Tonight I read something that has moved me to write this post. I am absolutely fuming and I'll explain why in a bit. First, some background.
I've had a molar pregnancy (read back or google to find out what that is). I had believed myself, and wanted to be pregnant, experienced all the symptoms of a "normal" pregnancy and was devastated to find that I was not growing a baby but a pre-cancerous tumour.
For a very brief while I was quite upset at the idea of other women being pregnant with real babies and then choosing to terminate these pregnancies.
Like I say, it was a short while. Because whatever shit thing has happened to me, it has NOTHING to do with anyone else's choices. Any other women keeping or not keeping a pregnancy has no bearing on whether the baby I had planned for would be here or not. Their bodies, their choices.
The backdrop of my own personal fertility problems is the ongoing international (or is it just the US and UK?) backlash against abortion rights. It feels like every single day I read some ridiculous piece of news coming from Nadine Dorries, Personhood laws in Virginia and transvaginal probes in whatever bloody state has decided women need to be humiliated because they are pregnant and do not want to be. Or cannot be...
Yes, women will find themselves pregnant after having unprotected sex. So what? Isn't it better that a cluster of cells can be removed instead of coming into the world unwanted or into difficult circumstances? I don't know the "reasons" why most abortions take place and I don't care. But this section from this article in the Guardian today has brought me nearly to tears.
Here it is:
...the female representative of SPUC said: "The link with breast cancer is because if a woman has an abortion, particularly in her first pregnancy, changes have to take place in her breasts.
"If during that pregnancy she has an abortion … then it can leave those cells in the breasts in a kind of half-changed state and statistically, that increases her risk of developing breast cancer later on in life."
THIS IS NOT TRUE.
Part of the problem with my pregnancy, and this was my first pregnancy, was that the tumour produces huge levels of the pregnancy hormone human chorionic gonadatrophin (HCG). This is the hormone that makes you feel sick, tired and...makes your breasts bigger. Mine got pretty bloody big, let me tell you. I had an operation to remove the tumour (more of which later) and one of the signs my health was improving was that my breasts went down. I find it more than offensive that SPUC suggests that this procedure could cause me to get breast cancer. It could have saved my life. (Should the tumour have been untreated I may have miscarried it normally but that may not have happened potentially leading to an infection and you can do the rest).
That's just my personal situation.
Let's think about the wider picture. Did you know that one in four of every pregnancies end in miscarriage?
Some of these miscarriages will be the embryo/foetus spontaneously leaving the mother's body. But for many women, the foetus' death will only be discovered at an ultrasound scan (this is what happened to me). Not only do you have the horror of learning that the baby you have believed yourself to be growing, talking to and planning for has died, you now have to do something about it. There are two routes: medical management or surgical evacuation. And whatever the situation, these women will have had pregnancy symptoms and hormones which SPUC are suggesting gives you breast cancer.
Then there are the women who will learn at some point during their pregnancy that there is something wrong with the foetus, that it would never live outside their body, or the many other reasons why women end up having terminations of pregnancy.
What would SPUC have us do?
Not every single pregnancy is viable just as not every single pregnancy is wanted. SPUC and their compatriots would do well to remember that they are talking about ALL women when they make up these lies. There are many many of us out there who have had these procedures from medical necessity AND through choice. All are equally valid and none of us will accept the blame should we develop breast cancer later on in life.
Friday, 23 March 2012
Thursday, 9 February 2012
Being equal to something
A little while ago, well, probably 15 years or something, I read a Barbara Vine book called "The House of Stairs". I was probably too young to really understand it properly but there was a character called Bell in it and she was a bit of a funny one. When someone asked her to do something she didn't want to do she'd say, "I don't think I'd be equal to that". Other characters muse on what a funny expression it is but I think it makes perfect sense.
This probably won't be a nice post to read, nor to write, but I want to. Last night, after visiting the hospital I was very tired and scared and got very very upset. I had decided last week that I didn't think I'd be equal to having chemotherapy* and last night I talked about that with my partner. Well, I say "talked", it was more like bawling and wailing so hard I couldn't breathe. It was not the happiest hour of our relationship.
I felt that I simply couldn't face it. I'd had enough already. I was sick of having blood taken, and simply knowing about it all. I didn't ask for any of this. I just wanted what everyone else seems to have easily (and I know it's never that simple, but that's how it feels). It's terrifying to have the various chemotherapy drugs explained to you, terrifying to be told that if you need to be admitted you go in the very day they decide you should be. It feels that there should be another way - is there nothing *I* can do to help myself? Nothing herbal, holistic, meditative? It feels there should be an alternative.
There's so little choice too. It's just taken for granted that of course you'd be willing to go into hospital and endure the treatment. Why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you want to be well?
But it's not about that. It's about being equal to something. Being able to willingly submit yourself to the treatment regime. Willingly submit yourself to what someone else is telling you is good for you, when every part of you is screaming that it can't be. And again, the unfairness of it, that I just wanted what everyone else has comes back to taunt me.
So I decided I wouldn't. If they called me, I wouldn't go. I'd give it a week or two, more than is advised, then maybe I'd go in. Or I'd run away somewhere, to avoid the calls and letters, friends and family telling me, it's for your own good.
What about me? What about what I want? What about what I wanted? It's impossible not to keep coming back to this thing, to scream it, cry it out...All I wanted was a baby. Just one. I've never wanted three or four. Just one, to be my child, to raise, to love.
It was a hard night.
It was a night of processing all the information outside of myself, because to try to do it inside myself would be impossible. And I think, I hope, that perhaps now I might be equal to it. I am full of the most admiration for women that have gone through it. I can't imagine myself ever being so brave, so strong. And if I get that call, perhaps I will pack a bag and run away. I'm not saying I won't. But maybe it won't be the first thing I do.
*NB I am in the early stages of follow-up and so far the results do not suggest I will need to have further treatment. However, this is beyond my control and subject to the results of the fortnightly blood tests I will have until my HCG level reaches zero.
This probably won't be a nice post to read, nor to write, but I want to. Last night, after visiting the hospital I was very tired and scared and got very very upset. I had decided last week that I didn't think I'd be equal to having chemotherapy* and last night I talked about that with my partner. Well, I say "talked", it was more like bawling and wailing so hard I couldn't breathe. It was not the happiest hour of our relationship.
I felt that I simply couldn't face it. I'd had enough already. I was sick of having blood taken, and simply knowing about it all. I didn't ask for any of this. I just wanted what everyone else seems to have easily (and I know it's never that simple, but that's how it feels). It's terrifying to have the various chemotherapy drugs explained to you, terrifying to be told that if you need to be admitted you go in the very day they decide you should be. It feels that there should be another way - is there nothing *I* can do to help myself? Nothing herbal, holistic, meditative? It feels there should be an alternative.
There's so little choice too. It's just taken for granted that of course you'd be willing to go into hospital and endure the treatment. Why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't you want to be well?
But it's not about that. It's about being equal to something. Being able to willingly submit yourself to the treatment regime. Willingly submit yourself to what someone else is telling you is good for you, when every part of you is screaming that it can't be. And again, the unfairness of it, that I just wanted what everyone else has comes back to taunt me.
So I decided I wouldn't. If they called me, I wouldn't go. I'd give it a week or two, more than is advised, then maybe I'd go in. Or I'd run away somewhere, to avoid the calls and letters, friends and family telling me, it's for your own good.
What about me? What about what I want? What about what I wanted? It's impossible not to keep coming back to this thing, to scream it, cry it out...All I wanted was a baby. Just one. I've never wanted three or four. Just one, to be my child, to raise, to love.
It was a hard night.
It was a night of processing all the information outside of myself, because to try to do it inside myself would be impossible. And I think, I hope, that perhaps now I might be equal to it. I am full of the most admiration for women that have gone through it. I can't imagine myself ever being so brave, so strong. And if I get that call, perhaps I will pack a bag and run away. I'm not saying I won't. But maybe it won't be the first thing I do.
*NB I am in the early stages of follow-up and so far the results do not suggest I will need to have further treatment. However, this is beyond my control and subject to the results of the fortnightly blood tests I will have until my HCG level reaches zero.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Kind Internet Peepul
This post is very nice. It's heart-warming and cheering.
It's about me, and my boyfriend. Nice, eh?
And I'd just like to say how lovely everyone I know on the internet has been since I was diagnosed. The support has meant so much.
I particularly like how traditional methods of communication - the post - and totally contemporary ones - Twitter, Facebook and Livejournal combine in such a way that most of my (handful) of cards are from friends I've made on the internet. There's lovely, non?
I think I'll leave it there. Maybe come back later when I'm not thinking about the Phish Food in my freezer.
It's about me, and my boyfriend. Nice, eh?
And I'd just like to say how lovely everyone I know on the internet has been since I was diagnosed. The support has meant so much.
I particularly like how traditional methods of communication - the post - and totally contemporary ones - Twitter, Facebook and Livejournal combine in such a way that most of my (handful) of cards are from friends I've made on the internet. There's lovely, non?
I think I'll leave it there. Maybe come back later when I'm not thinking about the Phish Food in my freezer.
Saturday, 28 January 2012
Grief, loss, health and sadness
I'm not sure where this post is going to end up, but I want to write about what's in my head.
I am now two weeks post molar pregnancy diagnosis. This time two weeks ago, I think I was in bed, fully dressed under the covers, with my partner, crying my eyes out because I was terrified of having a general anaesthetic and an operation up my lady-bits.
Things have moved on since then and I've observed a few things about what has happened to me and the effect it has on other people.
When you lose something, when you are grieving, when you are ill people really *really* want you to be ok. To the extent that they don't really want what is happening, to be happening.
Those of you reading who have lost, been ill or been very sad will know that feeling when you realise "I have to experience Every. Single. Second. of this."
There's no running forward to the "nice bit" when you're "over it", or "better" or this is a "distant memory". This is happening to me, right now. It's difficult, painful, hard and there's no getting away from it. I wake up thinking about what happened, what is happening, and what may happen. That's a constant record playing in my head. I can't switch it off, sometimes I want to, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I can think "this has happened to me, I'm dealing with it, I'm ok." Other times I think, "THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ME! ME! Boring old me, who nothing of any consequence ever happens to! How did this happen? Why me?" And that goes on and on and on in my head for a long time.
No one can answer that question. No one can make it better, or take it away, or change it, or pull me through it so I don't notice it's happening. No one can do that. I just have to grind through every single second, of every single day until one day I wake up and can think about something else before I think about how I am going to get through the day dealing with the many things that are happening to me because I had a molar pregnancy.
But oh, people wish so hard they could make it better, take it away or change it. They wish so hard, and you have to be thankful that they're trying.
And yet, and yet. I don't want to be thankful. I don't want to be thankful to the GP telling me that this will be a distant memory in six months' time. Because she doesn't know, does she? She can't predict the future. No one can, and these circumstances are so awkward, so strange that no one knows what will happen. My levels may drop, drop, drop then plateau or even rise. And that means I will have to have chemotherapy. No one can give me a timescale, no one can tell me what will happen. No one can tell me what to do to make things go right. Because nothing can. I just have to sit it out and hope for the best. So trying to tell me that it's all going to be ok seems rather...ignorant. Unhelpful. Pointless. Insulting. Offensive.
Then there's the "it could be so much worse" camp. You know "At least you haven't lost a leg in a landmine!" "At least your partner doesn't beat you up!" "At least you have a house and a car and a job!" And you know what? I'm eternally grateful every single day of my life that I live where I live, that I'm from the cultural background I'm from, that I have the education I had, that my life is charmed, basically. I'm probably more grateful than most people because a large part of my life is dedicated to raising awareness of the people for whom struggle, abuse and brutality is daily business. But you know what? This is happening to me, right now. And I'm sorry that other people have harder lives, I am. But this is the hardest my life has ever been and I'm trying to deal with it, second by second. Making me feel guilty for finding it hard...doesn't help.
Finally, there's the "think positive" crowd. Don't think about the "bad" things that could happen. Focus on the good stuff! Keep smiling!
I don't much feel like smiling to order today. Strangely, I never did. And I really don't feel like smiling to make other people feel better about what is happening to me. It doesn't help, it just makes that shard of bitterness inside me get an inch bigger, every time.
Sometimes I don't feel like being brave, or strong. I don't feel either of those things right now. I wish this had never happened to me, and it has. I wish I could go away for a long time and come back and it was all over and my life was different and better. Or I wish I could swap with someone else for a day or two, then come back and get stuck in. But I can't, I just have to keep going.
I'll deal with this my way, and that's allowed. So if someone wants to tell me to "keep smiling" I'll have to point out, right now - I haven't got much I feel like smiling about. If I want to be scared about the possibilities of chemotherapy, or never being able to have children in the future, I'll be scared about that, thanks. And it's sad, but a fact, that nobody can do or say anything at all to make it go away.
I am now two weeks post molar pregnancy diagnosis. This time two weeks ago, I think I was in bed, fully dressed under the covers, with my partner, crying my eyes out because I was terrified of having a general anaesthetic and an operation up my lady-bits.
Things have moved on since then and I've observed a few things about what has happened to me and the effect it has on other people.
When you lose something, when you are grieving, when you are ill people really *really* want you to be ok. To the extent that they don't really want what is happening, to be happening.
