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coneygoil · 5 years ago

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The Home We Built Together, part 34

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Writer’s note: Hi everyone! Finally, another update! My chapters have been slow to come this year, but I'm glad I can still get them out. Hope everyone is staying safe out there! <3

“Where did you go?”

Hiccup froze mid door shut. His back and shoulders visibly tensed. Astrid folded arms over her chest, knowing he would try to play off whatever suspicious active he spent the day doing.

She’d woken to an empty house that morning. The sun had barely begun to show itself for the day when she cracked her eyes open. The other side of the bed was empty. Hiccup would get up sometimes before her to fix breakfast, so when she descended the stairs to the lower part of their home, she’d expected to see a pot boiling over the firepit and an adorable gap-toothed smile bidding her good morning. But downstairs was empty and quiet.

She’d started to think Hiccup had left to feed the arena dragons without her, but then she found his note. He’d left early to fly Toothless. For what reason, he didn’t give. This was the first time they’d spent the morning apart ever since they’d grown close as a married couple.

Feeling a little putout, Astrid had eaten a simple breakfast of cheese and bread and left to feed the arena dragons, thinking that maybe Hiccup would meet her there. The rest of the day her husband was gone. Astrid checked the cove, the seashore, anywhere she thought Hiccup and Toothless would go. She toyed with the idea of taking Stormfly out to find them, but that would have put her and her dragon at risk. She decided, if Hiccup wasn’t back by sundown, she’d go searching for him with Stormfly. Now, she didn’t need to.

Hiccup slowly shut the door then with a little exaggeration, spun around to face her. “Did you get my note?”

Astrid snatched the parchment off the table and held it up. “What was so important that you had to leave before sunrise and fly Toothless for the entire day?”

“I needed to be alone,” he answered, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

Astrid’s chest constricted in a way she hadn’t experienced before. He needed to be alone. Away from her.

Hiccup shrugged a shoulder, adding, “To think.”

Astrid narrowed her eyes. “You’re always thinking, Hiccup.”

“I know,” he finally took a few tentative steps closer to her, “but I needed to clear my head and gather my thoughts. Just me and Toothless out over the water.”

The fight slowly began to seep out of her as she processed his explanation. Her and Hiccup been inseparable ever since she discovered his secret dragon best friend. Astrid had never been one to need company. All her life, she was just fine by herself. She hadn’t realized until today how much she’d grown accustom to Hiccup’s company. How much she needed him there. How much she would worry about him when he was away from her. It was like a part of her had vanished, and she feared she wouldn’t get it back. Now she knew how Stoick felt every time Hiccup would run off.

Her distress must have been visible. Hiccup finally closed the gap between them, cautiously touching her shoulders. “I’m sorry I left you behind.”

Arms remaining folded, Astrid nailed him with a glare. “I understand why you needed to be alone, but don’t ever leave without telling me first. No more notes.”

Hiccup nodded. “No more notes.”

She caught the look on his face as he ever-so-slightly leaned in, assuming the discussion to be settled. This wasn’t going to resolve that quickly without a little retribution. She reared back and gave Hiccup a hearty punch on the shoulder.

Hiccup yelped and threw her a wounded look as he nursed his shoulder.

Astrid pierced him with one finally glare. “That was for worrying me.”

Hiccup flicked his eyes downward. “Yeah, I deserved that.”

Moving on to the pantry, Astrid procured two slices of bread and dried meat and set them on the table. Her worry for Hiccup had consumed her so much that cooking supper had been the last thing on her mind. Now that he was home, her protesting stomach could finally be tended to.

They ate at the table in silence. She had questions and with the way Hiccup tensely sat across from her, she knew he could feel her eagerness to ask. They settled at the firepit with warm mugs in hand, the evening routine like muscle memory, and quietly sipped.

“Did it help?” Astrid asked, over the crackling of the fire. “Being out there all day? Thinking?”

Hiccup’s head perked up. He seemed to ponder over an answer for a long beat. “A little.”

Astrid sipped her warm drink then brought the mug back down to her lap. “Why do you think the Nightmare’s group stays at the Nest if they want to be free from the Queen?” A thoughtful moment of silence as the fire crackled. “Why don’t they just…fly away?”

“My theory—” Hiccup began, fiddling with his mug as he gazed into its contents, “is the Queen has some sort of hold on them. Maybe she can control them in some way or she’s holding a threat over them. Either way, they’re prisoners of her bidding. I hate saying this, but Toothless was lucky in a way to have been shot down. He got away from her.”

He took a quick sip then continued, though a bit hesitantly with his words as if he wasn’t sure of the idea out loud. “Maybe we could rally the Nightmare’s rebellion to drive the Queen deeper into the volcano and somehow collapse it on top of her.”

Astrid nodded. “That’s a good idea, but I doubt the volcano falling on her will kill her. I have a feeling she’d too power for that. We’d still have to be vigilant of her escaping one day.”

Hiccup hung his head. “Yeah, that was my concern too.”

“But,” Astrid offered an encouraging smile his way, “it’s the best idea yet.”

“Thanks.” He contemplated his next words. “If only we could free the arena dragons. Have the gang learn to ride them like we want to. We could all work together with the Nightmare’s rebellion to defeat the Queen.”

“It’s a risk—”

Hiccup cupped her shoulder. “And we’ve taken so many risks so far and they’ve paid off. But we have to test it first.” Hiccup set his mug down on the bench. He disappeared upstairs and reappeared, carrying Stormfly’s saddle. “We can use the cover of darkness. It’ll be a challenge, but we can make it work.” He grinned, his enthusiasm scratching out any concern. “Are you ready to fly with Stormfly?”

***

The trek to the arena was slow and they had to stick close to the cliff wall so to not accidentally step off the edge, but the walk was muscle memory to them and even in the cover of night, it was fairly easy to maneuver. Hiccup had insisted on carrying the saddle for Astrid. She wasn’t into chivalry or being a willowy blossom, but his wish to take care of her was enduring and so she let him carry the slightly awkward load as she took the lead.

They could have waited to try this. Astrid had voiced her concern, knowing Hiccup had been gone since before the early light and had just arrived home after sunset. But somehow, her twig of a husband was energized off sheer will and stubbornness, and he was pumped over the idea of her finally getting to fly with Stormfly.

The arena dragons were most likely asleep. With being cooped up in cages most of the day, they probably slept more than a dragon normally did if in the wild. A pang of guilt mixed with pity weighted on Astrid’s heart for the caged dragons. They didn’t deserve this life of imprisonment. She held onto the reassurance that one day those cage doors would be open for good and the arena dragons would never be locked away again.

They made it to the arena safely. Walking straight to Stormfly’s pen, Astrid rapped a couple of times on the thick wood before speaking softly, “Stormfly.” She paused. “It’s me. You awake, girl?” Astrid smiled when a quiet chirrup answered her. “Open it,” she called to Hiccup.

Above Stormfly’s cage, Hiccup pulled the level, releasing the weight that kept the door locked. Astrid pried the heavy doors open with Stormfly’s help on the other side. The Nadder stepped out, chirping in bewilderment.

