SPD, the bane of my life

How much you pain me,
From the buring pain, to the clicking hips
The weeping eyes, to my horrid sticks,
How much you pain me.

Today I saw the midwife. I am happy to report they are documenting the pain I am in. I didn’t even have to ask. I guess the fact I can’t walk much faster than a snail and the fact I am on crutches gives it away. Unfortauntely, I was told they can’t do anything more than what has been done. They once again told me to discuss my options with Mr H.
Baby is fine, heart beat good and strong, BP fine. I really do not understand how it can be so different from using a machine to doing it manually.
How am I? Truth? Rubbish. Flitting between utmost guilt and despair. I now cry most nights as it is exceptionally painful. When I get up the stairs, generally for a pee, that means I am off to bed. Getting into bed is a pain, getting comfy in bed is a nightmare. Once I am comfy though I dont appear to move around too much, I am thinking it’s because it makes me swear. G is loving the fact I am not thrashing around in bed, I am generally a fitful sleeper, he doesn’t like the reason for me not being able to kick him, thank god, otherwise I may hit him with my crutch.
My walk hasn’t improved, in fact it has got worse. I now shuffle my feet as lifting them too high hurts. This annoys the heck out of me, I hate people dragging their feet.
I feel I am neglecting M, I’m not, but I feel I am by not being able to take him places. Chronic pain is a bitch, and not being able to drive at the moment isn’t helping. I feel a bit trapped. I have done myself a mischief today too by trying to do some washing (we are slowly running out of clean clothes).
The one saving grace is that G has been able to allocate some work to other people which means he has taken M to preschool for me and driven me around everywhere. I am lucky that he is being so supportive, even if occasionally it sets me off crying.
Everyone keeps saying how the end is in sight now, it is, yes. I am not denying that, what people aren’t grasping is that this is going to get worse. As the baby grows and puts extra pressure on my already broken pelvis I am going to become more broken. So yes, it is in sight, but there is also a new level of pain I am going to get aquainted with.
I am fed up. I have so much I want to do and need to do, I hate feeling like a liability. My brain is making me feel awful and rubbish. I can feel myself slipping down into a bit a black whole. Save me?


Something something seven

Um, hello.
It’s morning/afternoon/dinner time.
It my morning, your afternoon, apparently my dinner time.
Last night has made me feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. Makes me wonder whether I’ve gone back too soon?
I am out in the yard tonight, it’s roughly a mile round to do a patrol, so in order to get my exercise in and what not I shall do patrols by foot and not use the van unless it’s an emergency. I will get up and about and use my legs as much as possible. Does that count?
Hmm maybe doing any sort of athon, challenge whilst trying to get over an operation and go back to night shifts/general shift work isn’t totally advisable.
I feel down, weepy and a bit blergh.

Why does it always rain on me

I’m struggling with my mood.
Without going in to too much detail I’m not enjoying work at the moment.
My head has been mangled and as I’ve said many a time I’m a worrier and an over thinker.
I’m struggling to be positive or to look for positives.
I’m tired.
I’m paranoid.
The cracks in the smile are getting bigger.
The time between tears is getting smaller.
I’m struggling and I don’t really know what to do.
I’m not depressed per say, just feeling a bit lost.


Trying… to attempt to do something.

I am attempting to get us organised. I am attempting to appear organised.

I am attempting to go an entire day without crying. So far, so good.

I have managed to send emails, and invoices and general business stuff. This really doesn’t require much effort does it? I mean, I sit in front of the laptop and I type niceties about Christmas fast approaching and what not. I come across cheery in my e-mails. Job done.

I have managed to go through the diary and prioritise what is important and needs my immediate attention.

I have cleaned the bathroom, I have washed, dressed and fed M.

I have put the bins out.

I am now having a cup of tea. I am trying to be normal. I am trying to be Emily. I am trying to be Emily before loosing my baby. I am trying to be Emily before the nightmares. I am trying to be Emily.

I am not doing a very good job as far as I am concerned.

I am fearful the OH is getting tired of my crying, this probably isn’t the case but I am fearful non the less.

I told him I wanted to start my exercise now. I need to do something, he told me not yet. He told me I need to allow my body to heal physically, but what if my mental well being needs it?

If I listen to my body, I know the OH is right.  I know I need to hold out a bit longer.

I had an email today, you know those types of emails you sign up to when you’re all joyous and excited about becoming a mum again, the type of ‘You’re baby is currently the size of *insert fruit*’

It was a kick in the gut. It was a reminder that I didn’t need. I know I am not carrying a child anymore, I have never felt so empty. The sickness has gone, the nice heavy feeling of my uterus has gone. It’s all gone. I am trying. I really am trying. I am going to have to see people on Saturday when I go to work, and then on Sunday when I partake on a course I agreed to do ages ago. I am going to have to see people and laugh and pretend everything is a okay when we go to a Christmas party. I can’t exactly open with… ‘Oh me? Oh, yes I am fine, had a miscarriage the other week but yup, fine and bloody dandy here’. Doesn’t befit social convention.

I have a few friends I have told, some have responded by showing me utmost love and patience and genuine loving concern, then there are the few that appear to be treating me like a leaper. I suppose it’s the not knowing what to say that makes people act this way. It’s a shame that miscarriage isn’t a very spoken about subject, it’s no wonder you feel crushingly alone at times when you don’t even think it’s okay to broach the subject in an open way.

Anyways, I am trying. Trying hard. Too hard? Possibly… Only time will tell.


Exhausted. That’s right. On my second or third wind now. Awake for 23 hours working.
Slept for an hour, took other half to work.
Slept for another hour.
Got myself and M ready.
Took him to mums.
Picked M up.
Getting M ready for bed.
Pick other half up.
Put M to bed.
Shower, get ready for work.
Urgh! And I’m supposed to try and find time to not collapse in an exhausted heap and motivate myself to keep going. I tell you something for nothing now (that’s very welsh of me!) I almost threw it all down the pan today. I almost said “*^%# it!” I didn’t. Nor will I give up. My little sister came to my rescue and showed me my photos and told me to really look, told me not to throw it away, I’m doing well.
This week has been a big bloody write off really. Between being ill and my crazy work schedule. I’m also expecting to loose weight over night, my expectations suddenly became unrealistic. Must keep focused. Must keep my head in the game. Loosing inches and loosing weight is best done at a steady pace so I can maintain it.
This positive attitude to it all is so hard I bloody maintain sometimes! Argh! I’m fat and I don’t want to be. I want to wave a magic wand and it all be done. Why is it such hard work and why is life getting in the way?!?
On the plus though, my photos have inspired two people in work, I’m buying a copy of 30 day shred for them. They think I’ve done fab, as do many people, why am I failing to see it? Body dis-morphia? But that’s a whole can of worms I won’t open yet.