Let’s talk fertility

 

It’s National Fertility Awareness Week and my social feeds have been flooded with people sharing their stories, being open, honest and real. I’m joining the voices to help change the conversation about infertility.  

Because I love a good list (who doesn’t?) here’s 7 things I’ve learned about infertility.  

1. It doesn’t discriminate. 

Infertility doesn’t discriminate, it affects people seemingly at random. Young, old, rich, poor, marathon runners, couch potatoes. If infertility has chosen you, it will shrug heartlessly. So, you’ve been taking fertility vitamins for six months? Don’t care. You’ve given up alcohol? Pah, so what? You did a shoulder stand for a full half an hour after sex while you watched Coronation Street? Couldn’t give a monkeys. Nope, infertility takes no prisoners. It’s unfair and let’s be honest here, it’s more than a bit shit. 

2. It can sneak up on you.  

If you’re like me and got a diagnosis of unexplained infertility, it probably took you by surprise and left you reeling. I didn’t know I was infertile until I started trying for a baby. I still don’t know why I was infertile but I do know in affects more than 1 in 8 couples and you don’t have to look far to find others fighting the same battle. 

3. It’s the club no one wants to join but with the best members. 

What stands out to me most this week, is the love and support that people in the infertility community give so willingly to those they’ve never met. Because we know. We know the crushing disappointment at seeing one line on a stick. We know what’s it’s like to live your life in two weekly cycles. To do our very best to look happy when a friend tells us they’re pregnant and they weren’t even really trying. We know and we’re there for each other. We’re here in the middle of the night when you post photos of your negative pregnancy test. Or when you’re gearing up for your embryo transfer, wearing your best pineapple socks. Or when you’re about to do your first injection and are worried you’ll do it wrong or won’t be able to do it at all because you’re scared of needles and faint every time you have an injection. We see you and we’re here for you. 

4. It changes you permanently.  

And not necessarily in a bad way. Those of you who’ve read my first book, Warrior, will know that I got my happy ending. I’m eternally grateful that my family is now complete. I know I’m blessed and in truth I wouldn’t change what I went through to get here. It’s changed me. In a good way. I don’t take things for granted. I have more humility and I always try to be sensitive to others people’s silent struggles.  

5.  You’re not alone. 

After I had my baby, I felt compelled to share my story. By then I knew I wasn’t alone in what I went through and I also knew I had an opportunity to help. I’ve since been humbled by personal messages from lovely readers who say my book has done just that and for me, that makes it worthwhile. 

6. It doesn’t leave you. 

 More recently, I’ve launched my second book, The Unchosen Life. I don’t think infertility really left me, as I was plagued by a feeling of What If? What if I hadn’t got pregnant? What if I hadn’t had a baby? I needed to know I’d have been okay anyway. Because that’s the reality for many women and there has to be life after infertility. There has to be. So, I dreamed up Clara. The woman whose infertility journey doesn’t end with a baby and how she goes on to find fulfilment in a life she didn’t choose. 

7. There’s always hope. 

There’s hope for a happy ending, however it may look. Wherever you are in your infertility journey and whatever your personal circumstances, don’t let go of that hope. And know that whatever happens you’ll be okay. Seek out support and most of all, be kind to yourselves. 

Love, Tori x 

P.S. In support of National Fertility Awareness Week both Warrior and The Unchosen Life are 99p on Amazon Kindle for the whole of November.

Pregnancy after loss

This blog post is a little different. Some of you may have arrived here after finishing my book Warrior, to read what happened next. If that’s the case you’ll have left off when I was trying to conceive for baby number two and I’d had a miscarriage. You can pick right up from 5 January 2019, below and carry on. 

If you’ve arrived here fresh, I wrote this because the lovely Sheila Lamb, author of several fertility books, approached me to ask if I’d write something for her new book which is about pregnancy after loss. People assume that once you’re pregnant everything is okay. Don’t get me wrong, it’s amazing to see those two lines again but, unfortunately, after a loss, it’s also terrifying. Without further ado, Here’s my story: 

5 January 2019 

I swing my legs into my sister’s car and place my handbag at my feet.  