Astrid caressed Stormfly’s horn. “Are you ready to stretch your wings, girl?” Stormfly trilled in reply, pressing her horn lovingly against Astrid’s forehead. Astrid laughed, softly, and pulled back, her smile lighting up the dark surrounding them. “Let’s go fly.”

Astrid began strapping the saddle onto Stormfly’s back. She talked to the dragon as she did, explaining to her what she was doing. Astrid wasn’t sure if Stormfly understood as well as Toothless did, but the Nadder stayed still and calm as she worked on the straps, so she must have understood to a point. Hiccup had walked down from the upper part of the arena to join them. He helped Astrid with the straps, making sure they were set and buckled correctly.

Mounting Stormfly was a completely different task than mounting Toothless. The Night Fury was already low to the ground, more accessible. His body was long and rounded, making it easier to straddle. Stormfly towered over Toothless’ height and her body slopped downward. Astrid wasn’t one to take the easy route in a challenge. Grabbing the front of the saddle, she hopped a couple times before swinging her leg high enough to make it over Stormfly’s back. She scooted up the saddle then leaned down to help Hiccup hop up behind her.

“So—” Hiccup wiggled around, adjusting his position. “This is what it feels like to be on a Nadder.” He grabbed at the saddle as he began to slide backwards. “A bit awkward.”

“I’m sure it’ll be easier to stay on once we’re in the air and she levels out,” Astrid offered, eyeing the long spikes silhouetted atop Stormfly’s head. She seemed far enough away that she wouldn’t be poked by them. Thankfully, Hiccup had taken that into account when making the saddle. She imagined, for just a second, her husband measuring the Nadder and smiled at the care he put into his workmenship.

Astrid encouraged Stormfly to walk to the arena’s mouth. The Nadder chirped, confused, as if she didn’t believe or understand what Astrid was telling her to do. After another minute of encouraging words, Stormfly finally walked them to the exit and up the ramp. Her walking pattern was also completely different than Toothless’, and it took more effort to hang on.

“You ready, girl?” Astrid asked as an endless ceiling of stars surrounded them from above. “Take it easy on us, okay?”

Stormfly spread her wings, stretching and flexing, working the muscles in ways they hadn’t been worked in a long time. Too long. She pressed down, just as Toothless usually did, and launched up into the night sky. Astrid held tight to the saddle, squeezing Stormfly’s body with her knees. Hiccup had abandoned his hold on the saddle as they launched. He scrambled to wrap himself around Astrid, his legs up against hers, squeezing just as tight as she was. But once they had leveled out, gliding above the water, both loosened their grips – though Hiccup kept his arms firmly around her waist.

There were so many small details to how Stormfly flew compared to Toothless. She flapped her wings more frequently, causing the muscles behind her wings to contract often. Astrid could feel every little movement through her tights along the inside of her legs. Those little movements made her feel connected to her dragon in a way that she hadn’t with Toothless. This Nadder was her dragon – the one she was destined to bond with. This flight, from the moment they reached the sky, proved that deep inside Astrid’s soul. She laughed out of pure joy and mused on if this was how Hiccup felt the first time him and Toothless flew their first test drive. She could hardly wait until she could fly alone with her dragon.

Hiccup must have read her mind. He leaned close to her ear. “Fly to the cove and drop me off. I think you two need some solo flying.”

Astrid reached back and squeezed his leg in response.

With just a little difficulty because of the darkness, they found the cove and successfully landed Stormfly there. Toothless cautiously approached, prowling close to the ground like a large cat. When Hiccup called out to him, his defensive stance eased. He raised his nose to sniff the air then broke out into a gummy smile, bounding up to Stormfly. He warbled excitedly and she chirped happily as if they were greeting each other as old friends. Toothless stood on his hind legs, bobbing his head as Stormfly mirrored the gesture.

“Huh,” Hiccup watched, curiously, planting hands on his hips. “I wonder if they knew each other before.”

“Looks like they may have,” Astrid concluded, leaning back to dodge Stormfly’s crown spikes. The Nadder probably was mindful of not poking her, but Astrid kept an extra distance, just in case.

“C’mon, bud!” Hiccup called after his dragon, and Toothless bounded to him, his tongue lobbing out of the side of his mouth. “You ready for a little flying with a friend?”

Astrid turned her attention back to Stormfly. She’d never flown without Hiccup on neither of their dragons. A tingling vibration spread all over her skin. She’d dreamed for many, many weeks to be in the air with Stormfly. To test the Nadder’s limits. To test her own limits. To see if Stormfly could beat Toothless’ speed. To touch the clouds and barrel down to earth. To be one with her dragon. Now, it was reality.

Hiccup glanced over his shoulder at them, and she could tell he was grinning back at her through the dimness of the moonlight. Toothless pushed off, disappearing into the night sky. A wide smile spread across Astrid’s face.

“C’mon, girl. Let’s see what’cha got.”

Tags (if yall still wanna read it :) @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @drchee5e @celtictreemuffin @hey-its-laura-again

#httyd fanfiction #chiefhiccstrid #arranged marriage au #the home we built together #httyd fanfic

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wolvesofinnistrad · 5 years ago

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That time Alec moved to NYC away from his hyper religious family, and Izzy and Jace surprised him at his new apartment. Read on Ao3

Life was tough for Alec, for a long time.

First military school, then a strict Religious college.

Really the college was something he had to fight for since they wanted him to go to West Point and this was the best he could argue them down to.

Because of all that, and his intense fear of being outed, Alec managed to stay in the closet until he was in his mid 20s.

Even his siblings don’t know. Well, Izzy knows but only because her and Alec are the closest and she’s smart enough to figure it out on her own.

This also left him severely closed off emotionally, and with very few friends besides his family because he was kind of a stick in the mud.

When he gets an internship in his hometown of NYC he moves back there despite his family having moved away when he was in highschool.

It’s a big fight once again, but finally he’s able to get his own place there.

As he settles in, he still talks to his siblings most days, but slowly those talks begin to get fewer and fewer until Izzy and Jace realize they’ve really only talked to Alec via text for the last 6 months.

Worried he might be depressed or worse, they decide to go visit him and surprise him in NYC.

But when they arrive to Alec’s apartment someone else is living there, but he gives them the forwarding address for where the guy he’s subletting from said he moved.

“Brooklyn?” Both siblings say to each other with shock.

It takes them a while to get over to Brooklyn from Manhattan, but when they reach the fancy apartment building they wonder just how much Alec is making at this internship.

They head up, finding the number of the loft they’d been directed to and knock on the door.

What they expect to see is a surprised Alec, probably wearing a full grandpa style pajama outfit and having been asleep for hours at this point in the night.

What they get instead is another man answering the door in a purple, floral print kimono and a full face mask.

“Why, hello, can I help you?” Magnus asks, not immediately recognizing the two of them.

“Uh... I think we have the wrong place. Sorry, we were looking for our brother, Alec.” Jace is looking anywhere but at the man whose kimono barely goes past his thighs and is open enough to see the smooth planes of his blemishless brown skin and chest.

“Oh, Alexander? Hold on. Alexander honey, there’s someone at the door!”

Jace and Izzy share equally incredulous looks at the man’s word choice before being let in to the lavishly decorated loft.

Neither of them are prepared for what they see next though.

