On Living With Anxiety and Depression

After writing the diatribe that was the 2012 Summary, I realised a few issues needed expanding on.  I'd just assumed that at some point in time I'd have written a post about anxiety and depression.  Turns out I haven't.  So thought I'd attempt to do that today.

So what causes people to have these things?  For some people it'll be purely chemical, possibly hereditary or even contributed to by hormones.  And for others it's as a result of some sort of trauma.  I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was twenty, and this diagnosis made complete sense to me.

I didn't grow up in what would be called a 'stable' living environment.  My parents continually broke up and got back together.  I moved homes often, and attended four different primary schools.  I witnessed violence within my family.  I was poor.  The thing that made this hardest was that I knew  this wasn't right.  From around the age of nine I felt like the only sane person in our household.   And I couldn't do anything about it.

When I finally escaped this situation I was fourteen.  Things had reached a point, partly to do with my father's mental health, and partly to do with me being a teenager, where I just couldn't do it any more.  Mum helped me to get to a friend's place on Christmas Eve and my Aunt picked me up from there.  Mum managed to get out a month or so later (I can't remember how long it took) and we got a little flat together with custody of my brother every other week.

Although it took years after leaving for Mum to realise that the situation we were in was one of 'domestic violence', she knew that I was messed up, and sent me off to counselling.  I've been in and out of counselling now for more than sixteen years.

I'm not going to give a history lesson on all the times things got really bad, or all the crazy things I consequently did.  I will summarise by saying that there was a half-arsed suicide attempt in my teens, there was a point where I was so unwell I couldn't leave my house, and I did a multitude of harmful things to myself and others over the years.  Now, through experience, I feel that things are more manageable, but this is something I can never be complacent about.

For people who haven't experienced anxiety I'll do my best to explain what happens to me.  First of all, it's actually a physical thing.  Usually something will 'trigger' a physical response (adrenaline).  My heart starts beating super fast.  I get flushed.  My hands get clammy.  My legs get shaky.  I feel like I need to pee.  I often have difficulty breathing.  And this starts what I call 'the head/body anxiety cycle'.  Whatever has triggered the panic attack is usually something I'll be aware of.  Once my body starts going crazy, my brain starts to catastrophise all the things I was initially a little worried about.  My brain catastrophising keeps my body 'triggered' and none of this goes away until the thing I was initially worried about leaves my immediate vicinity.

This is why anxiety/depression is a cycle.  It's chemical.  Once your body has run out of adrenaline and endorphins, there's not a lot of happy stuff left.   So then you get depressed.  Again, depression is a physical thing.  I feel exhausted.  Everything feels heavy.  I feel as though I am viewing every day life from afar, like watching TV - I feel physically distanced from my life.  It is this sensation in depression which is the most dangerous.  Because I just want to feel something, and will do harmful things to do so. 

While I've been in and out of counselling for a long time, I've been on and off drugs slightly less.  I OD'ed on prescription sleeping pills as a teenager, which made me really anti drugs (why give someone who's depressed something they can use to kill themselves?).  It wasn't until I got very ill in my early 20's that a doctor convinced me to try  SSRI's.  I tried three or four different ones over the space of a year and a half, and none of them helped.  I was regularly seeing a therapist at the same time which helped me through that particular time.  It wasn't until about four years later that I tried Fluoxetine (Prozac) and found it actually worked for me.

Fluoxetine is something I think of as a stand-by for when I can't stop my body getting to that dangerous state.  I want to be well, and I know that at certain points no amount of talking it out will keep me from going there.  I have had so many people say 'do you feel like a zombie' re: being medicated.  I feel like a zombie when I'm unwell and not medicated.  When I'm medicated, I feel like a normal, well adjusted person (with a dry mouth, side effects do suck).  I am not on Fluoxetine all the time.  I just use it when I feel it is necessary.  I've been off it for over a year currently.

The other thing I've found very useful is not believing in 'regret'.  For many people trapped in the depressive cycle, regret's an easy habit because there is so much you'd rather have not had happen.  But it puts you in stasis.  You can't move forward, and it's not possible to move back.  I acknowledge the things that have happened to me, and the things I have done, but I don't regret them.  Regret makes people bitter and miserable.  Being bitter and miserable doesn't seem very fun.  I do believe in mistakes.  I think of them as 'mis-takes', as in 'we're retaking this scene because it wasn't quite right', where you do it over, again, and again, learning each time how we can improve on the last 'take', and appreciating what we've learned from it.

Understanding why this cycle happens also makes it more manageable.  I do not think I can ever 'fix' this.  Basically, my body is programmed for 'fight or flight', which is why it reacts with the adrenaline so quickly.  This is because in the past, 'fight or flight' has been a necessary survival skill, and has often arisen out of seemingly banal things.  So when I'm feeling just slightly off kilter, anything which causes 'confrontation' will result in me having a panic attack.

This is what happened in November.  I was terrified about having to tell my new employer that I was pregnant.  This fear was impacted by the very rough year prior, which already had me frazzled.  I catastrophised that I would lose my job as a result.  Even though the reality is that this wouldn't be the end of the world, much of my esteem is wrapped up not only in my job, but it how it contributes to our household earnings.  So these feelings snowballed into daily panic attacks and the panic attacks led to a cycle of depression.  I genuinely thought my husband was going to leave me ('dangerous' point in depression aided by feeling worthless), and started to try and work out how I could live as a single mum...