Those of you reading who have lost, been ill or been very sad will know that feeling when you realise "I have to experience Every. Single. Second. of this."
There's no running forward to the "nice bit" when you're "over it", or "better" or this is a "distant memory". This is happening to me, right now. It's difficult, painful, hard and there's no getting away from it. I wake up thinking about what happened, what is happening, and what may happen. That's a constant record playing in my head. I can't switch it off, sometimes I want to, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I can think "this has happened to me, I'm dealing with it, I'm ok." Other times I think, "THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ME! ME! Boring old me, who nothing of any consequence ever happens to! How did this happen? Why me?" And that goes on and on and on in my head for a long time.
No one can answer that question. No one can make it better, or take it away, or change it, or pull me through it so I don't notice it's happening. No one can do that. I just have to grind through every single second, of every single day until one day I wake up and can think about something else before I think about how I am going to get through the day dealing with the many things that are happening to me because I had a molar pregnancy.
But oh, people wish so hard they could make it better, take it away or change it. They wish so hard, and you have to be thankful that they're trying.
And yet, and yet. I don't want to be thankful. I don't want to be thankful to the GP telling me that this will be a distant memory in six months' time. Because she doesn't know, does she? She can't predict the future. No one can, and these circumstances are so awkward, so strange that no one knows what will happen. My levels may drop, drop, drop then plateau or even rise. And that means I will have to have chemotherapy. No one can give me a timescale, no one can tell me what will happen. No one can tell me what to do to make things go right. Because nothing can. I just have to sit it out and hope for the best. So trying to tell me that it's all going to be ok seems rather...ignorant. Unhelpful. Pointless. Insulting. Offensive.
Then there's the "it could be so much worse" camp. You know "At least you haven't lost a leg in a landmine!" "At least your partner doesn't beat you up!" "At least you have a house and a car and a job!" And you know what? I'm eternally grateful every single day of my life that I live where I live, that I'm from the cultural background I'm from, that I have the education I had, that my life is charmed, basically. I'm probably more grateful than most people because a large part of my life is dedicated to raising awareness of the people for whom struggle, abuse and brutality is daily business. But you know what? This is happening to me, right now. And I'm sorry that other people have harder lives, I am. But this is the hardest my life has ever been and I'm trying to deal with it, second by second. Making me feel guilty for finding it hard...doesn't help.
Finally, there's the "think positive" crowd. Don't think about the "bad" things that could happen. Focus on the good stuff! Keep smiling!
I don't much feel like smiling to order today. Strangely, I never did. And I really don't feel like smiling to make other people feel better about what is happening to me. It doesn't help, it just makes that shard of bitterness inside me get an inch bigger, every time.
Sometimes I don't feel like being brave, or strong. I don't feel either of those things right now. I wish this had never happened to me, and it has. I wish I could go away for a long time and come back and it was all over and my life was different and better. Or I wish I could swap with someone else for a day or two, then come back and get stuck in. But I can't, I just have to keep going.
I'll deal with this my way, and that's allowed. So if someone wants to tell me to "keep smiling" I'll have to point out, right now - I haven't got much I feel like smiling about. If I want to be scared about the possibilities of chemotherapy, or never being able to have children in the future, I'll be scared about that, thanks. And it's sad, but a fact, that nobody can do or say anything at all to make it go away.
Thursday, 26 January 2012
The to and the fro
After a molar pregnancy, you have to have your levels of HcG monitored to ensure that they fall to 0. If they don't fall to 0, this can mean there is tissue remaining in your body which is still producing the hormone and it shouldn't.
As this is such a rare condition there are only three centres in the country dealing with the monitoring. It's not done at your local hospital so the process is supposed to be that once your hospital thinks that's what you have, they check your histology/pathology, and then send the, er, samples, on to the centre for further checking, confirmation and follow up.
Charing Cross then take over your monitoring and post you out vials which you take to your GP who take your blood which you then post back to CX. They then analyse your blood for HCG and you can call and find out what you levels are. Your levels have to go down and if they don't, I believe you're then admitted to CX to start chemo.
As this is such a rare condition there are only three centres in the country dealing with the monitoring. It's not done at your local hospital so the process is supposed to be that once your hospital thinks that's what you have, they check your histology/pathology, and then send the, er, samples, on to the centre for further checking, confirmation and follow up.
Charing Cross then take over your monitoring and post you out vials which you take to your GP who take your blood which you then post back to CX. They then analyse your blood for HCG and you can call and find out what you levels are. Your levels have to go down and if they don't, I believe you're then admitted to CX to start chemo.
Wednesday, 25 January 2012
Where I am today
Had follow-up with consultant/registrar today.
I'd called the office on Monday, as instructed when I left hospital last week to make sure I was in the system. The secretary was appallingly rude to me and made me cry A LOT. I was so distressed my partner (usually extremely mild-mannered) called her back to tell her off. She said that the consultant didn't deal with molar pregnancies and asked me where I got the number. I found this deeply offensive, as if I'd looked for gynaecologists in the Yellow Pages and decided to take a punt. She also took my phone number down wrong (only the first eight digits) and I had to force her to take it down properly. When she called me back she said, "Sorry we got off on the wrong foot" as if I'd started it, or been rude to her in any way. In reality, I just didn't want to be spoken to like I was a piece of shit on her shoe.
I don't like going to the doctor or having to deal with medical stuff at the best of time so I had a lot of concerns before the appointment. Waiting for an hour didn't help my nerves much either. In the event, I saw the registrar, who was actually very kind.
I've done a lot of research myself, so she didn't tell me much I didn't already know, although I did learn that my pre-op HCG levels were over 400,000 which is extremely high. No wonder I felt so incredibly ill all the time. I also told her that the secretary had been horrible to me and she apologised, and said it was my right to phone and ask questions.
Apparently, the referral to Charing Cross was made on the 19th, but CX hadn't heard of me on the 23rd so I've asked them if they've received the referral and hope to hear from them tomorrow. If not, it's back on the phone to Ms Stroppy-Pants. I hope the referral has arrived!
Am mainly hoping that my levels go down, down, down steadily as I obviously really don't want to end up having chemotherapy.
Yesterday was a pretty bad day. I went out for brunch with a friend which was lovely, but I felt so tired after. As I'd napped the day before, then slept badly at night, I didn't nap which meant I was so tired and feeling fragile. I was tired of it all, and just wanted to hide away somewhere until it went away. I still feel a bit like that, but I suppose it's not a realistic option. So just trying to stay calm and hoping so hard the levels go down quickly on their own. GP on Friday for the follow-up there as they're the ones that should be doing the blood tests. I've put together a "pack" of information for the GP, with a letter from me with the latest details, the discharge letter from the hospital and a leaflet from The Miscarriage Association about Molar Pregnancy as apparently lots of doctors have never heard of it. See? Tiring. Doing the thinking for everyone else.
I'd called the office on Monday, as instructed when I left hospital last week to make sure I was in the system. The secretary was appallingly rude to me and made me cry A LOT. I was so distressed my partner (usually extremely mild-mannered) called her back to tell her off. She said that the consultant didn't deal with molar pregnancies and asked me where I got the number. I found this deeply offensive, as if I'd looked for gynaecologists in the Yellow Pages and decided to take a punt. She also took my phone number down wrong (only the first eight digits) and I had to force her to take it down properly. When she called me back she said, "Sorry we got off on the wrong foot" as if I'd started it, or been rude to her in any way. In reality, I just didn't want to be spoken to like I was a piece of shit on her shoe.
I don't like going to the doctor or having to deal with medical stuff at the best of time so I had a lot of concerns before the appointment. Waiting for an hour didn't help my nerves much either. In the event, I saw the registrar, who was actually very kind.
I've done a lot of research myself, so she didn't tell me much I didn't already know, although I did learn that my pre-op HCG levels were over 400,000 which is extremely high. No wonder I felt so incredibly ill all the time. I also told her that the secretary had been horrible to me and she apologised, and said it was my right to phone and ask questions.
Apparently, the referral to Charing Cross was made on the 19th, but CX hadn't heard of me on the 23rd so I've asked them if they've received the referral and hope to hear from them tomorrow. If not, it's back on the phone to Ms Stroppy-Pants. I hope the referral has arrived!
Am mainly hoping that my levels go down, down, down steadily as I obviously really don't want to end up having chemotherapy.
Yesterday was a pretty bad day. I went out for brunch with a friend which was lovely, but I felt so tired after. As I'd napped the day before, then slept badly at night, I didn't nap which meant I was so tired and feeling fragile. I was tired of it all, and just wanted to hide away somewhere until it went away. I still feel a bit like that, but I suppose it's not a realistic option. So just trying to stay calm and hoping so hard the levels go down quickly on their own. GP on Friday for the follow-up there as they're the ones that should be doing the blood tests. I've put together a "pack" of information for the GP, with a letter from me with the latest details, the discharge letter from the hospital and a leaflet from The Miscarriage Association about Molar Pregnancy as apparently lots of doctors have never heard of it. See? Tiring. Doing the thinking for everyone else.
Sunday, 22 January 2012
New Year
So far, 2012 has been pretty shit. I've felt so horribly ill with severe pregnancy symptoms (although not vomiting) and then we get to Saturday the 14th and the horrible news about having a molar pregnancy. And then going to hospital, starting a miscarriage, having the D&C operation, having tachycardia and a temperature after, staying in instead of going home. FINALLY getting home and all the things that have happened since then. This was a week ago.
Then there are the things I was expecting to happen in 2012. I was finally going to be a mummy, and have a little baby of my own to love and look after. At Christmas I hugged my secret to me and thought about having my baby to play with and entertain my family that time next year. Couldn't wait.
It didn't really matter that there was going to be huge upheaval at work, I wasn't going to be there for long and when I did come back, things would've settled down and hey, I was going to have a baby. That would be my main focus.
And tomorrow is Chinese New Year, and I think I'd like to start 2012 again. Well, not again, but necessarily with a completely different mindset. Lots of things aren't going to happen now, and lots of things are, which I will have to deal with properly.
What's on my mind today is that I will probably be going to hospital a lot and keeping my fingers tightly crossed that my levels of the pregnancy hormone drop through the floor. If they don't, I'll have to have chemotherapy. Which is really frightening, but I'll cross that bridge, if and when I come to it. I sincerely hope I fly down the motorway right past the chemotherapy bridge! But, if I have to do it, I'll have to do it. I've got to face it all and face it down.
It's the year of the dragon, which inspires me a lot. I'm glad it's not the year of the rooster which it was the year I was born!
I like dragons. I like them for lots of reasons. They breathe fire, they can spread their huge wings and fly away from danger and trouble. Or, they can fly towards it, knowing they have the tools to protect themselves and others. Strong women are often called dragons, for saying what they want, what they expect and for not being afraid to be their real, powerful selves.
It's not going to be an easy year, I have so much in front of me, but I'm going to do my best. And be a dragon.
Then there are the things I was expecting to happen in 2012. I was finally going to be a mummy, and have a little baby of my own to love and look after. At Christmas I hugged my secret to me and thought about having my baby to play with and entertain my family that time next year. Couldn't wait.
It didn't really matter that there was going to be huge upheaval at work, I wasn't going to be there for long and when I did come back, things would've settled down and hey, I was going to have a baby. That would be my main focus.
And tomorrow is Chinese New Year, and I think I'd like to start 2012 again. Well, not again, but necessarily with a completely different mindset. Lots of things aren't going to happen now, and lots of things are, which I will have to deal with properly.
What's on my mind today is that I will probably be going to hospital a lot and keeping my fingers tightly crossed that my levels of the pregnancy hormone drop through the floor. If they don't, I'll have to have chemotherapy. Which is really frightening, but I'll cross that bridge, if and when I come to it. I sincerely hope I fly down the motorway right past the chemotherapy bridge! But, if I have to do it, I'll have to do it. I've got to face it all and face it down.
It's the year of the dragon, which inspires me a lot. I'm glad it's not the year of the rooster which it was the year I was born!
I like dragons. I like them for lots of reasons. They breathe fire, they can spread their huge wings and fly away from danger and trouble. Or, they can fly towards it, knowing they have the tools to protect themselves and others. Strong women are often called dragons, for saying what they want, what they expect and for not being afraid to be their real, powerful selves.
It's not going to be an easy year, I have so much in front of me, but I'm going to do my best. And be a dragon.
Friday, 20 January 2012
Recovery - Monday pm
I was aware of having vague dreams about people from work and then came too properly. It was 5.45 so I'd been under about half an hour, if that.
There was a nurse on either side of me and one was holding my hand. They were called Vicky and Amy. Now, I've never been to a spa, but I don't know why you'd pay lots of money for that when you can just have an operation and have a lovely time in recovery. It is AMAZING.
I think I said I'd been dreaming about work, and one of the nurses said something about having time off and I said "Too right, I'm going to sit on my fucking sofa" (when I told my mum this she told me off for swearing. But I was on drugs!!)
I probably dozed off for a bit as the anaesthetic man came and said hello and I said I was ok. Then the surgeon came and said it all went well and I said, "No holes or haemorrages?" and she said no. Wow, bad luck really does have a limit!
So I was just lying on my back, holding hands with the nurse with a blood pressure thing on my right arm going off every few minutes.