‘How are you?’ she asks.  

‘I think I’m pregnant.’ 

A beat passes. ‘Why do you think that?’ 

‘Well, my period is late so I took a test just now and it’s positive.’ 

‘Right…’ 

It’s Friday night and we’re on our way to meet our mum and our Aunty for dinner.  

‘So, yeah, I guess I am pregnant. For now.’ 

I rub at the fabric of my jeans. They buttoned up just fine. They don’t feel tight. I’m not bloated. And yet, I’m pregnant. It’s good news. The best news. The reason for the less-than-jubilant atmosphere is that I had a miscarriage seven months ago. I was pregnant and the baby just went away. Ceased to exist. Before that I was infertile. I say that because we didn’t conceive ‘naturally’ after two years of trying and that’s the definition. My first daughter was conceived through IVF after many tests, lots of waiting and wondering, much heartache. 

So, my current teeny tiny bit pregnant state is fraught with trepidation.  

‘I feel like I’m about to get my period,’ I say to Cait. ‘Like it’ll just come and I’ll do another test and the line will be fainter, then in a few days it’ll be negative.’ 

Cait is quiet. She just listens.  

‘I want to be happy. But I don’t dare be.’ 

‘Give it a few days.’ 

I nod and place a hand on my lower abdomen. It’s cramping with period like pain. After two and half years trying to conceive, I thought I could accurately analyse my body. Turns out I’m just as clueless as ever.  

‘Are you going to tell Mum and Aunty Linda?’ 

‘Not sure.’ 

In the restaurant, my Mum is having a night off. My dad has dementia and she’s fast becoming his carer. It’s a difficult time and we’re trying to provide a bit of light relief with our ‘girl’s night’. She talks us through the latest developments from the dementia support groups they’re part of, options for respite care or care workers going in during the day while he’s home alone so she can carry on working. It’s sad and hard to listen to, but she’s in good spirits so we go along with it and try to pretend it’s not as gut wrenching as it actually is. 

Then we read our menus. Then the inevitable conversation about sharing a bottle of wine comes up. 

‘Do you prefer red or white?’ Aunty Linda asks me and Cait. 

‘I’m driving,’ Cait says. ‘I’ll just have a coke.’ 

Aunty Linda looks at me, waiting for a response. ‘I uh, well, I’d probably have red to go with the pizza, but actually, I think I’ll just get a coke too.’ 

Cait makes a show of studying her menu. 

‘You okay, love?’ My mum asks. 

‘Yeah, I’m just not drinking.’ 

I see the moment the penny drops. I can almost hear it click into place. ‘Oh!’ she says. ‘Is it…are you?’ 

I nod. 

She half leaps out of her seat then reigns herself in and sits back down, but opts for stretching across the table to take my hand and awkwardly kiss my cheek. 

‘What? You’re what?’ Aunty Linda asks, looking at us each in turn. 

‘I’m pregnant.’ I say quietly. ‘But it’s very early and after last time…I’m well…I’m worried.’ 

Aunty Linda nods. ‘Of course. Lovely news though. When did you find out?’ 

‘About an hour ago.’ 

‘Oh, right. Very early then!’ 

‘Yeah, I’ll be four weeks. I’ll do another test in the morning to check.’ 

I’m jittery. I’m elated and terrified. This could be real. I might have another baby in eight months. But what if it’s not real? Or what if it is real but I’ve already damaged the baby? I had a gin and tonic last night. I had several drinks on New Year’s Eve and over Christmas. I’ve already worked out that I must have conceived either the night before or the night after my work Christmas do, so I’d potentially been drinking then too. My stomach cramps again and then twists with anxiety. 

‘Ladies!’ the waiter arrives at our table. A man who cannot read a room. ‘Are we celebrating tonight?’ 

‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘Just a girl’s night out.’ 

‘Great. Well, what’ll it be? Champagne? Prosecco? Nice bottle of red?’ 

‘I’ll have a diet Coke please,’ Cait says. 

‘Me too,’ I say. 