It is ridiculous that things got to this point, but it is often difficult to see what point you're at when you're living in it.  And I still find it hard to ask for help, even from those closest to me.  Because you have to admit you aren't coping, and are being irrational, and you aren't a proper functioning 'grown up'.  And sometimes when things are really bad, it can mean compromising things important in your life.  Like your job, or your relationships.  That's bloody hard to do.  Once I did finally ask for help, things started to become more manageable pretty promptly.

I am certainly not a magically 'sane' person now.  But my life is 'manageable' and I've banished this particular fear by being proactive with my boss (which was terrifying, then a huge relief).  Chemically, things have reached a balance because I'm not having panic attacks any more.  And I got through this patch with my husband, home, job and everything, intact.  This is successful anxiety management.

And I hope that writing about it will help other people understand what it's like to live with this.  And for those struggling with depression or anxiety, to know that you can live with it.  Things will be ok.

A Recap on 2012

An attempt to capture the essence of Hannah-May 2012...
Bald-headed, slim and a drink in hand - I look quite different already in 2013

We're almost two weeks in to 2013 already - wow that's gone fast!  So thought it might be interesting to look back on what happened in my life in 2012.  This is partly inspired by reading a blog post on Essential Mums and partly by it being a naturally cathartic thing to do.

January
Apart from waking up on January 1st 2012 with an EPIC hangover (thank you Board Gaming New Years Gone Wild), January is most noteable for being when I got knocked up.  This was planned, but happened SO immediately it was a bit of a shock (quite possibly got knocked up at Board Gaming New Years Gone Wild).  And while initially thinking we'd aced the 'Getting Pregnant' exam, learnt toward the end of January that we hadn't aced the 'Staying Pregnant' part of things.  So it was a tumultuous start to the year, and a precursor for what to expect for the rest.

February
As a result of the failure to get things quite perfect with this pregnancy, I spent the beginning of February in and out of hospital, waiting for those in the know to work out whether this pregnancy was ectopic or not.  Turned out it was, so had surgery to remove the fallopian tube and the pregnancy.  This was sad, but not unexpected.  February was spent mostly on drugs, and in recovery.  I had a lot of support from whanau and friends, and actually had a pretty awesome time in hospital (besides the Lactulase incident and the crazy ranting Labour supporter).

March
March was the month where I had my test which determined whether or not I could likely conceive again and I ACED that test!  Unfortunately, I had an allergic reaction to the dye used in the test, so was very ill for several days.  We found out that in just a couple of months we could start trying to conceive again.  I also put myself on a diet to shake some kilos I'd gained from the pregnancy/surgery debacle.  This was a good thing to focus on after a time of uncertainty.  Despite my test, I was still unsure that we'd be able to get pregnant, and had put a time frame around trying before looking into IVF (which the government would help out with because of my medical history).

April
Easter at work proved to be a pretty horrid time of year - everyone went mad about hot cross buns, and they became the bane of my existence.  The entire shop was sticky with sugar.  I hoped I'd never see another crossed bun in my entire life (not going to happen).

Mum had been really unwell after a uterine prolapse which meant she had to stop working shortly before Christmas in 2011.  This was really devastating, as mum has always been a hard working, independent person.  April was the month of her first surgery to correct this problem that had been ongoing for some years.  We were so glad to finally arrive at this point.

My diet also proved to be working out pretty awesome (I lost weight, and learned a lot) and I did Shave for a Cure with Jade and went 'kina'.  April was also the time of the first anniversary of our Civil Union, which came about so fast!  I guess that means Civilised life ain't too bad at all.

May
May was the month of The Bite Curse - which turned out to be bed bugs, contracted from a romantic night away for our anniversary...  This was sorted, eventually.

It was the ten year anniversary of my Granddad passing away.  Having lived with my grandparents at various points in my life, Granddad was at times more like a very staunch Dad to me, and like everyone else in the whanau, I still miss him a lot.  We had a big celebration with everyone up at the bach where he is buried, which was very special.

May is also Coeliac Awareness month which meant crazy times at work and the Gluten Free Food Show.  We were more organised than in previous years, which meant I could get to some seminars and learn a little more about things like FODMAPS, IBS and Coeliac diagnosis in children.  I also got to catch up with a bunch of suppliers and which was really lovely.  I don't write about work that much in my blog, but I do really love what I do!

June
Mum's first surgery failed, and her follow up appointment with the specialist made her feel as though they were just going to ignore her, so she was back to square one, and gutted.  I discovered the health advocacy service online, and got us sorted with an advocate to launch an enquiry as to what was going on.

We had been very slack on the looking-to-buy-a-house thing.  If you've ever had to do it, you'll know that looking at houses is boring and time consuming, so easy to want to ignore.  We had had a couple of potential houses fall through over the last year (both of which I am now very grateful for), and were probably a little more prepped than at this time in the previous year.  So we started the hunt again.

We also started to try and get pregnant again, (despite my plan of not being super pregnant in Summer) just because we could.

July
In July we finally found the right house!  We managed to purchase within our budget, but we learned the process of buying a house is fraught with other non financial stresses.  Builders reports/LIMS/Kiwisaver/Lawyers fees/Realtor douchebags were all things we got up to speed with pretty quick smart in July.  And the settlement was quick.  Quicker than we'd hoped for.  So we were in our new house by the end of July.  And planting herb gardens, and also living together, ALONE for the first time ever.  It was bliss.

