#37 The one that made me a Mum

The last time I sat down to write my blog, I was 12 weeks pregnant. It's been 18 months since then. I'm now left with the task of trying to tell you our journey without boring you and losing you along the way! I’m also very aware that this blog started off as a glimpse into the life of IVF and infertility, so I also want to make sure I can try to remember to now give anyone going through it ‘hope’, whilst being honest with the emotions that goes along with this crazy world of fertility treatments. 

Looking back now, I feel a little cheated out of enjoying my pregnancy. I didn't do it to myself. The fear did it. I didn't want to feel the mothers instinct of knowing something was wrong again, I didn't want to give birth to another sleeping baby. Something that on the day I was induced, the triggering memories came back with every contraction, sending me into a little bit of a complete meltdown in my own head. Pregnancy after loss was harder than I had prepared myself for.

Every scan caused scanxiety as soon as I lay down on the hospital bed, especially in the early days when I bled for the first few weeks after the positive test. I would tense until I could see that heart flickering. I would wait with a held breath, until I was told that everything looked fine! Fortunately travelling all the way back to our previous hospital meant they gave me all the love and support we could have possibly wished for and checked on me whenever I needed it. 

When we went along for our 16 week scan, we knew that they were going to be having a good study of the baby and checking for any abnormalities and problems linked to Billy, so when they called my name out I stood up and the familiar sensation came back to my legs, that jelly walk, where I’m walking without knowing I’m putting one foot in front of the other as I was taken to one of the many scanning rooms. But this day, it wasn’t just any scanning room. It was THE scanning room. The room where my jelly legs had previously walked to, to be scanned and confirmed that Billy had died. Lying in the same room, looking at the same screen where life was no more, well, there was now another life, another chance of our miracle, moving away, never sitting still for more than a second. The sonographer had a hell of a time, laughing their way through it, telling the baby off. (The same with every single scan after too!!) 

With such precision to check everywhere and everything, and having had a fair few scans, I knew mostly what I was looking at. They asked us if we wanted to know the sex and I told them I was pretty convinced that I knew. “Yes please, but I’m 99% sure that it's a girl!! It's been a completely different pregnancy so far”, but then I soon stopped talking when in between the baby's legs appeared to be what could only be described as, well, a penis. I soon raised my voice and said “well until I saw that!!” The room full of midwives, sonographer and doctor laughed and continued to keep on scanning and measuring. At the end of it, they asked “have you got any questions!?” My husband and I both looked at each other as we knew what each other were thinking… “Yes. Is it a boy!?” They laughed and said, yes, we thought you saw it and knew!! We all fell about laughing and my husband and I were in a very slight giddy and dare I say, slightly disappointed shock. Now disappointed is a very strong word. Which it wasn't, but I think we had both got it in our heads that it WAS a girl and didn't want to compare this baby to Billy if it were a boy. I know finding out the sex isn’t for everyone, but for me personally, it gave me plenty of time to get my head around Billy having a brother and bonding with another son in my tummy. 

The word ‘bonding’ is something that was imperative with this pregnancy and something I’m ashamed to admit at times was harder than others. Billy was made with my eggs. Eggs which were possibly past their best? We’ll never fully truly know. 

We had 2 failed rounds of fresh egg donation transfers before we fell pregnant with this frozen embryo round. But as soon as I knew this incredible baby was growing inside of me, I couldn't shake off at times the jealousy of this wonder woman who gave me this opportunity to be a mum. (I know this must sound absolutely insane right now, but this is a real emotion that I had to get my head around. How another woman was able to give me what I couldn't do. It's an incredible gift, one I have dreamed of for what feels like forever. But one that played on my mind when those pesky hormones were playing havoc in the early stages. Did I love this baby any less, ABSOLUTELY NOT. But did I dislike myself, well, yes, I suppose I did. Even when I was pregnant I felt that ‘failure’ feeling. Sitting here writing this, I’m not sure if I am fully and appropriately getting my point across, but it was a massive part of this pregnancy journey in the beginning, but something that faded away with time, that was until only days after having him, someone actually said the words “i wonder if he looks like her? It broke me.)

