I would like to start this update with a HUGE thank you to both Tessa Broad and Red Door Publishing for giving me the chance to be part of the 'Dear You' virtual book tour. It was a true honour and it has given me a huge boost, both personally and also with regards to this blog. It was a wonderful thing to have been a part of and I know that Red Door took a chance on me as my blog was very new when they signed me up, so I very much appreciate the opportunity.
With the warm & fuzzies over, I am going to write about a beautiful piece of advice that I took from 'Dear You' and mentioned in my review - be kind. I had actually planned to write about the issues I have taken note of during National Fertility Awareness Week, namely male infertility and its impact on those men and also the postcode lottery aspect of fertility treatment, however this week has thrown me a few curve balls, so - quite selfishly - I feel like going into them a bit more instead.
Two days ago I was full of the joys of spring despite the shorter evenings and cool crisp chill in the autumn air. That was due to the reception I received for my review of 'Dear You' (yes I am going to continue to ride this wave, I don't get many!). I was elated to have positive feedback from the author herself, Tessa Broad (even if said feedback was a bit emotional) 'I'm blubbing' she wrote. I am taking from this that my words had an emotional impact on her and not that she was so horrified by my rubbish utterings that it made her weep...if you hear any different, please don't burst my bubble.
Two days ago was also T-1 day to the dreaded 'P-Day' for me. This month it didn't hold so much significance as I have an appointment - my first - with a fertility clinic in two weeks, so that has made me feel like things are all going to be OK.
This may be a good point to get a little side tracked and go back to what I had originally planned to write about - the postcode lottery side of fertility treatment. Almost three months ago my husband and I went to our GP following our trials and tribulations and discussed our 'delayed conception' problems. The GP was very kind and immediately referred us for specialist treatment. Also surprisingly (surprising from what I have been hearing during National Fertility Awareness Week) he didn't immediately look to me to lay blame. He spoke about the possibilities of issues with us both to prepare us for what may lay ahead. It was nice to have my husband feel a part of things (even if it wasn't so positive), to have a kind ear and also feel like there was finally some control we could take over the situation.
About a month after our referral, I decided to ring the fertility clinic to enquire about waiting times (patience is not a virtue of mine!) and I initially called the wrong one (it only had a nine week waiting list, but wasn't actually in my catchment area) before I got through to the correct one. My heart sank as I was told the waiting list there is six months and we aren't even on their waiting list yet, so for us it would really be 7-8 months of painful waiting before we even get to see anyone, never mind begin the slow process of any treatment (if only an oul knee trembler in a back alley was enough to knock all of us up eh?! Still it works for some). This is the postcode lottery, and just like the real lottery, I had not struck gold.
With the news that it would be close to next summer before the NHS could find time for us, we decided that babies aren't something you can put a value on (unless you're a Doctor in a private clinic, they have a price for everything!). Therefore we took the decision to visit a private clinic, who were able to accommodate us within four weeks (thank you Mr Mastercard!).
So at T-1 day, but with the fertility clinic and *possible* answers on the horizon I haven't felt the same angst in the build up to the arrival of this period. I already know I am not pregnant as I took one of those 99% accurate 6 days early tests (why prolong the agony?!) and as always only one line appeared. Still I hold onto the possibility of that 1% inaccuracy, but lets face it, it's just another lottery I am not winning.
As I mentioned I was on cloud 9 following my book review of 'Dear You' (yup still milking it) although in my personal life, this blog is something I don't share, so it was my glorious little bubble of joy just for me. Life can be a cruel mistress though and as always she decided to send me a big, fat slap in the chops to knock me right of my cloud. That evening, my husband came home and told me that someone close to us (someone who we had just the day before discussed and thought they had no plans for more children) is looking forward to another child with his wife. 'Aw that's so lovely, I'm delighted for them' I said. My husband agreed and said they're overjoyed. My husband and I both meant what we said, we are both delighted for said couple and their impending joy, but in that moment as we looked at each other both of our faces told a different story. We were both thinking the things you can't say when you hear news like that 'Why not us?'.
Neither of us said what we were thinking, just gave each other a knowing look. I held myself together until bedtime and as I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I closed the door and cried. I let it all out and when I went to bed I said I had gotten some pesky makeup remover in my eye. My husband put a knowing - and loving - arm around me and I thanked God that I have him by my side in this. I am ashamed that I react this way at someone else's joy, but then I have to remind myself to be kind - to myself - this is an emotionally charged situation and I am not going to handle it all perfectly.