“Mags, babe we need more popcorn, I told you if you left me alone I’d eat it all,” Alec says as he walks around the corner smiling, voice and face softer and more carefree than either of his siblings have ever seen him.

Even more surprising though is his physical appearance.

He’s shirtless, showing off a few tattoos on his side and arms,his beard has fully grown out there’s one shining earring in his right ear, he’s got on a pair of silk pajama pants in the same purple, floral pattern as the other man and where his hands hold the bowl of popcorn they can see his fingernails are painted a matching shade as the other man’s toenails.

He looks, Soft, a word neither of them would have ever used for Alec in their entire lives.

The moment Alec’s eyes land on Izzy and Jace though he straightens, all the comfortable, easygoing demeanor washing out of him as his face flashes quickly to nervous, then an expressionless mask that they’re used to from Alec.

Izzy has her hand over her mouth, because she can’t believe Alec finally accepted himself and got a boyfriend and she wants to scream. Both from happiness and from the fact Alec didn’t TELL her.

Jace just keeps staring, entirely confused.

“What are you doing here?” Alec says, and his voice has lost all the softness it had just a moment ago, sounding like the stern authoritarian they’ve known all their life.

“We came... To see you,” Jace says, as if he doesn’t want to be seeing Alec right now, or simply can’t comprehend that it’s him.

Magnus looks between the two visitors and his boyfriend before a lightbulb goes off. “Oh! Are these your siblings? Isabelle and Jace?”

“Yes,” Alec says, and he flinches for a moment when Magnus comes over and lays a hand on his shoulder.

Magnus knows he isn’t out to his family, but he figures the cat’s kind of already out of the bag.

The moment he thinks that Chairman Meow comes over, purring as it brushes against Alec’s leg.

For a moment Alec forgets to be hard and reaches down to scoop the cat up as he usually does, giving it a soft kiss on the head before his eyes trail back to his siblings who absolutely should not be here.

“You hate cats...” is all Jace can say, because their cat Church has always been a thorn in Alec’s side.

Magnus looks shocked, petting the kitty softly with his many ringed hand. “Alexander is a wonderful cat dad.”

And then for the second time, Alec does something else neither of them have ever seen him do. He blushes, a shy smile coming over his face as he turns towards Magnus.

That’s the moment Izzy knows, even though she’s never seen it on his face before or even expected to, that the expression Alec has is one of being deeply, madly in love.

“Mags...” Alec’s voice is so soft, so quiet and gentle.

He takes a deep breath and finally he turns to his brother and sister and the mask he was trying to wear slips and instead there’s just a sadness, resignation, even a hint of fear.

“Please don’t tell mom and dad...”

The words have barely left his lips before Izzy is running to him, drawing him into the tightest hug she’s ever given him.

“I’m so, so happy for you hermano…” she whispers against his neck and Alec smiles, feeling one weight lifting off his chest.

“What am I not supposed to tell because I honestly have no idea what I’m seeing...” Jace says, oblivious as usual.

Alec looks to Magnus who gives him a reassuring smile, taking the cat from him, then he looks to Izzy who’s beaming at him.

When he turns his gaze back on Jace he just sighs and shrugs. “Don’t tell them I’m living with my boyfriend in Brooklyn?”

Jace stares from Alec to Magnus, who is now taking the face mask off himself to be a bit more presentable, looking dumbfounded.

“You... You...”

“I’m Gay Jace.” Alec didn’t expect to say that, not that he really needed to considering it was pretty clear, but the moment he does he feels the other weight shifting off him like he can breathe again. “Magnus is my boyfriend.”

Izzy just clings harder to Alec, slapping him on the chest.

“I can’t BELIEVE you didn’t tell me! Jerk, I need to know everything, where did you meet, how long have you been together, where can I get one of these kimonos because, Gorg.”

Magnus laughs as he moves to take Izzy’s hand and kisses it.

“Short answer? We met at my club, Pandemonium, and it was about seven months ago, although it took me nearly two weeks to get Alec to even talk to me. And then another month before he was ready to go on a date. Everything after that has been a bit of a whirlwind. And as for this” he gestures to his kimono, “I bought them on our trip to Japan last month.”

“So THAT’S why you were mia for two weeks last month.”

Alec looks sheepish, but he smiles and ducks his head, nodding.

“It was an early 6 month anniversary trip.”

“So is Magnus your sugar daddy?” Jace asks, clueless and tactless as always.

Except when he says it Alec just goes red in the face and looks away, scratching at his neck.

“Oh my God... He is!”

“it’s, it’s not like that!” Alec tries, but he knows he’s kind of already given himself away. It’s not like an intern could pay for a loft in Brooklyn this lavish or a random trip to Japan for a 6 month anniversary.

Magnus is laughing now, coming to hug his boyfriend and peck his cheek.

“Trust me, Alec fights me on every little thing I try to buy for him. I wish he’d be my sugar baby...”

“Mags, please...” Alec says, and its a bit needy and whiny and adorable and so unlike the Alec that Izzy and Jace are used to.

Both of them are realizing maybe they never really knew their brother at all, or maybe he never knew who he was until he was able to find himself on his own.

“This is literally the best day of my life,” Izzy says, smiling as she moves to the couch and sits down.

“:Glad you’re enjoying my mortification.” Alec deadpans it, but there’s a curl of lips that hints he’s on the verge of smiling.

He takes a seat, with Magnus moving as if he was going to flop in Alec’s lap before thinking better of it and sitting on the arm of the chair.

“I find out my brother, who by the way I knew you were gay, has finally found his happiness, someone that makes him happy and lets him be the the best version of himself? This is all I’ve ever wanted for you Alec. And it doesn’t hurt you snagged a rich hottie.”

Magnus does a little twirl at that and Alec drags a hand down his face. “Don’t inflate his ego anymore than ti already is.”

“Too late, I can already feel my head getting bigger.”

“You won’t be able to fit your necklaces over your big head soon Mags.”

“Wasn’t talking about that head Alexander,” and Magnus winks at that and Alec goes red down to his chest so fast it’s like someone poured paint over him.

“I can’t believe our big brother isn’t a tightass anymore.”

Magnus turns to Jace and smirks. “Oh, he’s definitely still got a tight ass, but I’ve been working on it every night.”

That gets him shoved unceremoniously onto the floor off the chair by Alec who looks like he wants the floor to swallow him whole.

“Oh you know if anyone else was here you’d have laughed at that Alexander.”

“Not when it’s my little brother,” Alec says, but he doesn’t seem angry, just embarrassed.

“Sorry, just know that hurt my perfect behind.”

“I’ll kiss it better later,” Alec whispers, not quiet enough to Magnus and Izzy and Jace both about die of laughter.

Figuring there’s literally nothing else that can make this worse for him Alec pulls Magnus into his lap, holding him close like a security blanket to try to deal with the rapid emotional swings of the night he wasn’t prepared for.

“Just, like I said, please don’t tell mom and dad about... Any of this,” he looks around the loft, his safe space with Magnus. “I’m not ready for them to know, to deal with that. I wasn’t really ready for you guys to know either but... I guess I’m glad I don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Alec sighs, resting his head against Magnus’ side. “I’m glad I don’t have to avoid you anymore... I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too Alec. You could have told us, all we want is for you to be happy.”