August
More time settling into our new home and remembering the 'joys' of commuting to work.  Very excited to have lots of visits from family and friends, and realising how awesome it was to live closer to some of our friends.  I turned 31, but my memory is bad and I can't even remember if I did anything to celebrate, but I probably did.  We weren't pregnant yet, but continued to half-heartedly give it a go (pre-occupied at this point my the interest on our mortgage)

I THINK it was around the end of August (possibly early September) Mum was given a second appointment to see her specialist.  I went with her so she wouldn't wig out at him.  We did get some things resolved - there would be another surgery, which was the best possible outcome.  We asked our advocate to stop mediation proceedings.  The squeaky wheel does get the grease it seems...

September
The company that pays my wages (different to the company that I work for - complicated) went into receivership.  I found out I would likely never see the $1400 in holiday pay owing to me.  I had my hours cut down at work, and this was quite possibly going to mean I needed to get a new job.   Also, it looked like the company I worked for, was going to sell.  And my boss launched her first ever cookbook.  Crazy bad timing.  A lot of crying. 

I was quite unwell for about a week, and had the symptoms of a rumbling appendix so saw my GP.  The following week I had surgery to see what was going on, and they removed my appendix (to prevent future stress) and found the actual culprit to my pain - a burst ovarian cyst.

While recovering from surgery I noticed my boobs getting swollen and sore, thought 'wow, that basal thermometer stuff sure works' (we had just started doing Basal Thermometer reading this month), took a test, and sure enough I was knocked up.  An eventful September!

October
Which was followed by an even more eventful October.  Because of my ectopic earlier in the year, the one before that, and the fact I'd had surgery very shortly after conception, I was understandably worried about this pregnancy.  My doctor was also worried, so booked us in for an early scan.  October was also when Mum's surgery was scheduled, and also when we were due to go on a holiday to Melbourne (we needed a real break from the crazy) to celebrate Murray's birthday.

So of course our 6 week scan/Mum's surgery and our holiday not only converged the same week, but within three days of each other.  Our scan was two days before we left for Melbourne.  If things were bad, we wouldn't go.  Mum's surgery (and it was a major surgery this time) was the day before we left for Melbourne.  Our scan was fine (yay), and Mum's surgery went well, but I felt massively guilty for not being there for the first week of her recovery.

Melbourne on a budget (because there was no holiday pay), was still fantastic!  I will try and blog about it at some point, as that is something that fell by the wayside with all the drama of early pregnancy, work crazy and Mum's surgery.

November
By this time I had started to realise that I really didn't like being pregnant.  I was extremely grateful to BE pregnant, but with all the horrible side effects, hormones and the stress of the last two months, I finally started to lose the plot.  Our work place did sell at the end of September, and our new owner took over at the beginning of November.

I was quite depressed.  I felt as though every aspect of my life was falling apart: work, health, finance, brain, home (neighbours pitbull cross continually breaking into our section and terrifying me and our critters).  I was having panic attacks every morning on the way to work.  Eventually things got to a breaking point and I went to the doctors. 

This didn't fix things - I am still waiting on a phone call from Maternity Mental Health, and was advised against antidepressants.  But it did give us a window to get things started.  I started taking natural adrenal supplements and rescue remedy to help with the anxiety.  Feeling like something was happening to remedy the situation helped more than you'd think.  And I allowed myself the space to be upset.  Given the year I'd had combined with my mental health history, this type of response was actually quite normal.  Being pregnant on top of that was probably just the tipping point.  I had been ok when this had happened before, and I would be ok again now. 

December
December tends to be one of the most stressful months of the year.  Despite already being pretty stressed, mine wasn't that bad.  We were organised with our Christmas shopping and  I was reasonably organised with work Christmas time craziness.  We weren't hosting anything over Christmas besides our usual New Years Gaming party.  It was manageable.

Christmas was a pretty relaxed day, and I had a week off between the Christmas and New Year stats, which was great.  New Years Gaming was massive, with over 25 people turning up, and I survived my first completely sober New Years (in a long while).

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I know that 2013 will provide new challenges for us, but am hoping that it will also mean slowing the pace down a little, and having time to enjoy these challenges.  2012 was an eventful year, with many ups (buying a house and getting successfully pregnant) and downs (surgery, work stress and more surgery). So lets clink a glass to 2013.   Happy New Year everyone!

On getting fat

Everyone knows that when you get pregnant, you're going to get fat.  However, knowing this in advance doesn't always make coping with the getting fat part any easier.

I was somewhat grateful that my tummy didn't proper 'pop' until around 13 weeks, but having that tummy-free time made me think there was a slight chance it wouldn't.  That for some inexplicable reason I would stay small, and a baby would just fit into my body somehow (like when our rabbit was pregnant).  As everyone that has ever been pregnant, or ever known a pregnant woman will know, this is not how that works.

Pretty much as soon as I 'popped' I started to freak out about weight gain.  I didn't want to be this person.  I wanted to be the relaxed 'it's ok, I'm pregnant' person, but that's not what happened.  I imagine that most people with issues around 'control' like me, may react similarly when this happens to them (this is how I placate myself into feeling somewhat normal).  When you are a person who schedules, maps, budgets, monitors and graphs most areas of your life (including getting pregnant), falling into territory where you have no control of what happens is difficult - especially when it's regarding your body.