‘Come on! It’s Friday night! You’re young! Let your hair down.’ 

‘I’m driving,’ Cait gives him her best polite smile. 

‘I’m…I just fancy a Coke.’ 

He does an exaggerated eye roll and writes our orders down on his pad. 

‘Just going to the loo,’ I say, when he’s gone. 

I sit down on the closed lid and take some deep breaths. I could get my period in the morning and if I hadn’t taken a test I’d never have known. I’m pregnant right now, but I know only too well that doesn’t mean I’ll stay that way. I think back to my first pregnancy. The elation at seeing a positive pregnancy test for the first time in my life. I didn’t stop to consider then that a positive test doesn’t necessarily equal a baby. I was lucky then.  

At the end of the night, we go our separate ways outside the restaurant.  

‘Congratulations, love,’ my Aunty says in my ear as she gives me a tight squeeze. I well up. She’s right. Whatever happens next, congratulations are in order right now, in this moment. I smile and squeeze back. 

6 January 2019 

6.19am  

I squint at the clock on my bedside table. Craig is fast asleep next to me. It’s pitch-black outside and the heating has only just clicked on, so it’s still cold as I swing my legs out of bed and pad to the bathroom. I have three pregnancy tests waiting. All different brands. I open them and wee on them all at the same time. I don’t have to wait long. Two pink lines, a blue cross, the word ‘Pregnant’ on a digital display. I breathe a little. 

25 January 2019 

The bottle of water they’ve given me to drink is ice cold and it’s chilly in the waiting room. I can’t stop shivering. Whether it’s purely from the temperature is difficult to say. We’re waiting for our ‘reassurance scan’ at a private clinic. The NHS wouldn’t scan me early because there’s no medical reason to, despite my lovely GP doing her best. It’s okay, I didn’t really want to go back to the early pregnancy unit in the hospital where I’d been after my miscarriage. Bad memories. Here they sell photo frames for your scan photos, teddy bears, gender reveal balloons. The floors are wooden, the walls white. There are plants and fish tanks. It feels expensive. 

I’ve made it this far. Pregnancy tests are still very definitely positive (yes, I’m still doing them) and my period didn’t come the next day, or the day after that. And the cramping stopped. I should be around seven weeks pregnant. 

‘Tori Day?’ 

A young, dark-haired woman pokes her head out of the only door. 

I stand up and Craig follows. The room through the door is similar to a scanning room in a hospital, but it smells different. Instead of disinfectant, it’s incense. Imagine BUPA clinic meets yoga retreat and you wouldn’t be too far off. 

‘Come, lay down on here.’ The woman pats the bed.  

I do as I’m told. 

‘Are you okay? You’re shaking.’ 

‘Just cold.’ 

‘Yes, sorry about that. Takes a while to warm up in here and I’m afraid this gel is going to be cold on your tummy as well.’ 

‘Oh, is it not a dildo cam? Erm, sorry,’ I cough. ‘I mean an internal scan?’ 

‘No, we’re not medically trained. But if you’re seven weeks, we should be able to see from the outside.’ 

I don’t like the word ‘should’. But what can I do? Demand she insert a probe into my vagina? Not socially acceptable. Leave? Not a chance. 

My shaking ramps up and I try to think warm thoughts. I breathe deeply and will my body to stay still. 

The gel goes on. The wand moves over my stomach. The woman squints at the grainy screen. I can’t breathe. I close my eyes. It’s quiet. The wand is still moving. 

‘I’m afraid…’ my stomach drops through the bed, through the floor and to the centre of the earth. ‘…I can’t get a good enough look. Your bladder is not full enough. I’m really sorry, but I’m going to need you to drink some more water and give it twenty minutes or so.’ 

My body is rigid with the effort of stopping the shaking. 

‘Come on, it’s okay,’ Craig has hold of my hand. ‘Finish this and we’ll come back in.’ He hands me the ice-cold water and we go back out to the waiting area. 

It’s not bad news, it’s no news. I tell myself as I look at the teddy bears, the fish, the balloons. What if she couldn’t see it because there isn’t anything to see? Nope, stop it. Stop it. 

