Half Marathon Plodder

When I started blogging, someone once asked me if I minded that my main topic was my Crohn's - I guess meant in a way of did I want to write more about me, without the obvious affiliation to my disease. And I didn't really know how to answer it?

The older I've got the more I've realised that it is part of me; whether I like it or not it has an effect on all areas of my life, both good and bad. And the fact of the matter is, I am my Crohn's and my Crohn's is me. Of course there are days when I begrudge the seeming unfairness of it all - especially when I was younger and I was spending more time in hospital waiting rooms than I was at university. And in more recent times realising I really don't have a choice at all in how my body behaves. But my body has also fascinated me by pretty much pretending Crohn's is gone when I've been pregnant with my boys, and it's allowed me to go on and have two very healthy, wonderful pregnancies. Swings and roundabouts, etc.

I had my post-op colonscopy on the weekend and (surprise, surprise), there's still signs of active disease which means upping my dose and frequency of my biologic meds. So yes, it can still get me down. I'm doing as I'm told, I'm taking my medicine... I'm doing all the things the doctors advise AND YET we don't ever really seem to get ahead of the disease.

But despite all of the monotony of a chronic illness and pain, I got my Crohnsy arse in gear and I managed to complete my pledged half marathon distance for Crohn's & Colitis UK. Well done me. 

I aimed to do 7 miles walking as I was waaaaaay below on my iron - normal healthy person optimum iron ~40, I came in with a strong 4. So I packed my backpack and off I went into the wilderness of the westcountry with only my headphones and the cows to keep me company. My main concern was literally shitting in the woods, but alas, no Paula Radcliffe this time round. I found that the walking itself wasn't too bad and I think because of how crap last year was, there was definitely that drive to plod on and keep going. To see donations coming in as I walked was so encouraging (shed a tear by some sheep in a field because I'm a mess?) But it really did spur me on. So much so, that my aim of 7 miles came and went and lo and behold these little tired legs completed the half marathon in one stint. 

I really am proud of myself because I really didn't think I'd manage it. And I did my 13.21 miles in 4hr 23m. Because of my shameless pride I have no qualms in saying the Walk It fundraising campaign ends on 30 June so this is my final call to anyone who would like to donate to Crohn's & Colitis UK.

https://www.mywalkit.org.uk/fundraising/harriets-walking 

I'm going to try and put some videos up of me rambling whilst I rambled. But just want to say a massive thanks to everyone that has donated so far. It means so much to me, as I imagine this is a charity that I will need to lean on many more times in the future.

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All the Things

Not really sure how to start these posts now, when it’s more of a current health update, as opposed to the woes of yesteryear (NB: 2020). But if I’m going to ramble on about certain IBD situs, then I guess I might as well keep you informed with the now...

Had my appointment with Gastro on Monday. Essentially my bloods say I’m anaemic again and I need another iron infusion; they want to get up my arse with another colonoscopy to assess post-op if my 12 weekly home injections of biologic meds needs increasing to every 8 weeks instead; to try not to lift my sons due to the abdominal hernias and then could I please shit in a pot for a stool sample (my words, not theirs). All this before pending surgery, if covid deadlines allow. So that’s a barrel of laughs ahead!

And whilst I’m dreading any letter that arrives with a hospital postmark in case it’s my kidney operation date, I had one arrive this week for the eye hospital because *spoiler alert* apparently Crohn’s can also affect your eyeballs and get inflamed there too. Specsavers weren’t too sure what was going on in my left eye and thought it best I got referred to the eye specialists. Lovely time.

I mean, I’d be lying if I said I’m ok with the volume of things that seem to be happening in one go? So as a distraction I’m going to try and complete my half marathon walk this coming week. Ideally in one day, but, you know, I’m a little bit broken inside ha. Plus it’s also very warm at the moment - don’t want to be chafing as I stride up a hill with a big stick.

Will let you know when I’ve walked my walk and whether I can stand up by the end of it. For now though, I plan on sitting in my garden in the sunshine and listen to my children play. Make the most of the fleeting British summertime.

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My JustGiving page 

Walk It 2021

I have full imposter syndrome about doing sports, but here we are. It's June. The month I committed to doing a half marathon's distance for Crohn's and Colitis UK. 

As I touched upon in my last post, 2020 was a tough year for everyone what with Covid19 and the uncertainty that brought in these unprecedented times. Yet from a personal, Crohn's point of view, it was my toughest year to date. Throw in a global pandemic and WHAT A RIDE. Honestly? When I had my flare up in March, I thought I was going to die and my body had had enough. I've never felt so vulnerable. When it happened again in September I just didn't know what was going on in my insides and what the plan was - if there even was one.

Yes, ok I've had all the operations and procedures when I've flared beforehand and generally I've been fine (?) with that. But I have never vomited *actual* shit before; and all at a time when I wasn't even sure if my husband was allowed in hospital with me when I needed him the most. 

But hey, now it's quite the anecdote and conversation starter at least.

That week in March 2020 was a whirlwind...we had our boys' christenings and the next day at 2am I was blue lighted into hospital with the whole shit shenanigans. At one point prior to ringing 999, I was breastfeeding my baby whilst being sick in a bowl. The rest is a bit of a blur - but to summarise, once in hospital and all the pain relief, I had a CT scan and the strongest IV antibiotic steroids to try and calm down the inflammation in my small intestine, as it was essentially causing a faux blockage. Persevered with a week of meds and the bloods and tests showed things had calmed so off I went home.

Fast forward to September and I was optimistically getting my hair coloured - even though I felt beyond rough (lockdown locks had gone wild, plus I thought the pamper might make me feel better). However, I ended up being sick in her bin in between rinsing the colour off and knew things weren't going to be ok. I rang the other half and said to get his mum round to watch the kids as this was looking to be another 999 situ. Even though my hairdresser was incredible in that situation, I could imagine that the professional part of her must have been like 'Jesus Christ, that bleach needs toner. It's so brassy.'  We simply paused on the 'do and I promised I'd be back to finish it off soon. LITTLE DID I KNOW. 

***

It seems strange writing about September in such a pragmatic way, as I look back at the Instagram posts from that time and I just wasn't ok?? Like I said, I've had like nearly 20 operations but this one hit different: that the inflammation from March never really went away and was now an actual blockage. The urgency of an op, the seriousness of it. The fact that it's not just me; it's my husband and two boys that are relying on me to pull through this flare. 

Because of covid, there were the obvious and expected delays with things which inevitably allows thinking time. When you're on your own in a hospital bed, the mind can really run wild. But I got my op; resection in the small and large intestine, with an incision down my stomach and a new belly button for good measure. The optimism was creeping back in, and now it was all focus on the recovery. That was until I got a temperature, got incredibly distended and couldn't pass wind for days. They say after that type of surgery that your bowels forget what their job is, so to try walking around and what not, trying to encourage bowel movement. Never have I willed on a fart as much as I did during this time. Any sort of humility and decorum had long gone.