I want to be the 'happy Buddha pregnant lady', but actually, I'm the 'paranoid/ anxious possibly delusional pregnant lady'. 

I am not self conscious about being pregnant.  I want to be pregnant (well, not pregnant, but to become a parent so pregnancy is somewhat necessary).  I don't care who knows that I'm pregnant (look, I even posted a picture of me, being pregnant).  In fact, it's the first time I've had a bump and actually been pregnant, so it makes a nice change from saying to people 'No I'm not pregnant, (IBS sufferers, you know what I'm talking about).  But I don't like the out-of-controlness of the changes happening in my body (I can somewhat control IBS - want gaseous bump?  Eat cheesecake.  Simple).  I knew these changes would happen, but this knowledge hasn't made dealing with these changes any easier.

Because I am already uncomfortable in my body, when others comment on it, it makes things worse.  And if anyone touches my tummy, it's the worst it can get.  Imagine grabbing a girls breasts when she's going through puberty - that's how inappropriate it feels.  I am still coming to terms with touching my OWN tummy, which is why the idea of anyone else touching it is creepy (seriously, Murray's not even allowed to touch it without prior written consent).  I am sure that people don't think my tummy is gross, this is not wherein lies the issue.  And no nice things you, my husband, or anyone else tell me is going to make this any better.  I truly don't give a rats what you think (no offense), because it's what I think that matters.  And I'm not quite coping with the baby belly yet.

And I'm ok with that.  I am sure this will get better.  I'm already feeling slightly better because the number on the scales at the midwife said I haven't put on too much weight.  I know 'the right weight' is an abstract idea, but it's another thing that placates me.  Or freaks me out (which is why I don't own scales).

I know it isn't healthy, but I do have a number in my head* which I don't want to surpass in pregnancy.  And as long as I'm eating properly, is it really THAT unhealthy?  I'm not dieting.  I'm not excessively exercising, I'm just conscious of the pregnancy/weight trajectory.  I'm not eating extra 'because I should be eating for two', because I shouldn't be.  I am snacking often.  I HAVE changed those snacks from chips (initial pregnant ARGH need chips)  to mandarins, Summer fruits and this awesome scroggin mix (nuts and cranberries and seeds and yum).  I do still eat takeaways (pregnancy makes you tired and cooking is hard).  I am drinking lots of water, in fact, I have to snack and drink water otherwise my blood pressure drops and I get cranky and deaf.  I am starting pregnancy yoga soon, and I do walk almost every day (which is the same as before I was pregnant).

I do actually care about the little thing inside the bump.  I felt it kick for the first time yesterday, well the first time I was 100% sure it wasn't gas.  And I'm sure as this 'thing' feels more and more like a 'baby thing', I will probably start worrying less about my tummy and more about 'other things'.  In the meantime though, I'll freak out as much as I bloody want.  I'll yell at strangers who look downward then come at me with open palms.  I'll design some sort of metal spiked 'chastity belly belt'.  I'll douse myself in cocoa butter and pray to the God of stretchmarks that they will never come (I have plenty already).  And I don't care what anyone thinks.

* This is a realistic number based on how much weight doctors/midwifes say you should gain if you are a healthy weight to start with (which I was), also taking into account my miniscule stature.  It is NOT me working out how much the baby should weigh at birth and adding that to my start weight.  I'm crazy, not stupid.

On being pregnant at Christmas

I'm only writing this because I was surprised to learn that Christmas is different when you're pregnant!

Christmas Food

I didn't think this would change that drastically for me (I don't eat ham), but eating on Christmas was still trickier than I thought it would be.  My Christmas lunch consisted of green salad, snow peas (which I love) and boiled potatoes followed by fruit and jelly.  Being predominantly vego and gluten free always limits what I can eat, but what I hadn't taken into account was the whole dressings and other cold meats factor.  These days I do eat a little white meat (cravings following breaking ankle) but being knocked up, can't eat it cold.  And being polite, I didn't want to ask for a microwave just to eat something that I didn't need to.  After having the mayo speech given to me a bazillion times I was afraid of all salads (except those that were nude, or dressed by my mum) which limited my limited fare even further.

Dinner was easier as our family are slightly allergy-centric (there were gluten free Christmas mince tarts).  I made a dessert and main for this meal (an AMAZING nut loaf which I will be making annually henceforth), so knew I'd have food regardless.  I had plenty of options, all vegetarian.  But as a lapsed long term 'proper' vegetarian, this suited me just fine.

The best thing about restricted eating, is I didn't get the dreaded Christmas Bloat.  On the way home, Murray was complaining about 'Food Sweats' -  I suffered from no such ailment.  Following Christmas dinner I felt full and happy and still-able-to-breath-cos-stomach-not-compressing-lungs.  

Christmas Presents

Again, I never thought this would alter with only being 17 weeks pregnant at Christmas, but I was wrong.  I was spoilt.  There were a few extra little gifts from 'Santa' including a notebook to help my baby brain and an AWESOME t-shirt with 'Private Property Please Don't Touch' on it (Auntie Santa's rule).  And the foetus got some very thoughtful presents too!  I felt so loved by my family.

