#i think i *will* talk to my friend's mum maybe asap within the next couple weeks or smth if i can

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

having actual sweet stuff for the first time in a week or so (bc ED Brain(tm) ) and I figured I'd make enough at once and have it over today and maybe tomorrow and I'm about a third of the way through it and have a horrid headache and feel rotten D:

[growingabushbaby]

In the Beginning

For some reason every time I think about the fact that I’m pregnant I recall Bridget Jones in the pharmacy in Austria, trying to order a pregnancy test in her very limited German and resorting to just shouting “MIT BEBE”, and miming a very round tummy (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GTCKAy3buxo). To be honest, I find myself wanting to do the same, on a fairly regular basis, when there is the slightest chance that someone might fail to notice (there’s no need to mime the tummy, at month 7). This is not because I’m showing off, or because I want extra attention. It’s because I feel the need to explain why I am rather cross a lot of the time, or prone to tears, particularly when you steal my parking space or shove past me in the milk aisle. Or why I am pounding Snickers bars at an alarming rate in my car so as to finish them before I get home to Callum’s disapproving look. Or why I just threw up in my mouth a little from the indigestion that never goes away, and had to frantically swallow so as not to get regurgitated Snickers on you.

Don’t get me wrong – I am so, so excited that I am pregnant. I still can’t believe that we got this lucky. But fucking hell, it’s not easy.

Before I go on, a quick and respectful acknowledgement to the many, MANY women who have it a lot harder than I do. I fall onto a spectrum of pregnancy experiences that cannot even be imagined, it’s so broad. I have been unlucky in some ways, but mostly extremely fortunate in others. The main reason for writing this is so that I have an outlet other than my poor long-suffering husband, and also to give out a few (hopefully useful) heads ups which I wasn’t given before I embarked on this journey.  

The Beginning…

Given my history of ovarian cysts and endometriosis, I didn’t think we would get pregnant easily. In fact, I pretty much used that as the bulk of my persuasive arsenal when talking to Callum about trying for a baby. When he agreed, heavily under the influence of Christmas whisky, neither he nor I imagined that it would happen within 3 months. I don’t think he’s quite forgiven me for that…bottom line is, though, it proves that despite the ways in which your body may have ‘failed’ you previously, there really is no hard and fast rule which governs your ability to conceive. I have met so many women with cysts and varying degrees of endometriosis: many of them already think they won’t be able to conceive – or worse, they have been told by their doctors before they’ve even turned 20 that they’d better try ASAP because it’s so unlikely to happen. Yes, these are serious reproductive conditions that may complicate matters in a number of ways. But please don’t give up on your incredible body and its capabilities just yet.   

I found out I was pregnant while I was in England, away from Callum. I hadn’t been feeling quite right, and one night I got excruciating cramp in my right calf and after hobbling to the loo I promptly passed out onto the bathroom floor. I was only a couple of days late, but I took the test and it presented me with a very faint line that Mum and I peered at for quite a long time before agreeing to wait a few days and try again. Once that second test confirmed it, all I had to do was wait a bit longer to tell Callum. Then the strange reality of it all began.

In the very early stages, you’re faced with the enormity of what has happened, but you keep it pretty quiet, which is very strange. We told close family, and friends we see on a regular basis (mostly because they would immediately notice I wasn’t drinking). This was ok for a week or two, as it was still only just sinking in for us and it felt quite special to have this little bundle of cells as our wonderful secret. Then, quite suddenly, the little bundle of cells decided things were far too peaceful. To be completely honest, thanks to the body’s amazing ability to block out horrendous symptoms once they’ve passed, I can’t remember when I first started to feel sick. All I knew was, I felt sick…all the time. 

“Morning sickness”? I’m calling utter bullshit on that. All-day-and-sometimes-night-sickness is more appropriate, with the occasional moment of blissful reprieve to remind you what normal feels like. I was not vomiting, but I had a terrible upset stomach, which would come on without warning. For a while I really couldn’t leave my bed, and would croak at Callum for plain pasta or toast with marmite if I could stomach it. I had to keep crackers by the side of the bed to shove down my throat when I woke up at 2am overcome by nausea. Callum said it was like sleeping next to a squirrel. I had to leave a birthday party after only 20 minutes because my stomach suddenly turned and I knew I couldn’t face being responsible for turning their one bathroom into a warzone. I once walked into the meat section at the supermarket and had to flee immediately.