The fart never came.

Instead, I got another NG tube and was having litres of dark green fluid syringed out of my stomach. I had another CT scan because they thought I had a leak from where the new bits of intestines were joined together. Fortunately I did not have a leak - I guess things were just going to take their time and test me physically and mentally as we went on. But yeah sure. Was in hospital for a little while and then once I'd done the enigmatic poo we'd all been waiting for, it was time to head home again and start the next stage of recovery.

Recovery took longer than I'd thought and hoped it would, but I also knew I couldn't push myself too much. To go slow, rest, look after myself. And after six weeks or so I was miles off the state I was in before my operation and I felt able to look forward to the good bits.

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Side note - Probably worth mentioning here that a kidney consultant rang in Autumn last year to discuss the CT scans I'd had when an inpatient in March. Turns out I have a couple of kidney stones knocking around. After many a phone appointment and consultations in hospital since, I'm now actually waiting on another operation in the next few weeks. 

I want to do my walk before I'm back in another post-op recovery period. If you'd like to help my fundraising, the link is below...

Harriet's Walking - Walk It 2021

Thank you in advance, you wonderful people.

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Second Fitting

I say second; it was the second occasion and only one seizure, as opposed to the first instance of multiple seizures with what seemed like no end in sight.

It was our son’s outpatient appointment on Friday following up from everything that went on 6 weeks ago. Off we sent him to nursery, as per, on the basis we’d be picking him up at lunchtime to take him to the hospital. He’d been a bit snotty that morning so we gave him some Calpol – as you do – but didn’t think too much of it because he was fine? I got a call an hour later from the nursery to say that they’d taken his temperature and it was up past 39 now (considering he’d had medicine less than an hour prior, this didn’t sit too well). My husband went to collect him and I said how I’d meet them at the hospital as planned, later on that afternoon.

But then I got another call from the nursery, from my husband’s mobile. Not to panic, but he’s with our little boy and the ambulance is on its way as he’s having a seizure. My heart sank. I cried a bit.

I left work and drove straight to the nursery to find my two boys in the back of the ambulance, critical care on its way and prepping to do blue lights into town to the hospital. From what I could gather, there was only one seizure this time… but it lasted twenty minutes. So, it’s still atypical. We still don’t know why it’s happening. The only constant we have so far between these two occasions, is that his temperature had spiked. Except this time there were no obvious leads into the fitting, as in he wasn’t visibly ill on Thursday. Whereas last time he’d been a bit clingy and feeling sorry for himself that week and you could have said he was under the weather, somewhat. But off we went with the sirens to A&E at the children's hospital.

However this time I felt a strange sense of calm. He’d only had one fit. He’d stopped on his own. He didn’t need additional intervention for anything. Just some oxygen, I mean sure, his little bod was stressed. But he was talking, and he wanted to eat and he wanted to drink. As long as there were no more fits, we were just going to be observed by the doctors: the usual obs plus prepping his arms with ‘magic cream’ in case we needed bloods and (somehow?!) we needed to get a urine sample off of a toddler who is still learning how to wee in a toilet. Help.

Long story short, his obs were fine and remained stable the whole time we were there. The only bit of drama was when we tried to do his urine sample; he ended up doing a weewee all over his Daddy’s leg like a scene out of Dumb & Dumber. Little bit of a dribble to start with which we knew wouldn’t be enough for them to test. But then the wee just kept coming! The pot was filling up and then the power of the weeing meant it was now going in and essentially straight back out onto my other half. Oh how we laughed. The delirium/relief/tiredness from the morning’s events had kicked in. And there we were, in A&E, sick and injured children around us. And we were laughing. One of us covered in piss and the other one holding said piss, in a pot. And our boy, naked from the waist down looking at us like we’re mental. But the wee was fine. He was fine. We were allowed to go home.

So until he fits without a temperature, we’re assuming febrile convulsions, as before. If he fits otherwise then we most likely have an underlying issue that needs to be found. We’re due an EEG in the coming weeks to check his little head and then the rearranged outpatient appointment to follow.

It’s obviously just going to be one of those things and we simply have to hope that each time it happens, the seizures are few and far between and that we’ll get to the bottom of it sooner rather than later. Because it just makes you realise how fragile your little person is. But equally, how tough they are too.

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Bad Fit

Clearly the universe gets the vibes when everything is lovely and settled because BOOM. It all went to shit over the weekend.

As a parent I am aware that there will be many occasions where as much as I want to, I cannot simply wrap up my son in cotton wool until he's 37. He will fall over at school and hurt himself. I'm sure there'll be times when he doesn't look where he's going and headbutts a wall. There have been times when he is beyond snotty and I just want to make him feel better. And then there are times like Friday evening when you simply feel like you cannot do anything to help your child and you're helpless.

My son had a temperature and I was asked to collect him from nursery on Friday (he'd also been teething), so naturally didn't think anything of it. We spent the afternoon on the sofa watching The Greatest Showman and having all the cuddles. And then just before tea time, he was laying on my tum - he looked up at me and it is a look I will never forget. He was trying to focus on me and went to put his hands on my face. But he couldn't. He couldn't focus. He couldn't reach me even though I was right in front of him. And then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he began to fit.

I put him on his side on the floor as I wasn't sure if he was choking at the same time. Fortunately, (and god knows how it was at the EXACT time it happened), but my sister-in-law arrived and she's a paediatric nurse. We knew straightaway that we needed to call an ambulance - and my word, that conversation was the longest 11 minutes before the crew arrived. My husband was with our brother-in-law and they both raced home once we'd spoken. Seeing the father of my child burst through the door to quite the scene, must have been really tough for him. I knew how I felt about it all unfolding in front of me; I can only begin to imagine how he felt, too. In a nutshell, my son had three seizures before the ambulance arrived. Vomited twice. Shook. Was stiff. Was unresponsive. Couldn't focus. And I've never felt more useless. My sister-in-law did a sterling job as I flapped around the edges, packing a bag for the hospital and whenever we were able, hold onto our boy to tell him his Mummy was here, Daddy's here. We love him.

Everything is a wee bit of a blur and I guess by my writing about it now, is in some way a coping mechanism for what went on this weekend. The post may get a tad lengthy, but a lot happened that I need to get my head around.

In the ambulance, we had two pit stops: one to collect another member of ambulance crew to administer some medication whilst we went blue lights a'flashing through town. And then another to pick up the air ambulance doctors who had 'Critical Care' emblazoned on their jackets (!) My little boy was on the bed with all of these people around him, and I just sat there with my seatbelt on, holding the gas tank because I had nothing else to bring to the party. And my husband, bless him, sat in the front of the ambulance similarly helpless. We got to the children's hospital and headed straight to A&E - to resus - where what seemed like everyone who worked in the hospital was waiting for our arrival. [Anyone who's watched any kind of real life hospital programme on the tele knows it's not the best if they ring the red phone. The critical care doctors had rang the red phone before our arrival. THE RED PHONE.]