Alec smiles, sad and soft, fingers reaching out to entwine with Magnus’. “I know, but, just, this has been a lot for me. I feel like an entirely different person than I was the last time I saw you both and I... I didn’t know how to reconcile the version of me I constructed for our family and the real me.”

Izzy and Jace both understand that, smiling at their eldest brother.

“It’s okay, I’m just glad I get to meet this new, amazing, happy Alec now.”

“Thanks Iz…”

“As long as you’re happy, I’m happy Alec.”

“I know Jace. Or at least, I always hoped.”

“Ok one last thing and then we can go and let you finish your little movie night,” Izzy says, “but can we talk about this new look too?”

Alec smiles, ducking his head again and Magnus scratches at Alec’s beard.

“He was such a confused little baby gay. I had to do an entire wardrobe makeover.”

“It’s true, he threw out most of my clothes.”

“I let him keep the overlong hoodies and sweaters though, he just looked too adorable, this huge man slinking around with his hands looking like mittens from how long his sleeves were. That was the only fashion disaster I could abide.”

“At least I got to keep a couple things,” Alec laughed.

“Your body thanks me for getting rid of that, as does your slowly growing fashion sense.”

“Yes, I get it Magnus.”

“I mean the poor boy was still wearing tighty whiteys, when he looks like this and to have such ugly underwear? I had to get something that showed off his ass and his impressive bul-”

Alec slaps a hand over Magnus’ mouth. “I’m comfortable, but not THAT comfortable yet Magnus...”

“Whoops” Magnus says, chuckling.

They finish out the night, Izzy and Jace promising to return tomorrow at a normal hour to spend some more time getting to know there brother, for real now, and give Alec some time to rest from it all.

“I’m sorry I didn’t recognize them or I would have thought...” Magnus says when he’s laying with his head on Alec’s chest in their bed.

Alec shakes his head, fingers running through Magnus soft hair. “It’s okay. I’m glad it happened like this. I doubt I could have opened up like that if they didn’t catch me with my guard down. It’s, it’s good. I needed this. And I really did miss them and want them to know. I want everyone to know how much I love you.”

Magnus smiles at that. “I know pup, and they will, when you’re ready.”

“When I’m ready.”

“I love you Alexander.”

“Love you too Magnus.”

#magnus bane #alec lightwood #malec #mine #fanfic #my fic #magnus lightwood bane #alexander gideon lightwood bane #izzy lightwood #isabelle lightwood #jace herondale #jace whatever

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strmyweather · 6 years ago

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Third Time’s the Charm

For just a four-week (and relatively gentle) cut, this most recent adventure was definitely more of a roller coaster than anticipated! It started and ended on relatively high notes, but with a great big dip in the middle. This was my third time through the Renaissance Periodization gauntlet, and the logistics feel pretty familiar by now, yet I still somehow manage to come away from each of these with progressively deeper insight into my own physiology. I feel like one of the official RP hashtags should be #alwayslearning! I've definitely posted a lot more in the Facebook groups than anywhere else lately, so this post is going to be long, even by my standards — apologies in advance! :) Quick background recap. I finished my second cut in late January 2018 with an all-time low scale weight of 133.7# — and also with a lot of metabolic and hormonal issues. I couldn't sleep, was freezing all the time, had a nagging back injury, my hair was falling out, I had through-the-roof anxiety, and I lost my period for nearly four months straight. The goals had been to (1) get my first ring muscle-up, and (2) get below 20% body fat (read: lean enough to eventually do a massing cycle), and while I did meet both those goals, it was clear to me in hindsight that I should have stopped that cut about 3-4 weeks sooner than I did. It was also clear that I subsequently needed a LONG maintenance period, both to let my body heal and to regain some of the barbell strength I'd lost over the previous year (while focusing on gymnastics and fat loss). The immediate post-cut period was a mixed bag. Physically, I certainly started feeling better in every respect. My back pain completely disappeared within a week, and I also ultimately got my muscle-up about two weeks AFTER the cut was over (a testament to the magic of a smaller body that is ALSO properly fueled!). Furthermore, I finally listened to my coach and began rating my workouts appropriately (generally 'Moderate', not 'Light') in terms of my carbohydrate consumption, which helped performance and recovery tremendously. However, despite a fairly slow and careful reverse-diet progression, the scale definitely climbed higher than I'd hoped — my Cut Week 12 average had been 135.8#, and I finally plateaued at 140-141#. Objectively, I'm 5'5" with an athletic build (and literally haven't been in the 130s since puberty), so this wasn't unreasonable on the part of my biology by any means, but after 12 weeks of such close analysis of scale data, it took a while for my brain to settle down about it. However, in mid-April, performance finally started to hit its stride — I was still feeling pretty light and efficient on gymnastics, and when we tested a few barbell maxes, I shocked myself by easily recapturing almost all of my old numbers (most of which had been attained more than a year earlier, when I was 30-35# heavier) and even exceeding a couple (crushed my overhead squat PR by 15 lb!). After that, I finally accepted that the 140-142# range seemed to be a good all-around functional spot for me. And then I went to Cuba, on the same wonderful health professionals' trip that I took last year. Leaving aside the mojitos, beaches, and classic cars, one unfortunate wrinkle to this year's trip is that almost every single one of us developed some degree of GI issues. Apart from being rather irked that my famously iron gut had let me down, what this meant in a practical sense was that I could barely eat for almost a week (while still doing a ton of standing, walking, and other low-level activity). I had rolled my eyes at myself while obsessively packing a cache of nonperishable RP-friendly snacks, but I was ultimately grateful that I had done so, because I knew I needed to at least force myself to gag down a casein shake every night no matter how nauseated I was! I came home having dropped back to 138-139# territory — and, in hindsight, I think this served as a 'mini-cut' in the true sense of the word, in that it predisposed me to gain weight. I wasn't fully recovered from the metabolic aftereffects of my previous cut (had literally just gotten my period back for the first time while we were in Cuba... because of course that would happen), and so that week of unintentional severe restriction, combined with (undoubtedly) a major shift in gut flora, PLUS my coach putting me on a strength cycle... well, it was the perfect storm to lead to a bit of a rebound weight gain. I had stopped checking the scale daily or even weekly at this point, but throughout late May and early June, most of the numbers I saw on my spot checks were in the 143-146 range. Beyond just the scale, my clothes were also starting to fit differently (my hard-won 34C bras were getting a bit tight), gymnastics were feeling tougher than they had in months, and I was suddenly feeling self-conscious in my gym clothes. Something had to be done — but with the aftereffects of January still fresh in my mind, and with heavy barbells now the focus of my training, I had more than a little PTSD about the idea of embarking on yet another cut. The quirk of fate that provided my 'accidental' acceptance to the 2018 New York City Marathon (which is a whole other story) is what ultimately nudged me into pulling the trigger. I’ve run marathons before, but not since starting 1:1 CrossFit programming or since following RP. Knowing that a shift in my training would be coming soon, I posted a question in the RP Endurance group about my situation. I had the vague idea of combining a cut with the early or middle phase of the marathon training plan, when a calorie deficit would be easier to hit. One of the endurance coaches promptly replied — with exactly the opposite of what I'd expected to hear. "Cut now. Start today. Finish as far out from the marathon as possible." I blinked for a second, and then it clicked. For some reason, it took someone ELSE saying it to trigger the light bulb. Of course. For goals like mine — maintenance of strength and muscle mass — heavy barbells are actually the perfect time to cut. Marathon training, by comparison, would be the WORST time for someone like me to cut, because although the scale would certainly drop, I'd also be a lot more likely to lose precious muscle along with fat. I started back on strict Base the very next day. If nothing else, this made me very aware of all the tiny luxuries I'd managed to work in — no more extra glasses of milk, sneaky spoonfuls of PBfit, or "tastes" of Reddi Whip squirted directly into the mouth! :) However, because I was still fearful of pushing the limits too far and knew that I objectively didn't have very much weight to lose, I also set myself some parameters. My three 'hard stops' were that I wasn't going to go below 138#, wasn't going to extend the cut beyond 8 weeks, and wasn't going to utilize the third/harshest phase of the cutting plan (since slashing carbohydrates would be counterintuitive to my performance goals). Week 1 Starting weight: 147.2 lb Week 1 Average: 144.2 lb The first thing I noticed was that my mental state calmed down tremendously. I hadn't fully acknowledged how much this situation had been worrying me, and I had also forgotten how lovely the 'control' of a cut can feel. From day one, I was no longer afraid of the number on the scale, because now — rather than being passive (and therefore frightening) information — it was a tool that I could use to make changes. Further, I knew I got to look forward to watching it go DOWN! :)

