Everyone who knows me knows I can be very sentimental. (N.B Sentimental not Slightly Mental, though the latter is quite appropriate at the moment.) I always have been and I imagine I always will be.




Tokens of my past, old gig tickets, photographs, christmas cards and newspapers from decades ago lay standing the test of time in boxes and boxes that I've accumulated over the years. Anything that reminds me of something, anything that means anything at all to me, is preserved never to be thrown away.




Actually I could probably start charging people to visit the museum that is my loft come to think of it.




The thing is I don't just hoard the objects that produce fond memories, I keep the sad stuff too, the sort of stuff that I can barely look at without getting choked. And every now and then, when I feel like delving into the depths of my past, I'll lose myself in the boxes, ransacking for hours and drowning in the pieces of puzzles of days gone by.




Today was one of those days. And as I type this, rather impromptu blog post, I am surrounded by the evidence of my latest brush with the past.




I'm sure most of you know that this week has been a bit pants for our crew because I had a routine appointment with my obstetrician and he gave us a little news that has thrown me off balance a bit. (A bit?! Ha, what an understatement.)




I'll try to keep this *brief, it's a bit technical and a little brain-numbing, but here goes.




(*Steph's definition of the word 'brief' may or may not be the same as that of a standard Oxford English dictionary.)




As you know I am currently 15 weeks (plus 4 days) pregnant with bambino numero three. Except this is not my third pregnancy. It's actually my sixth.




(Now I know what you're thinking . . . and we do indeed have a telly in our house. And hobbies too. It's just that it seems my husband needs only to look in my direction and I'm pregnant again! It's quite spectacular really! Lol But that's enough of that!) ;-)




One of the most tragic situations we have faced in our relationship is having our son, Harrison, diagnosed with a variety of fetal abnormalities whilst he was still in the womb, back in 2008.




I was 16 weeks pregnant with Harry when we first learnt that something was wrong. I'd had a triple bloods test taken and the results returned stated I had a high level of HCG in my blood. They called me in for a scan within a matter of days and Mr. C and I were informed immediately that our little man had a number of problems with his little body.




He had a gastroschisis for starters (which is when the intestines are floating around on the outside of the abdominal wall) – it's not uncommon and can usually be sorted with a quick op after birth, so it didn't worry us on it's own a great deal.




We heard he had 'rocker-bottomed' feet, meaning his soles were convex as opposed to concave and this could cause great difficulty in his future, with walking etc. Harry also suffered from hyperflexed wrists and arms.




We had numerous appointments, we visited 3 different hospitals over a period of 4 weeks. And finally at week 19 we learnt that Harrison had part of his bladder missing. A meeting with a top surgeon operating in Great Ormond Street Hospital confirmed our worse fears, that our son's problems couldn't be fixed and he would face a life time of suffering.




At 20 weeks I went into labour and gave birth to Harrison Connolly on August 4th 2008. But he was already living with the angels by the time I got to see his little body.




I can't express how heartbreaking the experience was, but I cannot forget the pain even for a second.




Harry's funeral took place a few weeks later, and the results from the autopsy were never shared with us, his parents. So we didn't really know what had caused his problems.




My husband and I had our DNA tested and the Genetics department informed us that we wouldn't have the results of the DNA and genetics tests for some time.




A mere six weeks later we discovered that I was once again expecting. And this time I was absolutely petrified.




I visited a special consultant early on in the pregnancy and had a number of ultrasound scans. They took good care of me and put my mind at ease and my pregnancy progressed smoothly.




Until I went, alone, to a meeting with a specialist from Peterborough one afternoon, and not understanding the nature of the meeting, was totally unprepared for what I heard.




'Otopalatodigital Syndrome Type 2' was what the genetics doctor suspected Harry had suffered from. A genetics disorder that is considered to be 'incompatible with life.' It affects one in four pregnancies and is more common in boys.




She shook her head and tutted when I informed her that I was currently expecting. She made me feel like an utter fool.




And so I broke down outside of the hospital, clutching my bump and wailing like a wally. Because my dreams of having a healthy baby boy had been shattered.




