From zero to twelve... in 3 months. Life with Hyperemesis Gravidarum

Disclaimer: I've been holding off for nearly 3 months to post this one... get comfortable, its a long one!

Pink line fever...

Sometime in February, a good week before I was even due for my next period, I had a 'feeling'. I believed that I was pregnant. I told my husband this premonition and he looked at me like I was finally losing the plot. Sure enough, as I stockpiled my upcoming 'pee-on-a-stick' pregnancy tests, I began the internal dialogue with myself about when was the earliest that I could take a test and possibly get an accurate result. For anyone who has been trying to fall pregnant for longer than 5 minutes (or TTC - 'trying to conceive' for those who have ever googled or been anywhere near an online forum regarding trying to have a baby), they are familiar with the craziness that ensues in the week leading up to your period due date. Sane and logical people provide a very valid argument regarding this time. They normally suggest waiting until after your period is 'late' and THEN taking a pregnancy test. Wouldn't that be more accurate? And if your period comes on time then you don't even have to worry about what a negative test would mean? Pfffttt.. Amateurs. No, those on the TTC bandwagon prefer to torture themselves with early tests. Negative results that fill you with disappointment closely followed by the reassurance that as it IS only early that there is still time for the test to be positive. Yep. It is a crazy train, and most of us jump off and on it at some point, unless we somehow just happen to fall preggo at a drop of a hat or without even remembering that it was a possibility for that month. I envy those people. They save a fortune on pregnancy tests.

So five days before I really should have been testing, I caved and peed on a stick during a break at work.. just to see. After the obligatory twisting and turning of said stick on different angles, underneath different lights, and finally under the bright light of my treatment light and magnifying glass, I was convinced that I could see a very very faint second line. (For those unaware, the majority of pregnancy tests suggest 2 lines for a positive result, 1 line for a negative). I showed my husband that night only to be told that he could not see anything and maybe wait a few more days and try again. Hmmppff! I knew that a fellow TTCer would have seen it, but didn't have one on stand by to thrust a test under their nose. So the next morning I headed straight for the pregnancy test stash. Another line, faint but definitely easier to see with the naked eye than yesterday. I triumphantly showed husband again, expecting excitement and glorification. Nope, can't see it. Wait and see. What? Really? Deflated, I headed to work, stopping off at the chemist to get a digital test that brings up word results rather than lines to stare at. Ah I told you so. I took a picture of the little screen that displayed the word 'Pregnant' and sent it to my husband. Not even he could deny it then. We were back in the ball game!

     Solid proof for husband...

As I've mentioned before, an unfortunate side effect of multiple miscarriages is the consideration of falling pregnant as merely another 'roll of the dice' rather than a guaranteed baby to take home at the end of it. Having said that, you have to be in it to win it, and I refuse to be anything other than happy and excited about this new development. Every day that I am pregnant is an opportunity for us to have a baby and another step forward. Fifth time lucky? I hope and pray for it everyday.


Four to six weeks

Preliminary blood tests show all things going to plan so far. The GP quickly writes a new referral back to the specialist Perinatal Unit at the local Women's hospital. I am very fortunate to be under the care of this amazing team. An initial appointment sets me on the path of VIP treatment for this pregnancy. We are throwing all we can at it to help little beanie stick. Extra hormones, blood thinner medication, extra early scans and countless blood tests keep me well within their radar. Words will never be able to fully express how impressed I am with all the women in this unit. They just get it. The main obstetrician overseeing me was the woman who originally looked after us in the ER department during our last miscarriage. She is brilliant, caring, and truly allows me to believe in my heart that it is possible to have a baby one day. I think she herself wants to help me deliver and hand me a newborn baby one day for her own version of a professional victory. I am so glad to have her on my team.

The early weeks are an interesting adjustment to pregnancy. It is incredible how early the food/taste cravings and aversions begin to kick in. For me, it was not so much a burning desire for a particular food that would force me to get up in the middle of the night and head for a 24 hour food store. Instead it is a thought bubble about a particular food, usually very specific, that appears in the back of my mind and does not go away until I have it. I probably had more of the aversions down pat. When a certain food is mentioned, presented, or within my smell range, I very quickly know if I DONT want it. I also seemed to have developed an unhealthy emotional attachment to eating the foods that appeal. I am lucky to eat KFC maybe twice a year, and usually only at the back end of a monstrous hangover. I equate pregnancy as feeling permanently hungover so I guess this qualifies. I feel like popcorn chicken one afternoon. Badly. So I drive off course to a drive-through, get precious popcorn chicken in hands and proceed to drive home in chicken bliss. Unfortunately a combination of an opened box on the passenger seat next to me, with a need for sudden breaking when a car speeds through a roundabout, spills the rest of the popcorn chicken onto the floor of the car. I cried. Im not kidding. Actual tears of disappointment rolled down my face as I pulled over and frantically searched for any remaining edible survivors. Pregnancy is weird.

    Yoghurt & tomatoes... Dinner sorted

Growing nausea by the day, although as yet no vomiting, combined with emotional weirdness and an unshakeable mood of irritation that sometimes makes me wonder if I'm going to give my husband a hug or punch him in the face dictates the early weeks of being pregnant. If only this was the level it stayed at. No, no, that would've been way too easy...

Six to Eight weeks...