And although we didn't get unwrappable presents from Murray's family, what we got was just as awesome.  Great chats with his cousin and cousin's wife on things pregnancy (and not TMI with opinions), and a big offer to lend us some essential (and expensive) baby things.  Which means that we hardly have to buy anything now to prepare for the arrival of this kid.  Which means so much less to stress about.

I had feared that my interactions and gifts would take a slant toward motherhood, and was so grateful that on the whole they didn't - my immediate family treated me exactly like normal and bought thoughtful things for me.  Many things around pregnancy make you feel less like an individual and more like a vessel.  Not just in terms of your body, and the obvious life-style changes required (because you do become a vessel), but in terms of how people perceive you, how your stomach (it seems) becomes public property and how your way of thinking is questioned.  Some normalcy, especially in a time where you are dealing with many people who unintentionally challenge your right to be an individual, is probably the best gift I got this Christmas.  

Christmas Crash

Despite the fact that recent Christmas's are simpler logistically than they've ever been, at the end of our two day Christmas blitz I was suffering.  On Christmas we only had to go to two houses.  I didn't have to cook full meals, and we were home by 10pm Christmas night. 

By Boxing Day I was screwed.  Boxing Day is when we traditionally spend time with Murray's mum's family.  We were home from brunch by 2pm (after a quick Boxing Day shopping errand).  I almost fainted during the errand, holding onto my purchase as a means of propping myself up.  On arriving home I napped for as long as possible before heading over to Murray's parents to Skype his brother in Canberra (first Christmas away from home) and exchange gifts.  We couldn't even stay until 9pm when catch up was to begin, so we missed talking to Alan which was sad.

Christmas Future

The scariest thing about Christmas was the realisation that in choosing to become parents, we are now naturally a part of a different social group within our families.  That in itself isn't that scary.  The scary part is realising that this means, like all the other parents in our generation, that we need to consider all the other children in the family (our 'child's' peers) at Christmas.

Within our families, that's a huge realisation.

I've never thought about how much time, money and effort our cousins have put into thinking about all the kids at Christmas time, and this realisation has given me so much more appreciation of them.  Within my extended family, we have thirteen children in the next generation.  In Murray's family, there are another eight.  If we spent just $10 on each child next Christmas, that's an extra $220 to budget for next year, and an extra twenty two little (or not so little) people to think about.  It's a big deal.

It's a big deal because not only do you need to think about Christmas time, but also birthdays.  Birthday's mean not only buying presents for each child through the year (doubling extra spending to $440 PA on a tight budget), but also REMEMBERING each birthday.  This is yet another excuse to create an Excel workbook - I'm going to have to spreadsheet this stuff otherwise we'll be totally screwed.

I'm not even a parent yet and already working out there is WAY more to this parenting thing than I ever thought about before.  I am grateful for this Christmas realisation now, when I have time to budget (and spreadsheet).

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So that was my Christmas - over all, pretty awesome.  I am so grateful for our family, and the little traditions we have.  And although some aspects of next Christmas will be different, I'm sure most things will be much the same, and that's a relief.

On Being Knocked Up

I know being pregnant is supposed to be natural part of life (duh), but my first instincts on pregnancy:  it being unnatural, and terrifying, were right all along.  I'm sure for some women it is a magical time that they treasure forever, but I am not one of those women.  Don’t get me wrong, I'm looking forward to getting the baby at the end, but I am really not enjoying being pregnant.

Here are the top five reasons why I think pregnancy sucks:

1)      I am completely brain-dead.  And in our household, this is a measureable fact.  Murray and I play a LOT of board games.  One of these games, (Dominion) we keep a tally of.  Since falling pregnant, my ability to beat Murray at Dominion (or any other game for that matter) has fallen dramatically.  It was lovely keeping a tally as we usually win equally as many games as each other.  It’s not any more.  Instead of winning around 50% of the time, I now win closer to 25% of the time.  This is depressing.  I like being an intelligent human being capable of equalling or besting my intelligent significant other.  What’s more depressing is we can’t even PLAY most of the time because my brain can’t focus enough to allow it.  It’s like ‘the dumbening’ Lisa Simpson discovered on that episode of The Simpsons, only it’s real.  And it’s going to be like this for the next nine months.  Probably even longer.

And because my brain doesn’t work properly, I can’t do most of the things I enjoy without frustration.  I can’t write well, I can’t spell or type properly, I can’t play games good (or format sentences correctly), I can’t focus on work or conversations with others for long periods of time.  All I am good at is watching TV and reading The Daily Mail.  Baby brain is real, and it really, really sucks.  I want my brain back.

2)      I'm exhausted.  I only work around 30 hours a week, and even this is hard.  I honestly don’t know how grown up women with ‘real’ jobs cope.  And I find it even harder to understand how women who already have children manage to do all that needs doing and not fall down.  These women are super women and I have the utmost respect for them.  I have to put caveats around my social schedule as I cannot do nearly most of the things I normally would and still cope with work.  This is kinda good as I cannot remember most of the things I'm supposed to do anyway, and am likely to go to the wrong place at the wrong time to see the wrong people.