At 20 weeks pregnant, we took a short babymoon to Tenerife. We thought that one last break with just the 2 of us before the madness of becoming parents would take over seemed like a good idea. We had only been there for a couple of nights before I started getting a toothache. My tooth had previously cracked when I was pregnant with Billy and now I was pregnant again, it was flaring its ugly head. We managed to get to an emergency dentist out there and they wanted to extract the tooth as it was infected. I cried. I cried a lot. Looking back now, I suppose it was slightly amusing. Due to the language barrier, it meant that the dentist was typing into her phone to translate back and forth to each other so that we could communicate. I was crying that I didn't want any drugs or pain relief that could affect my baby, as I had previously had a stillbirth and this pregnancy was beyond a precious one. I didn't ever want to do anything that could risk my baby. We managed to get some antibiotics with the support of our midwives back home confirming the safety and by the end of the holiday I was a little more comfortable. I was checked by our dentist back home and we agreed to remove the tooth once the baby would arrive safely. But that didn't happen. Fast forward around another 14 weeks later, an abscess “as bad as they get”, so my dentist said, caused mayhem and I had to have my tooth removed, by emergency appointment on the morning that I had my bump pictures taken. Even when I look back at those pictures now, I laugh. For I know that behind those beautiful pictures of my baby boy growing in my tummy, is a woman desperately trying to hide a fat lip and swollen cheek. The motto to this story is that there is most definitely a reason why there is free dental care when you are pregnant!!! 

The thing with this pregnancy that we hadn't planned and hadn't really acknowledged at the time, was that I was only a week out from the dates of Billy's pregnancy. Something that was more poignant and upsetting than I had comprehended when I was turning 25 weeks pregnant just before Billy's date of his stillbirth, the gestation that we lost him. This was an extremely nerve wracking and upsetting time, all those emotions and memories flooding back. Something that eased once we got past that horrible time of the year, but never fully disappeared until the day our new miracle son was here.

I had received a few let's say  ‘thoughtless’ moments, that led to me struggling with my mental health for a little while. My midwife put me in contact with a counsellor and within only a couple of zoom meetings, I soon was able to acknowledge my feelings, control how I react to people's careless actions and words and cope with the consuming fear that played a massive part of it. Loss had taken a lot away from me, out of my control, over many years and my constant worry of losing this baby was at its peak. With every week, every appointment, every scan, every trimester, I relaxed a little more. 

Decorating the nursery was most definitely a turning point. Seeing the room that lets face it, makes it feel ‘oh so real’ coming together was just magical. We went with a baby boy blue colour and rainbows, for our rainbow baby. Through the passing weeks, when I would waddle about and need to rest after making my way to the top of the stairs short of breath, I would go and sit in the rocking chair, holding my baby kicking around in my stomach, pinching myself that I’m one of the lucky infertility warriors. I’ve never underestimated the fact that not every IVF journey creates a baby, it took 8 fertility treatments to reach this outcome. Every baby is special, but I truly believe that IVF babies are extra wanted, extra needed, extra special!

With every day, I would grow more and more in love with this wriggle bum that would never rest from pushing, kicking, and always hiccuping inside of me. The heartburn I experienced was what I can only describe as being a descendant from a dragon! No lie. My supervisor at work knew when I was struggling with it, as I would rest back in my chair, with my head back and my mouth open. Night time was always the worst, lying in bed. On a few occasions, it truly felt like my lungs were on fire. Gaviscon and Rennie would ease it, but never get rid of it, only when I mentioned to my midwife and was prescribed Omeprazole did I feel more comfortable. I feel lucky to say that this, along with swollen hobbit cankles were the only things that I had problems with. 

I was blessed with not just one but two baby showers. After always being invited to baby showers and struggling to come to terms with the fact “will that ever be me!?” I finally got to experience the love and support of this little miracle arriving into the world soon. My work colleagues threw me a surprise shower after my shift at work one day not long before my maternity leave. I had no idea whatsoever until maybe 10 minutes before when everyone became rather sketchy! 

My second shower was when we made a quick visit down home (Devon). With both of these events, we received so much love and support and a crazy amount of presents… our son didn't really need much until he was past 6 months old, as we received an endless amount of gifts from family, friends, fans/supporters of my husband and even our midwives! At first I would always reply, post or share the beautiful gifts, but then they came in so thick and fast I couldn't keep up with them all! We have shared so much of our story and our journey that I believe everyone feels part of it. And they are. 

Whilst visiting Devon, I went to the crematorium. I took my waddling self down to the oak tree to introduce this little man's grandparents to the bump. That was a very surreal moment in time. I'm not one that talks out loud when I visit the crematorium, I usually just stare at the floor and talk to them in my head, but that day, I spoke out loud before I left. With endless tears streaming down my face, I said “I know you're taking care of Billy, but please can I keep this one”. My husband captured the most gorgeous picture of this moment, with me standing under the ancient tree arched over me , with the sunlight piercing through the branches, holding my bump and looking down to the ash scattered grass and soil. 