Welcome to spew-ville, vomit town, chuck city, whatever you want to call it. Like clock work this unpleasant side effect kicked in just prior to the 6 week mark. It began slowly at first and a complicated game of food jigsaw puzzle ensued to establish what could and couldn't be eaten at any given time. What level of fullness did my stomach need to be to reduce the chance of vomiting, and what was the latest intolerable and tolerable food for the day to get by? My thoughts were consumed with this process, that I likened to trying to win a game of chess or Jenga. My initial 6 week scan went well, healthy heart beat and little beanie growing to size. The doctors welcomed my sickness with some reassurance that it really isn't just an old wives tale that sickness is linked to better pregnancy outcomes, it is a sure sign that things are happening in there. Great I told myself. I can manage this.

By the end of the 7th week however, my wheels were starting to wobble. I arrived at work on the Friday morning, spewed my heart out in the garden strip next to the car and realised that it was going to be impossible to get through a working day. Reluctantly I headed into reception to report my illness and headed back home. I remember how defeated I felt. I'm not sick, I'm pregnant! I was disappointed in myself for not battling on. It had been a long week and I was exhausted, vomiting was ramping up and I was beginning to feel its effects. I put it down to that. I had already been prescribed some anti nausea and stronger anti emetic (stop throwing up tablets) from the obstetrician. I think she had potentially foreseen what was yet to come. Come the 8th week, I tried the anti-nausea medication during work. No good. Unfortunately it enabled just enough of the queasiness feeling to dissipate to reduce the warning I had that I was going to throw up. This merely resulted in the failure to get to a toilet/sink in time. No thank you. The stronger tablet rendered me feeling just as awful, if not worse, but could just stop the vomit from surfacing. As I felt like a space cadet on them, and am required to handle sharp instruments all day as part of my job, I tried to avoid them. How quickly that would need to change.

      So scarily true...

Eight weeks +... Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG)

So the silver lining about being this sick is that I've never been this sick during the previous pregnancies that I have lost. The dark cloud about this scenario is nor have I ever been this sick in my entire life and apparently its a level even worse than most pregnant women are expected to put up with. Winning... As I hit the eight week mark, my wheels well and truly fell off. I struggled through to only the Wednesday at work, and haven't been well enough to be able to go back since. The level of chucking was getting ridiculous. I was now completely unable to keep down anything. No food, no liquids. Not even water. Vomit count was in excess of 10-15 times per day and I was completely unable to function through a normal day. My 8-9 week scan happily showed a healthy growing baby, with a strong heartbeat and on target for the pregnancy stage. It is this news alone that keeps me going. It is during this consultation that I was diagnosed with a condition called Hyperemesis Gravidarum (HG for short). Many like to follow what Princess Kate Middleton wears and replicate her dresses and cute outfits. Me? That's clearly too mainstream. No, I like to copy the insane level of illness that the poor Princess suffers while she is pregnant, whereby she has spent weeks in hospital also suffering this illness of HG. Look at me, trying to replicate royalty. Get over yourself Kylie, this you didn't really need to copy.

I found an online definition of HG so as to better explain it. Apparently it is another level up from severe morning sickness, not that I would ever discount what any woman has been through with any level of morning sickness. It is rough. Also, statistics show that only 2% of pregnant women suffer from this condition. Yep, that sounds like me. I am no stranger to being part of the low percentage bracket. I am that girl that still has a loss after a heartbeat is heard and the risk of miscarriage drops below 5%. I am that woman that has miscarriages beyond 3+ occasions, putting me in the 2% range of women who experience recurrent miscarriage. It is only fitting that when having a pregnancy that is the highest chance I've ever had to make it and stick, that the off-set is to fit in a small percentage bracket just to make the experience that much more difficult.. Ahhh if I could laugh without throwing up, I would...


"Hyperemesis gravidarum means excessive vomiting during pregnancy. Hyperemesis, or extreme nausea and excessive vomiting, occur in about 1% of pregnancies. This condition causes uncontrollable vomiting, severe dehydration, and weight loss for the mother. However, hyperemesis gravidarum rarely causes problems for the unborn baby. Women with this condition will start to show signs of starvation, including weight loss. Hospitalization is often required. Intravenous fluids with substances that help the body conduct nerve signals (electrolytes) may be given to correct the dehydration and excessive acid in the blood (acidosis). Anti-nausea or sedative medications may be given by injection to stop the vomiting." (www.medical-dictionary.com)

Yep, pretty glamorous huh?

Hospital and magical IV fluids


So, you know that you are more sick than you realise when you are at this 8 -9 week consultation and the hospital does not let you go home until they get you on IV fluids to rehydrate you. 8 hours and 3 X 1 litre bags of IV fluid later, I am finally discharged and allowed to go home. The following week we attend for another scan, mainly to appease my fears that I've never before had a baby's heartbeat survive past 9 weeks. All is well with the baby, but again not all is well with me. This time I only needed 2 X IV bags, mainly because I am taking higher levels of the powerful tablets to reduce my vomiting so I must keep some more liquid or food down for longer periods of time. The tablets reduce my vomiting from potential 20+ times per day of vomits to a more manageable 4-5 times. All goes wrong if you mistake the timing however. It doesn't fix the nausea or the terrible ill feeling either. Food and drink are still so difficult to stomach. I spend most of my days trying to determine what small amounts that I can put in my stomach, in the mushiest form, that I can handle coming back up the best. Yep, it is a joy. It all eventually comes up again, but it is a waiting game. Solid foods are almost completely off the menu as (beware of gross factor) they are too difficult when they come back up as they get stuck in the throat. Water is the devil for some reason. I have survived on occasional soup and sometimes juice. I am now expected to go back into hospital every few days for regular IV fluids. It is the only thing stopping severe hydration and further medical problems such as kidney and liver damage/failure. I am reassured that the baby is still getting what it needs, it just means that what is left over for me is next to nothing. 

