Rereading Posts

I've just read through all the posts since the miscarriage and realised it didn't sound as bad as it was. That's good, as I want to read this in 40 years' time and not remember the pain.

Classes

The hardcore fitness instructor at my gym is leaving. Tomorrow is her last tabata class, which I'm going to try and attend even though it'll leave me with just 30 minutes to get home, shower, change and get in a cab. Hmmmmm maybe I'm being over-ambitious.

She stopped taking the kickboxing boot camp class already, which has been replaced by an instructor who clearly knows her stuff, but doesn't always come with a game plan. Last week she took a class and only three out of 12 people had their own boxing gloves. The punch bag was in the corner of the room and she got everyone to run around in a circle.

'Punch the bag 10 times when you get to it.' She ordered.
'Won't that mean there's a pile-up?' I queried.

She looked thoughtfully for a second and said,

'Let's just give it a go.'

As soon as we started running round the (very small) room, she understood what I said. So she switched her game plan. Only people wearing boxing gloves should hit the bag 10 times. This meant that everyone else was just running round the room in a circle. Hardly scintillating.

It's a bit of a metaphor all this, I guess. Classes change. New people come in. They don't always know what they're doing. They adjust to the surroundings. They get better. It becomes the routine. They leave and the cycle starts all over.

Memorial Day Weekend

Reflecting back on our second Memorial day weekend, it has been a good one.

The heavens opened on Friday night - it was a pathetic fallacy. I had had a really good week at work. I was almost back at full throttle, I'd say. I was being productive, useful and back on it. Needless to say, I was super relieved, as there's nothing worse than not operating at 100% at work.

The Boy's work has this fun policy of knocking off early the Friday of a long weekend. They were all going to the pub in the afternoon and I was going to join them once I'd finished for the day. Unfortunately, enthusiasm waned and most people sloped off after one or two, so the Boy got back home just as I was finishing up.

I was desperate to go out. I'd not been out of the apartment all day and it was nice weather with the threat of thunderstorms looming later. The Boy just wanted to get his laptop fixed, as the internet's been playing up. I ended up going for a massive walk and getting caught in the aforementioned thunderstorm. I was sad, as I was really looking forward to having a few drinks with lots of people. Something I haven't really wanted to do much of lately.

I felt like I deserved the reward of a drink in a pub to celebrate my week of being efficient again. But no, alas, that's one of the downsides of working from home by yourself. Back in London at the office, there are FNDs, or rather Friday Night Drinks. Not often, but often enough. I miss those; drinking with colleagues, who you don't know well but who can share a joke about what's happened over the week. Sloshing about in the rain just exacerbated this feeling of resentment.

Emotionally I am feeling 100% better about the miscarriage. Finding out that the baby had Turner's Syndrome really gave me some closure. It was nothing I did, the baby died and it was a fluke occurrence. Acceptance is a great thing. I still get sad, particularly when I see pregnant women. I'd be in my 14th week now... I told some friends that we hadn't seen in a couple of months, in typical Billychica-style straightforwardness. I think I need to adjust it, as they seemed properly horrified and definitely didn't know what to say. Oh dear.

The rest of the weekend was great. We lounged around watching footie, ordered a curry at a mate's, went for some functional massages, went to to my new favourite eating and drinking spot, the Gothan West Market, headed to Rockaways for the first time this year, and caught up with the Mad Men series. The thrill of being in New York is definitely back.

Snoozing and Sweaty Yoga

Last night after we'd just turned a light out, a strange thought dashed across my mind. Every morning, the alarm goes off at 7.15am, the Boy hits the snooze button, it goes off again, he crawls out of bed, he turns to me and asks,

'What time do you want me to set the alarm, kid?'
'What time is it?' I ask.
'It's 7.20am.' He always replies.

And then I tell him how much longer I want to sleep for (sometimes 20 minutes, sometimes half an hour). It properly made me laugh out loud, as we have the same conversation every morning.

Anyway, I went to hot yoga again last night and this time, the radiators were stuck on maximum. It was boiling and so surreal, as I was boiling even though I could see the ceiling fans were going round. When the front two rows started to collapse, the instructor opened some windows. It was too hot even for hot, sweaty yoga.

Turner's Syndrome

We had a little girl and she had Turner's Syndrome, which meant that she had just one X chromosome instead of the usual two. It accounts for 15% of miscarriages, apparently, affecting 1% of pregnancies.

In some way, I count my lucky stars that the foetus aborted itself in the first trimester. It would have been much worse later on, as we'd have found out at the 12-week scan and would have had to make a decision about whether to continue - and risk a stillbirth - or to abort.

About 1 in 2,500 women are born with Turner's Syndrome. They are short, are infertile and often have heart conditions, though many don't and can lead normal lives.

It's the end of the road and at least I'm healthy and have had the experience. Rather to have loved and lost as they say. Strange to know the sex and annoying to know that it was a freak occurrence. (That's what you get for casually commenting on how good life is right before you start trying for a baby.)

No regrets.

Chromeo

It was like deja vu, but knowing I'd never seen them before. We were high up on the American third floor, looking down on the disco lights of a the super camp, disco funk group Chromeo.

The stands of their synths were women's perfect pins in bright stiletto red heels. The lead singer had a mirrored guitar, which he used to blind the audience on the balconies. The tunes were upbeat, up tempo, and high on adrenalin. What's there not to love.

A great night out followed by a dirty Chairmao Bao (bun) from Bao Haus. Mmmmmmm.

Outside the Bubble

The last few days have been a haze. A good haze. I've been trying to meet deadlines, attending conferences, going to see Eddie Izzard. Just doing normal things. It's been great.

