My heart is heavy today...

Strangely for me, for the last three months I have been having somewhat regular periods.  They are not the typical 28 days apart, I don't even think they are the same length apart, but I have had a period roughly every five weeks or something for the last three cycles.

I've never in my life charted my cycles, and I 'spose now is the time as every second waking thought strays to babies.

Anyway, cut to the point of the post and the reason my heart is heavy... In the last 48 hours, I kind of allowed myself to imagine that I might be pregnant.  I know it's not impossible for me to get pregnant, stranger things have happened... but to be fair, it's probably unlikely at my weight, with my PCOS and even if I did, the septate uterus would make it difficult to carry to term anyway.

But, hope is a dangerous thing.  Hope ends in heartache. Why do I allow myself to indulge?

About two weeks ago, I had ovulation pain. Some people doubt that women can feel such things, and I guess many can't.  But a lot of the time (when my body does actually do what it's meant to do), when I do ovulate I can feel which ovary I am ovulating from.  I get a dull aching pain and the odd crampy feeling on either my left or right side.  Two weeks ago, it was the right ovary.

One week ago, I started having period pains (thankfully, I am not one of those women that get severe cramps), back ache and really sore boobs.  Typical signs (for me) that my period is on its way in a couple of days.  Well, a couple of days turned into a week, and still not even a spot.

It suddenly occurred to me, that OH-MY-GOD maybe there was a possibility that it wasn't going to come? And those symptoms might mean something infinitely better?  A baby?  Enter Hope.

Hope has been given a leg up by the fact for the last week (even before I even thought it might be a possibility) by the fact that I have been having very, very, very vivid dreams about being pregnant and then nursing my baby and walking along the street with them as they grew a bit older.  The dreams felt so real. SO REAL.  I can still picture every single one of my children from each of the dreams.  I can see what they looked like, I can see their little cheeks, remember what features came from me and which from their father.  They weren't the kind of surreal, wacky, non-sensical dreams that are more familiar to me... you know the type of dreams I mean, the type that follow no rhyme nor reason.

These dreams were real. The children, my children, were real.  And after waking up from each one in the morning I felt empty.  Broken.  Sad.  I missed them.  These children that don't actually exist that I dreamt up, I missed them terribly and my heart ached to have them back.

So, then two days ago it was like a light bulb moment.  Could I be pregnant? 

Turns out No... I can't.  I just started spotting half an hour ago.

In my head, I think well it's for the best.  I need to lose weight first and I need to have the septum removed from my uterus to give me the best chance of carrying a baby to term.  I just have to turn this grief - and that is literally how I feel - into motivation.

My heart hurts, and I am only a stray thought away from tears.  Must go and keep myself busy, not give myself anytime to think about what was never going to be.

Will go for a walk after dinner tonight.  Motivation.

How am I here again... or shall I say, still here?

After quite a rough few months in and out of hospital, I find myself trying to get back on the bloody weight loss train again.

My weight had gone up to 126.5kgs and after a few weeks of really trying hard I am down to 121.9 - so a loss of 4.6kgs in three weeks which I was really chuffed about.  That was, until I decided to look back at my blog and see that when I first started writing this I was 121.3kgs.  So, I'm back to where I started.  Or, rather after almost a year (!!!), I am still here.  Still fat, still needing to lose about 35kgs to get my operation so I can start having a family... and approaching 30 at a rapid speed.

Fuck. Shit. Bollocks.

Need to pull my head out of my arse.

OK, so my first mini-goal is to get my weight to under (!) 120kgs... so 119.5kgs here I come. I hope to be able to achieve that in the next two weeks.  I really must get better at updating this blog too, because it truly does help to be putting thoughts down.

Anyhoo... time for lunch.  Chicken stir-fry here I come!

Back in hospital

This post is backdated from August, I didn't realise I hadn't saved it

I didn't think I would end up back in here again... Well, certainly not until I was in to have the hysteroscopy done!

The doctors don't seem to know what is wrong with me... They had suspected gall stones, but I needed the ultrasound to confirm. The ultrasound was due for this Thursday. I've been having the same pain a number of times since I was last in hospital, but the feedback has been to just wait for the ultrasound. Yesterday I had the pain in the wee hours of the morning (normally comes at night), and after I had thrown up (which normally relieves it), it changed into a burning in my stomach.

At around 11am on Monday I threw up again, it was just bile (there was nothing in my stomach)... And then threw up bile again every 20 minutes for the next two hours. I rang my GP and she prescribed some medicine but said she wasn't worried, and let's see what happens after the ultrasound. I was feeling way too sick to get up and drive to the clinic to pick up the medicine and then go to Tescos to have the script filled. I waited an hour and just felt like I was deteriorating fast... feeling feverish and couldn't find the strength to even keep my eyes open.

I asked my sister to drive me to the hospital. We had to stop along the way so I could throw up, and then I threw up again as we were driving (lucky I bought a bucket with me!). My poor sister!! I had to wait for about an hour before I got to see the A&E nurse, and then he just sent me over to see the Primary Care Trust GP, where I had to wait for about 40 minutes.

He was the most useless GP I have ever encountered. He sent me back over to A&E to have bloods done, and they also gave me an injection in my thigh to stop the nausea... Which didn't work (and I now have a massive bruise where it was injected). They then sent me back to the GP, where I had to sit and wait for another half an hour. Then I was seen by another doctor who took some vitals and then sent me back into the waiting room to wait to see the GP and get my blood results.

Anyway.. I could go on and on and on and on about the incompetence and the messing me about, but at the end of it I was admitted for three days while they tried to work out what was going on. They ruled out gall stones, and as they were trying to send me home and telling me to just take paracetamol every few hours I demanded to see my file.  A specialist then came up to see me and sat down with me to go through my file and then went away to talk to their consultant.  Turns out they think I had either a stomach ulcer or an infection of the stomach lining.  I was given six weeks of meds to take and sent home the next day.

Let's see how we go!