Until at 17 weeks I received a letter from the genetics bitch (oops 'consultant') which stated that Harrison did not suffer from OPD2 or any other kind of disorder. All of his abnormalities were isolated, none had anything to do with the other, it said. So what had happened to Harry was just bad luck. Devestating, but bad luck and there was every chance on earth that the baby I was carrying would turn out to be absolutely fine.




And at 20 weeks we went for our scan. No gastroschisis, No rocker-bottom feet, wrists were perfect, bladder intact and the cherry on the cake? Our gorgeous healthy baby was another little man. Still makes me laugh when I remember how Jay and I clung to each other, grins like soppy teenagers, squealing with excitement, joy and, above all, relief in the hospital waiting room.




Leonardo Harrison Connolly, (Leo) was born happy and healthy on 19th June 2009. He is our little cherub and the perfect addition to our little family.




And you know what? I am possibly the most grateful girl on the planet these days. I count my blessings every night before I go to sleep and boy are there a lot to count. I know how lucky I am, sometimes I feel like the wealthiest woman in the world.




So it hurts me even more when something comes along to knock the wind from my sails. And that is exactly how I felt when I went for my routine appointment with the Obstetrician on Monday.




You see they had a letter from the genetics bitch too. Only their letter did not say all was fine. Instead it said they suspected my son did indeed suffer a genetic problem. Something to do with the X chromosome from what I could read, (upside down.)




My OB, one of the kindest men I've ever met, assured me he would ask his secretary to gain clarification from the genetics bitch. He said he'd get to the bottom of the matter and find out the truth for us.




I told him that if I had received the letter as I should have, I may have thought twice about conceiving once again.




Mr. Ob then referred me to the ultrasound department, he told me that, given the fact that I am at the stage of pregnancy when Harrison's problems were detected, a scan would be just what we need right now for reassurance. So off I went to the ultrasound department.




'It's very unlikely we can give you a scan,' says the pig behind the desk without looking up from her screen, 'it's not our procedure to deal with things like . . . this.' She tells me. 'things like this,' I take to mean, situations such as mine, though she may as well have just addressed my situation as some kind of freak-show in a circus.




'I'll have to talk to my supervisor. We'll call you.'




I told her I'd wait. That I would rather know now whether I would have an appointment soon. She rolled her eyes to heaven and continued, 'we don't normally do scans at 16 weeks so if my supervisor says no you'll just have to wait til you're 20 weeks to be scanned.'




I managed to hold back from flying over the desk and flooring the bitch, though I could feel hot tears threatening to spill.




'Do you know my situation?!' I asked her, she shook her head. 'Didn't think so, I'd hope you'd have a little more sensitivity if you did.'




Eventually the supervisor appeared and much like her colleague began speaking in a tone that suggested she A. Could not be bothered with me and B. had already decided she was going to be difficult.




'Right. We can't check for abnormalities til 20 weeks.' she says, (true in most circumstances perhaps, but my experience shows that it is possible to detect problems earlier than that.) 'It just isn't possible. So we're going to give you a very brief scan. Only 15 minutes, and no more.' She glares at me as though I'm a whingy woman who just wants to view her baby for no real reason other than to see how cute it is.




'Really it won't give you any reassurance at all so it's hardly worth us doing it.'




Not worth doing?! Well it might not have been for her, but it sure as hell was for me. So I stood firm and told her I'd go along with that.




And then with my scan safely booked on their screens I asked,

'Will either of you be performing the scan?'




'No . . . ' Replied the first pig.




'Thank fuck for that.' I spat, unable to help myself.




And so I left with a heavy heart and a head full of muddled thoughts. Thoughts of the past, fears for the future.




I have decided, thanks to advice and support from so many wonderful friends and family, that I shall go to my scan next Wednesday and I will be as nice as pie to the sonographer, then I shall lay in protest until I feel that my unborn bubba has been examined thoroughly and adequately. Just let them try to move me. ;-)




Despite the tears and worry that I have suddenly found weighing me down I am going to continue to count my blessings and remain positive.




And inspired by my thoughts, ( that and a copy of the wedding slide-show that I found during today's ransack) I'd like to present you with this, extremely soppy, sequel to the first movie :-)




Whatever we have to face we're doing it together and for that I shall always be grateful!




With Love From (a very hormonal and emotional)

Stephie x x x