I also knew I had a peak week programmed in (what would have been) Week 5 of this cut, so every time the scale showed a number that was higher than I'd hoped, I felt an odd mix of disappointment AND reassurance that "at least that's more mass with which to move the barbell!" Oddly, I think the fact that I had a rationale for not entirely WANTING to see a massive scale plunge helped me to approach this whole thing with a bit of a healthier mental state. The second thing I realized during this first week is that I had drifted further from my templates than I'd thought. In many instances, I was habitually shorting my fats and (not always consciously) exceeding my prescribed carbs. I made sure to write this down, so I could correct it when I started to work my way back up towards Base; however, I also didn't re-add all the fats I had dropped, because that seemed like a silly thing to do in the first stage of a *cut*. As such, my first week of this adventure was spent on an imaginary 'gray zone' tab that I named 'Cut 0.5'. :) This first week was, honestly, pretty smooth sailing. My parents had been in town for a visit, and we'd eaten at a couple of restaurants, so my starting weight of 147.2# was a bit artificially inflated; however, this meant that I had a very gratifying water weight drop across the first week (five pounds!). This made my clothes start to fit better AND my gymnastics feel instantaneously better, both of which were big morale boosts. I started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, I might be able to knock this out in six weeks instead of eight. Week 2 Average: 143.8 lb This was where the plateau started to hit; that lovely five-pound drop was (naturally) followed by a RISE of 4# across 4 days. This was partly being driven by hormones (PMS week), but in a shorter cut like this, you don't wait around if you don't have to. Midweek, I could tell that my average was going to stagnate, so I went ahead and moved onto the first fat loss tab. This impacted my sleep almost immediately (hello darkness my old friend...), and also led to that annoying, familiar feeling of weakness and shakiness on non-training days when carbs were low. However, in general, I continued to feel pretty good — handstand push-ups in particular were suddenly feeling awesome, and although barbells FELT noticeably heavier, my hard numbers hadn't actually backslid. I had two notable non-scale victories in week two. First, I had two unavoidable restaurant meals in the span of 4 days (a dinner and a post-workout breakfast), wherein I managed to (1) stay compliant and (2) calmly enjoy myself and my company in the process, feeling neither deprived NOR the usual overwhelming creeping dread about the unpredictability of the food in front of me (green salad with grilled shrimp/veggies for the dinner, an egg white omelet with salsa, veggies, and toast for the breakfast). It sounds so simple, but I just never learned how to do that very well on my first couple of cuts — how to simultaneously make good nutrition choices in a social setting AND truly FEEL okay mentally about those choices, rather than anxious or apologetic or defensive or self-conscious. This set of coping skills would have been a worthy takeaway no matter where the scale ended up. Second, this week made me recognize and appreciate the value of cycle tracking. Losing my period for so long after my last cut was admittedly nice on one level, but was also incredibly annoying, because I had no hormonal context in which to confidently interpret my day-to-day physical and mental fluctuations. That experience prompted me to start paying MUCH closer attention to such things during maintenance, and now that I have a couple months' worth of notes, I absolutely see a very strong correlation between where I am in the month and how I feel (both gym-wise and mood-wise). It's pretty neat to write a description that says (for example) that I woke up roasting hot overnight, or the scale went up, or my mood was calmer than I expected, or my skin started breaking out — and then flip back to the previous month and realize I'd written the exact same thing on the exact same cycle day then, too. In addition to being just plain cool information (female bodies are weird and frustrating and also kind of incredible!), this is also extremely comforting, because it reminds me that I often have additional reasons to feel 'off' that aren't necessarily directly correlated to cutting.

Week 3 Average: 142.1 lb This third week was where I really started hurting. Training started to feel like utter garbage — I could still hit my expected/prescribed numbers on MOST things, but it was taking significantly more physical and mental effort to do so, and every so often I'd run headlong into an unexpected wall. Despite ZMAs and melatonin and even the occasional Flexeril, I couldn't sleep through the night at all anymore. My right shoulder got 'tweaked' and refused to calm down (much the same as my low back had done, during my second cut). And non-training days felt absolutely horrible — I wasn't "hungry" per se, but I felt persistently weak, and would get lightheaded every time I stood up. I checked my BP at work on one such occasion, and it was way down at 86/63.