And what aids and abets my exhaustion is that I've developed insomnia.  This is another ‘normal’ part of pregnancy which seems completely unnatural.  If you’re tired, surely you should rest to help grow the tiny human inside you?  Why won’t my non-functional brain shut down when it’s doing nothing useful anyway?  Is it trying to make up for its dysfunction by just staying on longer?  It’s dumb.  I'm over it.  And you can’t take meds or alcohol to help -  although I have occasionally been cheating and taking Phenergan (harmless antihistamine) as it helps knock me out.

3)      There are lots of other gross things that happen to some women’s bodies that people don’t tell you about.  I am glad I watched What To Expect When You’re Expecting – it’s made me feel normal (I’m the blonde lady at the beginning of the trailer)   People tell you about the morning sickness and exhaustion, they don’t tell you about the other stuff.  They don’t tell you about the constipation and gas and extreme vaginal discharge that you may experience, or the bleeding gums (no-one believes me, but this really is a pregnancy thing and not just poor dental health.) And although everyone knows your boobs get sore, I don’t think you realise quite how sore until you experience it.  And they get big, which means it’s easier for your significant other to accidentally smack them, or roll over onto them when you are sleeping, which is a bad thing, and can cause disharmony in your relationship.

     Pregnancy just makes me feel gross.  I do not feel like an ‘earth mother’, I feel like a murderous ball of gas and gross and foetus that people should be wary of.  It goes without saying that I have zero libido because all I can think about is work and how gross and tired I am.  I think that whole pregnancy hormone randiness theory is a myth designed to con men into wanting to knock up their ladies.  Because if they knew what actually happened when they knocked them up, there’s no way any sane man would do it.  And the human race would fail to exist.

And I’m one of the lucky people who didn’t get bad morning sickness.  Imagine how grumpy and gross and not sexy those very sick pregnant ladies feel?  Imagine how their partners feel? 

4)       Once you tell people you are pregnant, THE ENTIRE WORLD knows you are pregnant.  This has already caused a terrifying encounter for me, also known as Murray’s Work Christmas Do.  EVERYONE at his work knows I’m pregnant (he only told three people), which meant PEOPLE I DON’T KNOW hugged me and touched my stomach (weird and inappropriate).  I had to do my utmost not to punch someone or burst into tears – both being things I know to be inappropriate to do.  It is strange enough when it is people you know, but so much worse when it is people you don’t know.

And as a linked aside, I realised as we saw each other across a crowded room, that one of his workmates is one of my old workmates.  She also just happens to be the owner of the very pregnant belly I saw twelve years ago that was what put me off having children.  We were in a meeting when she was about eight months gone.  And her baby was kicking, so she lifted up her shirt to show us, and I honestly saw its foot.  That was the moment I realised that growing a baby is housing a parasite.  And it reminded me of Sigourney Weaver in Aliens.  And I never, ever wanted to be Sigourney Weaver in Aliens. 

So there was also that.  And the food was bad.  (On another, happier aside, Murray’s boss feels EXACTLY the same way as me about babies/parasites/Aliens, which has reassured us that I can feel that way, and still be an awesome parent, and survive this pregnancy thing.)

I am also not one of those really-excited-oh-my-God-this-is-amazing-and-the-only-thing-important-in-my-life kinda people.  I am not clucky.  I am doing this because this is necessary for us to be parents, and I think we’d be good parents.  When people go all gooey, or talk to me differently because I’m pregnant, it makes me want to puke.  I’m pregnant.  I’m housing a parasite until it’s big enough to make it on its own and comes out as an independent little person.  This is not cute.  This is necessary.  I am glad that you are glad I am pregnant but the foetus doesn’t care if you are baby talk at my stomach.  The foetus would care more if you didn’t cause my adrenals to go haywire and speed up its heart rate by weirding me out.  And it might care if you gave me a strawberry.  Or some chocolate.  Or maybe a foot rub.

I am grateful that all my close friends and family are aware that I will feel this way and although they are definitely excited, they are not acting like freaky weirdos.  Thank you awesome people. 

5)      Once everyone knows you are pregnant, they have opinions, advice and ideas.  Sometimes this is helpful, sometimes it isn’t and sometimes it is just overwhelming.  Becoming pregnant when you are not someone who’s into babies, means stepping into a foreign and scary world of learning, which is especially hard when your brain isn’t working. 

There are so many things to think about, and many things you have NEVER thought about.  All these pregnancy classes available: yoga, massage, acupuncture, antenatal and other stuff I’m sure, and all these things cost money which wasn’t budgeted for because I didn't know I needed to.  Is any of it necessary (besides antenatal classes)?  I honestly don’t know.  I am terrified of the labour part and want my body to be as prepped as possible – but who has time, money and brains for these things?  I also know I’m going to go to one of these classes and it will be full of more people I barely know who will share opinions and advice which will fill my brain with even more stuff.  And then my head will explode and the foetus will die.   

And if the people are being open, and not sharing their opinions yet, they’ll ask you about yours. Sometimes it’s about a topic that you didn’t know existed and you’re only answer is ‘ah, we’re still deciding’ because really, what you mean is ‘I’m going to Google that when I get home’.  Then other times you do have an opinion, but you know it’s not going to go down favourably with this person-of-a-different-generation and you just don’t have energy for debate (cos no brain and exhausted) so you do your best to nod and smile and say nothing when really you want to say SO many things.  I knew this would happen, as I’ve seen it happen to other people, but it’s much more real when it's actually happening to you.