      My lifeline... IV fluids

Hell hath no fury like HG in full flight

The constant retching is exhausting. My body does not recognise when there isn't anything left to throw up, so it will find bile and stomach juices at the depths of my stomach to scorch me with instead. Yes it is a special kind of hell that I think only those who have experienced it can truly understand. I've lost around 10kgs already, I lost 6kgs just in the fortnight between 8 & 10 weeks. Yes I had some weight to lose, but I do not recommend an HG pregnancy as an effective weight loss program. I am shrinking everywhere except for my bloated, beginning of baby bump in my lower stomach. I no longer own a bra that fits my ever expanding chest however. I'm living in sports crop tops and tracksuit pants. I have never felt more unattractive in my entire life. My throat/oesophagus is all cut up from the acidic mess that comes up every day, so I also regularly deal with throw ups of blood and the ghastly nastiness of a painful throat in between throw ups. Even though I know that puking blood in this case is not life threatening, it is something that I will never get used to.

I literally dream about food. I want to throw things at the TV when ads filled with happy people eating pizza come on. I wonder if I will ever be able to enjoy a whole meal ever again. I think my body is teetering on starvation mode, yet it is impossible to satisfy it with food. Food is the enemy. I never thought those words would ever be associated with me. Ever. 

HG is an isolating disease. Both physically and emotionally. It is simply soul destroying. I can barely stand without fainting, let alone leave the house or drive anywhere. I am just so tired and weak. I cannot attend any social engagements, barely get to work, attend classes at Uni, or do anything remotely constructive. I spend a long time staring at the ceiling or mindlessly at a TV that I'm not really watching. Although I have a good support network around me who are doing what they can to help me, they feel helpless too because there is nothing that really can be done to help anything. I've had to cancel every plan that I've had since the beginning of March. Easter weekend was supposed to be a road trip for me and the husband up to Port Macquarie, everything cancelled. I can barely sit in a car for 10 minutes, let alone hours. Its a lonely experience even if you are surrounded by people. There have been days when I have had to count minutes rather than even hours to get by. I would not wish this on even my worst enemy. Your whole life as you know it and sense of self disappears, and you are stripped back to a shell of a person during this time. A pale, depleted, grumpy mess of a person at best.

    Staring at my feet while in hospital...

I recognise that as HG is not easily understood, that well meaning acquaintances consider me in the throes of standard morning sickness, and that maybe I'm just not coping too well with it. Again, I take nothing away from standard morning sickness sufferers. I've been there before and its awful. I recently read though that comparing morning sickness to HG is like comparing a skinned knee to a broken knee. I understand that when people tell me how good it is that I'm sick because it means the pregnancy is going well,  how important that positivity is to them considering my history of multiple pregnancy losses. I have suffered morning sickness and still lost babies too, so I have perhaps been burnt by this concept abit. I do however cling to the concept that the majority of HG pregnancies result in a birth of a baby, despite the health problems associated with the mother. I also cling to the idea that if I'm truly copying Princess Kate Middleton, that I will wake up one day during the 2nd trimester and feel better. I know that the obstetricians and midwifes at the hospital, that I know mostly on first name basis now, wish this for me too.

I have joined an online Hyperemesis gravidarum group for support. It has actually been really helpful. Rather than wanting to scream blue murder at standard morning sickness survival tips surrounding eating crackers, ginger, lemonade icy poles and eating small regular meals to battle vomiting and nausea (that would be great if we could actually eat or drink ANYTHING), I found useful tips within the world of fellow HG sufferers. Again, gross alert, you may need to block your eyes if you have a sensitive stomach. In this group I've found helpful and practical tips for where I'm at right now, for example, about which angle to hold your head when throwing up to help reduce how many capillaries you burst in your face and eyes each time. Yep, that is the level of wisdom I need right now. The other thing that is good to see is those who go on to have a baby and report that even if their illness lasted the entire pregnancy, it stopped the minute they had a baby in their arms. The struggles of caring for a newborn seem to pale into insignificance compared to this long road of pregnancy. This is what keeps me going. This is the bigger picture that is all too important. 

As I hit the 'safer zone' and scans reveal that bubba is growing well and going strong, I pray with all my might that I will head into some better days as I get into the 2nd trimester. I am sick of being a hermit. I'm still waiting for this 'glow' that people talk about during pregnancy. My glow takes on a greenish hue most of the time, and not a shade that suits me. As a person who likes lists, I embarked on coming up with a list of memorable moments from the previous couple of months of HG hell. It is more fitting to call it the lowlights reel, as just when I thought I had hit my real low point, I found another one around the corner to overtake it. Here are some, in no particular order:

• Sore knees. The unfortunate realisation that they are not from any other useful cause other than too much pressure on them while my head is in the toilet bowl for extended time periods.
• One night, while in desperate need to throw up, the household bathroom was occupied so I quickly went outside to throw up in the back garden. While still retching outside, no one had realised that I was out there so my mother in law had closed up the house, locked the backdoor and gone to bed, locking me outside. I ended up waking up my husband at the bedroom window to let me in but seriously considered just sleeping in the garden for a moment.
• Throwing up so forcefully that I sometimes pass out. My body doesn't always recognise that there is nothing left to throw up and keeps heaving. Unfortunately this makes it very hard to breathe and sometimes causes a pass out. Not fun and always a bit scary.
• Throwing up so forcefully that I have peed on myself at the same time. Ok, this has happened on more than one occasion. Its a new level of misery.
• Pulling a muscle in my back from chucking. If I didn't have a little baby bump starting then I'd probably have abs of steel from all the stomach heaving, unfortunately not so good on the back though.
• A nice warm shower, the one thing during the day that makes me feel human. Nope, since I have now managed to throw up during a shower, the last frontier of misery has now been surpassed.
• Water, believe it or not, is the liquid I am least able to handle. Comes straight up. Why? Because life is cruel. No, ice cubes do not work either. Some pregnant women miss a glass of wine, not me, I just want to be able to drink a full glass of water without immediately losing it. Big dreams that I hold for myself these days.
• I woke up one morning feeling better than usual. I thought I would test the medication waters by holding off on anti-throw up tablets for 2 hours... After the 5th throw up during that 2 hour period I am forced to concede defeat.
• Busted capillaries in my face due to the forcefulness of constant vomiting. Puffy eyes, headaches, bleeding gums, furry teeth, scratchy and painful throat, are all side effects of the strain of vomiting and retching. It is not fun. 
• I've been too scared to look too close in a mirror for nearly a month now. I can barely leave the house except to get to hospital so forget hair and beauty appointments, nice clothes, or the energy to follow any type of normalcy. I don't even recognise the woman in front of me right now.
• *Sigh*... that's enough, I'm depressing myself.

My desperation to become a mother is what keeps me as strong as I can be during this time. Although my body is being ravaged and depleted, as long as there is a baby growing and developing in there, I will find a way to hold on. It sounds abit corny, but I have a couple of newborn jumpsuits that I sleep with under my pillow each night. Sometimes I wake up clutching onto one of them like a toddler does to a security blanket. Sometimes it is this visual reminder that allows me to face another day staring at a toilet bowl or a ceiling of the hospital. 

  My 'security blankets'- yes they're blue which means I'll probably have a girl.. Lol

Another is the comforting hand on my arm, or head, or leg from my supportive husband. After particularly bad spew sessions that sometimes put my nervous system into overdrive and leave me shaking, trembling, and gasping for breath, it is only his comfort that calms me down and relaxes me. He sees the worst moments and the lowest points. He sees the times that things get the better of me and all I can do is cry, curled up in bed. I am so blessed to have this man in my life and by my side. I have never needed him more than I do I right now. Without him I think I'd totally fall apart. I want to give this man a child so badly it seems to fill my entire core, my entire being, with desperation, love and sometimes grief. We are hanging in there. This too shall pass. Every week gotten through is one to check off as gone for good. This small percentage girl is going to crawl through to a much larger percentage one day. The percentage of women who are mothers.

A New Year

Cheers to the beginning of 2015!

As much as I am not really into the whole 'go crazy' partying element of New Years Eve that some people really get into, I do however like the feel and atmosphere of the lead up to New Years Eve. Once the hustle and bustle of Christmas has disappeared, there is often a sense of hope and positivity that fills the air in the days that lead up to New Years Eve. I like that regardless of whether someone has had a difficult or a favourable year, they can often either be relieved to see the end of the year with a hope for a brighter following year, or celebrate the finale of a fantastic year and look forward to continuing that good favour in the coming year ahead. Cliche or not, there is something about resetting the calendar to 01/01 that can bring a sense of hope or an opportunity for a 'clean slate'.

Despite believing that motivation can be at its best and very useful during this period, I am definitely not a believer in creating a list of the typical New Years resolutions.You know those all or nothing promises that are often difficult to even measure, maintain or achieve in the first place? For example the fruitless goal, so easily made when in the dreary haze of a New Years Day hangover to only drink once a week from now on, or not at all; to lose weight; to stop eating junk food; to be happier; to exercise more; to take more holidays, to work harder, or to be more studious at school/uni/tafe. Don't get me wrong, these are all valid things to strive for for yourself, yet I believe that they can also set yourself up to fall into a hole of self doubt, loathing and negativity as soon as you return to the more mundane daily life and your working routine, usually sometime in the middle of January, and you have already failed to comply with the often tight conditions that you set yourself.

I myself spent the New Year period with a combination of both celebration and reflection. I have so much to be thankful for, I'm happier than I've ever been, and I'm working through the tougher battles that have not always been the happiest of times. It's not always roses and bubbles though. This is my first blog of 2015, and it has taken me until the beginning of February to do so. I think that the reason for that is mainly because I've been going through abit of a low patch. Although not serious, I was diagnosed with depression a few years ago now, and although very manageable and able to be weathered, there are times when it comes creeping up and biting at my ankles. I think that once the happy distractions and celebrations over the christmas period and settling into my marriage quietened down, I finally faced some of the difficult emotions following the miscarriage last October.

Fortunately I am lucky enough to have the most incredible husband by my side, whose support and care is beyond anything I dreamed possible. He knows exactly what to do to support me, how to talk to me, and makes anything I face or go through, seem totally possible with his love and help. With him I can handle anything. He is my true soulmate. I had been worried that I was putting up my defences too much during this low period, which when I do that tends to shut me down emotionally and replace things with numbness. Only yesterday I was talking to him about this, as I was just beginning to feel the cloud of misery lifting again and casually mentioned that I was worried that I had not had a good cry in a couple of months. One hour later as we were riding our bikes through the trails of our neighbourhood and in a fit of disappointment and rage about being too unfit and overweight to ride like I used to after failing to ride up a hill without needing to stop, I completely broke down. Instead of being mortified, as I would normally have been about crying uncontrollably by the side of a very public path, I felt immediately better. So today I feel more clear headed and the writer's block appears to have shifted. Remind me to get to that dream to start writing a novel now.