Then I said I was cold so they told me to put my hands inside the covers and I said, "But I won't be able to hold your hand then." and they said I'd be warmer, so I did.
My left hand was hurting with the canula so I was saying how much that was hurting, and probably because it was closer to my brain. I think I asked what painkillers I'd had and they said I'd had paracetamol, codeine, diclofenac and fentamil. Fentamil is synthetic morphine. I asked what morphine was made of and they said poppies which I did know. Duh.
I asked for more painkillers because I could feel my tummy and they put it in the back of my hand. I just chatted randomly with one of the nurses and complained about the canula and about being cold. I ended up with three blankets tucked up round my shoulder and I got them to rearrange the blood pressure cuff because it was pressing on the bruise from where I'd had the blood taken before. I also kept asking for water because I was bloody thirsty and knew I needed to wee before they'd let me go home. Always thinking ahead, me. ;)
So eventually, I went back to my bay.
There was a nurse on either side of me and one was holding my hand. They were called Vicky and Amy. Now, I've never been to a spa, but I don't know why you'd pay lots of money for that when you can just have an operation and have a lovely time in recovery. It is AMAZING.
I think I said I'd been dreaming about work, and one of the nurses said something about having time off and I said "Too right, I'm going to sit on my fucking sofa" (when I told my mum this she told me off for swearing. But I was on drugs!!)
I probably dozed off for a bit as the anaesthetic man came and said hello and I said I was ok. Then the surgeon came and said it all went well and I said, "No holes or haemorrages?" and she said no. Wow, bad luck really does have a limit!
So I was just lying on my back, holding hands with the nurse with a blood pressure thing on my right arm going off every few minutes.
Then I said I was cold so they told me to put my hands inside the covers and I said, "But I won't be able to hold your hand then." and they said I'd be warmer, so I did.
My left hand was hurting with the canula so I was saying how much that was hurting, and probably because it was closer to my brain. I think I asked what painkillers I'd had and they said I'd had paracetamol, codeine, diclofenac and fentamil. Fentamil is synthetic morphine. I asked what morphine was made of and they said poppies which I did know. Duh.
I asked for more painkillers because I could feel my tummy and they put it in the back of my hand. I just chatted randomly with one of the nurses and complained about the canula and about being cold. I ended up with three blankets tucked up round my shoulder and I got them to rearrange the blood pressure cuff because it was pressing on the bruise from where I'd had the blood taken before. I also kept asking for water because I was bloody thirsty and knew I needed to wee before they'd let me go home. Always thinking ahead, me. ;)
So eventually, I went back to my bay.
Monday - continued
After the blood tests the midwife said we should go home for a couple of hours and return to the ward at half twelve. Unfortunately the hospital and our house are on completely the opposite sides of the city with a lot of traffic inbetween. Fortunately, my lovely brother and his family live close to the hospital. I texted my brother asking if we'd be able to come round and he jumped straight in the car. I have a wonderful family. :)
So he picked us up and took us back to his for an hour and a half. I was in a lot of pain, but the paracetamol kicked in and I just lay on their sofa and chatted while Rob played with our nephew. It really really helped us both feel a lot better to get out of the hospital, see people who know and care about us and see the baby. I feel a bit strange about babies at the moment but I just don't think about it too much and it's ok.
At 12.10 my brother took us back to the ward. It's a big, separate unit so we walked down to the day case section. It's a bit of a funny set up really as there's a waiting area in the ward where we waited for an hour, with women coming back from surgery, going and coming back from meetings with the anaesthetists and all sorts. I had the most stuff! Haha.
I had a quick meeting with a nurse where she gave me my identity bracelets - I had my own barcode! - and took my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. The machines kept breaking down so it took longer than it should and we had to go to the canteeny bit as there were no private meeting rooms. I felt quite calm at this point and the nurse was brisk but kind.
Back to waiting waiting waiting. We spoke briefly with a couple of the other women who explained that it was really busy, and a woman who'd had her operation came to sit with us as she was being discharged and they needed the bed so badly she had to finish recovering in the waiting area! I was partly horrified, but partly glad that you *could* recover like this, if you see what I mean. It was all a bit hectic.
Then I heard my name mentioned, probably about 2pm or half two, so we'd been waiting at least and hour and a half. A brisk HCA (old auxiliary nurse?) came and took me to a two-bed bay, made up a bed and told me to put a gown on. Things were happening. Then a surgeon came in, who I'm sure said she was called Dr Fookay. Anyway, she went through what was going to happen very quickly so we had to ask her to repeat herself and she slowed down. With the problem I had there was more of a chance of a haemorrage, so I was more likely to need a blood transfusion, and more liking to have a perforation requiring a laparascopy and laparotomy which would involve going through my bellybutton to stitch it, or through my stomach. So I could wake up with holes in me and a transfusion going through. I was feeling pretty unlucky so I said I supposed that would happen. So then I had to sign saying I understood what was happening. I was a bit disappointed that Mr Smith (the consultant we met briefly on Saturday) wouldn't be doing the operation as I'd been added to the list but at that point I didn't really care enough to say anything.
The surgeon left and the HCA returned, realised that the bed wasn't suitable for surgery so I was moved to the other one. I put my dressing gown over the hospital gown and kept my tracksuit bottoms and socks on. So we returned to waiting...
All day I was texting, tweeting and playing scrabble with people which really helped.
I think at about 3pm the pain started up again, really bad. I was crying and groaning and Rob was amazing, rubbing my back and helping me through it. My bed bay was opposite the front doors to the ward so we had pulled the curtain round. Rob went to find a nurse to give me some painkillers and I got two paracetamol which let me sleep for an hour. When I woke up Rob was asleep so I let him sleep but then accidentally kicked him. Oops. Then the pain started up AGAIN, even worse so I started crying and groaning again. It felt so unfair that I was in hospital, not pregnant at all, about to have an operation AND in pain. It was too much. The nurses heard me this time and they kept asking "Why are you crying?" (nicely) but it was like - wouldn't you be crying? It was amazing that I had moments when I wasn't crying, really! So they offered me codeine. I was a bit reluctant to take it as the last time I'd had it I vomited and that really was the last thing I needed. I think this was about 4.15pm. They gave me one which really helped calm me down and took the pain away. Then at 5pm the HCA came and said I was going down to theatre. Wow!
I had a quick wee and took off my clothes. I said I wanted to go down on the bed because I couldn't really walk so I had to lie flat on the bed with the gown undone and not lying on it at all. The HCA told me to keep my hand under the covers to keep my veins wide for the canula. Good tip.
So she took me down with a porter called James. She said she was taking me because she had the same birthday as me. Coincidence! And she and James nattered about how long they'd worked in the hospital. We went down towards the day case ward and right into the theatre and through what looked like a server room into a little ante room. Barely bigger than the bed.
There was a male anaethetist called Dr Wil-something, a brown anaethestist who I want to call Lola and a theatre nurse called something Spicer. They introduced themselves. The male one said he had to make sure I was fit and healthy so asked about implants, metal and what not which I don't have. Then he said he'd forget it all so nurse Spicer asked again.
While they were talking to me the HCA had a grip on my left arm and Lola was wiping the back of my hand to put the canula in so I braced my head on the bed. I think my eyes probably welled up as they asked if I was OK but I was losing my voice because I was scared so I could say was "frightened". Then they put a mask on me and told me to breathe deeply and I could tell the man was putting syringes of stuff into the back of my hand. My face started prickling so I think I lifted my right hand to touch it and then they said it was normal.
Then I started waking up...
So he picked us up and took us back to his for an hour and a half. I was in a lot of pain, but the paracetamol kicked in and I just lay on their sofa and chatted while Rob played with our nephew. It really really helped us both feel a lot better to get out of the hospital, see people who know and care about us and see the baby. I feel a bit strange about babies at the moment but I just don't think about it too much and it's ok.
At 12.10 my brother took us back to the ward. It's a big, separate unit so we walked down to the day case section. It's a bit of a funny set up really as there's a waiting area in the ward where we waited for an hour, with women coming back from surgery, going and coming back from meetings with the anaesthetists and all sorts. I had the most stuff! Haha.
I had a quick meeting with a nurse where she gave me my identity bracelets - I had my own barcode! - and took my blood pressure, heart rate and temperature. The machines kept breaking down so it took longer than it should and we had to go to the canteeny bit as there were no private meeting rooms. I felt quite calm at this point and the nurse was brisk but kind.
Back to waiting waiting waiting. We spoke briefly with a couple of the other women who explained that it was really busy, and a woman who'd had her operation came to sit with us as she was being discharged and they needed the bed so badly she had to finish recovering in the waiting area! I was partly horrified, but partly glad that you *could* recover like this, if you see what I mean. It was all a bit hectic.
Then I heard my name mentioned, probably about 2pm or half two, so we'd been waiting at least and hour and a half. A brisk HCA (old auxiliary nurse?) came and took me to a two-bed bay, made up a bed and told me to put a gown on. Things were happening. Then a surgeon came in, who I'm sure said she was called Dr Fookay. Anyway, she went through what was going to happen very quickly so we had to ask her to repeat herself and she slowed down. With the problem I had there was more of a chance of a haemorrage, so I was more likely to need a blood transfusion, and more liking to have a perforation requiring a laparascopy and laparotomy which would involve going through my bellybutton to stitch it, or through my stomach. So I could wake up with holes in me and a transfusion going through. I was feeling pretty unlucky so I said I supposed that would happen. So then I had to sign saying I understood what was happening. I was a bit disappointed that Mr Smith (the consultant we met briefly on Saturday) wouldn't be doing the operation as I'd been added to the list but at that point I didn't really care enough to say anything.
The surgeon left and the HCA returned, realised that the bed wasn't suitable for surgery so I was moved to the other one. I put my dressing gown over the hospital gown and kept my tracksuit bottoms and socks on. So we returned to waiting...
All day I was texting, tweeting and playing scrabble with people which really helped.
I think at about 3pm the pain started up again, really bad. I was crying and groaning and Rob was amazing, rubbing my back and helping me through it. My bed bay was opposite the front doors to the ward so we had pulled the curtain round. Rob went to find a nurse to give me some painkillers and I got two paracetamol which let me sleep for an hour. When I woke up Rob was asleep so I let him sleep but then accidentally kicked him. Oops. Then the pain started up AGAIN, even worse so I started crying and groaning again. It felt so unfair that I was in hospital, not pregnant at all, about to have an operation AND in pain. It was too much. The nurses heard me this time and they kept asking "Why are you crying?" (nicely) but it was like - wouldn't you be crying? It was amazing that I had moments when I wasn't crying, really! So they offered me codeine. I was a bit reluctant to take it as the last time I'd had it I vomited and that really was the last thing I needed. I think this was about 4.15pm. They gave me one which really helped calm me down and took the pain away. Then at 5pm the HCA came and said I was going down to theatre. Wow!
I had a quick wee and took off my clothes. I said I wanted to go down on the bed because I couldn't really walk so I had to lie flat on the bed with the gown undone and not lying on it at all. The HCA told me to keep my hand under the covers to keep my veins wide for the canula. Good tip.
So she took me down with a porter called James. She said she was taking me because she had the same birthday as me. Coincidence! And she and James nattered about how long they'd worked in the hospital. We went down towards the day case ward and right into the theatre and through what looked like a server room into a little ante room. Barely bigger than the bed.
There was a male anaethetist called Dr Wil-something, a brown anaethestist who I want to call Lola and a theatre nurse called something Spicer. They introduced themselves. The male one said he had to make sure I was fit and healthy so asked about implants, metal and what not which I don't have. Then he said he'd forget it all so nurse Spicer asked again.
While they were talking to me the HCA had a grip on my left arm and Lola was wiping the back of my hand to put the canula in so I braced my head on the bed. I think my eyes probably welled up as they asked if I was OK but I was losing my voice because I was scared so I could say was "frightened". Then they put a mask on me and told me to breathe deeply and I could tell the man was putting syringes of stuff into the back of my hand. My face started prickling so I think I lifted my right hand to touch it and then they said it was normal.
Then I started waking up...
Wednesday, 18 January 2012
Monday - ERPC
Monday morning I had to report to the Early Pregnancy Unit at Southmead hospital with a view to being admitted to the ward for the operation.
We were taken by my lovely mum and had my many bags of dressing gown, pyjamas, food etc. When you get there you take a number and fill out a sheet and then the receptionist books you in. You sit on chairs in a corridor.
It's great that there is this clinic, but a corridor full of tense, sometimes crying women, isn't terribly marvellous. Particularly when like me I knew there was no hope but for some of them there may have been.
Anyway, waiting waiting waiting. Went and told the receptionist all the details that were on the form and then returned to waiting.
Finally called by the midwife to the scan room where she saw that I had a molar and had been referred by the consultant. She said I shouldn't have had to wait and as I already had my scan pictures I didn't need to be rescanned. I was glad I didn't have to have another scan. So we went to a little sitting room to wait for another midwife to come and talk to us.
She was called Cathy and really really amazingly lovely. I was drinking apple juice because I felt sick but she told me I wasn't supposed to and was a bit annoyed no one had told me to fast. All I'd had was some water and a frusli bar so it was ok.