And that’s this blog/rant done.  I am truly sorry.  I know some sentences are ridiculously long.  I know this needs more editing.  I have a feeling though that this may be the format my blog posts take over the next 6+ months because bad rant is currently my only volume.  I will try my best to write about non-preggo things, and not rant, but I can see me failing at this.  Please bear with me.  One day I’ll be normal again.  I hope.

On Getting Knocked Up

Check out my Trans VAGINA!  This is how we announced our pregnancy on Facebook (the foetus scans look just like any other foetus scan).  My friend Helen pointed out, it looks kinda like a monster.  Yay!

Firstly I apologise to this blog and its small readership for not posting recently.  I can tell you right now this is directly due to being knocked up and its bearing my ability to work my brain good.  There has been a LOT going on, and much I’d love to have written about had my brain been willing. 

Now that apology is out of the way, I have to say this has been one helluva year.  And as is always the way, the timing for this fantastic occurrence was, interesting. 

As with my last pregnancy my boobs were a fairly good indicator that I was pregnant.  As you will have read in my previous blog, I was ovulating around the time I started having pain and ended up in hospital requiring surgery.  We noticed my boobs had blown up about three days after I got home from hospital.  We confirmed the pregnancy eight days after my last surgery.  So I was pregnant when I had surgery.  Freaky.

So many thoughts travelled through my brain when I found out.  My first thought was ‘Holy crap! That basal thermometer reading stuff actually works!’  The second thought was ‘Yay!  Now I don’t have to stress about trying to get knocked up any more!’ And then I thought ‘Crap!  I can’t drink in Melbourne’ then ‘This could be ectopic, and we won't be able to go to Melbourne.’  And then I worried about the impact of the pregnancy on my body so close to having had surgery.  And having to tell people and them being gooey and me being grossed out by it but it not being polite to make gagging noises when people think they're being nice.  And a bunch of other stuff.

Because of my previous history, the doctor organised for me to have an early scan to catch any possible ectopic early.  Unfortunately, the best time to see things on the scan was going to be when we were already in Melbourne, so we had to organise to have this just before we left. 

The other thing I haven’t been able to post about (cos brain) is that Mum had major surgery the day before we left for Melbourne (this year has been one of just horrible timing).  It was a long awaited surgery to improve a long standing, debilitating problem, but the risks were high, and recovery difficult, so it was scary.  Our scan was booked in the day before Mum’s surgery.  If things went badly at our scan, not only would it mean facing another ectopic, and more surgery, but it would mean not being able to support my mum, or have her support me.  Both Mum and I were very worried about this.  It would also mean no Melbourne trip, which we were really looking forward to after a crazy year.

The day of the scan came.  Because all of my recent scans have been in emergency, I forgot about the horribleness that is having a full bladder and someone press on your stomach.  Here is some advice: if you ever need a full bladder scan, you honestly don’t need to drink the whole litre of water.  I only drank 700mls for this scan, and my bladder was too full (which is bad because you have to let some out).  I drank two glasses for the most recent scan, and that was sweet.  Sitting waiting for a scan is uncomfortable with a full bladder, but kind of good as it's hard to stress about the scan when all you can think about is not pissing yourself.

There were a number of odd things about the scan (the technician seated Murray in an odd place so he could hardly see what was happening) but I didn’t notice at the time.  As soon as I could see my uterus on the screen, I knew things were ok.  Because there was an obvious something in it.  In fact, because of how the yolk sac sits by the embryo, Murray thought there were two somethings in it, so I had to tell him several times it was not twins.  This scan showed I was less pregnant than we thought by 5 days, which was not technically possible (severe pain requiring eventual hospitalisation = no nookie) and made me question the skills of the technician.  Regardless, the pregnancy was not ectopic, which was the most important thing.

The cool thing we learnt in that first scan was that the egg had come from my left side which has no fallopian tube (they can see the burst follicle on the ovary in the scan).  This means that my single fallopian tube is doing double duty, and my chances of getting pregnant are the same each month.  This is awesome.  This means that unless this remaining tube stuffs up, we probably won’t need IVF.  There is nothing at all wrong with IVF, but it is nice to know we won’t need it all the same.

So yay we’re knocked up!  And although I’m not enjoying this whole pregnancy thing, I am glad that we get the chance to make a person.  And mum is recovering from her surgery, and we did get to Melbourne.  I didn't get to do Poverty Week like I planned as I had surgery a week and a half before it started, and I found out I was pregnant three days beforehand, and everything is a mess.  Still feeling guilty.  I will try and blog about these things more soon.  If my brain will let me.

On This Year’s Surgery Number Two

So I’ve had my second surgery for the year.  This one came from totally out of the blue.  Thankfully, it is in no way related to the last, which means it doesn’t affect our chances of getting knocked up.

We are currently trying to get pregnant.  The longer I'm off the pill for the more irregular my cycle gets, so I'm using basal thermometer reading (plus monitoring other stuff) to work out when I'm ovulating.  This is the first month I’ve been doing this, so I’ve been hyper conscious of my body.  A few weeks ago I noticed some pain on my right hand side.  It was around the time that I was due to ovulate – so I thought it was that.  I had two nights of really bad gastro cramping and almost no sleep, so figured my IBS was playing up.  After getting home Saturday night after Sarah’s book launch, I was horrendously ill.  The next morning I noticed that the right side of my stomach was swollen.  After putting all of this together, I realised I had most of the symptoms of non-acute appendicitis, and went to the doctor.