This day was another one of those moments where you realise the depth of your heartache, jealousy and self pity. I knew I would have to go on with life trying to explain to my son that a huge side of his family are angels in heaven. I would have to watch my husband’s family meet our son, jealous that I can’t introduce mine. (Another sentence that probably sounds a bit dramatic, but until you’ve lost, you wont understand those moments until you are in them.) Hormones play a huge part in feeling overwhelmed by anything and everything and by this stage of the pregnancy I could almost cry on demand! I was an emotional, uncomfortable, waddling mummy-to-be, that nervously awaited the arrival of my new meaning in life and boy, didn't anyone around me know it!!

Still busy off the back of his success on Britain's Got Talent, my husband was (is) up and down the country working hard. The last few scans I was travelling to the hospital on my own and would feel more relaxed with each one, as by now I knew this little fella (the baby that is, not my husband) like clockwork. Gone were the days when I would worry if there was a heartbeat. This baby never stopped. I attended the hospital twice with concerns in those last weeks, due to reduced movements, but both times, he was just likely sleeping. Clearly tiring work using my bladder as a trampoline! 

Every scan showed that this baby was the opposite of his baby brother and was growing so fast, huge and strong that I had to be tested for gestational diabetes. A long morning at the hospital with a blood test, a very sugary drink and sat waiting all morning, to then have another blood test. The result came back negative. He was just a big baby. At one stage he was in the 97th percentile. 

With the realisation of knowing it was nearly time to give birth again came about, so did my anxiety of a stillbirth. The fact that he was absolutely huge helped my case of wanting to be induced. So that's what we planned. I was to be induced at 37 weeks and 4 days.I had a sweep a couple of days before and I was already 1 cm dilated, but nothing got going after it. 

I was packed ready and raring to go the week before and the morning of the induction day, I was up, fed and watered, standing with tear glazed eyes in his nursery watching the sunrise at 5am. It felt like being a child again on Christmas Day, only better. This was the moment it fully dawned on me. I’m going to be a mum. Life is just about to be what I have wished for. A life of meaning. 

We were somehow so relaxed and chilled out. A friend came over to house-sit and look after our dog for us and even he commented that we were so calm! Looking back now, it makes me chuckle because maybe hindsight is a marvellous thing. It's a good job we didn't know then, what we were then in for. I suppose with Billy, I was given medication the day before and a pessary that started things off, followed by another pessary and within 12 hours, he was delivered. I don't know why, but I thought that I had another maybe 12 hours+ ahead of me…I was wrong. 

We were taken to our little room in the induction suite area. (Now this is June 2023. A heatwave.) Boiling hot and pregnant doesn't go together particularly well, but you can't control the weather, so I had purchased a handheld electric fan and fortunately the hospital had a big fan too.

My husband put the TV on and Titanic was just starting. It was on the entire time that I remember not knowing what to do with myself and not having a breather in between contractions. The problem was, I took far too well to the 'propess' pessary medication. I was contracting too much and too often (6 times every 10 minutes), without actually being in labour. After what felt like days (yes, I’m dramatic) but was only a few hours, it was decided to try again tomorrow, however the contractions hung around and gave me a complete sleepless night. Unlike the day before, I did not wake fresh faced and excited, I was now exhausted and dishevelled (something that I’ve been ever since!!!).

We had to wait around until 3pm to be taken to a birthing suite due to staff being needed elsewhere. That morning/afternoon also felt like forever. But once we were taken to the most beautiful room, I was back to feeling calmer. 

After many numerous attempts at finding my vein for my cannula, the anaesthetist was called upon for his expertise and after many attempts again, and feeling like a pin cushion by this point, the line was finally in and this was the start of me noticing my husband looking at me with helpless puppy dog eyes. 