Part of me was sufficiently freaked out that I almost wanted to go ahead and call it right here — not because I was struggling with hunger or cravings, but because I was extremely leery of (potentially) losing muscle or impacting performance without (by this point) any particularly good reason for continuing to do so. However, I also knew that the wise RPer overshoots slightly, when feasible. I was also able to recognize the fact that, since I'd already made the mistake once of not stopping a cut when I should have, I was probably a bit hypersensitive to discomfort this time around, from the perspective of not wanting to make the same error twice. I decided I had at least one more week in me. And this third week wasn't all bad: I practically danced a jig when I started my period (on time!), because I knew it would be sending the scale on another nice downward trend. This was also the week when I started to feel really good about my physical appearance — which I guess shouldn't have surprised me, but did, probably just because my first two cuts had felt like such long slow slogs. But the very reason that this one was shorter was because I didn't NEED to lose very much — and it was definitely gratifying to feel this degree of satisfaction so early in the process, comparatively speaking. I also measured myself this week and compared the numbers to my old log, which made me realize that — though I was (fortunately!) not as tiny as I was at the very end of my second cut, I was generally matching up with where I'd been about three weeks from its end — at a point when I had weighed (wait for it) 138#, a.k.a. the weight I had picked as my 'hard stop'! Given this — essentially the same measurements as before, while also 4# heavier — I realized I'd probably increased my lean body mass significantly during maintenance (hooray!), and therefore should probably adjust my boundary lines accordingly. After some thought, I decided the cutoffs should be: — an average of 140# (rather than 138#) — since, along with performance, my other highest priority was (and is) muscle preservation. If I was measuring the same at 142# as I had been at 138#, then willfully cutting all the way to 138# this time might have been flirting with the edge of diminishing returns. — a maximum of SIX weeks rather than eight — because, the shorter the cut, the less it would spill over into marathon training (which was *definitely* the setting where I'd be more likely to lose muscle). — a plateau on the FIRST cutting tab, or possibly a 'gray zone' of tab 1.5, rather than going fully onto the second tab... a decision that was also related to my impending marathon training. I have a prior history of metatarsal stress fractures as it is, and hence am highly motivated to NOT screw up my hormones again at the moment, which made me reconsider the wisdom of dropping my fats all the way down to 7g/day (as I'd have done on the second tab). All of the above is perfectly reasonable from every angle. However — although I didn't quite say so out loud — in my mind, by the end of this third week, I had already made the decision to call it at the end of week 4. That certainly wasn't how I'd initially planned for this adventure to go, but I was feeling rotten, I had a peak week coming up, and it was seeming pretty obvious that the cutting process was serving neither my body nor my priorities very well. Privately, as this week drew to an end, I was feeling like a bit of a failure, knowing that I was going to ‘quit’ sooner than I had planned. I'm accustomed to thinking of myself as 'strong' on all levels, more than capable of pushing through discomfort — and the cutting process is pretty familiar to me at this point, not particularly difficult or intimidating anymore — so I truly did not expect to be experiencing the physical effects quite so strongly at this stage of the game. Even though it wasn't a terribly logical thing to feel, I was definitely more than a little disappointed in my body for 'letting me down'. However, this is one arena where my loquaciousness served me well; I started writing a blog post about the negative things I was feeling — and by the end of it, I had convinced myself that (1) it's also a victory to recognize the point of diminishing returns and know what the responsible decision is, and (2) the fact that I was 'feeling' the cut this strongly this time could, in fact, be viewed as a direct reflection of the tremendous progress I've made in my training over the past year, how very hard I'm working every day, and how well my current baseline nutrition habits are serving me. In other words, the major impact I feel when I mess with my homeostasis is itself a testament to the healthy habits I've developed in SUPPORT of that homeostasis. Looking at it that way made me feel better.

Week 4 Average: 140.2 lb Nadir: 138.3 lb ...So then, of course, things immediately improved. :) The gym started feeling closer to normal, AND the scale took a nosedive (both of which always happen in cycle week 2 — note to self: structure ALL future cuts this same way! :)). I also saw a new sports massage guru for my shoulder, who did some cupping (which I'd never had before — interesting experience) and was able to help the discomfort pretty significantly. It's not gone, but it's better, and I bet a few days of higher calories will be the tipping point. As per my mental wrestling match last week, I was always going to choose to stop today, regardless of the numbers. HOWEVER... my average for this week has ultimately ended up being 140.2#, with this morning's weight being the lowest I've seen so far, 138.3#. Meaning, based on my parameters above... it's officially time to stop ANYWAY! ...Which just makes me laugh and shake my head at the workings of the universe. :)

Numbers: This Cut: — Starting weight (Day 1): 147.2# — Ending weight (Day 28): 138.3# — Highest to lowest: down 8.9# — Weekly averages: down exactly 4# across 4 weeks — Inches: down 6" total (1" off bust, under-bust, and hips; 1.5" off waist and belly) DEXA, January 2018 vs July 2018: — Weight (on their scale): up exactly six pounds since January, from 134.8 to 140.8 — BUT, get this — LEAN mass has INCREASED by SEVEN pounds since January (!), AND — body fat is also DOWN another 1.5% since January (from 18.6% to 17.1%)... which is probably primarily from the efforts of these past four weeks. I mean... I'm just saying... it basically doesn't get better than that! Takeaways: — As I mentioned, the process of strictly dialing in my macros again has definitely helped me identify some places where I'd drifted further from template on maintenance than I should have (often shorting fats and exceeding carbs). Since I haven't left FL1 on this go-round, I'm now in a very good position for a 'controlled reentry' over the next couple of weeks, which will be a chance to correct this and hopefully end up with EVEN MORE FOOD/calories on my new base. As of today, I could technically jump to New Base all in one go — but in the interest of optimizing the final macro result (and rebounding as little as possible, weight-wise), I'm going to split it into two jumps of about 150-200 calories apiece. I'm sure I'll end up adjusting as I go, but my tentative plan for right now is to add 1.5 servings fat to NTD, and 0.5 serving fat plus 20-25g carbs to training days (to bring me back to ‘Light-Plus’ territory); the second jump (in probably 1-2 weeks, depending on what the scale does) will be adding back the rest of the fats. — Related: this experience also confirmed for me that, on maintenance, I was definitely rating my workouts correctly as (for the most part) Light-Plus or Moderate. I don't discount the RP approach of resistance training being the primary driver of ratings; however, my personal experience (yet again) is that INTENSITY matters also. I'm on the 2.0 version of the templates, meaning my first tab has only cut my fats, not carbs — but I've rated almost every single day as Light for these past four weeks, and in terms of how beat up and under-recovered I've felt, I do think the carb deficit has likely played just as much of a role as the overall calorie deficit. — We all know this already, but I think my degree of success here really speaks to the power of a long maintenance in terms of repairing our metabolism. Last time, I saw zero change on Base, then plateaued on FL1 in the middle of Week 4 and had to move to FL2 for the remaining 8+ weeks of the cut. This time, after five months of maintenance, I actually LOST a bit of weight on Base (!), and then Week 4 was where I saw the overall BIGGEST scale drop... without ever leaving FL1. — Going forward, I'll be very interested to see how well this all 'sticks' — how the degree of rebound compares to previous cuts. For obvious reasons, mentally and logistically, I found this cut DRAMATICALLY easier than either of my first two, so it'll be useful information to know whether a commitment this short in duration actually has any lasting effect to make it worthwhile as a potential future approach. (Based on this experience, if I keep training at this level, I also may need to give a bit more consideration to trying 1:1 for future cuts.) — Overall, I definitely 'got what I needed' out of this, which is: back to feeling proud of my body in all respects — happy with the fit of my clothes, with my visual appearance, and with my performance. I mean, we always want to push the envelope just a bit further — the hints of actual abs that I've been able to see this week are admittedly tantalizing! — and I certainly COULD push further if that were the priority, but right now, it isn't. And after all the ups and downs of the past few years, it's comforting on some level to know that "this is all I had to do" in order to get back to a place where I'm at peace with my body. Although this won't be my first marathon, the training for it is going to be a brand-new learning curve now that I'm on individualized CrossFit programming as well as following RP, and it'll be a huge help to know that I'm starting from the best possible place, physically speaking. — Also, although it may sound a bit silly, it's oddly mentally reassuring to know that I seized this opportunity to 'dial it in' and shave off just a couple pounds during an (admittedly brief!) window when it logistically made sense to do so. The scale is fickle and the amount of actual fat loss was certainly small — but I won't have the opportunity to cut again for another few months, and knowing I did everything I reasonably could during THIS phase — not to mention, everything I learned from that stellar DEXA result! — lets me feel a bit more emotionally okay about fueling my body purely for training and performance over the challenges to come. It's gratifying to watch the swing of this pendulum get progressively narrower as I hone in on the ideal spot in terms of both appearance and performance. Honestly, in so many ways, I barely recognize myself compared to a year ago. I'm happy right here, and this is a great spot to sit and breathe for the moment, but I'm also already curious — and optimistic — about whatever may come next. #massing? ;)

#RP #RenaissancePeriodization #CrossFit #athlete #fit #progress #weightloss #nutrition #fitness #macros #IIFYM

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hecallsmehischild · 7 years ago

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Gaining Ground

This is a post about weight. Specific numbers have been used so if this is a trigger, be warned.