At first she said about the internet sometimes giving you too much information, but she then also explained that the scan could've shown a missed miscarriage and all my fears about ongoing treatment and chemotherapy could be entirely unfounded. I don't know how long we were there. Then we had to go to a medical room so she could take some blood. It was probably about this point that I started getting quite bad pain in my back and stomach. She offered me some painkillers but I said I was ok. She had to take some blood to go to the ward. I think it was about this point that I started getting quite frightened and worried about the operation.
She went to take blood from my left arm which was really painful and I felt sick anyway and it just made me feel really disgusting and sick. And it didn't work. So I started crying really hard and feeling like I was going to lose control. So she gave us a few minutes and I asked for some painkillers. Rob gave me a lovely hug and a pep talk and she came back and said she had to do it but if she couldn't from the other arm she'd take me to the ward for the doctor to do it as I was getting distressed and the doctor would do it right. But she got there in the end, although I've now got a horrible bruise. I was upset because I'd thought the giving blood bit would be the easiest bit of it and it was horrible and difficult and upsetting. But in reality, it was the hardest bit!
We were taken by my lovely mum and had my many bags of dressing gown, pyjamas, food etc. When you get there you take a number and fill out a sheet and then the receptionist books you in. You sit on chairs in a corridor.
It's great that there is this clinic, but a corridor full of tense, sometimes crying women, isn't terribly marvellous. Particularly when like me I knew there was no hope but for some of them there may have been.
Anyway, waiting waiting waiting. Went and told the receptionist all the details that were on the form and then returned to waiting.
Finally called by the midwife to the scan room where she saw that I had a molar and had been referred by the consultant. She said I shouldn't have had to wait and as I already had my scan pictures I didn't need to be rescanned. I was glad I didn't have to have another scan. So we went to a little sitting room to wait for another midwife to come and talk to us.
She was called Cathy and really really amazingly lovely. I was drinking apple juice because I felt sick but she told me I wasn't supposed to and was a bit annoyed no one had told me to fast. All I'd had was some water and a frusli bar so it was ok.
At first she said about the internet sometimes giving you too much information, but she then also explained that the scan could've shown a missed miscarriage and all my fears about ongoing treatment and chemotherapy could be entirely unfounded. I don't know how long we were there. Then we had to go to a medical room so she could take some blood. It was probably about this point that I started getting quite bad pain in my back and stomach. She offered me some painkillers but I said I was ok. She had to take some blood to go to the ward. I think it was about this point that I started getting quite frightened and worried about the operation.
She went to take blood from my left arm which was really painful and I felt sick anyway and it just made me feel really disgusting and sick. And it didn't work. So I started crying really hard and feeling like I was going to lose control. So she gave us a few minutes and I asked for some painkillers. Rob gave me a lovely hug and a pep talk and she came back and said she had to do it but if she couldn't from the other arm she'd take me to the ward for the doctor to do it as I was getting distressed and the doctor would do it right. But she got there in the end, although I've now got a horrible bruise. I was upset because I'd thought the giving blood bit would be the easiest bit of it and it was horrible and difficult and upsetting. But in reality, it was the hardest bit!
Sunday, 15 January 2012
How this feels
I've never had a "normal" pregnancy so I don't know if this is normal or not. Well, obviously it's not "normal".
My breasts are very very sore, which is supposed to be normal for early pregnancy.
My abdomen is swollen and tender. At points I've described it (before I knew it was gone wrong) as like having a brick in my stomach and a really strong dragging down sensation. It's not painful like period pains, but a lot of pressure which is very uncomfortable. My lower back also hurts. When I thought it was normal, I assumed it was stretching pain, or trapped wind (the glamours of pregnancy). I think it is stretching pain as the tissue in there is growing very fast, much faster than a normal pregnancy, and occupying all of the space in my uterus. It's measured on the scan as about 12cm by 6cm by 12cm I think. Not sure what that means in terms of the shape of it but it's taking up a fair amount of space.
For some reason, it is affecting my walking. For the last week I've found walking any distance challenging, getting in and out of the car and some of the pedal controls difficult. Not painful, just requiring some thought. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's pressing on some bits it shouldn't? Also, it's a lot bigger than a 10 week normal pregnancy would be, so if the equivalent was much further through perhaps it will feel like this. I've just got my dinner from the kitchen and each step back has been painful and difficult. I am looking forward to feeling like I can walk from my living room to my kitchen without thinking too hard about it!
I assume it's also pressing on my bladder and bowel as those functions have both gone a bit wonky.
And of course, in all the pregnancy books, websites, anything that goes remotely weird once you've had a positive test is ascribed to "just one of those things of early pregnancy" so you don't think to question it.
My breasts are very very sore, which is supposed to be normal for early pregnancy.
My abdomen is swollen and tender. At points I've described it (before I knew it was gone wrong) as like having a brick in my stomach and a really strong dragging down sensation. It's not painful like period pains, but a lot of pressure which is very uncomfortable. My lower back also hurts. When I thought it was normal, I assumed it was stretching pain, or trapped wind (the glamours of pregnancy). I think it is stretching pain as the tissue in there is growing very fast, much faster than a normal pregnancy, and occupying all of the space in my uterus. It's measured on the scan as about 12cm by 6cm by 12cm I think. Not sure what that means in terms of the shape of it but it's taking up a fair amount of space.
For some reason, it is affecting my walking. For the last week I've found walking any distance challenging, getting in and out of the car and some of the pedal controls difficult. Not painful, just requiring some thought. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's pressing on some bits it shouldn't? Also, it's a lot bigger than a 10 week normal pregnancy would be, so if the equivalent was much further through perhaps it will feel like this. I've just got my dinner from the kitchen and each step back has been painful and difficult. I am looking forward to feeling like I can walk from my living room to my kitchen without thinking too hard about it!
I assume it's also pressing on my bladder and bowel as those functions have both gone a bit wonky.
And of course, in all the pregnancy books, websites, anything that goes remotely weird once you've had a positive test is ascribed to "just one of those things of early pregnancy" so you don't think to question it.
The 0.15%
I'm not a brave person. I avoid anything that might bring even the most temporary of unpleasantnesses to my life, where I can. I've never been on a rollercoaster, I don't like horror films and I stopped drinking because I can't stand hangovers. Anything for an easy life, me.
So when we decided to try to have a baby, that was kind of a big deal. I know a few women who suffered very badly with morning sickness and feeling terrible. But hey, you get a baby at the end, so it's ALL WORTH IT. Right? Right.
Early December 2011 - positive pregnancy test! Happy days, happy days.
These are the questions that ran through my mind - when will it be born? Will it be a boy or a girl? Will it look like me or it's dad? How tired does *that* tired feel like?
But then...being as risk averse as I am, plenty of research had gone into this decision. So I knew that one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage (or is it one in four women who get pregnant have a miscarriage? Unclear, but hey, it's LOTS). There are early miscarriages, missed miscarriages, late miscarriages and so on. I read up on what they feel like, how you know it is happening to you. I felt prepared. I'd been taking folic acid for weeks. I joined a "Due in August" ante-natal thread on Mumsnet. This was it.
I had symptoms that are those of early pregnancy and I did three tests in total all positive.
I was aware that you could get a private dating scan but I thought I'd wait a while, make sure things were settling down before splashing out on the fee. Money was tight just before Xmas and if things were going to go wrong, what was the point in paying at this early stage? So I sat tight, all seemed ok and so I decided to book an early scan for Saturday 14 January just to make sure everything was ok.
You say this, and you think about the possible bad outcomes of everything not being ok. But in reality, nothing can prepare you for it. Because deep down, you really really want everything to be ok. And I'd pretty much done everything "right". Don't smoke, don't drink, don't take drugs and eat well.
Get to the private hospital where an amusing incident proved that people are the same everywhere you go, money's got nothing to do with it. The appointment had been booked for the wrong time so we had to go and come back an hour later.
Return we do, after about two questions - name and date of birth, I hop up on the bed thing, roll up my top and we get scanning...
I look at the screen...is that a head?
The midwife asks if I've been feeling particularly sick. Nope, not really. And why are we having chitchat? I want to look at a spine and tiny limbs!
She said, "I'm very sorry, but this is a molar pregnancy".
And that's it. My life, my partner's life, my family's life, is changed forever.
Ten minutes later we're out of there but not before a fax and phonecall is made to Southmead hospital telling them I'll be in first thing on Monday to be booked in for a D&C. The consultant gynaecologist there came to see us. Fortunately he is on duty so he's met me, and added me to his list for Monday, or maybe first thing Tuesday. Consultants are good. The midwife explained I will be contacted by a clinic in London, printed off pictures of my insides with information to take to hospital and off we go.
Best £99 we ever spent.
At first I felt ok. Ok, this happens, I'll have an operation it'll be over and then we can think again.
My main fear, initially was the surgery. I've never had an operation before. I am scared of hospitals. I am scared of having surgery on my private parts. I am terrified of the pain I will experience afterwards.
Then I switched on the laptop.
A complete molar pregnancy, which is what I have, means there was never an embryo, just rapidly growing placental tissue and accompanying hormones mimicking pregnancy. Making a fool of me. Making a liar of me. And I don't tell lies.
And then, and then, there are the statistics. 0.15% of pregnancies will be molar (of women who get pregnant. Stupid statistics). And so, if I'm unlucky enough to be one of those women maybe I'll be unlucky enough to be one of the 15% who experience this:
After the D&C operation to clear out the uterus, you are contacted by your regional molar pregnancy centre who will monitor your levels of bHCG hormones. This has to drop to an acceptable level over six or so months. They send you sample kits and you have to post them your urine every fortnight. Sometimes blood tests at your Drs too. If the levels don't drop, it means they then have to make them drop. By giving you chemotherapy. Because the cells behave like cancer.
It's all a bit too much to take in really.
I feel angry, devastated, lost.
A while back, before I was even pregnant I read an article about people not wanting August babies because they don't cope as well at school. These people paused trying for a baby during November to assure any future offspring would have the best possible chances, academically. Even then that made me cry. How lovely it must be to be so assured of your fertility. I will not be having an academically sub-standard baby in August.
My mum also said "everything happens for a reason" but it doesn't, does it? What possible reason could there be for half the nasty, cruel, unpleasant things that happen to us? There's no reason for this. It's bad luck. The worst.
So when we decided to try to have a baby, that was kind of a big deal. I know a few women who suffered very badly with morning sickness and feeling terrible. But hey, you get a baby at the end, so it's ALL WORTH IT. Right? Right.
Early December 2011 - positive pregnancy test! Happy days, happy days.
These are the questions that ran through my mind - when will it be born? Will it be a boy or a girl? Will it look like me or it's dad? How tired does *that* tired feel like?
But then...being as risk averse as I am, plenty of research had gone into this decision. So I knew that one in four pregnancies end in miscarriage (or is it one in four women who get pregnant have a miscarriage? Unclear, but hey, it's LOTS). There are early miscarriages, missed miscarriages, late miscarriages and so on. I read up on what they feel like, how you know it is happening to you. I felt prepared. I'd been taking folic acid for weeks. I joined a "Due in August" ante-natal thread on Mumsnet. This was it.
I had symptoms that are those of early pregnancy and I did three tests in total all positive.
I was aware that you could get a private dating scan but I thought I'd wait a while, make sure things were settling down before splashing out on the fee. Money was tight just before Xmas and if things were going to go wrong, what was the point in paying at this early stage? So I sat tight, all seemed ok and so I decided to book an early scan for Saturday 14 January just to make sure everything was ok.
You say this, and you think about the possible bad outcomes of everything not being ok. But in reality, nothing can prepare you for it. Because deep down, you really really want everything to be ok. And I'd pretty much done everything "right". Don't smoke, don't drink, don't take drugs and eat well.
Get to the private hospital where an amusing incident proved that people are the same everywhere you go, money's got nothing to do with it. The appointment had been booked for the wrong time so we had to go and come back an hour later.
Return we do, after about two questions - name and date of birth, I hop up on the bed thing, roll up my top and we get scanning...
I look at the screen...is that a head?
The midwife asks if I've been feeling particularly sick. Nope, not really. And why are we having chitchat? I want to look at a spine and tiny limbs!
She said, "I'm very sorry, but this is a molar pregnancy".
And that's it. My life, my partner's life, my family's life, is changed forever.
Ten minutes later we're out of there but not before a fax and phonecall is made to Southmead hospital telling them I'll be in first thing on Monday to be booked in for a D&C. The consultant gynaecologist there came to see us. Fortunately he is on duty so he's met me, and added me to his list for Monday, or maybe first thing Tuesday. Consultants are good. The midwife explained I will be contacted by a clinic in London, printed off pictures of my insides with information to take to hospital and off we go.
Best £99 we ever spent.
At first I felt ok. Ok, this happens, I'll have an operation it'll be over and then we can think again.
My main fear, initially was the surgery. I've never had an operation before. I am scared of hospitals. I am scared of having surgery on my private parts. I am terrified of the pain I will experience afterwards.
Then I switched on the laptop.
A complete molar pregnancy, which is what I have, means there was never an embryo, just rapidly growing placental tissue and accompanying hormones mimicking pregnancy. Making a fool of me. Making a liar of me. And I don't tell lies.