One of the more troublesome details that have been rumbling around in my head recently is dreading my next birthday. Looming all too close at this stage. I have never been one to fear getting older. In fact I am normally one of the first to believe that people should embrace getting older each year and to attempt to do that as gracefully as possible. Growing old is a privilege that not everyone gets the opportunity to experience. Also, I'm not exactly an old chook, I am about to turn 35, which is still relatively young. When I was 18 years old I remember thinking how old 35 seemed. I imagined that by this age that I would be happily married (check - although it took a second attempt to get it right!), with a large house full of children, a kick-arse career, and all the promises of youth fulfilled. It's funny how when you reach your Thirties you realise how much more you actually have to learn, and how much more time you actually have to do the things that you thought you would already have done then when in the teenage version of yourself. So what's my problem? Turning 35 is the reminder that I am about to hit the 'statistical' age where fertility levels plummet. As an already 'fertility challenged' woman who STILL has no children, I have been battling with the idea of hitting an age when what is already difficult for me is supposed to drastically worsen. The logical part of me knows that this is probably ridiculous. I am in good professional hands, there is still time to have children, there are plenty of success stories for women much older than myself.. blah, blah blah.. Its the emotional part that struggles. Anyone who has physically yearned to have children, whose ovaries ache when they are around babies, whose every waking moment has an underlying distraction of wanting to be a mother, can relate to this feeling. With every loss, every month that passes without being pregnant, every return back to the drawing board, makes the road appear so much longer, each time more desolate.

So in the interest of shaking myself out of the self pity bubble, I have decided to give myself a good talking to. When I think about the type of advice I would give someone else going through something similar, its time I took some of that advice for myself. A self written letter. To. Myself.. ahem.

You have so much to be thankful for. You are fortunate enough to live in a country full of opportunity and safer than the majority of the world. You have a roof over your head, food in your stomach, and wonderful people around you. You are on a path that is right for you. You have survived heartbreak, robbery and health scare. You are happy, you are lucky, you are so blessed.
You have a job that you enjoy, a wonderful man that you are married to, supportive family and friends. You have your health, which is more valuable and lucky than any amount of money can buy. Even though you have no children, YET, it is still a possibility and although with each year you are getting older you still have an ample opportunity to be a mother. However that may occur. Life is actually more brilliant than bad, so shake it off and snap yourself out of it.
Allow yourself to feel emotions, no matter how painful they might be. Do not hide from them and shut down before you have a chance to process them. It is healthy to feel pain, to experience the myriad of emotions, to fall apart, put yourself back together and move forward. You have proven that you can do that, so do it.
Stop fighting with God. When you start to question why things happen to you, why you haven't got everything you've wanted so far, your shift in focus is then in the wrong direction. Stop praying for certain things to happen when you should be praying for the strength to accept whatever comes your way. Accept that God's plan is the right one for you, regardless of whether you understand it or not. Let it go and have faith that everything happens as it is supposed to.
Honour yourself. Treat yourself with the love and respect that you should offer everyone else. Take care of your mind, body and spirit. Strive to eat healthy, sleep better, relax and rejuvenate. Exercise and keep moving. Take time to laugh, to love, and if you feel like eating some ice cream. Do it, without guilt.

Thanks for the good advice. Much more appropriate than setting New Year resolutions :)

A Tale of 2 cities - An Epic Year

Contemplating life - Kenya

2014 has definitely been a year that asked some important questions and also provided some answers. It has been a year of many things. A year that allowed me to face some fears, trials and tribulations, sadness and loss, but also to experience many important triumphs, happiness and celebratory moments. This year I have established a path for myself that is far better than I ever dreamed it could be. This post is for no other reason then allowing for self reflection over the previous 12 months and moving towards the new year with a sense of purpose and new found happiness that this current year has brought me. The beginning of the year sent me a message that reminded me how precious and short life really is, to never take things for granted, and to live the life that you have been given, full steam ahead and as you dream it to be. You never know when your time will be up. 2014.. what a brilliant roller coaster ride.

  Young Masai men at their village- Kenya


The magic and mayhem of Africa..

I began the new year over a few beers at a pub in a little town on the outskirts of the Kisii region of Kenya. Up the road from the little village that I had affectionately called home when I had been over in the land of the lion. Midnight in Australian time had clicked over 8 hours earlier. At that time I had been with a car load of my Kenyan friends, bouncing along the bumpy roads out of Nairobi towards the village. Although I mostly had a great time on that trip and every trip I've had over to Africa, at that moment I had missed home and one person in particular. I had already spoken to him on a long distance phone call prior to heading out of Nairobi, yet during the crazy time that I stumbled around Africa, he felt so far away. I had already realised by then that there was one person who I really wanted to spend all my future new years eve's with. Despite our up and down relationship over the 6 months prior to this trip and the uncertainty surrounding what our future might hold or even whether we would end up in the same country, I had known if not beforehand but definitely as soon as I stepped on that plane to head over to Kenya at the end of 2013, that my love and my future was with this man. The man, who now, as 2014 draws to a close, I get to call my husband.

  A typical Kenyan road away from the cities

   New Years beers - the pub in Kisii town

I knew as I travelled to Kenya over the christmas/new year period that it was signaling a certain chapter of my life drawing to a close. Although I was fiercely proud of what had already been accomplished, no matter how small that scale, I knew that I would not be able to sustain either a Kenyan lifestyle or the local projects that I had been given the opportunity to contribute to, primarily as a self funded outsider. It was no longer possible to consider myself as a future long term resident or even a frequent visitor to the country on the current terms that I had been travelling on. It is difficult to explain, but essentially I had been turning up solo to Kenya and living unimpeded as a local African would, with only local support in areas that white people were not commonly found, without the need for external support and protection from large organisations, volunteer programs, or living within protected compounds. The reality was that unless I found employment in the country that was funded by an international company (so as not to take away employment opportunities from other Kenyans and also due to wage problems); was prepared to leave the areas I loved most to live in a more protected community (I have needed to be moved around a fair bit as otherwise it is too dangerous for me, as I am too much of a target to stay in one place for too long without added security unless I am amongst a protected ex-patriotic community); or if I married into the family that I stayed with & found a way to continue to financially support all of them, whilst taking on the village lifestyle permanently, I was going to have to say goodbye to these magical yet dangerous experiences.