In my early twenties I stepped into a Seattle health clinic, a little sliding-scale-fee affair that took me for $30 a visit. Knowing the state of my lungs, I was likely there asking them to treat my pneumonia, but you always get your height and weight taken no matter the reason for your visit.

I’m five foot four and haven’t gained an inch since my mid-teens. My weight, however, has been a steadily climbing number since about then, too. And that day it read 216 lbs.

Sighing, I accepted the obligatory warning about my weight and added it to the file in the back of my head that also held the post blood-draw phrase, “Your cholesterol levels are still too high.”

I had never seen the numbers on the scale go down. They only ever went up, therefore they would only ever go up, right? Dieting never worked for me because eating felt better than whatever emotional hurt I had at the moment, so self-set goals and boundaries crumbled in the face of any upheaval, large or small. This teamed up with my fear of delving into an eating disorder if I started “caring too much” to produce a reactionary indifference that said, loud and proud, “Who cares what I eat? It tastes good and I’m enjoying myself.”

Not too long after, I moved back to Los Angeles and settled into an apartment with a highschool friend. Mom started talking to me about a diet she had picked up, something she does every now and then to see if it’s the one that will help her. What really caught my attention this time was that Dad was using it. My Dad is a big man and he has never been able to lose the weight he’s gained either, but Mom swore he was losing weight on this diet. Later, he confirmed it to me as well.

If my Dad could lose weight, then it had to be possible for me to, I thought.

So I tried this diet, the HBC123 drops and the super strict regimen of what you are allowed to eat. I shrugged off friendly accusations that I was using a placebo. Did it really matter, I reasoned? Even if it is a crutch, it’s helping me do something I’d never done before. I held onto this as I watched my weight drop under 200 lbs for the first time in years. I promised myself I’d never go over that number again.

I never could hold onto the diet for the full term. It was supposed to last 30-40 days, but I could only do two weeks tops. I would do a round every now and then, but there was a lot of emotional upheaval and I would quickly collapse into old habits. My roommate and I sometimes tried to moderate portion sizes of our food, but the same problems kicked in. Over a couple years I dropped down to 185 and hovered between 185 and 190 for a very long time.

A few years passed. Earlier this year My boyfriend proposed an idea. A diet where we each eat one major meal a day and supplement it with fresh fruit and veggies throughout the day. We would hold each other accountable. He mentioned we could make a promise that we would hold to it for a week, but I knew myself. I knew I couldn’t make a promise like that and actually keep it for a whole week. I modified, saying I would promise every day that I would “eat only one major meal today!” because I had a much better chance of keeping a day-by-day commitment than a week-long one. There was too much baggage attached to this topic for me to have confidence in a longer commitment.

So we have been doing this since March, with relatively few “cheat days” in between (we are allowed one cheat day per week. Most weeks I try not to take mine). We take long walks once or twice a week (though he goes walking more often than I do). As of today I am hovering around 170 lbs. I am down from a XXL swimsuit to an XL. I had to replace my pants and the ones I have now I’m holding up with a belt.

I wanted to share this because sometimes you have to try a few different things to find what fits. When I shared what I was doing to lose weight this year, the most alarmed response I got was, “Oh no, that’s not healthy for you, you have to have three meals.” But it was working for me. I was getting all the calories I needed from one meal and supplementing with a lot of fresh fruits. I wasn’t getting weak or fatigued and far from plunging me into eating disorder, it taught me a balanced amount of control over my hunger and eating impulses.

Also, what works for someone else will not always work for you. People have different needs and are at different stages in their lives, and just because something was a magically perfect weight loss solution for one person does not mean you’re a bad, lazy person if it doesn’t work for you.

Also. Accountability really helps. Choose accountability partners carefully. Do not choose a person who will use shame as a tool, choose someone who cares about you as you are but would love to see you do even better. It makes a world of difference. Like, the difference between Child being a stubborn ass who would eat more food out of defiance and Child actually trying to keep to a diet.

Also. Yes, it’s possible. You might hear it’s possible all the time, but maybe you haven’t heard a voice telling you the specifics of the struggle. Well, here you are. I’m now in my late 20′s and over five to six years I slowly and irregularly lost 46 lbs. I heard the words, “Your cholesterol is normal,” spoken like it was no big deal, and I almost cried. I look in the mirror and, for the first time in a very long time, I see that there is more of a shape to my face and I like it.

For the first time I feel comfortable setting an “end goal” weight because it’s in sight. BMI suggests I should be aiming for 140, but that number sounds a little alarming to me. I don’t have a petite structure and 140 sounds like undershooting a healthy weight for me. I’m not, however, uncomfortable with the idea of 150, so that is my end goal weight. I have little milestones set for myself. When I go down from 170 to 165, I get to get my favorite ice cream treat as a celebration.

This post is not for everybody. I am very well aware that people are at different stages of their personal growth and development, and that sometimes that means “now is not the time.” I am also aware that what I am talking about is not an option for everyone and that some are incapable of making these changes. Separately, there others who perhaps do not want to change. This is not a post for any of you, it is not a barb or a spear or any form of accusation. This is a post for people who would like to lose weight but there’s something in the way, or it never works, or they wonder if they’re doing something wrong, or it’s taking way too long.

Keep trying. Check out different methods. Find an accountability partner. It’s can be done.

#rlchild #weight loss #trigger warnings #specific weights #eating habits

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redrobintop · 8 years ago

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What I never knew about Miscarriage

It is May 20th 2017 and I have just miscarried my first baby. 11 weeks and 1 day. This is my story and I am writing it so that I may never forget. That I may learn. That I may begin to grieve. That I may be thankful for what I do have…

I’d had some very very light spotting whilst working in Provence last week. But it was so dark (almost black) and so minimal, everyone said it was normal. Dark was good. Bright red was not. So I carried on. I didn’t worry too much. It was normal they said.

I got home from Provence, after a very long drive, on the Tuesday night. Greg got home from Italy a little after me. We made love that night and there was some more bleeding afterwards. I tried not to worry. The bleeding continued throughout Wednesday but still light. No cramping. Wednesday night I was concerned; it didn’t feel right.

Thursday morning the bleeding was heavier and brighter red. I said to Greg that I thought it was it, the end, I didn’t feel right. He tried to stay positive for us. He is always my ray of hope, after all. We spent most of the day at our house with Greg laying the new floor and me trying to help when I felt up to it. Eventually we were both exhausted and went back, I got straight in the bath. The bleeding was heavy now and there were large clots starting to appear. When I got out the bath water was brown.