And then, and then, there are the statistics. 0.15% of pregnancies will be molar (of women who get pregnant. Stupid statistics). And so, if I'm unlucky enough to be one of those women maybe I'll be unlucky enough to be one of the 15% who experience this:
After the D&C operation to clear out the uterus, you are contacted by your regional molar pregnancy centre who will monitor your levels of bHCG hormones. This has to drop to an acceptable level over six or so months. They send you sample kits and you have to post them your urine every fortnight. Sometimes blood tests at your Drs too. If the levels don't drop, it means they then have to make them drop. By giving you chemotherapy. Because the cells behave like cancer.
It's all a bit too much to take in really.
I feel angry, devastated, lost.
A while back, before I was even pregnant I read an article about people not wanting August babies because they don't cope as well at school. These people paused trying for a baby during November to assure any future offspring would have the best possible chances, academically. Even then that made me cry. How lovely it must be to be so assured of your fertility. I will not be having an academically sub-standard baby in August.
My mum also said "everything happens for a reason" but it doesn't, does it? What possible reason could there be for half the nasty, cruel, unpleasant things that happen to us? There's no reason for this. It's bad luck. The worst.
Wednesday, 17 August 2011
BFN & BBC
Sent this letter last night to Sally Challoner and Tim Pemberton at BBC Bristol, I look forward to posting the response:
Hi Sally and Tim,
I recently attended the "Meet the BBC" event at the Pierian Centre back in May. I was representing my professional workplace but I was particularly interested as a co-ordinator of Bristol Feminist Network.
Over time, BFN has had some rough handling from the BBC, particularly the radio arm of the network. Your colleagues seemed keen to encourage community groups to get in touch with stories, explaining what sort of things you were looking for, and the best way to make contact. It all seemed very positive, with BBC Bristol appearing to want to make a real effort to engage with local community groups.
However, I was particularly disappointed by the events of last week. My colleague, Sian Norris, was asked to go on to a radio show to discuss the uniform of the female beach volleyball players, following an article by Julie Bindel in the Guardian about the subject.
Sian gave her point of view about the representation of women in sport as an invited guest on the show, and the host even remarked that she was "very diplomatic". We had assumed this was the end of the contact on this point.
You can imagine our dismay when we were pointed towards this article: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-14502888
I feel the article misrepresents what took place - that Sian was asked specifically to speak to BBC Bristol radio about the uniforms, with the clear intent that she would criticise them. Sian had not approached the BBC with this story. Other speakers were given the opportunity to air their views and it took the form of a "phone in show". Secondly, Sian was not told that anything she said would be placed on the web arm of the BBC. The phrasing of the headline implies that Sian was criticising the women, when in fact she was careful to discuss the wider issues around the representation of women in sport, an issue that is important to BFN. As a result of the online article, Sian has received a couple of aggressive emails that focus on one of the quotes in the article - a quote that was out of context when not heard alongside the rest of what she said during the phone-in interview.
I would ask that the BBC reassesses their contact with BFN. The event in May seemed to be asking community groups to contact the BBC with stories, and that the organisation was keen to represent a range of local activity and events. Do you not think that we communicate with other community groups? Do you not think that when we are misrepresented in this way, and our words taken out of context and used against us, this will disincline other groups to contact you with their stories?
I hope you will take on board some of my comments and I would willingly engage in conversation with you about how we can improve this relationship.
Best regards
Anna Brown
BFN co-ordinator
Hi Sally and Tim,
I recently attended the "Meet the BBC" event at the Pierian Centre back in May. I was representing my professional workplace but I was particularly interested as a co-ordinator of Bristol Feminist Network.
Over time, BFN has had some rough handling from the BBC, particularly the radio arm of the network. Your colleagues seemed keen to encourage community groups to get in touch with stories, explaining what sort of things you were looking for, and the best way to make contact. It all seemed very positive, with BBC Bristol appearing to want to make a real effort to engage with local community groups.
However, I was particularly disappointed by the events of last week. My colleague, Sian Norris, was asked to go on to a radio show to discuss the uniform of the female beach volleyball players, following an article by Julie Bindel in the Guardian about the subject.
Sian gave her point of view about the representation of women in sport as an invited guest on the show, and the host even remarked that she was "very diplomatic". We had assumed this was the end of the contact on this point.
You can imagine our dismay when we were pointed towards this article: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-bristol-14502888
I feel the article misrepresents what took place - that Sian was asked specifically to speak to BBC Bristol radio about the uniforms, with the clear intent that she would criticise them. Sian had not approached the BBC with this story. Other speakers were given the opportunity to air their views and it took the form of a "phone in show". Secondly, Sian was not told that anything she said would be placed on the web arm of the BBC. The phrasing of the headline implies that Sian was criticising the women, when in fact she was careful to discuss the wider issues around the representation of women in sport, an issue that is important to BFN. As a result of the online article, Sian has received a couple of aggressive emails that focus on one of the quotes in the article - a quote that was out of context when not heard alongside the rest of what she said during the phone-in interview.
I would ask that the BBC reassesses their contact with BFN. The event in May seemed to be asking community groups to contact the BBC with stories, and that the organisation was keen to represent a range of local activity and events. Do you not think that we communicate with other community groups? Do you not think that when we are misrepresented in this way, and our words taken out of context and used against us, this will disincline other groups to contact you with their stories?
I hope you will take on board some of my comments and I would willingly engage in conversation with you about how we can improve this relationship.
Best regards
Anna Brown
BFN co-ordinator
Wednesday, 3 August 2011
The Chief
We got a car:
So now we can drive ourselves up to the front of the hotel:
And drive to mountains.
We decided to walk/hike/climb up the Stawamus Chief, known as The Chief. Research told us there were three peaks, the first was pretty easy, the second a bit harder and the third - nails.
Off we set, happy as happy people.
There was a waterfall:
There were also many many steps and stairs to climb. I was very impressed that the BC parks people had gone to such an effort to make the mountain accessible, it's great. But by bloody hell, it was hard work, stepping up and up and up, seemingly endlessly. Who needs a stairmaster when you can walk up a mountain?
See the stairs. They were huge!
I had to do lots of stopping and huffing and puffing.
At first, as you ascend, you're in your own little bubble but then, as the going gets tough, you enter a strange camaraderie with everyone else on the mountain. We came across Etil (evil taskmaster lady) who was with her kids and trying to inspire them up by saying "Chop chop!" a lot. She also had a stick so I decided to try to stay ahead of her. But we kept overtaking each other and said hi every time. It was nice.
Near the peak/summit, the mountain just becomes rock and they've put ladders and chains in to help you. It was a bit scary, but Rob was really helpful and we just did it. Here is an example:
So, we did that, and walked up the granite and got to the top of peak one. Hurrah!
Here's Rob:
Here's me & Rob:
I think this is me on the way on #1, not sure. Looks good though:
(am small yellow speck, bottom left).
So, we chatted with Etil a little and her family and then went down. There was a fork from #1 peak to #2 so we decided to go for #2. Whoo hoo!
This felt a bit easier going up, although still pretty tough, and the climbing/scrambling sections were definitely a lot more scary, as you will see. I was quite slow so we had to let a few people past, including a man with a dog in a bag.
We got to the top and looked down on #1 peak, in the middle ground of this picture:
Snowy the dog had made it in her bag:
Us:
And we chatted to the Canadians a bit, who were very lovely:
Then we had to go down. Bloody hell, bits of it were scary! On one occasion I just said, "I don't know how to do this!" particularly as granite is quite slidey after several thousand people have walked on it. I'm so glad it was a dry day!
Here's me negotiating a gully. This looks like a massive pose, but I was actually going down it like this. Slow progress!
But we made it back down, all the steps and steps and steps. I was a bit tired by this point, and after all the squatting, stepping, twisting and bending I broke a bit. It took me AGES to do the last couple of hundred metres. Other people were more or less just running past us, but I was properly tired and my legs and feet HURT.
I eventually got down and got back and then we went out for dinner, where I treated myself to a beautiful chocolate cheesecake. It was amazing. And we met someone in the restaurant whose mother was from Fishponds. Small world.
Today I am properly broken, I can hardly walk! We were going to do a zip wire thing across the Whistler Valley, but I couldn't manage the "trek" part of that so we just pootled round Whistler for a bit and then came back to Squamish where I bought some wood carvings. I am now surrounded by Canadian souvenirs and have NO IDEA how to pack them in my case which seems to have shrunk. Wish me luck. Home tomorrow.
So now we can drive ourselves up to the front of the hotel:
And drive to mountains.
We decided to walk/hike/climb up the Stawamus Chief, known as The Chief. Research told us there were three peaks, the first was pretty easy, the second a bit harder and the third - nails.
Off we set, happy as happy people.
There was a waterfall:
There were also many many steps and stairs to climb. I was very impressed that the BC parks people had gone to such an effort to make the mountain accessible, it's great. But by bloody hell, it was hard work, stepping up and up and up, seemingly endlessly. Who needs a stairmaster when you can walk up a mountain?
See the stairs. They were huge!
I had to do lots of stopping and huffing and puffing.
At first, as you ascend, you're in your own little bubble but then, as the going gets tough, you enter a strange camaraderie with everyone else on the mountain. We came across Etil (evil taskmaster lady) who was with her kids and trying to inspire them up by saying "Chop chop!" a lot. She also had a stick so I decided to try to stay ahead of her. But we kept overtaking each other and said hi every time. It was nice.
Near the peak/summit, the mountain just becomes rock and they've put ladders and chains in to help you. It was a bit scary, but Rob was really helpful and we just did it. Here is an example:
So, we did that, and walked up the granite and got to the top of peak one. Hurrah!
Here's Rob:
Here's me & Rob:
I think this is me on the way on #1, not sure. Looks good though:
(am small yellow speck, bottom left).
So, we chatted with Etil a little and her family and then went down. There was a fork from #1 peak to #2 so we decided to go for #2. Whoo hoo!
This felt a bit easier going up, although still pretty tough, and the climbing/scrambling sections were definitely a lot more scary, as you will see. I was quite slow so we had to let a few people past, including a man with a dog in a bag.
We got to the top and looked down on #1 peak, in the middle ground of this picture:
Snowy the dog had made it in her bag:
Us:
And we chatted to the Canadians a bit, who were very lovely:
Then we had to go down. Bloody hell, bits of it were scary! On one occasion I just said, "I don't know how to do this!" particularly as granite is quite slidey after several thousand people have walked on it. I'm so glad it was a dry day!
Here's me negotiating a gully. This looks like a massive pose, but I was actually going down it like this. Slow progress!
But we made it back down, all the steps and steps and steps. I was a bit tired by this point, and after all the squatting, stepping, twisting and bending I broke a bit. It took me AGES to do the last couple of hundred metres. Other people were more or less just running past us, but I was properly tired and my legs and feet HURT.
I eventually got down and got back and then we went out for dinner, where I treated myself to a beautiful chocolate cheesecake. It was amazing. And we met someone in the restaurant whose mother was from Fishponds. Small world.
Today I am properly broken, I can hardly walk! We were going to do a zip wire thing across the Whistler Valley, but I couldn't manage the "trek" part of that so we just pootled round Whistler for a bit and then came back to Squamish where I bought some wood carvings. I am now surrounded by Canadian souvenirs and have NO IDEA how to pack them in my case which seems to have shrunk. Wish me luck. Home tomorrow.
Monday, 1 August 2011
Mountains, lakes and the ocean
Some observations about Canada:
- It is very very big. You knew that, I knew that, but still. It's big.
- It is VERY EXPENSIVE here. Like, a tub of butter/spread costs about $3.50. For reals. And the exchange rate isn't *that* good, although I am useless at working stuff like that out. Unless stuff has got seriously expensive in the week I have been away, it's really quite pricey out here.
- It is a new place. We're on the West Coast, so obviously the most recent place to be "settled" but still. You don't find yourself falling over old churches like you do at home. Or anything old, really. Quite a contrast to Rome, where we were earlier in the year (I wish I was as jet-setting as I sound!)
- Tax is not added. So, you see something that costs $2.50 and you take it to the till. But it doesn't cost that much, because they add the tax at the till. It's about 12%, so not loads, but still enough that getting the correct change out is a bit complicated if you don't have good maths brain like me. And it's just annoying - it doesn't cost $2.50, so don't say it does!
So, after the wedding on Saturday, and some mooching on Friday, we had to travel to Squamish, which is between Whistler and Vancouver going North up the coast.
We looked into renting/hiring a car but it was extremely expensive, so we naively thought we'd be OK. Ha. Ha. Ha. HAHAHAHAH.
Still, we were innocent at this stage in proceedings. So Sunday morning we battled across Vancover with our baggages and got to the Greyhound station and queued up and got on the bus. I'm sure the journey was very beautiful but I was mainly concentrating on not vomiting everywhere as the road twisted and turned, the bus shook from side to side and the air conditioning was blowing a gale against my ankles. Did I mention I get car/coachsick? It was was HORRIBLE. When we arrived I sat down on a bench and Rob went to explore a bit.
It is very beautiful here, surrounded by mountains, some of them snow-capped. But I felt a bit weird, sitting outside a drugstore with two cases and rucksacks, reading a book, as people passed by to do their shopping.