Never have either myself or the husband wanted to pick up our boy and tell him that everything is going to be ok...and it actually be ok. In that instant. Be able to make it better for him now.

Unfortunately despite all the medicines in the world for seizures, nothing stopped him fitting. Until they stuck paraldehyde up his tiny bottom; a last resort before a general anaesthetic. At this point, one of his seizures had lasted 50 minutes - and I thought that 11 minute phone call had seemed like a lifetime. Jesus, was I wrong. They ran a CT scan as well as did a chest x-ray and as far as we could tell, there was nothing major to report on either of them. We just had to play the waiting game on the High Dependency Unit overnight.

Fortunately there were no more fits on our first night in hospital (his body must have been exhausted and that makes me so sad for him), but we waited to see the neurologist team that following morning anyway. Our little person who we made was struggling to bear any weight on his own two feet, he was still really floppy and lethargic and had the oddest gurning going on; his tongue kept coming out like a camel's and his speech was all slurred. All we could do was hope that these symptoms were down to the fact he was off his little rocker the night before and that rather than them be symptoms of something more serious, they were instead side effects of the drugs he'd had. Hopefully with a good night's sleep they'd wear off and disappear? The consultant decided that it wasn't worth the risk and that our son would need to have a lumbar puncture. In case you didn't know (we didn't) a lumbar puncture is a procedure in which they put a needle in between the bones of the lower back, into the fluid around the spinal cord and the fluid can then be extracted for testing. We got told we were testing for meningitis - as well as anything else that might have caused the seizures. They tried to do the lumbar puncture with some sedation, but despite not being 100% himself, our little lad was too wiggly for them to do it on Saturday.

Which leads me onto Sunday. Our son had been treated with antibiotics from arrival as if it was meningitis, whilst also having antibiotics for all things viral and bacterial; it's gibberish to me, but all you need to know is they were so on top of his care from the moment I dialled '999' and I am forever grateful to the NHS.

But yes. The needle in the spine. Poor chap was nil by mouth from 6am Sunday morning as he was due to go into theatre in the afternoon. My husband and I took him down and as only one parent was allowed into the anaesthetist bit, I went in with our boy after my other half kissed him and told him he loved him. Now I've had 17 operations. 16 with general anaesthetic (one was a c-section, so a jazzier op than anything Crohn's related). Yet holding him in my arms as they administered the knockout fluid through the cannula in his little hand was something else. Hearing my little boy say it was 'chilly' and holding his arm as the cold fluid travelled up his forearm - a feeling I knew so well. And then just like that, within no more than 2 seconds... he was asleep. I kissed him on the head and told him I loved him, too. Told them to look after him and went out to meet my husband. And we waited.

We got a call exactly one hour later: we left him at 2:44pm and the ward called at 3:44pm to say we could get him from Recovery. As before, only one parent could go so this time my husband went to collect him and I waited to give them both a big squeeze.

Should probably throw in for good measure here that our son was definitely feeling more like himself that morning as he was able to do standing. And walking. Or as he ended up doing, a quick turn near the only cupboard in the room and split his eyelid open on his brow bone. So for dramatic effect, we then ended up with not only a lumbar puncture scheduled in - but a few stitches too for the newly developing black eye and laceration. Don't do things by half son! With regards to theatre though, all went to plan and the results from the lumbar puncture were due to trickle through over the next 24 hours. My husband and I continued to tag-team the hospital nighttime shifts and had everything crossed for some good news.

Unfortunately for the little one though, there were a few moments in the nighttimes where he had to have his cannulas removed/changed for his antibiotics. Hearing your child scream out for Mummy and Daddy whilst sobbing because of pain is so so tough to see. When the final cannula was removed on his last night, he turned to me when he woke up and just announced that 'baddy...gone' and gestured to his blood-stained foot. My heart melted for him.

But onward and upwards we went! The test results were starting to come in and we were looking good for it not being meningitis. However the fact it was still being mentioned due to some outstanding test results, meant none of us could fully relax just yet. He was definitely more like himself. But we wanted to make sure we were going to leave with the best case scenario: that being that it was a complex febrile convulsion, and hopefully there's no lasting damage - with these fitting episodes few and far between.

And that is what we got: complex febrile convulsions. That was our diagnosis on the discharge letter yesterday.

So after 5 days in hospital (and what seemed like forever) we were going home, together.

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NB: I had febrile convulsions myself as a child until I was around 9. I knew what they were - but under no circumstances did I think I would see my own son have a seizure in front of me. Multiple seizures, in fact.

Apart from writing this post as a way for me to process the weekend's activity, I also wanted to put it out there because it was such a scary unknown for us as parents. That guilt I had was horrible; that maybe I should have been able to stop the seizures happening. But the doctors explained that generally speaking, with febrile convulsions it'll kind of happen regardless. As in, he didn't have a fit because I didn't do enough to make him feel well. 

And now we know that if it's to happen again, we just do exactly as before...ring 999 and let the emergency services do what they do best.

10 Year Challenge

You may have been aware of the latest internet craze called the #10yearchallenge? Essentially a then and now (or at least a 'then') from 2009. Why someone felt 2019 was the year to look back from is beyond me? Surely 2020 would have been better, as a multiple of 10. Or maybe I'm just thinking too much about this.

Anyway. I hopped on the bandwagon on this drizzly Wednesday, after many a day of scrolling through various social media platforms seeing people's throwback to a decade ago. Glow ups, etc. Lovely time. And I put up a picture of me from ten years ago.

But it wasn't until I started looking through my own photos properly from 2009 that it dawned on me: I've been having my own 10 year challenge. January 2009 was the month I got diagnosed with Crohn's. 2009 was the year that what I thought I knew of my health was all change for forever more. A whole decade of diagnosed IBD.

I pretty much spent all of my 20s - in one way or another - poorly. In hospital. Lying down because it hurt to get up. Sleeping on a narcoleptic level. Fat. Thin. Steroid moonface. Taking medication. Injecting medication. Having an IV for medication. Keyhole surgery. Robot surgery. Slice me open surgery. Hospital admissions. Inpatient. Outpatient. Too many perianal abscesses to mention. Too many visits to a toilet. Too many medical professionals looking up my asshole.

In January 2009 I was presented with a challenge I didn't know I'd have to face; a challenge that had mini-challenges en route. But Jesus Christ it has absolutely been the making of me.

And here we are now! Yes OK, I'm like 17 operations in (who's counting?!) But I am in my 30s. Married. Mama. Now a homeowner (what a palaver that was - will pick up that topic of convo another time). Back working on a magazine portfolio that I love so much. Things are actually really good! And I'm so happy that everything finally seems to be falling into place for me and mine.

Sure, I still have to do an assessment of where all toilets are if I'm out for a family walk. Or there might be times where Mummy just needs to have a quick powernap before we watch Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for the 6th time that day. There might also be times - like now - when I'm sitting on a train and I catch my reflection in the window and it's apparent that my tired bags have developed their own bags. Eye bags on eye bags. It's quite a look and I don't think any form of makeup layering is going to help this face out.