Today is one day post 'P-Day' and still no visual sign of the 'painters' although the cramps have been making themselves known, so I know what is coming. It is Friday and I have a lot of nothing planned this weekend so I can't wait. Although I am telling myself that I know my period is coming, I still hold onto the tiny glimmer of hope that it is late and maybe, just maybe the cramps aren't anything negative. I know I am lying to myself, but I'm full of hormones and I can't help it. Then it happened, I was outside in the back yard, casually chatting with my neighbour over the fences and he popped the dreaded question 'Are you expecting?' Although the title of this blog is #notpregnantjustfat I have never actually been faced with this question so directly. I didn't know how to react so I politely smiled and said no, he hurriedly apologised and we changed the subject.
I came inside and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until I felt like my little heart might burst out of my chest. I was full on ugly crying and even did that thing (I hope it's a thing and I'm not just a weirdo) where you look in a mirror to see yourself ugly crying to give yourself a little boost along. It worked. Eventually I managed to compose myself. I changed my top, put it swiftly in the charity collection, put some makeup on and got back to work. To deal with it, I sent my friends a Snapchat '#thatawkwardmomentwhen...' and told them what had happened. I relaxed as I received a flood of 'Do you want me to hit him?' (not real threats of violence before anyone reports me!) and 'What a dick.'
The thing is that my neighbour made a genuine mistake, and my blog name is like stereotypes - it hasn't come from nowhere (I'm referring to things like potatoes & the Irish here before anyone accuses me of being racist!) - I know I am a bit on the chubber side and it is something I am working on. I also obviously need to work on my wardrobe too. He is a lovely man and I know that he is going through some problems of his own at the moment, so I don't hold any ill will towards him about his comment. It was unfortunate, but he immediately regretted it and I doubt he will make the same mistake again. It is here that my 'Be Kind' mantra comes into play.
After lightening my mood with the Snapchats to my friends, I replied to their wonderful support by letting them know that he is a lovely man who made a genuine mistake and I obviously need to just hit the gym. Later in the day, I saw him again and he immediately apologised again; it had obviously been playing on his mind, and I reassured him that it was fine 'Them flowy tops⇞ can be misleading' I said. His obvious ill-ease at his words is much worse than anything anyone else would ever say or do to correct his actions, so there is no need to tell him and make someone else have a bad day just because I am. I know he will think twice before he asks that question again. I know I will face up to my extra pounds and maybe it will be just what I need to help my fertility.
So there it is, a week of life's ups and downs and still fat and not pregnant.
⇞Side note. Why is it one of life's cruel truths that flowy tops make thin women look just that, lovely and slim, but those of us who need to hide the lumps and bumps even fatter? Life really is a dick sometimes.
With the warm & fuzzies over, I am going to write about a beautiful piece of advice that I took from 'Dear You' and mentioned in my review - be kind. I had actually planned to write about the issues I have taken note of during National Fertility Awareness Week, namely male infertility and its impact on those men and also the postcode lottery aspect of fertility treatment, however this week has thrown me a few curve balls, so - quite selfishly - I feel like going into them a bit more instead.
Two days ago I was full of the joys of spring despite the shorter evenings and cool crisp chill in the autumn air. That was due to the reception I received for my review of 'Dear You' (yes I am going to continue to ride this wave, I don't get many!). I was elated to have positive feedback from the author herself, Tessa Broad (even if said feedback was a bit emotional) 'I'm blubbing' she wrote. I am taking from this that my words had an emotional impact on her and not that she was so horrified by my rubbish utterings that it made her weep...if you hear any different, please don't burst my bubble.
Two days ago was also T-1 day to the dreaded 'P-Day' for me. This month it didn't hold so much significance as I have an appointment - my first - with a fertility clinic in two weeks, so that has made me feel like things are all going to be OK.
This may be a good point to get a little side tracked and go back to what I had originally planned to write about - the postcode lottery side of fertility treatment. Almost three months ago my husband and I went to our GP following our trials and tribulations and discussed our 'delayed conception' problems. The GP was very kind and immediately referred us for specialist treatment. Also surprisingly (surprising from what I have been hearing during National Fertility Awareness Week) he didn't immediately look to me to lay blame. He spoke about the possibilities of issues with us both to prepare us for what may lay ahead. It was nice to have my husband feel a part of things (even if it wasn't so positive), to have a kind ear and also feel like there was finally some control we could take over the situation.
About a month after our referral, I decided to ring the fertility clinic to enquire about waiting times (patience is not a virtue of mine!) and I initially called the wrong one (it only had a nine week waiting list, but wasn't actually in my catchment area) before I got through to the correct one. My heart sank as I was told the waiting list there is six months and we aren't even on their waiting list yet, so for us it would really be 7-8 months of painful waiting before we even get to see anyone, never mind begin the slow process of any treatment (if only an oul knee trembler in a back alley was enough to knock all of us up eh?! Still it works for some). This is the postcode lottery, and just like the real lottery, I had not struck gold.