‘Not long now,’ Craig says. 

Somehow the twenty minutes pass at the woman calls us back in. I close my eyes again. Hold my breath. 

‘That’s better. I’ve got a nice clear view now. And here’s something…yes, here’s the heartbeat.’ 

I open my eyes. There’s a grainy flicker on the screen.  

‘Are you sure?’ I ask. 

‘Yes.’ She smiles and points to the flicker. Craig is squeezing my hand. 

A sound that is half laugh and half cry bursts out of me. The shaking stops. Tears slide down the side of my face and wet the pillow under my head. 

‘Oh,’ is all I can manage. 

‘Can you tell how far along?’ Craig asks. I’m grateful one of us is able to string a sentence together. 

‘Seven weeks, one day. Estimated due date 10 September.’  

The tears come thick and fast now. I can breathe for the first time in three weeks. 

‘Are you okay?’ the woman asks for the second time this morning. 

‘Yes, I just…I had a miscarriage before and my first baby was conceived through IVF, so I can’t quite believe this is happening.’ 

She smiles. ‘It’s happening. Would you like some photos?’ 

Two years ago today…

It’s been two years since my second baby, Warrior was born. If you look closely at the photo, the eagle eyed amongst you might spot that during the launch party, I was a teeny-weeny bit pregnant with my second (human) baby. After the struggles, and by ‘struggles’, I know you know what I mean. I mean the hoping, waiting, the setbacks, the many, many pregnancy tests, the many, many, many ovulation tests, the fraught relationships, the tearing hair out moments, the heartbreak of miscarriage, the pain, the worry, the fear, the loss, we are now blessed with our two daughters. And for that, I’m eternally grateful. 

I believe what I went through to make my family, has shaped me. I’m more resilient (I hope), I never take things for granted and I try to always be aware that I don’t know what others are dealing with. I take care to be sensitive to other people’s silent struggles, because we just never know. 

It’s also turned me into a writer. I think I’ve always been one, deep down, but shortly after putting down the pen on Warrior, I found myself picking it back up again. A single thought had taken hold. What if? What if I hadn’t got pregnant in the end? What if I hadn’t had a baby? What if my marriage didn’t survive? What then?  

I was on holiday in Spain, way before we’d even heard of Covid or lockdown, when I picked up the hotel notepad on the balcony and started writing about Clara. The woman whose infertility journey didn’t have the happy ending she wanted. The woman who’s struggles didn’t end, but continued and continued until there was nothing else left. I wanted to know; how would she cope? How would she find happiness and fulfilment in a life she didn’t plan? Because there has to be life beyond infertility. There has to be. I wanted to know what would happen next. I also wanted to write something for the many women whose fertility treatment is unsuccessful time and again, the women who don’t become pregnant, or stay pregnant, or have babies. This one is for you. 

Now, it’s been a bit of leap from essentially publishing my personal diary, to writing a fiction novel. An eighteen-month novel writing course, (thank you, Mark Connors), a maternity leave during lockdown, when all I could do while the baby napped was write, and several thousand writing related WhatsApp messages to my very good friend and fellow author, Rebecca Ryan, The Unchosen Life is coming soon. Watch this space…. 

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• 

Giveaway

It’s been a while since I’ve written a blog. This is just a quickie to say I’m teaming up with Fertility Help Hub to give away three signed copies of my book. Head over to their website and sign up for free fertility support and you’ll be entered into a prize draw.

Also, while I’m here, I want to thank all the readers who’ve been in touch. I’ve been humbled by the messages, emails and reviews. Knowing I’m making a small difference makes it all worthwhile.

Lots of love

Tori x

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Blast off!

My second baby is born.

My book officially launched on Wednesday, the launch event was brilliant, big thanks to Giddy Arts, Cap and Collar and all who came.

