Today, yesterday, tomorrow


My intention this morning was to write a post about keeping busy and cheerful – and the day did begin on track. I danced to some tunes in the living room. I air-boxed infertility. I had a soak in the bath and enjoyed the warmth on my back. I used generous quantities of sea salt body scrub. Then I tucked into a large bowl of porridge with banana and nuts. I was set up for the day.

After breakfast, I sat down at the computer. I intended to create my plan for staying positive. The blank page would not be filled, however. My eyes glazed over and my brain switched to standby mode. I just couldn’t make myself think. I flicked through social media instead, to find a hook back into the world. Somehow, I managed to send the hospital report to Airbnb, who are considering our refund request for the Ibiza accommodation. It took an hour to achieve that, however, as I couldn’t work out how to attach the document on the website. I cried on the phone to the Airbnb agent, who said I could email the report to him instead – thank you Paolo.

For lunch, we had homemade soup and a long hug, which is when I remembered that I don’t get to decide how this goes. Many people have said to take it easy, that the feelings will come and go. So I went back to bed this afternoon and slept for an hour, which was the perfect medicine.

At tea time, I had peanut butter and honey on toast (a suggestion from a friend on Twitter, which sounded so disgustingly delicious, I had to try it). Then the spark came to do a quick drawing, as we’re packing for the seaside and I didn’t want to go without saying thank you for the loving messages – they take the loneliness out of this experience.



We had a three hour wait for our blood test results, which would indicate whether a scan was required. While we waited, we left the hospital for a walk in the sunshine and some lunch (another great suggestion from an IVF sister). On the way back to the Early Pregnancy Assessment Unit, we picked up a new prescription from the hospital pharmacy for Progynova and Cyclogest – to signal our confidence to each other that there was good news ahead. When we returned to the unit, there was an episode of Jeremy Kyle on the waiting room TV. It was a DNA testing episode, where they prove conclusively who is or isn’t the daddy. Cue the shouting and finger pointing and storming off set – nightmare show!

Thankfully, we were called by the nurse. She was quick to tell us the result.
“I’m afraid it’s not good news,” she said. Six little words that ended IVF1.

We were taken through to the doctor’s room. It was Nargis, the same doctor as last Thursday. She was kind and very clear. She said to stop taking the medication now. I felt a bit daft clutching the prescription bag.
“Come back in a week’s time for another blood test,” Nargis said. “We need to monitor the hormone levels, to make sure they drop further.”

Walking out of hospital, there were just sounds – footsteps, alarm beeps, doors opening and closing. It was a strange experience of shrinking inside myself, like a hedgehog curling up. People were featureless shapes in the corridor. It is true that the world blurs with bad news. In the hospital entrance, we were stuck in a buggy jam, but the sensory shutdown protected me. The buggies were just dark blobs. With his arm around my waist, Dad 100 steered me through the gap. When we got to the car, we sat for a minute, holding hands.

Naively, we thought we were prepared for this outcome. Since our double embryo transfer, there have been so many warnings that things weren’t right. Low beta results, continuous bleeding, medics giving opinions – but of course, hope is stronger than all of that. The instinct to protect and believe in the life inside me superseded all the gloom. So when the conclusive statement came – “your beta-HCG levels have dropped, which confirms the miscarriage” – we both felt a fresh punch.


In the morning, we’re heading to the east coast for our overnight stay. We have booked a comfortable hotel room with a big bed and sea view. I’m really looking forward to the fresh air and the old-fashioned arcade games on Southwold pier. Sunshine is forecast when we get into town. See you all very soon – thank you so much for your friendship.



13 thoughts on “Today, yesterday, tomorrow

  1. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through right now.
    Southwold is really lovely, I hope it can give you a little comfort while you process your feelings. Big hugs x

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thanks for sharing this. Despite the Facebook era of shiny, happy, people, we all have holes in our lives that feel dark, sad and painful and we try and patch over them. You are shining a light on yours bravely. I am positive strength will come from this journey and healing will come. Sending all our love to you in this painful time.

    Liked by 2 people

  3. Hope you’re doing a teeny bit better today. You’ve been on an emotional rollercoaster so take it easy and cry and scream all you like! Hope you had a good stay on the east coast and the weather was kind to you. And LOVE that you tried my toast recommendation 🙂 Hope you enjoyed it! Lots of love xx

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Your toast recommendation was pure indulgence – loved it. Yeah, definitely going through the emotions, but I can see the bigger picture and the seaside trip was so lovely x x x x


  4. Oh gorge, I am so so very sorry I was praying so hard for you guys 😦 I hope your getaway helped the hurt a little. Sunshine really is amazing & healing. Sending you huge, giant hugs and wish we could all take your sadness away xxx😞💐😘

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Sounds like it was a beautiful place to be during a tough time for you. I am just back from my little holiday tonight & that was nice to spend some quality time with my little fam. I am doing ok, one day at a time seems to be how I am rolling , but honestly I’m ok thank you so much. I hope you are hanging in there and doing everything you feel you need to do to deal xxx✨✨✨✨🌸

        Liked by 1 person

      2. One day at a time is a brilliant approach, I need to remember that at the moment. Lovely to hear about your holiday too – breaks are so important xx Today has started off a bit shaky, but I am on my way to a video editing course so that will distract me 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

  5. Oh, I’m so sorry to hear this. Your trip has echoes of mine last year, when I was still miscarrying, and we went to the sea. It was very healing to get away (with Dog – hard to be sad when he’s so excited) and just to be gentle with ourselves. I hope that your trip is good. Sending you hugs. Xx

    Liked by 1 person

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