I don't mind you see, because besides being rather tired, I am content. I have spent three days in London doing meetings and what not for work and it brings me joy. But not as much joy as stepping off the train to be greeted by my husband and son will bring me. My boys. My little team.

To be honest...I'm not sure where this blog post is going. Am I waffling? I just knew that I had to take a moment to acknowledge the ol' decade long anniversary of knowing my insides were broken. And that however shit things might have seemed at times, it works itself out. Ish*

Here's to the next ten years.

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*I mean nothing is a guarantee. But all in all, I guess if you can find the positives where possible and then just ensure to have a ruddy good time?

PS: I'm running out of sentences to apologise for my MIA blogging. I do get annoyed with myself that it's so infrequent. But I guess it's going to have to be as and when, probably the best way forward. So until next time...(whenever that is!)

Ass Issues

Needless to say it's certainly been a little while! And even though it seems wildly out of context, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all. So now to 2018.

Brief update on what's been happening: got discharged from hospital after my stay in November (don't think I'd cope if I was still there now) and I had everything crossed for a lovely normal Christmas period. Wanted to start 2018 with a 'new year, new me' attitude and all that shite...Dyed my hair blonde. Strong start. 

From a general Crohn's point of view though, we made it to January in a relatively normal state - no more hospital admissions, and I will take the small wins as and where I can! Also had both an outpatient appointment and a catch up pre-Christmas with my consultant. I mean it wasn't great news?! Essentially, your inflammatory markers should be around 50 and mine was coming in at 507. Whoopsy. Have a vitamin D deficiency too, but as far as I'm concerned, if ever there was an excuse to go ahead and get the honeymoon booked it was my body medically crying out for a bit of sunshine. And I finally got my iron infusion - second time lucky as the first time I had a temperature after the flu jab. Swings, roundabouts, etc. Was also still on the waiting list for the EUA from September - and herein lay the problem; THAT'S A VERY LONG TIME TO HAVE A POORLY BOTTOM.

But as of yesterday, I got my long-awaited EUA. All up in my personal space trying to figure out what exactly is happening with my ass. The surgeon came to see me beforehand as they do, and tried to explain to me what was going to happen. As with any type of IBD surgery, it's very much a case of consent to almost everything and then see what you wake up with. I know this. Yesterday was my 16th time in theatre. It's just a bit tough when they essentially say they don't know what's wrong with you.

I had an MRI in November and it showed that there was unusual activity in my pelvis. So then I was sent for the flexible sigmoidoscopy but they couldn't find anything? Yesterday's surgeon spoke to the people who carried out the MRI and the Flexi to literally try and get to the bottom of it. But to no avail, it seemed. The surgeon also mentioned that maybe the only way we can stop my bottom being such a pain, is to stop using it all together. That's an intimidating thought as having a permanent bag in this scenario would be more of a choice, rather than a necessity from emergency surgery. Brain. Fried. But hopefully that's a long way off before we have to weigh up all the pros and cons.

However, I knew I was pinning a lot on this EUA. Very much viewed it as: if you're physically up in there then surely you can see what's happening?! Alas, nothing is simple and to the naked eye they couldn't find any polyps, fistulas, abscesses or fissures. She did however confirm that I have erythema and induration on my right hand side. Personally I'd almost prefer her to tell me I just had piles like a normal person who's been pregnant but then that would be too simple! Anywho. After my EAU the surgeon came back out to see me and explained what she'd managed to do. Or not, in this case. I'm going to need an urgent MRI to reassess for presence of sepsis, with the plan to go back into theatre as she didn't want to delve further when going in blind. 

There was talk previously of botox, applied to the internal sphincter (cue jokes about the most youthful bumhole) but actually that was a no-go from the get-go. The botox paralyses the muscle and the last thing I need is help to go to the toilet. Any more urgency and I would be in a position where I thought I needed the toilet toilet and it turns out I'd have already been. I'm not even 30 yet. Let me get to Nana age before I start shitting myself on the regular!

Next on the list of fixing me, is a SeHCAT scan that I have tomorrow and again next Wednesday to see if I have a bile salt malabsorption. This is a double edged sword for me as it'll either show that yes indeed I have something wrong. Not ideal, but at least we'd know what we're dealing with. Equally if it shows that I don't have bile salt malabsorption, then we're very much still wondering what is wrong with me.

In other news, I started seeing the hospital psychologist. She's been amazing. She's helped me figure out that actually I am pretty well equipped with the 'tools' I thought I needed, and that maybe - just maybe - my expectations for myself were a little too high and that sometimes it's ok to just be ok. Being able to shift my mindset ever so slightly and not give myself a hard time when ill has done me the world of good. I feel more like I can take on the challenges Crohn's throws at me, whilst also maintaining my mama skills I was worried I'd lose because I'm the 'poorly mum'.

Towards the end of our last session we briefly discussed body image. I'd like to delve into this in slightly more detail so will do so in another post - mainly because it's something I've been struggling with of late, as I don't know what I look like anymore. What is my body after pregnancy and Crohn's flares? What shape am I? Who knows?! I certainly don't.

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Headspace

If you follow me on social media, you would have seen that this week has been quite a challenging one for me - especially with regards to my Crohn’s and how I’m maybe not handling it in the best way this time. It’s an emotionally draining disease: the rollercoaster of feelings you can have in such a short space of time is quite overwhelming and this particular flare up seems different. I don’t know why, it just does. In all likelihood it could be down to the fact that I currently have no ‘normality’ yet; I’m still in a settling in period. My mundane routines are shot to hell what with the relocation from London, being a newlywed, going back to work after Maternity Leave and the mum-guilt associated with that. My support network is still there, oh for sure. But my personal go-to coping mechanisms aren’t necessarily.

I guess I just don’t feel like I have that guarantee this time, where my mind doesn’t need to flap so much (I have zero reason to think things won’t be ok and I am more than aware at the irrationality *eye rolls at self*) But for instance, these are the things I worry about…how I haven’t been back at work long enough to feel like I can prove myself, e.g. when my insides go mental don’t worry guys! Because when I’m healthy, oh I’m grand. Or to know how to function as a Mummy when really poorly. Or worrying about WHAT IS THE ACTUAL PLAN WITH MY CROHN’S. And when you’re sitting in a hospital bed on your lonesome in the middle of the night, you can’t help but let your mind wander.

There just seems so much uncertainty and for a woman who likes a plan…this one’s tough.

I spoke with my IBD nurses at the hospital and they recommended reaching out to the psychologists here. I’ve always been very vocal how for me counselling has been a great help – I’ve tried a variety over the years from one-to-one youth counselling, to a more general CBT approach and also group sessions for people with other chronic conditions. And now I feel that I need another outlet. For who I am as a person now. As a mother. As a wife. As a new West Country bumpkin. Where do I fit in and how do I learn how to manage with my Crohn’s for the current set up? Excuse the wanky term, but that’s a ‘journey’ that I’m going to have to go on and hopefully find out some of those answers.

