I’m going to add a rare trigger warning to this post, as it talks about miscarraige, mental health, loss, and infertility.
With that, I also want to explain why I chose this subject instead of talking about another character or book.

Firstly, it’s a reality for us right now…

People that are closer to me will know that post-graduation, in 2011, while looking to see where next, my partner and I started trying for a baby. My mental health was actually ok, and while I was on meds that weren’t ideal, we were assured that they would cause no problems (that my doctor knew of). So, we tried. And we lost them, very early into the pregnancy each time. And just saying that, I’m really sad and tearing up because though they were early, I knew each and every time. It’s hard not to, when you’re testing, and hoping and…yeah.

Almost two years ago, we called time, because my mental health was screwed so badly – in part because of what we’d gone through, and in part because other things failed in my treatment (at the mental health unit itself), so things were bad, and they started trying seriously contraindicated meds on me. Around the time that they did, I discovered a body of evidence that suggested Seroquel, which I’d been taking and suddenly failed to work on me, was also linked to early loss. Which was something I really didn’t need.

Secondary Infertility

Given how easily I had my first two children, I didn’t think that we’d ever hit these problems. My fiancee of nearly eleven years (we bought a house and wanted to have our family before getting married. We bought the house, so far…) isn’t the father of my first two children, but still, we were pretty mystified. And because it was happening as it was, and my aversion to doctors, I didn’t get help, and we limped along as best we could. I researched a lot and discovered that secondary infertility might be a lot more common than people realise, and so many things can cause it. With my mental health issues – and a holiday planned where there was a possibility of Zika – we decided that it might be an idea to stop. And my mental health slipped a few more gears. The help we got was less than ideal, and downright cruel at points (I’ll no doubt talk about it later, but for now, we’re still hip deep in the complaints process, and I really can’t dwell or it’ll just drag me down further. I’m lucky – the team looking after me now are night and day different). So, until recently, we’ve been hyper aware that it’s just not possible.

Because of my age…

I guess a lot of why it’s a part of me right now is also my age. I’m not *old*, and don’t feel it, but I did just celebrate my 40th birthday. I’m well aware of (and keep getting comments and articles when I do talk about this) the odds, and the risks. There are personal unknowns too though, and that’s a lot to deal with. The biggest issue, of course, is that I don’t like a lot of the unknown, my mental health still sucks (I’m housebound because I’m scared to go out alone – terrified in fact), and we, as a couple, have never had a baby. We love one another deeply, and it…honestly, it hurts that we can’t have part of our family together. We love my other children, and my partner has been an amazing step-father to them, so it’s not a question of having nothing. Which is why it’s secondary infertility.

And because I’m writing a book about it…

I know that my blog here mostly talks about fiction, but I do write – and actually currently only have available – non-fiction. I’ve written a bit of a tounge in cheek guide to heavy periods and mental health called ‘I don’t want to wear incontinence pants’, which is coming soon, but I’m also writing a guide to the feelings, worries, and more that we’re experiencing as we get healthy and work on all of the stuff we need to do to have a baby, and another book about mental health and secondary infertility and loss. They’re not easy to write, and they’re hard going, and taking a while, but they’re something I have experience with, and something I can write about, no matter how hard it is. It’s not something I think will be finished any time soon, and it’s not part of my 40 books for my 40th year plan (more on that next post, on Goals), but they’re on my docket, and in my 156 project Scrivener folder.

I didn’t write this for sympathy, and if I’ve upset anyone I’m sorry, but I did feel that talking about it now meant (a) it was going to be less of a surprise for others, and (b) it affirms that I’m doing it, which is something I sometimes personally need.

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