I think I'm slowly emerging from beneath a dark cloud, though I've learnt to not speak too soon, as things can change at any moment. I haven't felt the incessant urge to Google all things miscarriage related whenever I have a spare moment. I've been doing normal things again; reading the news, proper news, news that happens outside of my little bubble. Things that happen in the real world.

I have spent the morning watching the FA Cup Final and responding to emails. Thanks for caring, peeps! I think it's time for me to leave this episode behind now. It's not healthy for me to continually reflect on it. Look to a brighter future. Move on.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I definitely spoke too soon on Wednesday. The Boy left for LA on Wednesday night and I was by myself for a couple of nights before I would join him first thing on the Friday. I went to my first tabata class on the Thursday night, which filled me with adrenalin but also the thought that things really had moved on since that was a definite no-no activity when I was pregnant.

I had been really looking forward to a trip away in LA, but I was feeling bogged down by the planned meet-ups that the Boy was planning. So much so that on Thursday night at about 1am...

I totally and utterly flipped out at him. To the point where I was crying so much I couldn't breathe. I hadn't realised how much I had been trying to tell myself I was alright. I hadn't realised how much I had to psyche myself up to see people and to prepare for if the topic came up. I guess I was also my own worst enemy, as I had decided that I would talk about it if it came up. So I've been avoiding people.

On the Friday morning, I dragged myself out of bed to catch the 6am flight westbound; towards sun and blue skies. I could not wait. The day was pretty good, as I mooched about Beverly Hills and saw how the other half live. I got my nails done at this spa that had probably 100 ladies working there. It was incredible. I got speaking to a local who told me that the street we were on was filled with plastic surgeons, so there was always paparazzi lurking around.

On Friday night, I again flipped out. I think it was either A) my hormones going berserk or B) I'd finally hit the total depression stage of the five stages of loss model. In any case, I hope that sealed it up because I just felt so wretched and hopeless, and just so sad.

Things have been good since then. We caught up with some distant relatives, who kindly drove us about 2.5 hours so that we could have dinner at their house. I got to ride a bike along the beach cycle path from Santa Monica down to Playa Vista. I love feeling the wind in my hair as I hurtle past, and just seeing beach and sea for miles and miles. And of course, the amazing warmth of the sun on my body. I felt amazing.

I wrapped the trip off at the Grauman's Chinese Theater, which I reluctantly went to to indulge the Boy. As with always with these things, it was great fun, particularly seeing how grubby Marilyn Monroe's hand prints are. So gross.

I think I got some closure this weekend, about which I'm utterly relieved. I'm sure I'll have a blip again, but at least it's no longer all-consuming.

Two tips: have the double-double cheeseburger from In-n-Out and eat sushi at Sugarfish. If you get the achieve this, repeat.

No Tears

No tears today, not one! Huzzah!

(Although it's still only 5pm...)

The Fitbit is Back

I'm back on it. I am going to resume my pre-pregnancy life today. The Fitbit is out, which I retired a few months ago when I sprained my ankle. I got out the tape measure and measured bits of my body this morning. I plugged in the numbers into an online BMI calculator. No quite into the overweight category, but precariously balanced on the wrong side of healthy. We also tidied the flat last night, which has lifted our spirits infinitely. It has not looked this good in weeks and weeks.

Right now, I was supposed to be getting the first big scan of the baby. The one where they test for Downs and what-not and the one which shows that all is OK and you can share your news with the world. Alas, I am contemplating a trip to Trader Joe's (the supermarket) instead. Life goes on.  

Drinks and the Mood Hoover

I finally made it to Pig and Khao and thought it was OK. The best things we ate were the chocolate and bacon rice pudding and the pork jowl and watermelon salad - the latter was very good. We didn't have the sisig, so I can't judge what that was like, but based on what we ate, Maharlika is still my favourite Filipino restaurant in town. What was dead good was the bottomless mimosa offer for $15. I had the lychee ones and they were proper yummy.

Right opposite was Prosperity Dumpling, which I've heard a lot about. Four pork and chive dumplings for $1.25. I couldn't say no, as we're never in that part of town, so I force fed the Boy two and I took a couple myself.

Walking home with a three-glass buzz, I felt strangely sad. It feels wrong to be drinking and I would give it all up in a heartbeat to be pregnant again.

Tonight we're going for my much longed-for Alphabet City cocktail bar crawl with Team Momentum. It'll be the first time I tell people in person about my miscarriage. That'll be strange and uncomfortable so I hope I'm not too much of a Mood Hoover.

Oops!

Just noticed the quote didn't come out properly. It was along the lines of:

"I was chubby and pregnant. Now I'm chubby and just sad."

Weight Gain

I had a good day yesterday. I think the weather has lots to do with this.

As you all know, food runs my life, and the fact that I was able to cook a whole meal really meant a lot to me psychologically. I'm trying to pull myself together and get on with things.

During my 10-week pregnancy (my body still thought I was pregnant after all), I piled on the pounds. They reckon you should put on 3-5lbs during your first trimester. The pregnancy, not doing much exercise because of my sprained ankle, and then comfort eating after my miscarriage - being down south definitely didn't help - has meant that I've gained 7lbs in total. Half a stone. That's not a lot to most people but is huge when you're small. I haven't weighed this much in years. Back to healthy eating and to the gym as soon as the doctor gives me the green light.

I found this quote on a random forum, which encapsulates my thoughts:

"At least when I put the weight on I was chunky but pregnant. Now I'm just chunky and sad."

Less sad now, I hope.

Fully Functioning Human Being

I went to the shops and bought groceries for specific meals. I replaced the dishwasher tablets and bought new toothpaste. I ate semi-healthily today.

I feel relieved that I'm on the way to being a fully functioning human being again.

Meltdown Today

I felt intense rage followed by intense sadness today. More floods of tears.

Still haven't managed to cook a proper meal yet.