My waters were broken and my medication was working perfectly. The contractions slowly got going and as we watched them coming thick and fast, my ' oxytocin' drip got upped appropriately. I was given the most incredible team of a midwife and trainee midwife. They made me feel so comfortable and we spent the afternoon laughing and playing along with the game shows on the tele. With every initial step they were encouraging me along as I laughed off the first few contractions. Watching them grow over time, they were feeding me confidence that I could do this. Something I needed once the pace sped up and the pain was growing bigger. Before we knew it, their shift was over and we had to say goodbye, but the change in me went too, as by the time they were leaving, the happy go lucky Zoe was fading and the new team of midwives were now greeted by a different woman, one that was in pain and could no longer laugh and concentrate on the game shows on TV, I was now trying my hardest not to scream and shout and was sucking on the gas and air like my life depended on it!! I was getting hot and flustered and this new trainee nurse that had just started her shift kept covering up my modesty with a blanket. Which I kept flinging off in my hot agitated mess I was getting myself in. My husband picked up on my frustration every time she covered me back over and laughed when I blurted out, “it's OK, I used to be a dancer”. Obviously, it came out extremely wrong. What I meant was, I have had many years having to have quick changes and in a dressing room full of half naked women, I'm not phased by my body being on display. (I think having so much IVF treatments and exams also plays a huge part too) Whereas blurting out ‘I used to be a dancer’ probably implied a very different type of ‘dancing’ to what I was referring to. (A story my husband still likes to tell people a year on, so thought I would share it with you too!)

I had initially wanted a water birth, so we ran the bath in the hope that the water would relieve some of the ache and pain, but I couldn't settle my legs in the tub, feeling like I was slipping and I couldn't get my hand in the water because of my cannula. (Looking back now, I've spent endless hours over the years watching one born every minute and most women make it look so easy in there. I looked nothing like that.)

Getting higher and higher on the entonox, and in more and more pain, I was now defeated and was asking the midwife for an epidural. “Nope, you don't need one, you’ve done all the hard work already. It's too late”. To which I replied to my husband's amusement, “ok, I’ll have a c-section then”. Obviously it was too late for that too. But I was no longer thinking clearly and just wanted this baby out. I was pushing with ALL of my might. In my head I could hear the northern midwife on One Born Every Minute yelling ‘push down like you're having a right big poo’. I was pushing and pushing and pushing. My husband was getting told off by the midwife for being so vocal in supporting me and telling me to keep going, reminding him that she’s the one I should be listening to.

The contraction would come and I would push with everything I had, but I just couldn't get my son through that final bend. The heads of everyone in between my legs kept telling me that there was ‘loads of hair on the top of his head’, but I just didn't want to hear it, I wanted them to tell me he was out. I was getting tired but more importantly, so was the baby. He was being forced to come out by being induced and now here I was, getting him stuck. The midwife called in a support team and they watched me contract and push a few more times before they went ahead and got me set up for an episiotomy. A team was set up all around me and the crib and a doctor were on standby should the baby need it. There in between my legs was a doctor giving me a numbing injection, and then scissors cut me open. The yell will stay with me forever… Now, it wasn't my yell…oh no, It was my husband’s. “AUGHHH” Why oh why he looked down there at that specific moment, we will never know, but I was too tired at that moment to care what was happening to my vagina. A suction cap was attached to the top of my son's head and I pushed with my contractions, and within only a couple more, out he came. It was like a scene from the movie Labyrinth, I just remember seeing hands, lots and lots of hands in front of me, hands from every angle, checking over my miracle son who was now on my chest being rubbed and prodded. I'm not entirely sure how long it took for him to cry, but when he did, the relief I felt was like nothing else. And now I got to see what everyone was telling me. He truly did have A LOT of hair!!! 

Whilst the song 'Over the rainbow' was playing in the background, at 00.23am on Thursday 15th June 2023, we finally became parents to a live baby. Teddy William Nickless. The most beautiful and incredible little miracle, I ever did see.

I was shaking by this point. Whether it was the meds, the relief, the shock, the loss of blood, I don't know. But I had to ask my husband to hold my arm up whilst I was having skin on skin mummy time with this incredible bundle of joy I was holding alive in my arms. My husband cut the cord and after I passed my placenta the doctor cleaned and sewed me up. With every stitch, I hoped it would be the last, but then she stitched again, and again, and again and again. I wondered how big the cut was!? Once everyone was happy their job was done, I was left with our midwives and my husband. There in the corner was my ecstatic husband now getting to have a cuddle with his son. His smile was radiating happiness, grinning from ear to ear, looking upon our son and so in love with his baby boy. The midwives were sorting paperwork and clearing up what could only be described as a bit of a bloodbath. They were having to take the blood and measure it as I was close to losing a little too much. All I wanted right now was to get washed up. I had sweated bucket loads in the heatwave, let alone the labour and was in a bit of a state, physically and mentally after what had happened. I nearly fainted getting up, but nobody was stopping me. (I think the trainee midwife was regretting being stuck with me that night right at that moment.) Once I was out of the shower, I literally collapsed back on the bed and don't really remember much else, other than my husband being devastated that he had to leave and couldn't stay with us that night. I think it was around 3am by the time I was taken up to the ward. After catching a few winks of sleep, I kept checking in on Teddy’s cot to make sure he was alive and breathing. Something that I did with Billy over and over too, but he was cold and motionless. Teddy was pink, warm and breathing.