Rob came back with a map to the hotel. We walked. We could not find the hotel. I'm not sure what happened next, but we went to a cafe where I had a fruit and brie salad (YUMMY! *and* healthy!) and they called us a taxi.
The hotel was up the freeway/highway and really rather far away. This is when we realised a car would be somewhat handy. Oops. But it was so expensive!
Squamish is developing as a town, or should I say *was* as the money has run out. Outside our hotel is a big pile of rubble where two restaurants were meant to be. But they never got built. The taxi driver was very nice and optimistic, while my heart sank into my boots. The hotel is literally in the middle of nowhere. Walmart is sort of over the road, but that's not exactly a destination!
We checked in, drank some tea and went to Walmart. Which is basically Asda without any fresh food. Very strange. We got some fake Leibniz biscuits, which turned into dinner. I did some internet research which turned up a local car hire and some stuff to do, so I felt a bit better, although a bit nervous as today is a bank holiday (BC day).
So, today, up we got, had breakfast and got a taxi to the Adventure centre, which is a like an awesome tourist information office with a cafe, gift shop and people who will let you hire bikes. Hurrah! We had a moment's trouble with a cash point that wouldn't give either of us money, but we paid by card and off we went. I asked one of the workers there about crossing the freeway/highway and he was like, "Eh it's no big deal!" but as far as I was concerned, it was like crossing a motorway! There were traffic lights and it was fine. Hurrah, we were off!
Then Rob fell off his bike at a junction changing gear. But he was back on and off! Hurrah! We rode around a bit, and down to the "beach" where some dogs were playing which was cute, and we got this picture of Shannon Falls, the third largest waterfall in British Columbia, doncha know? ;)
Then we went into the town and Rob got some cash, hurrah!
We had lunch at cafe called Zephyr which was full of hippies and served things like raw lasagna. We had falafel wraps which were thankfully warm and served with nacho crisps.
Back on the bikes for a pootle around town and then we decided to go to the Spit which the taxi driver had told us about. The trail started off as asphalt, then turned into hard earth, and then turned in more or less shale, which kicked off a hell of a lot of dust when cars went past.
We stopped off at a little section of the path to look at the view:
I was worrying about the bike tyres, but they survived and we got there. There wasn't much there, really, I was expecting something structural beyond portaloos, but the view was amazing:
We stopped there for a few minutes, watching the people, but it was seriously windy so we came back. The Spit is a man-made structure out in to Howe Sound, I think especially for aquatic stuff. It must be great if you do that stuff.
Ride back was ok, and much quicker than the ride down there. Here's me on my bike:
We had a drink at a place called Howe Sound brewery, returned the bike, got some gifts and taxi-d back to the hotel. I think we are going to Wendys for dinner. Wish us luck.
And wish us luck for hiring a car tomorrow, we'll be a little bit limited without one!!
- It is very very big. You knew that, I knew that, but still. It's big.
- It is VERY EXPENSIVE here. Like, a tub of butter/spread costs about $3.50. For reals. And the exchange rate isn't *that* good, although I am useless at working stuff like that out. Unless stuff has got seriously expensive in the week I have been away, it's really quite pricey out here.
- It is a new place. We're on the West Coast, so obviously the most recent place to be "settled" but still. You don't find yourself falling over old churches like you do at home. Or anything old, really. Quite a contrast to Rome, where we were earlier in the year (I wish I was as jet-setting as I sound!)
- Tax is not added. So, you see something that costs $2.50 and you take it to the till. But it doesn't cost that much, because they add the tax at the till. It's about 12%, so not loads, but still enough that getting the correct change out is a bit complicated if you don't have good maths brain like me. And it's just annoying - it doesn't cost $2.50, so don't say it does!
So, after the wedding on Saturday, and some mooching on Friday, we had to travel to Squamish, which is between Whistler and Vancouver going North up the coast.
We looked into renting/hiring a car but it was extremely expensive, so we naively thought we'd be OK. Ha. Ha. Ha. HAHAHAHAH.
Still, we were innocent at this stage in proceedings. So Sunday morning we battled across Vancover with our baggages and got to the Greyhound station and queued up and got on the bus. I'm sure the journey was very beautiful but I was mainly concentrating on not vomiting everywhere as the road twisted and turned, the bus shook from side to side and the air conditioning was blowing a gale against my ankles. Did I mention I get car/coachsick? It was was HORRIBLE. When we arrived I sat down on a bench and Rob went to explore a bit.
It is very beautiful here, surrounded by mountains, some of them snow-capped. But I felt a bit weird, sitting outside a drugstore with two cases and rucksacks, reading a book, as people passed by to do their shopping.
Rob came back with a map to the hotel. We walked. We could not find the hotel. I'm not sure what happened next, but we went to a cafe where I had a fruit and brie salad (YUMMY! *and* healthy!) and they called us a taxi.
The hotel was up the freeway/highway and really rather far away. This is when we realised a car would be somewhat handy. Oops. But it was so expensive!
Squamish is developing as a town, or should I say *was* as the money has run out. Outside our hotel is a big pile of rubble where two restaurants were meant to be. But they never got built. The taxi driver was very nice and optimistic, while my heart sank into my boots. The hotel is literally in the middle of nowhere. Walmart is sort of over the road, but that's not exactly a destination!
We checked in, drank some tea and went to Walmart. Which is basically Asda without any fresh food. Very strange. We got some fake Leibniz biscuits, which turned into dinner. I did some internet research which turned up a local car hire and some stuff to do, so I felt a bit better, although a bit nervous as today is a bank holiday (BC day).
So, today, up we got, had breakfast and got a taxi to the Adventure centre, which is a like an awesome tourist information office with a cafe, gift shop and people who will let you hire bikes. Hurrah! We had a moment's trouble with a cash point that wouldn't give either of us money, but we paid by card and off we went. I asked one of the workers there about crossing the freeway/highway and he was like, "Eh it's no big deal!" but as far as I was concerned, it was like crossing a motorway! There were traffic lights and it was fine. Hurrah, we were off!
Then Rob fell off his bike at a junction changing gear. But he was back on and off! Hurrah! We rode around a bit, and down to the "beach" where some dogs were playing which was cute, and we got this picture of Shannon Falls, the third largest waterfall in British Columbia, doncha know? ;)
Then we went into the town and Rob got some cash, hurrah!
We had lunch at cafe called Zephyr which was full of hippies and served things like raw lasagna. We had falafel wraps which were thankfully warm and served with nacho crisps.
Back on the bikes for a pootle around town and then we decided to go to the Spit which the taxi driver had told us about. The trail started off as asphalt, then turned into hard earth, and then turned in more or less shale, which kicked off a hell of a lot of dust when cars went past.
We stopped off at a little section of the path to look at the view:
I was worrying about the bike tyres, but they survived and we got there. There wasn't much there, really, I was expecting something structural beyond portaloos, but the view was amazing:
We stopped there for a few minutes, watching the people, but it was seriously windy so we came back. The Spit is a man-made structure out in to Howe Sound, I think especially for aquatic stuff. It must be great if you do that stuff.
Ride back was ok, and much quicker than the ride down there. Here's me on my bike:
We had a drink at a place called Howe Sound brewery, returned the bike, got some gifts and taxi-d back to the hotel. I think we are going to Wendys for dinner. Wish us luck.
And wish us luck for hiring a car tomorrow, we'll be a little bit limited without one!!
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Holiday
Posting here as my usual blogger is borked. Effing DDOS.
Hey y'all, hope this week has treated you kindly. What a pain in the butt about the DDOS.
So, before I forget everything, here is an update of what I've been doing the past few days, for myself, but of course if you're interested, you are more than welcome to read.
So, Saturday afternoon we go to the bus station to Gatwick. Bus journey ok and we check into the Gatwick Hilton as our flight necessitated an early start, and hey the holiday always starts the night before, right?
Had dinner and tried to get an early night but completely failed. Hilarious in light of recent bed times.
The check-in desk was pretending to be another airline which was annoying, but we got the bags checked in, and went to departures to eat breakfast and hang round. I also managed to buy two pairs of shoes at this point as, the holiday starts at the airport, right?
Plane journey was ok, and we had the seats by the emergency door. Hello leg stretching! The guy next to us said he had to pay extra for the seat but we were just nice to the man on the desk, and checked in straight after him. Hurrah! I didn't watch any films, but read my book and dozed. It was 9.5 hours which is way long but we eventually arrived in CANADA.
And..OMG! The airport!!! There are jellyfish on the way to the immigration desk. Everyone was walking past it being all, "I am immigrating to Canada, I must not look at trivialities like jellyfish!" But I was like "CANADA IS AMAZEBALLS! Jellyfish! In the airport!!" So I stopped to look. And there are waterfalls, and trees and all sorts of random amazing shit in there. I could quite happily have stayed at the airport! Long queue to be asked weird questions about what work we do ("Er, physicist and equalities officer" I bet that meant a lot to her) but I did see Ginnifer Goodwin in the queue, being all loud.
So, Skytrain into town and then we went straight to the first eatery we saw which was a microbrewey and I had my first enormo-Canadian meal:
That's a Canadian there, behind me. A real one.
Rob's friend Dave who is getting married on SATURDAY came to join us and was very nice and told us where to go and we chatted for a bit and I was a bit tired and intense. But he hailed us a taxi to our hotel and off we went.
Our hotel was just around the corner really, but my bag was a bit too heavy to pull and it was hot. The hotel is AMAZEBALLS and has a nice double bed, and bathroom and kitchenette and FREE WIFI (hence this post). At 5pm I lay down and aimed to have a nap. Rob went exploring and had a nap also. We woke up at about 3am, had a chat and went back to sleep.
Woke up again at about 6.30 and went to breakfast about 7.30. Very strange indeed, considering what a slug-a-bed I usually am. But jetlag does very strange things to you!
So, Monday. We walked north to Stanley Park along the seawall and there were lots of fit people jogging and walking their dogs at 8.50 which confused us. But a world where people are jogging at this time and not going to work is a good one in my book. Stanley Park is this massive forest with an aquarium in it, so we walked around that and saw lots of little squirrel things that look like chipmunks. Then we went to the aquarium. Somehow we forgot about queues and screaming kids, particularly as the park was empty. But the aquarium was PACKED! Here are some pictures:
These are beluga whales. I do think it is cruel to keep them here in captivity, but they are quite rare and they did a little husbandry show which was cute and there was a lot of screaming. Well, the whole aquarium visit was overlaid with screaming, kids banging on the glass and generally acting like amazing contraceptives. I generally like children, but it was so busy, there was no respite!
Then we saw the Amazon section, with a sloth, which made me think of my friend Nina.
It's at the top of the shot with it's head in it's food. Parakeet below. Then we saw otters:
They seemed a bit weird and depressed, doing repetitive behaviours, but they are also rare. Bigger cage needed there I think. Then we went to see a bird show and they had a turkey vulture and Harris Hawks and a bald eagle. Awesomes!
We came back to our hotel for a bit then went to see Rob's friends Alex and Heather. Heather very kindly picked us up and I sat in the back with their 6 month old daughter Madilynn who is GORGEOUS. We made friends, but then she got all weirded out and cried for about 20 minutes. Oops. They were really lovely and it was just a casual evening and both Rob & I were very taken with the baby. We had to go home about 8pm as we were falling asleep, and that is what I did as soon as we got back at about 9pm. I did brush my teeth this time.
Tuesday
Got up about 7 again and went to Gastown, which is where the city was born and has lots of tourist tat shops. Anna-heaven! I got some magnets and key rings for people, and also a babygrow for my future niece/nephew with Canada on it. Oh, and Canada pyjamas. I had to stop then. But it's all so AWESOME!!!
Anyways, I had, in the background, been having hair traumas as it was in badly need of a wash. I mentioned this to Barbara and she said to stop any black woman with nice hair and ask where where she got it done. Except, weirdly, there are VERY VERY VERY few black people here. Lots of Chinese people, and Asian people, no black people. I did not want to be going to a wedding with bad barnet, believe me. So, toddling round Gastown there's a huge Aveda salon and through the door I spy a black woman, actually working there. We walked on a bit more then back past so in a pop, screwing up my courage...and ended up getting a blowdry. They had students who needed practice so a very nice man called Johnathan from Hawaii washed and dried my hair. PHEW! It wasn't perfect (not enough grease on it) but I got a head massage and at the end the blokey put makeup on me. Oh, and it took TWO HOURS, poor Rob, but my hair is sorted. Phew!
Then we had lunch and went to Rob's friend Dave's flat, which was surprisingly small. Then he took us on a walk round the sea, ending up in Granville Island, which is becoming one my new favourite places!
Look at the amazing fruit and veg in the background.
We had a poke around and then a drink at the microbrewery and got an Aquabus home and into bed by 9pm. Jetlag, man. Kicks your butt.
Wednesday
We got up a bit later today, had a really good lie-in, although you're only allowed to take 20 minutes at breakfast as the room is quite small for the size of the hotel and they ran out of bagels. SADFACE. So we agreed to be a bit earlier. We were meant to go to an art gallery but we hung around in our room a bit and emailed friends who were arriving this day. Then we went shopping and got Rob some jumpers and I got a Canandian skirt and a couple of tops for work which match my airport shoes perfectly. It all comes together.