I was honoured by the turn out and the support from so many lovely people in my life. If you’ve read my previous blogs you’ll know public speaking is not my thing and reading out what is essentially my personal diary to a room full of people had been giving me the jitters. However, I did it. I may have been a bit wobbly in parts and had to pause a few times to take deep breaths regain my composure, but I blooming well did it. The round of applause I got at the end and the kind and thoughtful comments after, made it all worthwhile. I’m not ashamed to say I was a little bit proud of myself. I’ve done things I thought I couldn’t do and it may sound clichéd, but I’ve realised the only thing holding me back was myself. A little bit of credit to my husband here, over the last eight years, he’s helped me to believe I can do a whole lot more than I’d decided I could. You’re not bad 😉

To go back to the start, slightly over a year ago, I excitedly wrote my first blog post I’ve written a book. For a long time, I was nervous about telling anyone what I was doing. Due to a lack of confidence, I thought people might not take me seriously. Probably more importantly, I thought I might not take myself seriously. That I might one day throw it all in the bin and chastise myself for thinking I could write or that anyone would be interested in my story. But deep down, I knew. I knew I have a story similar to so many others, the pain and heartbreak of struggling to make a baby. The fear that it may never happen, the angst and despair as what starts out as excitement and hope morphs into worry and dread. The obsession that takes over your life, the inability to see things clearly, the way trying to conceive dominates your life and affects your relationships with others in ways you couldn’t have imagined. I know this resonates, I know I wasn’t alone in what I went through. None of us are, and yet the long road of infertility is a lonely and isolating place. I hope my little contribution will offer others a connection point, something to relate to and maybe, just maybe raise a few smiles in the darkest of hours.

Lots of love to all.

Tori x

P.S. You can buy the book here.
Follow me on Twitter @Toridaywrites

Promoting my self published book

So there’s five days to go until my official launch and things are hotting up. I’m on Amazon and I’ve got some reviews already, how exciting!

Since I last blogged, I’ve been on the radio again, with the lovely Stephanie Hirst on Radio Leeds (go to 46 mins in if you want to listen). I’m up straight after George Ezra and ‘Bupapest’ will now forever make me feel nervous. Sitting in a studio like the ones I’ve only seen on the telly before, waiting for a light to go red which means I’m live on air and 30,000 people are listening, was a nerve wracking experience. But Steph was lovely and as soon as we started I felt myself relax and am proud to say when I listened back, I sounded reasonably articulate and quite comfortable with the subject matter (which I am, totes). She even let me get a selfie with her after – see below. My husband said ‘You didn’t sound like a numpty’ (erm cheers) and my sister said ‘Just listened. Made me teary. You are brilliant.’ (love her)

So that’s that and suddenly more people are reading my blog and I have sold some books already! I’ve said before, being an #indieauthor is tough and self-promoting can feel uncomfortable, but if I put aside that I’m promoting my own work and think about the people I’m hoping to reach and possibly offer a bit of comfort to, then that motivates me to keep going.

I’ve been interviewed in our local magazine (pg 22) which was a pleasure. Print is much more my comfort zone than being ‘live on air’ (mini shudder). Thank you to my friend Jenna who knows the editor and passed on their contact details when the standard ‘submissions@’ address yielded no results.

And big thanks to Fertility Network UK for posting my press release. 10% of my profits will go to the charity and they’ve also been supporting my release on their social media channels which has given me a boost. Happy days.

Oh yes, so what have I learnt? What’s my advice to other #indieauthors? It’s this; put yourselves out there, ask people for favours, find ways in. Believe in yourself (said in a non-cheesy way) and use your own networks to promote – friends and family will be your biggest advocates and word of mouth is a powerful marketing tool.

Five days to go – eek!

Love Tori x

On the radio

On Monday I did my first ever radio interview. A friend old of mine, Peg Alexander who happens to work in TV and radio encouraged me to do it when we were out for dinner at a mutual friend’s birthday recently, and I’m glad she did. I have to confess, when she first suggested it, the very thought was enough to strike fear into my heart. Live on the radio? What if I say the wrong thing? What if I’m so nervous my voice shakes, or I clam up and can’t speak at all? I very quickly realised I had to stop ‘what iffing’ and blooming well get on with it if I wanted to make a go of promoting my book. I dutifully wrote my press release and my friend sent it to her contacts. Within five minutes I had a phone call from a radio producer inviting me onto their show in a few days’ time. I said yes, then instantly wondered what I’d let myself in for. Luckily it was being interviewed by Peg which put me at ease, she’s had her own fertility struggles and I knew she’d ‘get it’ and it’d all be ok.