My GP suspected the same, but the pain wasn’t acute enough to warrant hospital.  He gave me antibiotics, which often helps settle a rumbling appendix, and advised me to go to hospital if it got any worse.  I said ‘See, I told you’ to Murray - very proud with my accurate self diagnosis.

I didn’t go to work on Monday as I still had pain, and by Wednesday it hadn’t gotten any worse, but it also hadn’t gotten any better so I decided to go to hospital to be safe.  Antibiotics usually kick in within 48 hours so something was not right.

After a while in emergency awaiting test results, I saw a doctor.  Everything was fine.  Apart from my pain and gastro symptoms, my temperature was normal, blood tests normal - everything normal.  I thought they were going to send me home.  I told the doctor that I was very nervous.  The idea of a rumbling appendix was just like an ectopic pregnancy, like having a bomb in your body that could go off at any time.  She took me seriously, and after an ultrasound also appeared normal, said I should stay overnight for observation in the surgical ward.  I was extremely grateful.

After seeing the surgical registrar, the decision was made to pop a camera in there, and check everything was ok.  They didn’t think I had appendicitis, but agreed that something was not as it should be.  Again, I was so grateful.  I am very used to people thinking I'm crazy.  Even if they found nothing, my mind would be at ease, which would mean I might be able to get some sleep.  Every time my stomach cramped it pressed on whatever was hurting in my right hand side, and made me scared it would explode.  The idea of my insides exploding is scary.  I don't sleep when I'm scared.

The night in hospital wasn’t great.  I didn’t sleep, and in the morning, there was a drama.  

I'm good with needles, but needles aren’t good with me.  When I arrived at the hospital it took three attempts to get a line in.  The successful lure hadn’t been used for about 20 hours when the nurse tried to attach the drip pre-surgery.  She put the fluid through to clean the line and it felt wrong.  I've had this done many times, so know what it usually feels like.  I told her, and she ignored me.  Then she started the drip.  It got progressively more painful.  Then my arm blew up like a balloon.  I firmly told her she had to stop the drip, and she did.

I was amazed she didn’t take the line out.  My arm was huge.  The lure had popped out of the vein so everything had gone straight into my arm.  It felt very odd.  After an hour of looking at my blown up arm with the lure still in it I buzzed for the nurse.

‘Please can you take this out?’

‘Why, is it hurting?  I’ll get you another pillow.’ 

It seemed ridiculous she was questioning this quite logical request.  I completely lost the plot.  

‘No (sob) it (sob) doesn’t hurt (sob).  I just (sob) haven’t (sob) had any sleep (sob) and (sob) I got (sob) a really big fright (sob).’ 

It took half an hour to stop sobbing.

The nurse totally freaked.  She had someone take the lure out, and checked on me every five minutes until her shift finished.  Then she checked on me as she was leaving.  It was one of those things that is quite hilarious in retrospect, but is SOOOO traumatic at the time.

Another lure was put into a friendlier vein, and I was in surgery by 10.30am.  It always amazes me how many people there are in surgery.  There were at least seven in this one, and it was a simple, laproscopic procedure.  They told me they would take my appendix out regardless which was a huge relief – I never have to worry about it exploding, ever.  The anaesthetist held the oxygen mask on my face very hard, pushing his thumb up under my jaw.  It really hurt, but I just said to myself ‘Don't worry, you’ll be unconscious soon.’  And I was.*

I had the best wake up from surgery ever (last time I asked the nurses the same question over and over, and demanded drugs until I went blue cos my oxygen sats dropped).  I woke up 12 minutes after going into recovery and felt pretty great.  The procedure had taken 45 minutes – about 20 minutes longer than anticipated.  They had found a burst ovarian cyst which had put gunk through all my insides.  This is what was causing the pain and gastric issues.  They cleaned it all out and removed my (healthy) appendix.

Recovery has been physically more taxing than the last.  I think they had to move things around a bit as I have more bruising and swelling than with my last surgery.  I overdid things on Sunday (I washed dishes, tidied and hung up washing) which caused my surgical sites to bleed – I have been much better at resting since then.  A week on from surgery and I’m feeling pretty good.  Still a little sore and still tired but I think my stomach muscles have knitted back together as sitting up doesn’t hurt any more.

The sucky thing about this unexpected surgery is how it impacts on work.  The timing could not be poorer.  Well, it could.  We’re also heading to Melbourne for a holiday shortly, so I’m glad this didn’t happen then.  It means we won't have much to spend in Melbourne because excess money is covering my mortgage payments while I’m off work.  But in all honesty our flights and fancy accommodation is paid, we’re going to Armageddon for free thanks to our amazing friend Richard - so we’ll have a great time anyway.  And I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again; I am employed by wonderful people.  I am so grateful that after two unexpected surgeries and almost 6 weeks off work this year, I still have a job.

The other sucky thing is it’s mucked up my first month of basal thermometer reading.  And I have to be less smug about my (non)skills at self-diagnosis.

*Following surgery I had a cut inside my lip and a bruise under my jaw.  I should have said something, but it’s physically difficult to talk when you’re JUST about to go under for surgery, and someone is tightly holding a mask over your face.