We met our friends at their hotel and took them to Granville island on the aquabus where we had lunch and a pootle around. Then we went back to our respective hotels before reconvening at a pub for dinner. We stayed on Granville a bit longer, and I bought a hat for the wedding. It was quite expensive, but hey, I'm on holidays! This is a terrible picture of me, but shows the hat:
And on the Aquabus. Bloody loved the aquabus - check out the background too:
It was a bit sunny.
So all the people going to the wedding mostly arrived on this day and met up at a pub for dinner/sort of stag for Dave. When we went in, we explained we were with a party who were already there...no, we didn't know where they were sitting. But it was a big group of English people...She immediately knew where we would be. Ha! I had a salad and it was the biggest bloody thing you've ever seen! It was the size of a salad I'd put on the table for a four person dinner! It was very yummy but I couldn't finish it and wasn't really the type of thing you'd take home to eat again. Not good value for money. Everyone was very tired but we left at 10pm and walked down the main street as it had all lights. It was a bit rough thought. Bed at 11pm, latest since we got here. Feels like a weird badge of honour!!
Thursday
Today!
I got up about 8am to get going to the Museum of Anthropology but Rob was wasting time so I went to breakfast on my own (he had blueberries from the market on Granville Island and was happy for me to go, I wasn't being evil) and that was fine.
This is our street, Hornby:
We eventually got going, taking a train then a bus out to the university of British Columbia where the museum is situated. We took a bit of a walk round the campus which has amazing views across the bay and this lovely rose garden:
Sorry about the two uggers ruining the view:
When we got there we couldn't figure out the money to pay which made the man laugh. It's like toy money!!
Then we joined a tour and learned about the different tribes, and their art and saw loads of totem poles and boxes, blankets. It's such amazing stuff, I really love it and it's everywhere here. They call the indigneous people First Nations, which is nice. So we learned a lot there and had a look around the rest of the museum. The most famous artist is Bill Reid and there's some of his stuff there, including a massive sculpture which I took some photos off. I can't get the photos off my camera to post here, so you'll have to wait.
Edit: Finally home, so pictures:
House posts
VERY famous sculpture by the VERY famous Haida artist, Bill Reid.
This relates to a story a bit like Noah & the whale.
And the outside of the museum, which I assume was designed to look like a traditional First Nations house, there were totem poles out here too:
But here are the gifts I got for myself - a hummingbird brooch and frog fridge magnet. Good examples of the First Nations art. I thought the frog was funny for our fridge, considering how many have ended up in our house! And a hummingbird in purple and green seemed way to auspicious not to buy (purple and green are the colours of women's suffrage, and my trade union, hummingbirds are the national bird of Jamaica and in First Nations lore bring good luck. I will wear it on my first day back at work - maybe it will make me invisible!)
We had lunch there and then got a bus to Kitsilano beach, which was AMAZING. There's a huge public swimming pool and the sea and mountains. See:
God, this place is amazing! I doubt anyone said that about the Tropicana at Weston (RIP Tropicana). We were already a bit pooped, but we walked round the coast for about an hour, through Vanier Park which had this sculpture in it (plus Canada geese)
and back to Granville Island for a late lunch and a bit of a mosey round the shops again. I bloody love Granville Island!!
I bought these chocolates today, it's Pride week this week, and we've been on the Aquabus about five times.
Back at our hotel now and the plan tomorrow is to go to Capilano Park where there is a massive suspension bridge that my parents went over 40 years ago! And a Go Ape type thing, so it should be a bit of a challenge and something different. Then a BBQ pre-wedding and wedding on Saturday. We are going to Squamish, which is up near Whistler on Sunday so that will be a lot more country and quite different again. I just love being here, being away from all nasty work and just experiencing something different. I feel very lucky and just love it!!
ETA: So here's a couple of pictures from Capilano. Frankly, we were not overwhelmed by Capilano and as it was $32 to get in, we determined to make the most of it. I think there was a bit of a missed opportunity, really, as there's a treetop walk which contains next to no information about what's there, and I'd be happy to learn about the different types of trees and shiz like that.
View from the bridge:
They had this cliffwalk thing so we went on that. It wasn't as scary as it looks, although the bits with glass for flooring were a bit trippy:
And if you read all that, well done!!
Hey y'all, hope this week has treated you kindly. What a pain in the butt about the DDOS.
So, before I forget everything, here is an update of what I've been doing the past few days, for myself, but of course if you're interested, you are more than welcome to read.
So, Saturday afternoon we go to the bus station to Gatwick. Bus journey ok and we check into the Gatwick Hilton as our flight necessitated an early start, and hey the holiday always starts the night before, right?
Had dinner and tried to get an early night but completely failed. Hilarious in light of recent bed times.
The check-in desk was pretending to be another airline which was annoying, but we got the bags checked in, and went to departures to eat breakfast and hang round. I also managed to buy two pairs of shoes at this point as, the holiday starts at the airport, right?
Plane journey was ok, and we had the seats by the emergency door. Hello leg stretching! The guy next to us said he had to pay extra for the seat but we were just nice to the man on the desk, and checked in straight after him. Hurrah! I didn't watch any films, but read my book and dozed. It was 9.5 hours which is way long but we eventually arrived in CANADA.
And..OMG! The airport!!! There are jellyfish on the way to the immigration desk. Everyone was walking past it being all, "I am immigrating to Canada, I must not look at trivialities like jellyfish!" But I was like "CANADA IS AMAZEBALLS! Jellyfish! In the airport!!" So I stopped to look. And there are waterfalls, and trees and all sorts of random amazing shit in there. I could quite happily have stayed at the airport! Long queue to be asked weird questions about what work we do ("Er, physicist and equalities officer" I bet that meant a lot to her) but I did see Ginnifer Goodwin in the queue, being all loud.
So, Skytrain into town and then we went straight to the first eatery we saw which was a microbrewey and I had my first enormo-Canadian meal:
That's a Canadian there, behind me. A real one.
Rob's friend Dave who is getting married on SATURDAY came to join us and was very nice and told us where to go and we chatted for a bit and I was a bit tired and intense. But he hailed us a taxi to our hotel and off we went.
Our hotel was just around the corner really, but my bag was a bit too heavy to pull and it was hot. The hotel is AMAZEBALLS and has a nice double bed, and bathroom and kitchenette and FREE WIFI (hence this post). At 5pm I lay down and aimed to have a nap. Rob went exploring and had a nap also. We woke up at about 3am, had a chat and went back to sleep.
Woke up again at about 6.30 and went to breakfast about 7.30. Very strange indeed, considering what a slug-a-bed I usually am. But jetlag does very strange things to you!
So, Monday. We walked north to Stanley Park along the seawall and there were lots of fit people jogging and walking their dogs at 8.50 which confused us. But a world where people are jogging at this time and not going to work is a good one in my book. Stanley Park is this massive forest with an aquarium in it, so we walked around that and saw lots of little squirrel things that look like chipmunks. Then we went to the aquarium. Somehow we forgot about queues and screaming kids, particularly as the park was empty. But the aquarium was PACKED! Here are some pictures:
These are beluga whales. I do think it is cruel to keep them here in captivity, but they are quite rare and they did a little husbandry show which was cute and there was a lot of screaming. Well, the whole aquarium visit was overlaid with screaming, kids banging on the glass and generally acting like amazing contraceptives. I generally like children, but it was so busy, there was no respite!
Then we saw the Amazon section, with a sloth, which made me think of my friend Nina.
It's at the top of the shot with it's head in it's food. Parakeet below. Then we saw otters:
They seemed a bit weird and depressed, doing repetitive behaviours, but they are also rare. Bigger cage needed there I think. Then we went to see a bird show and they had a turkey vulture and Harris Hawks and a bald eagle. Awesomes!
We came back to our hotel for a bit then went to see Rob's friends Alex and Heather. Heather very kindly picked us up and I sat in the back with their 6 month old daughter Madilynn who is GORGEOUS. We made friends, but then she got all weirded out and cried for about 20 minutes. Oops. They were really lovely and it was just a casual evening and both Rob & I were very taken with the baby. We had to go home about 8pm as we were falling asleep, and that is what I did as soon as we got back at about 9pm. I did brush my teeth this time.
Tuesday
Got up about 7 again and went to Gastown, which is where the city was born and has lots of tourist tat shops. Anna-heaven! I got some magnets and key rings for people, and also a babygrow for my future niece/nephew with Canada on it. Oh, and Canada pyjamas. I had to stop then. But it's all so AWESOME!!!
Anyways, I had, in the background, been having hair traumas as it was in badly need of a wash. I mentioned this to Barbara and she said to stop any black woman with nice hair and ask where where she got it done. Except, weirdly, there are VERY VERY VERY few black people here. Lots of Chinese people, and Asian people, no black people. I did not want to be going to a wedding with bad barnet, believe me. So, toddling round Gastown there's a huge Aveda salon and through the door I spy a black woman, actually working there. We walked on a bit more then back past so in a pop, screwing up my courage...and ended up getting a blowdry. They had students who needed practice so a very nice man called Johnathan from Hawaii washed and dried my hair. PHEW! It wasn't perfect (not enough grease on it) but I got a head massage and at the end the blokey put makeup on me. Oh, and it took TWO HOURS, poor Rob, but my hair is sorted. Phew!
Then we had lunch and went to Rob's friend Dave's flat, which was surprisingly small. Then he took us on a walk round the sea, ending up in Granville Island, which is becoming one my new favourite places!
Look at the amazing fruit and veg in the background.
We had a poke around and then a drink at the microbrewery and got an Aquabus home and into bed by 9pm. Jetlag, man. Kicks your butt.
Wednesday
We got up a bit later today, had a really good lie-in, although you're only allowed to take 20 minutes at breakfast as the room is quite small for the size of the hotel and they ran out of bagels. SADFACE. So we agreed to be a bit earlier. We were meant to go to an art gallery but we hung around in our room a bit and emailed friends who were arriving this day. Then we went shopping and got Rob some jumpers and I got a Canandian skirt and a couple of tops for work which match my airport shoes perfectly. It all comes together.
We met our friends at their hotel and took them to Granville island on the aquabus where we had lunch and a pootle around. Then we went back to our respective hotels before reconvening at a pub for dinner. We stayed on Granville a bit longer, and I bought a hat for the wedding. It was quite expensive, but hey, I'm on holidays! This is a terrible picture of me, but shows the hat:
And on the Aquabus. Bloody loved the aquabus - check out the background too:
It was a bit sunny.
So all the people going to the wedding mostly arrived on this day and met up at a pub for dinner/sort of stag for Dave. When we went in, we explained we were with a party who were already there...no, we didn't know where they were sitting. But it was a big group of English people...She immediately knew where we would be. Ha! I had a salad and it was the biggest bloody thing you've ever seen! It was the size of a salad I'd put on the table for a four person dinner! It was very yummy but I couldn't finish it and wasn't really the type of thing you'd take home to eat again. Not good value for money. Everyone was very tired but we left at 10pm and walked down the main street as it had all lights. It was a bit rough thought. Bed at 11pm, latest since we got here. Feels like a weird badge of honour!!
Thursday
Today!
I got up about 8am to get going to the Museum of Anthropology but Rob was wasting time so I went to breakfast on my own (he had blueberries from the market on Granville Island and was happy for me to go, I wasn't being evil) and that was fine.
This is our street, Hornby:
We eventually got going, taking a train then a bus out to the university of British Columbia where the museum is situated. We took a bit of a walk round the campus which has amazing views across the bay and this lovely rose garden:
Sorry about the two uggers ruining the view:
When we got there we couldn't figure out the money to pay which made the man laugh. It's like toy money!!
Then we joined a tour and learned about the different tribes, and their art and saw loads of totem poles and boxes, blankets. It's such amazing stuff, I really love it and it's everywhere here. They call the indigneous people First Nations, which is nice. So we learned a lot there and had a look around the rest of the museum. The most famous artist is Bill Reid and there's some of his stuff there, including a massive sculpture which I took some photos off. I can't get the photos off my camera to post here, so you'll have to wait.
Edit: Finally home, so pictures:
House posts
VERY famous sculpture by the VERY famous Haida artist, Bill Reid.
This relates to a story a bit like Noah & the whale.
And the outside of the museum, which I assume was designed to look like a traditional First Nations house, there were totem poles out here too:
But here are the gifts I got for myself - a hummingbird brooch and frog fridge magnet. Good examples of the First Nations art. I thought the frog was funny for our fridge, considering how many have ended up in our house! And a hummingbird in purple and green seemed way to auspicious not to buy (purple and green are the colours of women's suffrage, and my trade union, hummingbirds are the national bird of Jamaica and in First Nations lore bring good luck. I will wear it on my first day back at work - maybe it will make me invisible!)
We had lunch there and then got a bus to Kitsilano beach, which was AMAZING. There's a huge public swimming pool and the sea and mountains. See:
God, this place is amazing! I doubt anyone said that about the Tropicana at Weston (RIP Tropicana). We were already a bit pooped, but we walked round the coast for about an hour, through Vanier Park which had this sculpture in it (plus Canada geese)
and back to Granville Island for a late lunch and a bit of a mosey round the shops again. I bloody love Granville Island!!