I need to learn that only I put pressure on myself to be worrying for everyone one else in the world. But hey, once a worrier! But also that it’s key to know it’s all right that there’ll be things out of my control and everything will be just fine whether I’m in hospital or not. Whether I sit in this bed for another two weeks or I’m allowed home tomorrow. And that I’m also no use to anyone if I don’t allow myself time to get better: do as I’m told. Do as the doctors say. Rest when told. Let my body do its thing. Because my Crohn’s alone looks to be laden with many more hurdles and challenges over the coming months and I need to be ready for that. And it’s something I’ll be sharing with you all for sure.

From a more general standpoint as it stands with regards to my care, we are yet to manage a full meal. However we have had the camera up the ass today – wonderful Friday morning activity – and also had another x-ray to see what the bloody hell is happening inside me. There is a pesky 30cm section of small intestine that was found back in Summer 2015 and it was something we were ‘keeping an eye on’. Well the eyes have been subsequently peeled and nothing has changed so… but herein lies the problem. 30cm is a sizable chunk of small intestine. We don’t just whip that out willy nilly now guys. When discussing the large intestine, there are slightly more options surgically speaking – in that you can actually take it out completely if needs be. But when it comes to the unusually named small intestine (bearing in mind you have around 6m), you can’t live without that. And the more you chip away at it with resections, the more you leave yourself susceptible to future complications. Nutritional issues, feeding through tubes, being open to more serious diseases. Lovely stuff. So we’re tackling this from a medical point of view first. We’re mixing up the meds. We’re changing the doses. We’re hoping that I haven’t indirectly been overdosing on azathioprine as my weight has dropped. To quote the surgeon, is the resection off the table? No, not particularly. Is it something that requires urgent intervention this week? Also no.

So it’s time to get my game face on. It’s time to get my headspace sorted. Take those 3 minutes a day to meditate and zone out. To plan whatever is within my remit to prepare for.

And know that the rest will sort itself out.

X

First Year

One full year since we welcomed our little boy into the world. And now we're parents to an already independent, chatty, funny little boy who has (somehow) managed to use his eyebrows to express his feelings - in context - since the day he arrived.

I say it every year, but this last year has been one of the quickest in my life. It has also been simultaneously one of the most rewarding and challenging.

Let's take it back to the start...

Anyone that followed my blog previously will have read the journey we went on throughout my pregnancy with regards to my Crohn's. Around this time last year it was my elective c-section date; elective due to previous abdominal Crohn's operations; c-section so my arse didn't fall out when pushing. Our bags were packed and off we headed to the hospital on the Friday morning ready to have a baby by lunchtime. And we did! Everything went as planned as it can and we were home by the Sunday. A weekend of new baby.

How that was a year ago is utterly beyond me. Even when looking at photos, it still doesn't quite compute that I've been pregnant, had a baby and now he's one.

But it's times like this weekend just gone, at his first birthday party (which let's be honest, he had no clue about, because why would he?!) and seeing him with his little mannerisms and movements, his interactions with others; it's intriguing watching him grow and develop into a proper little boy. How much he's changed over the last few months in particular - so close to walking...a few waddles and then a slow sit down to the floor again - yet you can see that determination there. It's fascinating and it makes me excited for what else is to come as he continues to grow up and become his own person.

Can we just take a moment to discuss a child's first birthday party though? What a strange party to have. The guest of honour is completely unaware of the occasion; it's mainly for photos and the memories for others and to look back and say "this is what we did for your first birthday". Because you can't do nothing, it's their first birthday! First ever celebration of birth! Equally you know that from age 2 and onwards, the parties will be much better... So you do baking in rainbow coloured sponge, you get the pink wafers and party ring biscuits and you display the finger food along side the bottles of squash. And at least I finally had a good reason to eat kids' party food: I was hosting an actual kid's party this time.

But being surrounded by all of our family and friends, it made me ever so thankful and realise how lucky we truly are as our own family to have such wonderful people around us.

Because it gets tough sometimes. Parenting is genuinely all the clichés you get told beforehand. I have learnt so much in what seems like such a short space of time. You are thrown in the deep end and learn on the job as a new parent - each day is different and throws challenges at you - some days are harder than others, but that's ok. The majority of people will have been through it too, at some point. And even if you are doing everything in your power to provide the best for your child, you will still read an article that makes you question how you are as a mummy or daddy, or hear the advice givers and nay-sayers and wonder what more you could be doing. My son makes me proud every day. And I have to know that as his mummy I am doing everything I can for him. And so is his daddy.

Happy First Birthday Son.
We love you very much.

X

Breast Foot Forward

As I sat in bed this morning, night light on, feeding my son, I took a moment to enjoy and appreciate the close bond that breastfeeding has given me and my little boy over the last three months.

I always said that I wanted to be able to breastfeed exclusively for the first two weeks of my child's life - which I did - and that if I could, I'd like to get to six months; even if that was through combination feeding. But tried to maintain a 'what will be, will be' type-vibe (so many opinions and pressures for feeding a baby, as I'm sure you're aware. Is my baby being fed? Yes. Great. As you were then). I've been combination feeding for a good while now and I wouldn't change the routine we've fallen into, by any means. However I always thought that when I chose to stop breastfeeding it would be just that: my choice.

Mother Pukka X Parent Apparel jumper with all my parenting feels

Good ol' Crohn's and the rules that go with the scans and sedation that I need means that my breastfeeding days might be numbered. If ever there was a sign that we go full bottle, it's being told that for 48hrs after my MRI and at least 48hrs after the sedation, I cannot breastfeed. Granted I could express to keep my supplies up and running, but it works out at almost a week long with the appointments being so close together. So maybe I take stock and prepare for the changeover.

I'm just finding it all a tad tricky, you see...everything a double-edged sword. As much as I love the morning feed when it's all quiet and just bab and I, both half asleep, it's probably for the best that any energy I do have, I keep for myself so I can be a relatively functioning human being and be there to provide whatever my son needs.

*Haven't actually done this, FYI*

I'm also incredibly nervous about the forthcoming investigations; the MRI I thought had been parked for the colonoscopy, is in fact going ahead as they called me yesterday. So I had my pre-assessment yesterday and my bloods done (gosh, so tired), I have my scan next week and the colonoscopy the week after. BUT WHAT ARE THEY GOING TO FIND?! I know I'm not well. For God's sake it hurts to have the little man even lean on my tummy. Standing is also generally becoming a bit uncomfortable; it's easier to walk hunched over like Quasimodo, but it's also not a look I recommend when trying to push your pram.

We'll see though. I've done this before. I've definitely been through worse with my Crohn's. Got to keep the long game in mind; experiencing the changes in my son each day and that come Autumn, I'd like to be able to walk down the aisle without looking like I'm from the Hunchback of Notre-Dame.