                   Bustling village life

                        Village life

                      The 'shops'

        I miss these kids smiling faces 

I knew that I would probably be saying good bye to most of my Kenyan friends, possibly for the final time. Although these relationships were changing or had already changed, I know that all the people I had met in Kenya will always remain in my heart as true friends and that a bridge of friendship had been extended between two worlds that had previously been worlds apart. Kenya will always be my second spiritual home, and I will always find a way to return to Kenya, in whatever capacity that may be in the future. Even if only as a tourist once again, and if only to show my future children and my husband the beauty of the wildlife, the people, the children, the sense of community, and those African sunsets. So many things that really need to be experienced in person to fully appreciate the magic of Africa.

  1 of many beautiful sunrises - Okavango Delta (Botswana)

  The beauty of travel in a mokoro (canoe) - Botswana 

    Love these regular sights in Kenya

Towards the end of this trip, I had a nasty experience that seemed not only to solidify these thoughts about my time in Africa but  have also almost defined my life as time 'before' and time 'after' this moment. I finally felt the full force of the danger that sometimes lies within Nairobi, as it is known with it's nickname as 'Nairobbery'. I was perhaps too complacent and had allowed myself to drop my guard a fraction too low, or I was simply an easily identifiable target in a bustling city of crime and desperation. One night, while feeling a false sense of security, sitting in a pub area situated behind security guards, gates, and metal detectors, I made a solo trip to the bathroom located around a dark corner and too close to the front exit stars that ran into the street of the establishment in central Nairobi. As I was washing my hands, I was suddenly confronted by three men, each wielding a gun that was either pointing at me or jabbing me intermittently in the rib cage or small of my back. I immediately knew that these men meant business, and although my instincts were pushing me to run to safety or attempts to veer off towards my friends that were happily chatting around the corner, oblivious to the drama unfolding close by, a greater instinct allowed me to listen to and obey the danger surrounding me. I was led down the stairs, past the now non existent security guard post and across the street to an opposite ATM machine. As time and thoughts seem to turn into slow motion during times like this, I remember thinking at the time for what seemed an inordinate amount of time about why the security guards were no longer standing at the entrance as we had gone by. Were they paid off to look the other way? Were they in on the robbery? Getting a cut of the takings? Were they on a break that as so often happens in Africa, had extended beyond their normal time? Were they even there to begin with or was I mistaken? I will never really know the real story. By that point I was no longer naive to the corruption that sometimes changes the rules in this country, and I had come to know that a uniform did not always bring integrity to those wearing it. I had focussed on this detail whilst being marched across the road, unsure what level of analysis I was truly capable of right then, but a necessary distraction at the time. I was told by one of the men, who spoke with a thick Kenyan accent that if I gave them what they wanted that I could 'return to my evening'. I do not know much of the swahili language, but I had picked up that the other two were discussing something about time. They didn't seem to have much time, which made me feel calmer knowing that they were anxious to get going. I can't help but wonder whether this was a big factor in saving my life and keeping me from further harm as they were keen to grab the money and run rather than concentrate on me.

                       Nairobi City 

Guns are all too familiar- a Kenyan ranger that we gave a lift to one day

So I was instructed to withdraw the maximum money that I could withdraw from the ATM with my card. I was expected to keep withdrawing until my daily withdrawal limit had been reached (unfortunately this is alot when you are travelling and requiring access to funds). I remember wavering over the keypad for a split second, considering whether to enter an incorrect pin number and prevent them from getting to my hard earnt money. However as I had been savvy enough not to walk around Nairobi with a bag, or phone, or any obviously valuable belongings, all I had in my pockets were some kenyan shilling and my atm/credit card. I knew that if I did not give them this, then I did not have anything else to offer, so I recognised that this was the best option that I had to enable them a chance to honour their promise and take what they wanted and let me go.

They did. Once my card would no longer give any more notes, and was drained of several thousand dollars, I was told to return across the road and not to tell anyone about what had happened. Although I had not been badly hurt, classified by their standards as completely unharmed, I could already feel the bruises on my ribcage and the fattening of my lip and lump on my head from the pushing and shoving with their hands and guns to ensure that I was aware that they were serious about their threats. I will never forget that walk back across the road. The walk across the road, too frightened to look back, eyes only on the door back into the place where my friends were. This was the single most terrifying moment of my life and the entire ordeal. It was then that I expected to be grabbed and pulled into a vehicle, or to feel a bullet in my back or legs as I walked away. When I finally reached my friends, I collapsed in a sea of tears and the adrenaline and shock swept in. Their distress at what had happened to me was evident. The men in the group were distraught that they had not been able to protect me, and the women were speculating at whether my skin colour had saved me from rape or murder as they believed the assailants would find the risk of committing a crime against a foreign white woman as far greater than one against one of them.