I bought these chocolates today, it's Pride week this week, and we've been on the Aquabus about five times.
Back at our hotel now and the plan tomorrow is to go to Capilano Park where there is a massive suspension bridge that my parents went over 40 years ago! And a Go Ape type thing, so it should be a bit of a challenge and something different. Then a BBQ pre-wedding and wedding on Saturday. We are going to Squamish, which is up near Whistler on Sunday so that will be a lot more country and quite different again. I just love being here, being away from all nasty work and just experiencing something different. I feel very lucky and just love it!!
ETA: So here's a couple of pictures from Capilano. Frankly, we were not overwhelmed by Capilano and as it was $32 to get in, we determined to make the most of it. I think there was a bit of a missed opportunity, really, as there's a treetop walk which contains next to no information about what's there, and I'd be happy to learn about the different types of trees and shiz like that.
View from the bridge:
They had this cliffwalk thing so we went on that. It wasn't as scary as it looks, although the bits with glass for flooring were a bit trippy:
And if you read all that, well done!!
Friday, 15 July 2011
Cycling
I really enjoy cycling to and from work, or to get from A to B to C. It feels like a strange physical expression of my feminism, particularly late at night after meetings when I'm banging along dual carriageways and "owning" the road. I generally tend to prefer cycling late at night, when there's not much traffic and today there was a perfect demonstration of why that might be.
I was heading to Asda East Street and had just made it across the river and was coming back around to head down Coronation Road. I pulled over quite far to the left to let a bus past as buses (sp?) kill cyclists. As I was coming back round from the kerb, a male cyclist passed my on the right, quite fast and quite close. I don't usually like people getting too close to me but he was so quick I didn't yell. There was a steady flow of traffic as it was about 5pm.
As the cyclist pulled past me on my right, he clearly came too far over for a car driver's preference and said driver honked his horn. The cyclist shook his fist or similar and by now both car and bike were a couple of metres ahead of me. What happened next really shocked me. The car was pulling past the cyclist and swerved towards him in such a way that if the cyclist had been near the car he would've been knocked off. There was absolutely no reason for the driver to pull over to the left and back again on straight road, with no hazards. He simply did it on purpose to "teach the cyclist" a lesson. It was terrifying.
I'm a driver as well as a cyclist, and I used to be really scared of overtaking cyclists, knocking them off and sometimes just frustrated by how bloody slow they seemed to be. But do you know what? Who cares? If you're in a car, you're going to be getting where you're going far more quickly than the cyclist, particularly in Bristol where you never seem to be more than five minutes from a bloody hill. Give cyclists space, hang back, overtake where you can. Your journey is not the priority. We're all trying to get where we're going, on overcrowded and busy roads. Some of us would like to arrive without being injured.
I was heading to Asda East Street and had just made it across the river and was coming back around to head down Coronation Road. I pulled over quite far to the left to let a bus past as buses (sp?) kill cyclists. As I was coming back round from the kerb, a male cyclist passed my on the right, quite fast and quite close. I don't usually like people getting too close to me but he was so quick I didn't yell. There was a steady flow of traffic as it was about 5pm.
As the cyclist pulled past me on my right, he clearly came too far over for a car driver's preference and said driver honked his horn. The cyclist shook his fist or similar and by now both car and bike were a couple of metres ahead of me. What happened next really shocked me. The car was pulling past the cyclist and swerved towards him in such a way that if the cyclist had been near the car he would've been knocked off. There was absolutely no reason for the driver to pull over to the left and back again on straight road, with no hazards. He simply did it on purpose to "teach the cyclist" a lesson. It was terrifying.
I'm a driver as well as a cyclist, and I used to be really scared of overtaking cyclists, knocking them off and sometimes just frustrated by how bloody slow they seemed to be. But do you know what? Who cares? If you're in a car, you're going to be getting where you're going far more quickly than the cyclist, particularly in Bristol where you never seem to be more than five minutes from a bloody hill. Give cyclists space, hang back, overtake where you can. Your journey is not the priority. We're all trying to get where we're going, on overcrowded and busy roads. Some of us would like to arrive without being injured.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
Formalising a relationship
There's a post somewhere in me about why I do not want to get married. The thing about not wanting to get married, is that married people seem to feel that it's a criticism of their choice, and feathers become ruffled. Marriage is not for me, but I understand and respect that it is for other people. My choice to remain unmarried is in no way a criticism of another person's choice to get married, but a lot of people don't see it that way.
So this is not that post.
This is a post about what marriage means to other people, specifically within a family. I have been with my partner for five years, we have bought a house together and adopted two cats. We're reasonably serious about each other. But marriage it seems, is the thing that seals your relationship, and tells everyone else that you're *really* together.
Now, I do understand this, of course I do. Standing up in front of everyone you know and promising to stay together forever is a major big deal! That relationship is serious, that relationship is for keeps. Those two just living together, no one really knowing what it's all about, whether they'll still be together next week, or for the next ten years. You have to be wary of those cohabitees, don't you?
But married people? That's for keeps. You can build a relationship with married people. You know where you stand and you know what's what. They are in for the long haul. They've made their promises and they are going to stick to them. It's serious.
But surely, that's crap? We've all heard about the celebrities who've got married, and then had affairs. Or had affairs, got married and carried on having affairs. That happens in real life too, and I don't think that relationship breakdown discriminates between married and unmarried people, whatever the stats say. Divorce exists, after all. And I'm glad it does. But what that means, to me, is that all relationships have a sense of impermanance, that has nothing to do with whether people are married or not. I recently heard about a couple who'd been married for 12 months splitting up because one partner wanted to go to the pub, and the other was a recovering alcoholic and couldn't do that. For serious!
I can't imagine many of us, married or otherwise, throwing our relationship away on such a triviality, and of course there must've been deeper issues at the heart of the issue. But this is the point - marriage isn't a special glue that keeps people together "properly".
And so to the heart of the piece. Because if you're married, you become a husband and a wife and your relationship has a status that everyone understands. A wedding means that you are "properly" related to your spouse's family, not just some piece of ass he/she is deigning to hang around for as long as you look good.
Of course, I am speaking from my own, bitter experience. I feel it's a real shame that people choose to maintain these unnecessary divisions in family life. What, really, would change my relationship with my partner, and in the eyes of those around us should we spend 90 seconds saying some words, and then signing a piece of paper?
Apparently, plenty.
So this is not that post.
This is a post about what marriage means to other people, specifically within a family. I have been with my partner for five years, we have bought a house together and adopted two cats. We're reasonably serious about each other. But marriage it seems, is the thing that seals your relationship, and tells everyone else that you're *really* together.
Now, I do understand this, of course I do. Standing up in front of everyone you know and promising to stay together forever is a major big deal! That relationship is serious, that relationship is for keeps. Those two just living together, no one really knowing what it's all about, whether they'll still be together next week, or for the next ten years. You have to be wary of those cohabitees, don't you?
But married people? That's for keeps. You can build a relationship with married people. You know where you stand and you know what's what. They are in for the long haul. They've made their promises and they are going to stick to them. It's serious.
But surely, that's crap? We've all heard about the celebrities who've got married, and then had affairs. Or had affairs, got married and carried on having affairs. That happens in real life too, and I don't think that relationship breakdown discriminates between married and unmarried people, whatever the stats say. Divorce exists, after all. And I'm glad it does. But what that means, to me, is that all relationships have a sense of impermanance, that has nothing to do with whether people are married or not. I recently heard about a couple who'd been married for 12 months splitting up because one partner wanted to go to the pub, and the other was a recovering alcoholic and couldn't do that. For serious!
I can't imagine many of us, married or otherwise, throwing our relationship away on such a triviality, and of course there must've been deeper issues at the heart of the issue. But this is the point - marriage isn't a special glue that keeps people together "properly".
And so to the heart of the piece. Because if you're married, you become a husband and a wife and your relationship has a status that everyone understands. A wedding means that you are "properly" related to your spouse's family, not just some piece of ass he/she is deigning to hang around for as long as you look good.
Of course, I am speaking from my own, bitter experience. I feel it's a real shame that people choose to maintain these unnecessary divisions in family life. What, really, would change my relationship with my partner, and in the eyes of those around us should we spend 90 seconds saying some words, and then signing a piece of paper?
Apparently, plenty.
Friday, 1 April 2011
Lent
I am not Christian, and would probably describe myself as agnostic when talking about religion or belief. But, I decided to give up meat during Lent. In an ideal world, where I am an organised person, I would like to be vegan, but the amount of preparation I'd have to do each day is not realistic for me. So giving up meat, seems like the next best option. I liked the idea of doing it during Lent, as it's a discrete amount of time and the never-ending-ness of some enterprises renders them impossible for me.
What am I learning? For the way I live, it would be very difficult to be vegan. I am eating a lot more cheese than I ever have, and worry that I'm not getting enough protein. That's my problem of course - I should try harder with foods I know have high protein, and that's something to work on next week.
There's something there for me, which forms part of my choice to give up meat, about the provenance of my food. Of course, I still have to wonder where my food has come from, who has potentially suffered for me to have it, and bear in mind the fact that I can walk into a shop and buy food. An option not available to most of the world. I am glad I'm not perpetuating the negative aspects of the food industry, at the moment. It's far less likely than an animal or person has suffered for me to eat the food or had a poor life. If and when I start eating meat again, and I will try much harder to ensure I know where it has come from.
What am I learning? For the way I live, it would be very difficult to be vegan. I am eating a lot more cheese than I ever have, and worry that I'm not getting enough protein. That's my problem of course - I should try harder with foods I know have high protein, and that's something to work on next week.
There's something there for me, which forms part of my choice to give up meat, about the provenance of my food. Of course, I still have to wonder where my food has come from, who has potentially suffered for me to have it, and bear in mind the fact that I can walk into a shop and buy food. An option not available to most of the world. I am glad I'm not perpetuating the negative aspects of the food industry, at the moment. It's far less likely than an animal or person has suffered for me to eat the food or had a poor life. If and when I start eating meat again, and I will try much harder to ensure I know where it has come from.
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Where I come from
I just blurted this out over on the F word in response to Amelia's blog about ethnic identity. I don't know anything about blog etiquette, so sorry if this is bad form:
Firstly, I'd like to say how much I liked your post on "Where are you from?" it really spoke to my experience.
Obviously, we are coming from quite different angles, as I am dual heritage - Black Caribbean and White English.
I have to pull you up on the use of the term "Afro-Caribbean". Black people, in your terms, come from more places than Africa or the Caribbean and using "Afro" invalidates the African experience and the African heritage of a large majority of Caribbean people. A lot of Caribbean I know are proud to have an African heritage and choose to describe themselves as African Caribbean.
The term "Black" with a capital B is seen as a political statement used by those of us who have experienced oppression due to the colour of our skin. My trade union has a Black members section which is an umbrella term used in preference to Black and Minority Ethnic or any other term to show our solidarity with each other and the stand we make against racism.
I'm curious to know how you know that the colour of your skin has not affected your life chances or opportunities, I'd be really interested to know how you have reached that conclusion. Of course, class and money come it into it, and I expect we may have similar backgrounds, yet I know I have been disadvantaged and treated differently due to the colour of my skin in the workplace, socially and in day-to-day life. Being followed round shops, turned away from restaurants and treated as if I am uneducated are not new experiences.
Finally, I choose not to use the term "race". My nationality is English, my ethnicity is dual heritage, as I mentioned above, and I am happy to identify as Black. Being dual heritage has been a long hard road for me to walk, and ethnically, I do identify more as White English than Black Caribbean due to how I was brought up. But there's no way to "show" that to the people who ask "where are you from?" and I have chosen to stand with my Black brothers and sisters as that is where the world places me, and there's nothing I can do about that.
Firstly, I'd like to say how much I liked your post on "Where are you from?" it really spoke to my experience.
Obviously, we are coming from quite different angles, as I am dual heritage - Black Caribbean and White English.
I have to pull you up on the use of the term "Afro-Caribbean". Black people, in your terms, come from more places than Africa or the Caribbean and using "Afro" invalidates the African experience and the African heritage of a large majority of Caribbean people. A lot of Caribbean I know are proud to have an African heritage and choose to describe themselves as African Caribbean.
The term "Black" with a capital B is seen as a political statement used by those of us who have experienced oppression due to the colour of our skin. My trade union has a Black members section which is an umbrella term used in preference to Black and Minority Ethnic or any other term to show our solidarity with each other and the stand we make against racism.
I'm curious to know how you know that the colour of your skin has not affected your life chances or opportunities, I'd be really interested to know how you have reached that conclusion. Of course, class and money come it into it, and I expect we may have similar backgrounds, yet I know I have been disadvantaged and treated differently due to the colour of my skin in the workplace, socially and in day-to-day life. Being followed round shops, turned away from restaurants and treated as if I am uneducated are not new experiences.
Finally, I choose not to use the term "race". My nationality is English, my ethnicity is dual heritage, as I mentioned above, and I am happy to identify as Black. Being dual heritage has been a long hard road for me to walk, and ethnically, I do identify more as White English than Black Caribbean due to how I was brought up. But there's no way to "show" that to the people who ask "where are you from?" and I have chosen to stand with my Black brothers and sisters as that is where the world places me, and there's nothing I can do about that.
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