A couple of days after being monitored and making sure Teddy was latching on ok, and we were all home. Our family. Walking out of the same hospital that we left with empty arms last time, but this time watching my husband carry him out to the car. Waddling my way out behind him, in awe of what I was watching, but if only in between my legs I hadn’t had an episiotomy suture, a hematoma, cluster of piles and having had bloodshot eyes from pushing so hard…it could have been the perfect magical moment I had dreamed of!  

Life is hard, parenting is hard, but so are you. It's amazing how resilient you are if you can just put your mind to it. I'm going to be honest now and say that leaving the hospital in my broken shell wasn't the only thing I struggled with. 

As expected, I needed/wanted my parents to share this special gift of life. Being away from home, I also needed my friends. It sounds silly, but just someone to have put the kettle on for me when Teddy was attached to me, or when I was sleep deprived and I couldn’t find the time or energy to take a shower, worrying I couldn't leave him. Well, they say it takes a village to raise a baby, but it took us a village to make one. 

All of a sudden, I felt I couldn't talk about it or admit I was struggling because I had wanted this more than anything. When I tried talking to my midwife I was told it was most likely post natal depression and was put in touch with the mental health team. It was not post natal depression. Teddy’s colic made it all even harder. Us IVF warriors have had our fair share of hormones and IVF treatments over the years, I thought I could handle it, but the hormone crash combined with the exhaustion that felt never ending took its toll. I cried. A LOT. I’ve always been able to talk out, ask for help when I needed it and share my emotions, but for some reason I just couldn't admit I was struggling. I didn't want to be judged after all these years of trying to get exactly what I've got, yet behind closed doors you would have often found me crying. Once Teddy’s colic was under control it was the beginning of a turning point. The fog and tiredness lifted and everything slowly felt less hazy... It's actually crazy to sit and reminisce over this right now as I’m typing it, because it feels like a lifetime ago. It was actually only a small moment in time, but the heaviness of it felt momentous. The exhaustion was real. 

So, I could quite happily type away but this blog would turn into a trilogy of books! I'll leave you with this…

Having always struggled to conceive I have had to unfollow friends and family over the years on social media, because the pain of their beautiful and mostly ever growing families has been too hard to see at times. Especially around the time of losing Billy. I always said to my husband that I will always be considerate and know what it’s like to have to sit back and see endless pictures being posted, wishing that I were them and never knowing if I ever would be. Well. I completely and utterly failed. My social media now pretty much only consists of Teddy!! I am now exactly the same, if not worse, than those I had to unfollow. With every follower I now lose, my heart breaks a little hoping that I didn’t cause them pain, like I knew.

We have just celebrated Teddy’s 1st birthday and I honestly do not know where the time has gone. The problem now is I would have another baby in a heartbeat. I would have one tomorrow if I could! In fact I’ve been having periods for the last 8 months and I was truly hoping we would be that incredible miracle story, you know the one, where the poor woman goes through hell and finally gets pregnant through IVF only to go on and get pregnant naturally straight afterwards. Well, I’m still waiting. I want to be that woman! I was honestly not prepared for the mental acrobatics ahead of me, of trying to come to terms with having a baby and still somehow feeling the envy and jealousy of people who can have sex and get pregnant naturally. I thought that the dreaded green eyed monster inside of me would disappear, but I still physically ache inside when I hear pregnancy announcements. I don’t understand it and I definitely don’t like feeling it. 

Now I get to experience that feeling of being a mother, to give him life, watch him grow, crawl, laugh, stand, wave, talk, sing, dance, learn and play and I know there is still so much more to come. I'm already in awe of his character, persistence, personality, generosity and beauty. This incredible little human I get to call mine. Being his mum is quite literally the best feeling in the whole entire world and I honestly can't imagine my life without him any more, nor do I want to. 

I truly believed that having a baby would heal my broken heart of infertility. But it hasn't. Now I know this feeling of loving so deeply, profoundly and unconditionally, I just want it more! Some of us fertility warriors have embryos waiting in a freezer, not knowing what to do next, but I don’t want to look back one day and say, I wish we tried, if we don’t. Most women can have a baby and say, I would like another, if it happens. But not us infertile's. It costs A LOT of money, effort, time and mental marbles. At the end of the whole process it also isn’t guaranteed to work too. I would do anything to have another Teddy, but should I ?! Could I ?! Will I ?!