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Return of the Ass Invasion

Not a sequel I'm particularly keen on, but it was only a matter of time until it was a knickers down/knees up appointment with the gastro team. And after what I thought was an MRI in the pipeline it appears that nope, let's get me in for a pre-assessment and colonoscopy in two weeks time. Joy. When the hospital called I thought it was to schedule in the aforementioned MRI - but it seems that my 'case', if you will, has been discussed in the clinic between the consultants and the best route forward is to get up all in my insides instead.

I know I'm not well at the moment (still essentially green in complexion because I'm so pale) and the bags under my eyes now have their own set of bags. I just get this massive anxiety over what they might find when they're routing round my intestines - especially now I've got the small human to be there for and to look after. I don't want to be the poorly mama. I want to be enjoying every mini milestone he hits as he grows and not need to abandon winding him because I need a sit down. He'll be three months on Friday and in the grips of teething so needless to say it's all just getting a tad overwhelming at present.

But despite my finding it tough at the moment, his beautiful little face makes every day seem that bit easier. Such a great distraction from the inevitable shits and pain.

I would just like to get the ass invasion over and done with and the medical plan put in place; I've got a wedding to plan and a baby to be with.

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I'm Pooped

If I've had an unintentional break from blogging, I always find it easier to pick it up again when it's Crohn's related. I don't know if that's because my Crohn's escapades always leave me wondering and subsequently that means I've got a lot on my brain that I need to let out. But either way. Here we are.

So as you are aware, I have Crohn's Disease and last year I also fell pregnant. As I mentioned many a time in my pregnancy posts, I considered myself super lucky to be able to enjoy every aspect of pregnancy like a 'normal' person with my Crohn's essentially putting itself in remission whilst I grew a human.

Well, said human is now out of me and 10 weeks old on Friday. And lo and behold we're back aboard the gastro train and it's like my Crohn's never left. (Wah).

Casually still waiting to be seen. Everyone else had left. Even the cafe had closed.

I had my catch up with my gastro consultant last week for what can essentially be described as a prelim to what looks to be an MOT for my postpartum body; all the bloods due to be taken and a small bowel and pelvic MRI in the diary. I think I spent the first month or so of motherhood pretending that I was perhaps more well than I actually was. No one should be shitting blood at the frequency I am and I think I tried to just get on with it for longer than I should have. And now I'm where I am now, which is scared to eat for fear of the impending bloodbath out my back nethers.

This in itself is a catch 22 as I'm still breastfeeding (technically combination feeding but the boobies are still required multiple times a day) and as any breastfeeding mother will know, it makes you oh so hungry. Any new parents will also know that looking after a new baby makes you rather tired (!) So this, coupled with the blood poos is all adding up to one mama who's so pale she's see-through and in need of a ruddy good lie down for about 8 days.

Don't get me wrong, I was never expecting my Crohn's to calm down when preg and I also wasn't expecting it to stay away once my bab was born. But if I was to say that I'm not sad about these latest developments, I'd be lying.

However I have to look at the bigger picture now I have a son and my stubbornness and my pride has to take a backseat when it comes to my health and looking after my baby boy. Would I rather stay breastfeeding but getting more poorly because I don't want to take certain medicines? Or do I take the medicines that would mean I'd have to stop breastfeeding, but can ultimately feel better? Obviously it's the latter. I just hope that the MRI isn't complete doom and that there's something we can do in the short-term so I can get back to being mama. Even if it's a mama who shits a lot.

And my poor bab having to get dragged on his Sleepyhead into the bathroom 10+ times a day. Hopefully he's far too young to be scarred by the experience. But everybody poos. his mama just does it more than your average.

X

PS: My hospital is in Westminster. The day of my appointment was also the day that they had to close and evacuate Westminster Bridge due to a WWII bomb discovery in the River Thames. Let's hope that's not an omen of any kind, hey.

And then there were three

Quite the cliffhanger I left you guys on...

But our bump to baby day was just that; and now we're 6 weeks in to being a little family of three thanks to our new addition of a little baby BOY! My slight inkling towards the end of pregnancy suggesting my bab be might be a girl was proved wrong at 12:37pm on 18th November as we welcomed a tiny human boy via c-section, weighing 6lbs 9oz.

I had every intention of writing about the whole birthing experience sooner than now - but I became utterly consumed by our new baby and I wanted to just enjoy my new role as Mummy to our spud. If you happen to follow me on Instagram then there's no doubt you would have seen my new family goings on as I continue to fill my feed with Baby Spam. FYI, Baby Spamming looks highly unlikely to stop in 2017 so by all means jump on board, chaps. Or don't. I don't mind, 'tis your call.

The last six weeks have flown by though and it's amazing how much has gone on during that time. My venture into parenthood has, generally speaking, been one of the most incredible things that's happened in my life so far and I feel it deserves a more detailed blog post (which will follow in the New Year). I say 'generally speaking' as naturally when you try anything new, there will always be trials and tribulations as you find your feet. And my word first-time parenthood has some steep learning curves! Like, I don't know, learning how to function with no sleep and a baby on your boob. Wouldn't change it for the world, mind.

For now however, I wanted to say that I hope you all had a smashing Christmas and enjoy this evening as we say ta ta and farewell to 2016 and look forward to what 2017 has to offer. But I also wanted to say a massive thank you for reading my ramblings as this year saw me take on my biggest adventure yet.

Happy New Year from one hormonal and proud Mummy. Here's to doing the 'pump and dump' so Mummy can have a few glasses of bubbles or a wkd blue.

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3 More Sleeps

Just 3 more days for my to fill my time as a pregnant woman, waddling around with a small human inside me.

I can't quite believe we're here already. Mentally I feel about 30 weeks pregnant - like I just haven't been pregnant long enough to be able to have a baby on Friday. Yet physically I am more than aware that it's almost that time.

As I mentioned in my last post, I have now compiled all my #bumpingalong photos and it's amazing to see the change in my body. Especially when there are particular photos I see and I remember thinking wowza my bump is huge when in reality it was probably week 18 and more of a swollen bloat-type bump compared to what it is now!

This is my final #bumpingalong at Week 38; non-maternity clothes (Topshop size 12 dress and a size 12 cardigan from Primark), paired with thick and wild pregnancy hair that I don't quite know what to do with.

And here is my journey from Week 14 to Week 38 with a few extra bump shots thrown in for good measure...

Admittedly the lack of consistency with square photos has really niggled at my OCD, but hey ho. The sentiment is the same when you compare the earlier photos to the ones from the third trimester. So big and round.

#bumpingalong aside, I have spent the last few days of my nesting getting my head around the forthcoming c-section, as I realised I haven't thought about this procedure the way I would have with my Crohn's ops. I'm not too concerned with the recovery part of the c-section because of having had previous abdominal operations, I'm pretty used to negotiating my way around with pain down that way (oh so glam). However saying that, I've never had to recover from a major op with a newborn. So will let you know how that goes!? It's when you let yourself think about what is actually being done though; cutting through the abdomen and uterus. But I just want what's best for baby; I am confident and happy with both the gastro team and midwives that have looked after me at my hospital. I'm in good hands and that's all I can ask for.