Kenyan nightlife -at a safer place for taking photos

Kibera slum - 1 of many reasons that crime is rife in the city

As the fog of terror lifted and the enormity of what had just happened dawned on me, I was forced to deal with the dodgy and useless proceedings at a local police station. Attempting only to obtain a police report to help with my travel insurance claims, aware of the fruitlessness of reporting the crime for any sort of action or arrest to be made, the police were insisting on a 'fee' to cover the cost of the report. With little money remaining and certainly in no mood to play the games with authority, I angrily left empty handed. The very next morning, myself and a couple of others had decided to leave the city and make for a quiet county on the outskirts of Nairobi for the remainder of my stay. I was determined not to run scared for a plane to leave immediately, to stick it out over the next few days until my originally planned exit flight. In typical African fashion, our car broke down in the middle of the city streets before we had even left, and we found ourselves suddenly in the midst of a small city riot that had got out of hand. I was almost laughing at the situation and wondered again how long my luck was going to hold out. As people streamed past us, running from the loud shots emitted from either the police or the rioters, tear gas filled the air and burnt our faces and eyes. We somehow pushed the car through this and somehow jump started the car and finally made our way out of the city. As far as an empty petrol tank would allow us that is. Stalled on the freeway, out of petrol, we then managed to find a petrol can with a small amount of spare petrol in the boot of the car (don't even ask about the safety of that) to get us to the next petrol station and finally get ourselves out to the much quieter Machakos County. My nerves were well and truly shot by this point and I spent that first night in the hotel jumping at every noise and chicken squawk until I finally fell into an exhausted but fitful sleep.

    Riots in Nairobi - road debris aftermath

Car boot where we found petrol - bits of the car that fell off randomly were put here too!

  Typical Kenyan transport - more reliable than cars

Thankfully the remainder of the trip was drama-free. Although rattled, I managed to wander around the county in relative comfort. As it is an area not familiar with tourists and without another mzungu (white person) in sight, I was watched and stared at, but found the place and the people cheeful, helpful and friendly. We played pool, ate and drank while sitting under trees and managed to wind down to a normal level of relaxation. Despite my ordeal, it was still with a small amount of sadness that I said goodbye to Kenya at the end of that week. I know that I will go back there one day although I was now definite that I would not be heading back solo or in the same capacity as before again. Although dangerous, Africa is a beautiful continent, with many amazing and incredible sights, scenes, and adventures. It is these that come to mind most often when I think of Africa, not the guns and the violent men that sometimes fill my nightmares.

   Relaxed and safer in Machakos County

          Doing business with chickens

Sharing the beer garden with the chooks

It was following this experience that I think I have truly realised how precious life is and how easily it can be taken away. As I had faced a potentially life ending situation, it had reminded me how unnecessary and unwarranted many of the worries and anxieties that had filled my mind prior to this really were. Worries about the future, about material things, about luxuries and trivial matters seemed to melt away and seem so insignificant. I realised how important it is to live life with what is in front of you. To relish in what you have and be grateful for the blessings you have received. I also learnt to honour just how important it is to listen to your own soul and to get to living a life that makes you truly happy. Life is too short and unpredictable not to. Why waste time for the sake of obligation or fears and uncertainties about the future when you don't even know what the future may bring or how long your future will even be? Although scary and unpleasant, the robbery in Nairobi really became a blessing in disguise and armed me with a new found courage to jump into the things I want to do rather than merely HAVE to do.

Onwards and upwards in 2014

On my return from Kenya, the remainder of the year was filled with many opportunities, changes, and celebrations, sprinkled with some sadness, loss, and plenty of ailments. With a new found ability to let go of anger and worry, and an attitude geared towards taking steps towards the things that matter to you, with less care about what others might think and whether it is a popular choice, 2014 has provided me with an overall stellar year.


In April I lost one of my beloved cats, Ernie. I also said goodbye to my incredible 97 year old grandma, and I had a heartbreaking miscarriage at 11 weeks pregnant at the end of October. Although these were all difficult experiences that created sadness, grief, and loss for me, I got through them with the positivity of finding the silver linings about these situations. I had owned a brilliant cat, that I had loved and been brought much comfort and joy from for the best part of a decade;  I had been fortunate to have my grandma in my life for a long time into my adult life, who was able to slip away quietly in the end, in a way that so many of us wish to when we think about growing into and dying peacefully of old age; and finally I was shown that although I had lost another unborn baby, falling pregnant is an option that is available to me, not always a guarantee that I could have been sure of previously. The cliche is true, every dark cloud has a silver lining. You just have to allow yourself to see them.

     My much loved & missed cat - Ernie

                   My beautiful nan

2014 has also been year of the ailment. A car park gate fell on me in April, that resulted in a fractured sacrum  (lower spine - a previous post has been writtent about that), tonsillitis, the flu, terrible arthritic flare ups, shingles, bronchitis, gastro, and right now as I type, a virus with a barking cough so violent that it makes me dizzy. Yep the body really cracked it this year. Next year will definitely be the beginning of a healthier year, that is a given. On a brighter note, I was not so riddled with insomnia this year. Letting go of alot of stress has been an incredible instrument in making gains in this area. My body is a work in progress and is definitely more of a focal point as I head into 2015.

So many positives and celebrations along the way: Establishing a strong relationship with the love of my life, allowing myself to finally let go, drop my mask and my protective walls, to truly let someone wholly and completely into my heart and my life. Our engagement was closely followed by our marriage this year. Our wedding day was as perfect a day as I could ever hope to experience and it was absolutely the best decision I have ever made is to have married this man I love so much. Without doubts and with the strength of true love, and a happiness and contentment that I never thought possible, 2014  has emerged as the year that wrote my very own unique love story.

I finally listened to my inner voice, my dreams, and the passions in my heart. I recognised many of my shortcomings and limitations. This brought about a change in work from the fast paced world of private practice back into the community setting of health care. I also began my postgraduate study at Melbourne University in Psychology. A stepping stone to the ideals and career aspirations that I hold for myself in the future. I have finally taken the leap towards these things and am determined to see them out with the hard work and dedication that is needed to do what it takes to create the path that I belong on.

