When i decided that i was going to write this blog it was originally going to be about my journey through kidney disease as i was still in the early stages. I also was looking forward to getting ready to try for a baby with my partner, we dont have any children yet and our first and only pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 12 weeks. We knew it would be challenging because im 29 and i have a chronic pain condition and diabetes with pretty much every complication going. However having discussed all the risks before my last pregnancy, we felt that we were fully aware of the risks and had decided to give it one more go.
Then i tried to write this blog. I wrote and re-wrote it countless times and yet never published it. I dont know why but it just never seemed right. Now im well known for being a perfectionist and i thought it was my usual ever so unhelpful self doubt kicking in. I also felt like it had to be cheery and nice and seem like i was coping and everything was fine which is yet another brilliant habit of mine, (trainee doctor stabs you in the arm EIGHT times to get blood? Its fine you take your time! You get your hospital appointment letter the day after your appointment? Not to worry il just schedule another one and of course theres the pharmacy cock up that means that the medication you have ordered every month for 2 years isnt in stock and could take a week or two, no problem il just go home and die quietly while i wait.) I am very good at being ‘fine’. Well on the surface at least lol.
Then the world decided that it was fuck with sarah week and suddenly i was so far away from fine i wouldnt be able to spot it with the hubble telescope.
In under a week i was told that the risks of pregnancy are far greater than i realised by two different consultants in two different medical fields. Suddenly rather than talking about any baby of mine being born at 32 weeks they are discussing 22 weeks and 24. I say discussing but i should really say hitting me with a bus full of horrific facts then reversing back over me just to make sure that there isnt a part of brain left that thinks that having a baby is a good idea.
Now im not stupid, i have known all along that there are risks involved with me getting pregnant, both for me and the baby, but hearing it laid bare and to a much greater extent than ever before is a shock.
Which brings me to where i am as i write this, sat in bed at 2.39 in the morning next to my sleeping partner with tears rolling down my face. Wondering if i could live with myself if i didnt try to carry a pregnancy, to give him a son or daughter. Wondering if i should walk away so he has a chance with someone else. Wondering if the risk of dying or going blind or having a still born baby is worth it.
And then comes the second round of mental assault. The risks of having a baby with a disability are high. What kind of selfish cow still wants a baby even when she knows theres a high risk of it living the whole of its life with a disability? Im disabled i know what its like, ive come to terms with my illnesses but to put a child through that when you have known all along its a risk is an entirely different matter. What kind of low life then realizes that the thought of having a disabled child horrifies her?
The same low life whos entire soul breaks into a million pieces at the thought of never holding her child to her chest, never hearing the word ‘mummy’ waking her in the night, never having the first steps or scan photos or wedding videos or mothers day cards…
I feel like i want to get drunk or high. Like i want to kick and scream and bite. I want to sell all my stuff and get on a plane to somewhere, anywhere where nobody knows me. But where would i get my prescriptions, what about my appointments, what about all the people who would worry about me. Then theres the fact that i cant even walk to the bus stop because my legs dont work well, i cant drive because im partially sighted and i dont have a penny to my name because at the moment im not well enough to work so have to rely on benefits that only just cover the bills every month.
Basically i just dont want to be me anymore. I want a beeak, a week where im not calculating insulin doses or phoning to check on an appointment or blood result. Where i can order a salad at a restaurant without looking at it and thinking ‘shit thats a shed load of potassium’. I want to live in a world where the people who get high as a kite every weekend are the people who get cancer. Where its the idiot drivers that die, not the innocent people they crash into. Where being a good person, doing your best and having a heart full of love is all thats needed to adopt a child.
There isnt really anyone who i would choose to talk to about this face to face, im just not that sort of person. I can quite happily discuss facts and blood results and the fact that i will need a transplant one day but it never goes deeper than that. Its just stuff that happenes to me, not stuff that is me. This is why ive decided to put it into a blog. Not for answers, no one has those, and not as a cry for help because i have people around me who help when i need it, but just to have a place where no matter what i say, no matter how ugly or difficult it is, i can be honest. I know that over the next few weeks and months my mood is going to be all over the place and i can cope with that, please dont read more into any of this – there is nothing more to it. Its just one heartbroken, upset woman losing her shit so that she can get it of her chest and move forward.
Also please excuse any mistakes or spelling errors, i wanted this to be a real and accurate blog and as such i have chosen not to edit or review it.