Whereas my Crohn's ops were a literal pain in the arse accompanied with hope that it'll calm down a wee bit and edge me to remission, at the end of this hospital visit we will have the most amazing little person in our arms; someone that we made and are ready to love unconditionally for the rest of our lives. This is why I am so excited for Friday - if not before - as it will be life changing in the most wonderful way and it's an adventure that we are more than ready to begin, as our own little family. Our own line on the family tree. A little unit of three ready to take on the world.

Now to make some more soups for the freezer. Mama's gotta eat.

X

Baby Show-time

The other half was off work this last week and we were all sorts of busy with the final preparations for our small human; due to arrive in 16 days. I'm sorry - 16 days?! Time is not real life any more it seems...

Having been quiet on the blogging front it means there are a couple of #bumpingalongs to catch up on too.

Week 34 was at The Baby Show and I am a true ball-up-jumper vision. Standard maternity jeans from Topshop with a non-maternity Size L jumper from H&M.

At The Baby Show the man and I picked out our last (!) few - albeit key - items. We have opted for the iCandy Peach for the bab's travel system, collected our MaxiCosi Pebble Plus as well as a Nuna Leaf for their seat, plus a Baby Bjorn carrier. And some other bargain bits, because, Baby Show. Will let you know how they all work out once they're up and running as functional items with a real baby in them (still having moments of OH MY GOD WE'RE HAVING A BABY VERY SOON NOW)

Week 35 was also on location after our final hospital appointment with the midwife. Birth plan is finalised now, although we are aware that there is every possibility of it changing once labour and birth begins. Hopefully if everything goes as planned, there are some aspects to our bab's birth that are as 'normal' as can be in an elective c-section. But here I am wearing a variety of khaki items; maternity Topshop jeans, Size L t-shirt from H&M and my winter coat in a Size 8 from Topshop, also non-maternity. 'Baby on Board' badge and Big Ben an additional bonus.

And now to week 36 after an Autumnal walk and day date to the local brewery - keg in hand. Lemonade for me, of course. This outfit that I cobbled together is made up of my maternity jeans (sense the pattern of no other trousers fitting me anymore), a maternity shirt from Topshop with my non-maternity camo jacket and winter accessories. Comfort for the win still.

As it stands I am officially past 9 months pregnant now and as much as I am wanting baby to stay in until their 'due' date, I am beginning to understand the cliché phrases you see on the internet. This includes everything with regards to nesting - which FYI, I am still absolutely bossing - but also the memes of feeling like the last trimester of pregnancy lasts approximately 5426 days.

But hey. What's another 16 days until we're only counting down the hours?!

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Planning a Planned Arrival

Can't quite believe we're so close now! We had our 34 week appointment today with the c-section doctors, which naturally got me thinking about how you plan for a planned arrival...

I'm very much in the stage of pregnancy where I am completely freaking out, my dreams are stupidly vivid, I can't sleep for baby movement and all I can do is worry about what lies ahead. Will I be a good mum? Will baby be ok? What actually happens in a caesarean? I've read a lot recently that confirms that all of the above is normal and of course it's good to share my thoughts because it's not unusual to worry. It's a huge thing, after all! We've made a human being. I'm just going to have to wait and see, as I can't get myself all worked up over the unknown (a mantra I lived by with my Crohn's).

But my appointment today made me a tad nervous; it's the same as with my Crohn's ops in that you essentially consent to everything and wait and see what we find when they open you up.

We had confirmation today that due to previous abdo operations, my Gastro team will be in the theatre with the c-section team, myself and my other half. Hopefully when they make the incision, my bowel and scar tissue haven't caused too much of a problem in which case the Gastro team can bid farewell and then we can get baby out in a routine way. If however it obstructs what needs doing to access baby, they'll do their bit and then let the obstetricians take over. A little revolving door of surgeons around my nethers, if you will.

Like with any surgery there are risks; although there's been talk of a stoma and colostomy beforehand when I had my resection back in 2013, I didn't realise that it could be something that pops up in regards to when I deliver my baby. I guess in my mind I kept my bum issues separate from my front bum bits. There are of course risks associated with a routine c-section too, with everything from wound infection and bleeding to a hysterectomy. So yes, I'm a little worried. But as I used to say with my Crohn's ops, I was just another bottom to them - and this is just another caesarean. We have planned as much as we can and all we can do is hope that everything runs smoothly! In 30 days time.

Now I'm officially on maternity leave (post following shortly) I am just going to put all my energy into nesting and try not to let my worries get the better of me. And I'm also going to avoid reading some of the shite on the internet about how a c-section is the "easy way out" and that I'm "not giving birth" as I've had my baby "surgically removed".

I'll have to get back to you on that.

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Pregnancy Lent

Kind of. We're now less than 40 days and 40 nights and there will probably be a lot of pancakes consumed by yours truly.

Officially (as I type) we have 37 days to go until our c-section date and the list of things to do/buy before the human arrives is getting that bit smaller; which means it's getting that bit more real still. I said at the start of blogging about my pregnancy that although it's Biology 101 for how a baby is made and grows, it is still one of the most fascinating things I have ever experienced in my life. I still consider myself extremely lucky to have had a relatively 'normal' pregnancy with regards to my Crohn's calming down - and if it comes back once bab is out, then I will cross that bridge when I get there. But at least I've been able to feel like I have carried this baby with little to no complications thus far. Just can't let my arse fall out at the final hurdle, to quote my gastro surgeon.

Talking of bottoms...seamless link...

I think more needs to be said about HOW CONSTIPATED YOU GET IN THE THIRD TRIMESTER. Let alone how you feel like Windy Miller with the air just falling out of you, top and bottom. I'm a disgrace. Thank god I've been with my other half for 9 years, because the romance has well and truly died recently! I'm not used to having bowel movements like a bus service on a Sunday in a village. My bowels pre-preg were a 10-15 times a day situation. I don't know how to deal with this once a day malarkey!? How do you people do it? I feel like it's just not enough. But hey, if bab slows down my digestive system to a snail's pace, then that is the less frequent shitting hand I've been dealt. It frees up so much time! Although saying that, the toilet dashes have been replaced by toilet dashes...just for a number one instead. But still so much quicker! Even if you need to do all the weeing, what with the baby pushing down on the organs. And sneezing still makes me nervous, mind - ruddy pelvic floors *squeezes muscles*

Did a version of a #bumpingalong for my 33 weeks (got to get the lift pics in whilst I can) and I'm kitted out in head to toe maternity Topshop. Even gave a nursing bra a run out and I felt so free. Big ol' wobbly mama-to-be boobies. And despite my breasts being the largest they've ever been in my life, my baby bump is so much further out - hence my human pyramid effect.