That didn’t stop me frantically preparing on Monday and writing down everything I could possibly say – I know, I’m a huge geek. I was going over my notes when the phone, carefully positioned next to them, rang and made me jump out of my skin. The friendly producer told me I’d be live on air after Tina Turner – eek. Listening to Simply the Best, heart pounding, there was only one thing for it. I stood up from my desk and adopted the power stance. Yep, full on superwoman style – chest out, shoulders back, hands on hips and deep breaths. You feel a bit of a wally, and I hoped my neighbours weren’t peering through the window, but it works. It’s hard to feel shy and nervous when you’re standing like a superhero ready to take on the world. Tina Turner finished and the presenter started to introduce the topic for discussion and…the line went dead. Argh! What should I do? Call back? Wait for them to realise and call me back? What if we called at the same time and both got the engaged tone? (Yes, I’m an overthinker.) After staring at the phone for a few seconds, power stance wavering, I called them back, and they answered, reconnected me, and all was fine. Phew! I pretended it was just me and Peg talking and was my normal self. Apart from stuttering over the word ‘implantation’, I think I did a reasonable job, no shaky voice and no clamming up all together.

Aside from cringing at the sound of my own voice when I listen, the clip is actually pretty ok and I’m proud of doing something that scared me. Reading at my launch should be a breeze after this.

So, here it is – false start where I’m cut off and all. https://soundcloud.com/pegalexander/tori-day-interview-25-march-2019

Tori Day Interview – 25 March 2019 Radio presenter Peg Alexander chats to author Tori day about infertility. An honest conversation between two women who know what its like to not get pregnant. soundcloud.com

And that’s not all. The day after I got invited to Radio Leeds to chat to them about my book and I found myself saying yes, without hesitation or trepidation. This time I’m going into the studio, exciting! I wonder if they’ll mind me power stancing in there….?

Moral of the story – do scary stuff, it pays off.

Thanks for the nudge Peg!

Love Tori x

Sugar’s getting real

I say sugar because I’m so used to substituting words when my husband swears in front of our toddler, that my mind now automatically does it. Sugar is getting real as, there’s 24 days until my book is launched and available to the world. Eek!

I’m having a launch event, which I’m excited and terrified about in equal measure. A local arts shop has agreed to host my launch (yay!) and to stock my book (double yay!), thanks Giddy Arts.

I’ve planned the event meticulously, invited friends and family, my book club and writing group and there’s much anticipation. BUT I’m going to have to do a reading from my book and shock horror, maybe even a speech. I’m not a natural public speaker, there’s a reason I’m a writer – I much prefer to write things down than say them to a room full of people. On this occasion, I’m going to have to step up and give it my best.

I usually try to make my blogs useful to others by saying what I’ve learnt in the self-publishing process, I’m not sure I have anything to offer on giving speeches for people who don’t like public speaking just yet. Aside from imagining everyone naked, I’ve been told practise, practise, practise. So I’m doing lots of that. Mostly by myself in my bedroom at the moment, but my book club are going to get an advance showing this week, and my writing group the week after, so I’m hoping after that, I’ll be a pro – or as good as I’ll ever be!

Wish me luck.

Love Tori x

No shame

I’ve been very quiet on the blog front. My book has taken a back seat as I’ve got a new job and moved house, into a ‘do-er upper’. Real life gets in the way and it’s been all about stripping walls, choosing paints and receiving eye watering quotes from tradespeople 😲. That paired with trying to understand a whole new world of jargon and acronyms at work, getting to know lots of new people and figuring out how to make and impact in my new role, hasn’t left time for much else.

I was prompted to write this post in support of #fertilityweek18, I got as far as the first paragraph, then life got in the way again. Now I’m aware I’m now a bit late to the party…oops. I’ll continue anyway, as I’m a firm believer in talking about fertility struggles; it shouldn’t be shrouded in silence and there should absolutely be no shame.