Thank you 2014 for the lessons, the love, the lightbulb moments, and the luck. As this epic year draws to a close, I can safely say that every experience and every second that has led me up until this moment has never been wasted or regretted. Every memory and every moment that shapes us enables us to grow that little bit more into our skin and towards the person that we are destined to become.

Here's to a quietly calm 2015...

Random thoughts

Thank you.

I cannot begin another post without first recognising and being thankful for the enormous support and love directed my way following my previous post. It is truly heartwarming to see just how many people care and wish for good things to come my way. So many people have been touched by loss and grief or the complicated mess that sometimes comes with the decision to start a family. It is because of this that I had hoped that posting my writing might help someone else not feel so alone, but really it was me that was made to feel less isolated and wrapped up in a big collective hug. So, thank you. It makes moving forward seem so much easier when you know that there are people quietly cheering for you as I am quietly cheering for others in their own quests to fulfil their dreams.

So as I continue to move forward, as I do not believe in doing anything other than doing so, I am filled with positivity and a 'lightness' about whatever is next, in whatever way that might be. My husband is a large component of this feeling. For the first time in a long time, if ever, I let my guard down and dropped the walls that I usually hide behind when something is difficult. I actually surrendered to letting someone else in. Really letting someone in. I was forced to abandon my usual comfort zone. He saw the frightened, vulnerable, and dependent woman, who needed him, and he knew exactly what and how to deal with it, all while dealing with his own emotions. We so often forget that when someone is going through something awful or painful, that there is very often also a partner, a husband or wife, a boyfriend/girlfriend, companion, or family member sitting on the sidelines, living the nightmare just as powerfully as the person in the spotlight. These people also need support and recognition that they also need support and help if its needed. I am truly blessed to have such an amazing man by my side living and breathing the vows that we took only last month to be a team and forever together 'For better, for worse, in sickness and in health'.

When I say Whoah... I mean Whoah!

Life's little hiccups give you an awesome opportunity to assess your own frailties, flaws, and increase your capacity to learn and for self improvement. I know now more than ever before just how stubborn I can be. Like an elderly dog sitting down in refusal half way through a walk, I can dig in my heels and refuse to budge. Yes, at times stubbornness has actually worked to my advantage: "You tell me that I probably won't be able to run any decent distance ever again?"... Here's my marathon finisher's medal.. "What's that? I'll never be able to get into Melbourne University for a new course to study?"... Here's my confirmed enrolment papers.. "You think I'm crazy to consider travelling to Africa by myself?"... Here's the photos from my multiple trips to the great African continent... And sometimes it has NOT worked to my advantage..: "You're telling me that I shouldn't compete in that half marathon that I haven't put in enough training for?"... Watch me have to walk to the finish line after only 14km when I do it anyway.. "You say that if I try to do double training sessions to make up for missed ones that I'll get injured?" ... Oh yeah, I did those extra sessions and you know what, now Im injured...  There are times when I really need to learn to take a step back and objectively look at a situation rather than stubbornly hanging onto a decision I'm emotionally invested in like a mountain climber with a broken safety rope hanging onto a rock.

Trust me when I tell you that you can trust me.. ?

Another important consideration that I have been thinking about lately is the concept of trust. Trust in many things. Trust in logical process, trust in God's plan, trust to accept professional help when it is warranted, trust in the capacity to heal, trust in my body. The simple sentence to 'trust in my body' is often not so simple in my head. The human body is an amazing creation. Extraordinary in its abilities and yet impossible to ever be perfect. The human body is beautifully flawed. At times our bodies will let us down when we least expect it and often outside of our own control. With illness, with deformity, with bad luck, and with a vulnerability to break down when something stronger is thrown upon it for too long. Yet, the human body can also surprise us time and time again in its capacity to extend beyond what we often believe possible. In endurance and strength, in survival & defense, in reproduction and birth, in regeneration and resilience. Not always understood, sometimes frustrating, but always a magical force of nature that we are blessed with as mankind. I have learnt in my short life to date, in the small number of trials and tribulations and in the achievements and exhilarations that I have experienced, that the more that I learn to listen to and trust my body, the better off I am.

Part of my stubborness around trying to have a baby, is my whole hearted stubborn belief that my body will eventually figure out how to do the baby thing, in its own time, and when it is ready. No matter how many false starts it endures. In the need for answers that we as people constantly strive for, sometimes it is okay to just not have an answer yet. Yes, I am currently on a appointment cancellation list for one of the top specialists in perinatal medicine, to get the ball rolling for finding answers and further investigating the possible causes of my troubles. I know that it is the wise choice to accept this help, to face up to whatever answers we may be given, and to roll with the marvels of modern medicine to either help me achieve what I want so badly, or alternatively inform us if it is not possible and allow us to pursue alternative options. On paper, logically speaking, so many things are possible. Spiritually, emotionally and in my heart is the stronger and more simple need to let go of everything and allow whatever is meant to be, to be. I trust my body to do what it is able to in whatever capacity that is. I don't know yet whether this situation will result in advantage or disadvantage if I remain true to my stubborn self, however I am finding it easier to trust the natural process and all it entails along the way. The human body will adapt and twist when needed, it protects and defends when required and sometimes, just sometimes, when you are completely unsure whether you are at the end of a no through road, this fallible mixture of flesh and blood creates miracles.

For now, I'm just happy to get through the day without tripping over or grazing an elbow. I wish I could trust my coordination more..