So yep, this week and it's my last week of work; all finished on Thursday. I will do a final work-based #bumpingalong and a post about maternity leave, as I'm already finding the concept quite odd. It's a real mix of emotions.

But for now, I think I've done a good bit of oversharing...

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Pack 'Em Up

31 weeks and all antenatal classes complete! Labour, c-sections, recovery, breastfeeding, bathing, generally looking after a small human...we are informed.

Informed, yes. Totally ready? Not quite. But sure.

The antenatal classes have been really helpful though in taking all the bits we've read over the last 8 months and preparing us to put it all into practice.

And so onto this week, which is the week of the 'hospital bag'. Packing the hospital bags though make everything seem that bit more real. Throughout my pregnancy there have been moments when it's like OH. WE ARE ACTUALLY HAVING A BABY, but then you just carry on being pregnant and stuff. Like when we decided nursery colours, when we built the furniture, when the nursery was complete. When browsing online for buggies and car seats and slings and learning what a travel system is. Let alone hitting the physical preg milestones that take you aback as there's a real life human growing inside.

Looking online it seems that you need to take everything you've ever owned with you to the hospital. There are a few bits that are irrelevant as we're having a caesarean, but generally there is a fair bit of packing to do! It also advises that it's split so that mama has a bag, and then a bag for dad and baby in case I'm whisked away somewhere.

Pinterest browsing (again) for all the bits and bobs

The baby's movements have gone from me feeling ripples to acknowledging that yes, that is definitely a foot, or a tiny back and little bottom. Blows my mind! After all, it's under 50 days to go now.

The parents-to-be (and a celebratory ale)

Had my penultimate midwife appointment yesterday and it's always a relief hearing baby's heart beating away nice and strong - and it got me thinking about how far into pregnancy we are and how I still have no clue as to whether I'm carrying a girl or boy. Will I ever get a sense of what my baby is? Am I out of touch to have no idea? All other preg women I've spoken to have had an inkling of what they're carrying; which has either been proved correct when they've given birth, or they've found out at their 20wk scan and they're bang on. The hormones in pregnancy are a funny thing because you have these irrational moments where you let your mind wander and then suddenly you're just a big ol' pregnant weepy lump, sitting on your sofa talking away to your small human saying sorry you don't know what they are.

Well at least I know I'm definitely carrying a baby. Despite my dream the other night about giving birth to a kitten.

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Thirties

We are 30 weeks pregnant. THIRTY. That only leaves 8 weeks until we're booked in. Whatever happens in the coming weeks we will definitely have a baby in 59 days.

Had a bit of a tricky weekend and subsequent morning today, mind. Heartburn still causing me grief - so much so I vomited on myself in the shower from burping. Nice. My Braxton Hicks are certainly getting stronger and making it much harder to stand up straight when they're present. All part and parcel of entering the 8 months preg club I guess!

However what I wasn't expecting this early was to lose a little bit of my plug.

There's no way to discuss it without being gross, so if preg detailed talk is too much, scroll down to the safe zone my friend...

Naturally, reading up on your mucus plug isn't the most pleasant of topics but something that needed to be done when you see what can only be described as a blob of clearish snot where it shouldn't be. A quick phone call with my midwives confirmed that as there was no pink in colour or blood, labour isn't imminent (can be anything from a few hours or few weeks if the full plug, or 'show', has happened). But that it does sound like some has come out and to keep an eye on things down there, rest up, etc.

Now I'm contending with pressure in my nethers, knowing baby is head down and that I'm without some of my plug. Please don't try and leave just yet oh miniature one! I haven't even packed your hospital bag!

*SAFE ZONE*

Needless to say there will be a delayed #bumpingalong picture as I am not wearing anything that's publicly acceptable; pants, t-shirt. A for-my-eyes-only vibe. I did manage to shave my legs all on my own though - except now they look like sausage meat.

So quick catch up on our first antenatal class last week for you: it was all about Intervention & Caesareans, the latter being the main bit for us. Hearing about being induced and seeing some of the tools used made my tummy go all funny. Yet strangely, talking frankly about the proceedings in a c-section didn't really phase me. I guess it's because I've had 14 ops with my Crohn's so a surgical set up is almost more favourable for me than a natural one!? Surgical is my natural set up.

Tonight's class is all about boobies. Well, officially Feeding Baby. But breastfeeding and bottle feeding, I believe. I've tried to get a bit of a head start and started reading 'Breastfeeding Made Easy' by Geraldine Miskin as I'd love to be able to breastfeed my human that I'm growing. I am aware however that it's not something all mums are able to do, whether by choice or otherwise, so I don't want to put pressure on myself if it turns out that my boobies can't do the feeding.

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Flammable Insides

Heartburn in the later stages of pregnancy is quite possibly the worst feeling I have ever experienced in my life. Slightly dramatic, perhaps. But the level of discomfort is something else?! It's not even just around when I eat; 'tis all day, errrr day. Acid, ooph, ouch, burp, oh bit of food's come up, lovely, ahh the burn, nausea, burp, rub chest in annoyance. Repeat to fade.

I had tried the 'Princess and the Pea' approach of all the pillows in bed but that's just impractical and annoying. So popped to the GP and have been given some Omeprazole to take and this can also be boosted with Gaviscon as and when, if required. I feel a tad like my Nana - she's always got the Gaviscon to hand.
It's funny how heartburn is also something that mums have said they really don't miss now they're no longer preg. For someone that has never had heartburn before, I believe I too will look forward to the day when I don't feel like there is FIRE TRAVELLING UP MY OESOPHAGUS AND INTO MY MOUTH.

Onto more exciting news though...we're 29 weeks today and have our first antenatal class tonight! This session is all on Intervention and Caesareans. Got to have my game face on and I imagine this will obviously be key to what lies ahead for us. Intrigued to see what the other parents-to-be will be like too. Young, old, first baby, etc. New parenting friends.

There's also another mini heatwave this week. Joy. Please note the high level of sarcasm. All I want to do now is wrap myself up in a woolen poncho, sit indoors and let my preg body spread. I don't want highs of 30 degrees thank you when I'm having to commute. Not now...it's mid September. When is Autumn happening?! Naturally this means that I'm still (begrudgingly) dragging out the Summer items and today's #bumpingalong is a non-maternity H&M jersey dress in a Small.

A nautical buoy

I feel like my bump has really changed shape over the last week. It's become more round? I haven't been very pregnant on my sides - my profile has always been very OUT and from the back I still don't look too preg. But the bump has suddenly become very much like a big ol' massive ball. And can anyone see my ass? It's grown enough to find it's way out of my knickers and cause me consistent wedgies, but side on it appears to be M.I.A.

I also feel like my torso isn't long enough at all to house this baby though. Everything is starting to feel very squashed internally; all up in my ribs and right down into my vagine. How the baby is going to find room to keep growing I just don't know! Someone is going to have to start rolling me to wherever I need to be as my metamorphosis into a human weeble continues.

(Officially) 9 weeks to go.

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