Like many, my fertility struggles crept up on me. I’d never had any reason to think there’d be a problem, my periods had always been regular and I was fit and healthy. I have curvy hips which once prompted a friend to say ‘You look like you’d get pregnant easily’. This made me smile at the time as we’d only just embarked on our trying to conceive journey and I believed it’d be true. Each month we’d eagerly await the time we could reliably test, analysing every possible early pregnancy symptom, which cruelly are very similar to symptoms of your period arriving. Each month we felt just a little crushed at the sight of that one line. Were we doing it right? Why wasn’t it working?

After the months passed by, my hopefulness and excitement slowly morphed into frustration, fear, and eventually, obsession. I would dream of seeing two lines on a white stick and of having a lovely round belly, full of a baby. Then I’d wake and feel grief wash over me. Then guilt. I hadn’t lost anything, I didn’t have any right to feel grief. I needed to get a grip. I didn’t have the right to be wallowing. I could do better than that. And anyway, it was probably just a matter of time. Sadly, I’m sure this cycle of thinking will be familiar to many. It’s not helpful that we beat ourselves up for feeling sad about something that is sad.

In the end it was a matter of time. Two and a half years to be precise. And also a matter of medical intervention. God bless IVF for giving us our beautiful daughter. We’re blessed to have our happy ending, but it’s real life, so the story doesn’t end there. We’re now #tryingagain and after a few false starts and a miscarriage, I’m trying hard not to be back in that space.

To anyone currently struggling, lots of love and support to you. We can take comfort in the fact that we’re not alone and the world is slowly becoming more aware, more sensitive and kinder to those experiencing fertility issues. I believe we can help each other by speaking out, being open and telling the truth when people ask when. There is no shame.

Love Tori x

The end is in sight!

I’ve had my manuscript back from my editor and am so glad I decided to bite the bullet and hire a professional. Everyone I asked, advised that I should. At first I was reluctant to spend the money as an #indieauthor, but I’m confident it was worth it. I feel so much better now that a professional has seen it and she didn’t say ‘this is rubbish, what are you doing?’ – phew. It must be ok.

I’m confident my book is now as shiny as it can be and I also now know the difference between a hyphen and an en-dash and when to use them, so, you know, that’s a big plus.

Thank you Helena Fairfax!

For the moment the ball is out of my court as it’s with my proof reader (a willing volunteer via work) and the awe inspiring Jessica Hepburn who has agreed to puff for me. See my earlier blog if you’re wondering what on earth I’m going on about. Hopefully she won’t think it’s rubbish and will still want to give me a quote for the cover when she’s done reading *crosses fingers*.

In other news, I’ve been having a bit of a wobbly time post miscarriage and trying again. It’s struck me that a lot of the support for miscarriages talks about grief and working through the feelings of loss, which is totally valid, but I haven’t found much in terms of support for trying again after loss. Surely a lot of people will go on to try again after a miscarriage and this brings a whole new set of challenges. Will it happen again quickly? If it does, will I be anxious about losing the pregnancy again? Will I feel guilty for moving on quickly, like I’m being disrespectful to the baby who didn’t make it? If it doesn’t happen quickly will I worry that it won’t happen at all, that that was the one chance – yes. I already worry about this. I’ve found myself re-reading my book from a new standpoint. I’m back there. I’m trying to conceive again and it’s by no means a smooth ride.

I’ve been flailing, a little bit. I know a lot of what I’m going through is a hangover from my previous fertility struggles. It’s not all about now. And it’s not all the time either. Sometimes I genuinely am feeling fine, but other times I struggle. Luckily, I have a tendency to be honest when people ask how I am, so when an old friend text me out of the blue asking just that, she got the full story. Even more luckily, that friend happens to be a lifestyle coach and has offered to do a neuro-linguistic programming session with me, to help me let go of what’s gone before and ‘release my anchored feelings’. Cheers Mel, looking forward to it. Hope to be feeling more stable soon.

Take care out there.

Tori x