are rare and never a ‘given’, but now I know that if I did fall pregnant with twins then it would certainly be impossible for me to bring them into this world alive.
• How can I expect any man to want to be with me when I may not be able to give him children? How can Kris want to be with me? It’s not the man’s fault that I’m broken, but they’ll be ‘punished’ by possibly not having children because of my fault.
• I understand there are options for women that can’t have children, surrogacy for example, but how can I watch another woman carry my child? • A couple should go through the pregnancy experience together – I’ll be taking that opportunity away from any man I’m with.
• I may never have a baby bump to look down at or mad cravings I can tell everybody about. I may never feel a baby move or kick inside me.
• I feel like I’m not a proper woman. I feel unfeminine, unsexy.
• I feel useless – my womb is broken.
• I may not be able to give my parent’s the gift of grandchildren. After all they’ve done for me through my life and grandchildren would be the ultimate gift.
• I had a sister, Katy, who died when she was 2½ years old. She died, but I’m alive and I’m broken inside. It seems so unfair.
• The whole point of life is to procreate – without that ability, I’m pointless.
• Why do I have stomach pains? I know my womb isn’t formed properly, but why does it hurt me?
• Every twinge I have is a reminder that I’m not right.
• All of my friends are at an age now where they’re having children. I’m seeing announcements on Facebook of new pregnancies, photos of babies being uploaded. Of course I’ll be happy for them all, it’s a fantastic thing, but will I always feel jealousy and sadness when I see another person doing what I possibly can’t?
• How will any man I’m with feel when his friends are taking their children down the park or to a football game and he’s without a child?
• Kris’ brother and sister-in-law found out the sex of their baby yesterday. There’s so much excitement and happiness – what if I can never give Kris that joy?
• I’m ashamed and embarrassed.
• I’m being totally selfish and unreasonable – I’m annoyed at the people who haven’t contacted me to see if I’m ok but when people ask if I’m ok I just say “Yes” rather than admitting that I’m really not ok.
• I want to talk about it constantly to anyone that will listen, but I also don’t want to talk about it to anybody, I don’t want to acknowledge it.
• I want to run and run and run to somewhere where I don’t know anybody, but that won’t change what’s wrong inside me.
• I want to sleep all the time. When I’m asleep, if I dream of this then it’s a nightmare – it’s when I wake up I have to accept this is my reality.
• Why me?
So, there you go, that’s just some of the thoughts flying around my brain. Dis-jointed, un-related, confusing and perhaps (some of you may feel) completely ridiculous. But, that’s what’s happening. That’s how I feel.