I got out of the bath and straight onto the toilet. For the next 2 hours I sat and watched Friends on Netflix while the bleeding got heavier and heavier. It was dripping into the toilet at around 2 drops a second. I don’t know how many of you have watched a period at its heaviest? Mine are heavy but never that heavy. After a couple of hours Greg said I had to rest. I forced myself into bed (I was nervous to leave the safety of the toilet where I could ‘mess’ easily). I felt physically drained and emotionally distressed. Greg still tried to stay positive but listened to me more as I told him what was happening.

I did try to rest in bed and managed to sleep every now and again. But I was so upset I called for Greg and he decided to put the dogs to bed early and came to be with me. He held me and we tried to make positive plans, travelling, places to go and things to see.

From 10pm-1am I was changing a thick ‘nighttime’ pad every 20-30 minutes, mostly having to call and wake Greg for a new pair of knickers as I’d ruined another pair. I was managing to sleep in between toilet-runs but would wake with huge cramps which was my cue to get on the toilet as there was a huge clot coming. I would sit down on the loo and my uterus would open and what felt like a fist-size clot would fall into the toilet.

Greg had suggested I use a 'hair towel’ (a smaller towel that wraps around your head) to put in between my legs when I rushed to the toilet, as I felt so sure I was going to bleed everywhere. It worked well and I felt safer to move around.

I was also throwing up, which wasn’t unusual period-behaviour for me so I wasn’t immediately concerned. During day 1 of my period I can throw up, lose my stomach, then sleep it off and I’m ok. I think I vomit due to the pain of the period cramps so I figured this was no different and if I could sleep then it would all settle down. Then, one time when I was sitting on the toilet I looked down and there was what looked like a piece of liver sitting just outside of my vagina, but still attached. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to squeeze it out but it didn’t move. I wanted it gone. So I reached down with my hand and tried to pull it out. It did come out and it sat there in my hand. This time when I threw up I knew it wasn’t from the pain. It was from what I had just pulled from my body. Part of my baby or part of its home I won’t know. But the feel of it in my hand will never leave me, the heat from it, the texture. The colour. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Around 1am I was feeling empty. I rushed out of bed and knew something had shifted. I called for Greg as I ran to the bathroom, blood pouring out of me. I blacked out in the hallway but managed to make it to the toilet where I called for Greg again and he rushed to me, eyes wide and fearful when he saw the blood everywhere. He checked I was conscious and I confirmed I was ok, But I was just panicking about the mess on the floors. So he started clearing up the pools of blood from the bed to the toilet. Suddenly I knew I wasn’t ok and screamed for him. He managed to catch me as I fainted from the toilet and immediately put me on the floor in the recovery position. I woke up on the bathroom floor with Greg calling my name, trying to bring me round.

Having never fainted before it was a surreal experience. And absolutely awful. No control, no sight, no hearing. And godawful nausea. After getting me to grunt my consciousness, Greg ran downstairs and brought me sustenance: water, juice, fruit, snacks, anything to get me to eat. He kept telling me I had to rehydrate, to get my blood sugars back up. I tried but had zero interest. I was passed it, overcome with the horror show playing out in front of me.

At this point I was covered in blood. From my mid-back to my feet I was painted in wet and drying blood. The hair towel that I had been using was red through and I was on my 4th pair of knickers. Greg helped me into the shower and I crouched in there, trying to clean myself and trying to stay conscious. It was at this point I said to Greg that something wasn’t right; there was too much blood and that we should call an ambulance. Again he stayed positive and said I just needed to get some sugars into me and to sleep. Getting out of the shower was another nightmare. I was shaking uncontrollably from cold. But when I turned off the hot water to get out the blood was still pouring out of me so I couldn’t towel dry myself. I was crying hard and Greg couldn’t even open the shower door to help me because I’d scream from the cold air coming in. Eventually he gave me fistfuls of kitchen towel to shove between my legs so I could dry myself and put new underwear on without blood getting everywhere.

Lightheaded and still unable to keep anything down Greg put me back into bed with the hot water bottle. He’d hold me as the cramps came. All the time telling me how great I was doing and how it was all going to be ok.

I was delirious.

Unable to sleep I lay there. After a particularly bad cramp I told Greg I had to go to the toilet again as I was going to mess through the towel onto the bed (this was such a huge panic of mine throughout the entire night as it isn’t our bed and I couldn’t handle the thought of ruining it and having to explain what had happened). Greg told me to sit up slowly. Which I did. But as soon as I sat up gravity kicked in again and I could feel the blood wash out. I stood up and made it to the end of the bed before I fainted. I don’t know how Greg caught me that time but he did. Again I woke in the recovery position, shaking uncontrollably with Greg shouting my name. He’d covered me in a towel and tried to get me to to move off the cold wooden floor onto another towel. He tried to make me eat a frozen raspberry which i did swallow. And then a piece of dried mango which he said I could spit out if I wanted to (I promptly did). He then left the room quickly to get something for me. In that second I knew I would vomit and threw myself at a bowl Greg had left for me next to the bed. As the vomit came I missed the bowl and had moved off the towel. As most women on their periods know, when you cough, sneeze (or apparently vomit) on your period during that involuntary tightening of the abdomen, it speeds up the bleeding. In that moment a wave of blood and tissue left me and emptied through my clothing and onto the floor. Between vomiting I called again and again for Greg. He came back in the room and swore at the scene. I half crawled/ Greg half carried me to the bathroom and I crawled into the shower, shaking and sobbing. I held the warm water over me and tried to stay awake. Greg was cleaning up the vomit and blood in the bedroom, calling my name so that I could answer him and reassure him I hadn’t passed out again.

He came into the bathroom and told me I had to get out the shower as we were going to the hospital, the car was running, my things were packed. I lay on the floor crying, bleeding onto the bath mat while Greg dressed me. I just wanted to lay there and give up. He kept barking at me to 'stay with him’ to get me to respond to him.

I crawled to the top of the stairs, unable to walk anymore. I sat on the top step and tried to shimmy down to the next one. Greg, below me, told me to stop and, once again, I fainted. He cleverly managed to 'catch’ me by quickly putting his knee in between my legs to stop me falling further down the stairs. The pain of that brought me round to consciousness, the sound of Greg’s voice at the end of the tunnel. I was so far out of the real world, I just wanted it to end. It was at this moment I remember crying to Greg that I was dying. I was sure of it. As sure as I’d lost our baby that night I was sure I was dying.

Greg managed to haul me off the stairs, all 72kg of dead weight and heave me down the stairs. He put me on the sofa by the front door so that he could open it. He picked me up again and carried me to the car, managing to slide me into the back seats and I lay down. Not caring any more. Only thinking of Greg and how he was saving me from myself. Again. Always.

…

Thursday night was the most horrific ordeal of my life. I lost my first baby. And instead of doing it peacefully, gracefully, lovingly with my husband in our home, I haemorrhaged all over our bedroom and bathroom until he took me to hospital for medical doctors, nurses, procedures, needles, saline drips, pain killers, anaesthetic, surgery, ambulances, and recovery wards. But I am alive. And I have to remember that when I want to drown in self-pity and grief. I can remember that emergency medicine saved my life. Emergency medicine and Gregory.

The light of my life. My 3. My never-ending 'shout’ of Hope.

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