With the news that it would be close to next summer before the NHS could find time for us, we decided that babies aren't something you can put a value on (unless you're a Doctor in a private clinic, they have a price for everything!). Therefore we took the decision to visit a private clinic, who were able to accommodate us within four weeks (thank you Mr Mastercard!).
So at T-1 day, but with the fertility clinic and *possible* answers on the horizon I haven't felt the same angst in the build up to the arrival of this period. I already know I am not pregnant as I took one of those 99% accurate 6 days early tests (why prolong the agony?!) and as always only one line appeared. Still I hold onto the possibility of that 1% inaccuracy, but lets face it, it's just another lottery I am not winning.
As I mentioned I was on cloud 9 following my book review of 'Dear You' (yup still milking it) although in my personal life, this blog is something I don't share, so it was my glorious little bubble of joy just for me. Life can be a cruel mistress though and as always she decided to send me a big, fat slap in the chops to knock me right of my cloud. That evening, my husband came home and told me that someone close to us (someone who we had just the day before discussed and thought they had no plans for more children) is looking forward to another child with his wife. 'Aw that's so lovely, I'm delighted for them' I said. My husband agreed and said they're overjoyed. My husband and I both meant what we said, we are both delighted for said couple and their impending joy, but in that moment as we looked at each other both of our faces told a different story. We were both thinking the things you can't say when you hear news like that 'Why not us?'.
Neither of us said what we were thinking, just gave each other a knowing look. I held myself together until bedtime and as I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I closed the door and cried. I let it all out and when I went to bed I said I had gotten some pesky makeup remover in my eye. My husband put a knowing - and loving - arm around me and I thanked God that I have him by my side in this. I am ashamed that I react this way at someone else's joy, but then I have to remind myself to be kind - to myself - this is an emotionally charged situation and I am not going to handle it all perfectly.
Today is one day post 'P-Day' and still no visual sign of the 'painters' although the cramps have been making themselves known, so I know what is coming. It is Friday and I have a lot of nothing planned this weekend so I can't wait. Although I am telling myself that I know my period is coming, I still hold onto the tiny glimmer of hope that it is late and maybe, just maybe the cramps aren't anything negative. I know I am lying to myself, but I'm full of hormones and I can't help it. Then it happened, I was outside in the back yard, casually chatting with my neighbour over the fences and he popped the dreaded question 'Are you expecting?' Although the title of this blog is #notpregnantjustfat I have never actually been faced with this question so directly. I didn't know how to react so I politely smiled and said no, he hurriedly apologised and we changed the subject.
I came inside and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until I felt like my little heart might burst out of my chest. I was full on ugly crying and even did that thing (I hope it's a thing and I'm not just a weirdo) where you look in a mirror to see yourself ugly crying to give yourself a little boost along. It worked. Eventually I managed to compose myself. I changed my top, put it swiftly in the charity collection, put some makeup on and got back to work. To deal with it, I sent my friends a Snapchat '#thatawkwardmomentwhen...' and told them what had happened. I relaxed as I received a flood of 'Do you want me to hit him?' (not real threats of violence before anyone reports me!) and 'What a dick.'
The thing is that my neighbour made a genuine mistake, and my blog name is like stereotypes - it hasn't come from nowhere (I'm referring to things like potatoes & the Irish here before anyone accuses me of being racist!) - I know I am a bit on the chubber side and it is something I am working on. I also obviously need to work on my wardrobe too. He is a lovely man and I know that he is going through some problems of his own at the moment, so I don't hold any ill will towards him about his comment. It was unfortunate, but he immediately regretted it and I doubt he will make the same mistake again. It is here that my 'Be Kind' mantra comes into play.
After lightening my mood with the Snapchats to my friends, I replied to their wonderful support by letting them know that he is a lovely man who made a genuine mistake and I obviously need to just hit the gym. Later in the day, I saw him again and he immediately apologised again; it had obviously been playing on his mind, and I reassured him that it was fine 'Them flowy tops⇞ can be misleading' I said. His obvious ill-ease at his words is much worse than anything anyone else would ever say or do to correct his actions, so there is no need to tell him and make someone else have a bad day just because I am. I know he will think twice before he asks that question again. I know I will face up to my extra pounds and maybe it will be just what I need to help my fertility.
So there it is, a week of life's ups and downs and still fat and not pregnant.
⇞Side note. Why is it one of life's cruel truths that flowy tops make thin women look just that, lovely and slim, but those of us who need to hide the lumps and bumps even fatter? Life really is a dick sometimes.
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