The nausea wasn’t actually the thing that hit me hardest. I was prepared for all of that, because everyone had warned me about it. Ok, I didn’t really understand how awful it would be, but it wasn’t a surprise. What got me was the exhaustion, both physical and emotional. On the one hand, I’d zone out mid-conversation, find myself slipping away while sitting at the table, and pass out for hours in the middle of the day. I didn’t have the energy to see anyone, and couldn’t even bring myself to sit around the fire listening to others talking and laughing around me.

On the other hand, I was becoming more and more freaked out by what was happening to my body. I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise myself. I didn’t fit into any of my clothes, but had no discernible baby bump yet, so just felt fat and wobbly. Having been fairly flat chested my whole life, my boobs were now growing by the day and it was so excruciating that I had to sleep in a sports bra, and would wake up in agony whenever I rolled over. I didn’t know this body; I didn’t know this person. It completely terrified me. I would cry in the bath, not understanding what was happening and then feel immensely guilty for not being overjoyed by the miracle that was growing inside me. Witnessing me curled in the foetal position, crippled by nausea and blinding headaches, miserable for no apparent reason, Callum would keep saying “it’s all going to be worth it,” and I would reply bleakly, “is it?” in utter desperation. He worried about my diet – I was just eating pasta, bread and crackers with the occasional handful of sweets thrown in every now and then – but I couldn’t face eating anything remotely healthy, and I certainly didn’t feel like cooking.

I HATED being so exhausted and sad. I’d wanted this for so long, had imagined how it would be. It was so far from the blissful picture of glowing skin and radiant happiness that if I hadn’t been feeling so dreadful I would have laughed about my naivety. It took quite a few reminders from kind friends/husband/lady in the queue at Pick and Pay of the following point to shake me out of my self-loathing:

I WAS GROWING A HUMAN BEING.

Despite the fact that it’s all you can think about, it’s very easy to forget this point. I read somewhere that a pregnant woman uses up the same amount of energy just lying down as a fully grown, healthy man would during an intense gym workout. That put things into perspective a bit. I started to pay more attention to my symptoms – when I felt suddenly like I might pass out, I thought “ok, maybe I’m growing a bit of brain right now.” Or when I nearly threw up after a sip of orange juice, I thought “well maybe the baby just doubled in size.” Although I still felt like shit, I also started to feel a teeny tiny bit powerful. It was still terrifying when I caught sight of my ballooning body in the mirror, and it still hurt like hell whenever someone hugged me too tight. But my body was doing this insane new thing, and that was pretty fucking cool.

[rochellebuckleyhandmade]

Trigger Warning: This post may evoke recall of previous traumatic events. If you feel you need to talk to someone please go to Beyond Blue, The Black Dog Institute or Lifeline

Since my last post I’ve received many questions about my accident.

The most common one is asking how can I even look at the photos of the car.

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I don’t recall having any problems looking at it but after I was released from hospital I felt I needed to go to the accident site AND track down the car and see it.  Inspect it,  look at it all over. Whilst at the accident site, I collected broken, shattered, scorched pieces of the car, including some of the windscreen that I had intended to use to make some art pieces, sculptures to present to the people who saved me. I still have those pieces but I have not as yet been able to create. Time restrictions, not traumatic affects. Why did I do these things?  I’m not sure.  I just felt it was part of my healing process.

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The above slideshow are some of the photographs I took at the smash repairs. It took me a few days to track down the car and where it was but once I did, my daughter accompanied me to have a look.

The fellow there was fantastic. He was so helpful and took us straight out the back to have a look. He stood with us the whole time, shaking his head and repeating over and over again how he just could not believe I got out of that car and was standing right there in front of him.  He gave me paper, pen and clipboard so I could write a list of belongings we could identify from the boot of the car. There were three iPad’s lost in the fire. Two of which were almost brand new. One of those iPad’s belonged to my boss, one to the college I was attending and one was mine that had taken me over two and a half years to save for. There was well over $2,000 of fibre, yarn, needles and dyes in preparation for my class the next day. Nothing within the car was insured. I lost my new spectacles, a brand new pair of Birkenstocks, my $1,600 phone and more. It took me a while to process that these were just things. I am still alive and that is all that matters.

Maybe it wasn’t as hard as it should have been because it wasn’t my car. That right there is the one thing that did trouble me.  The car belonged to my former boss and before that it belonged to her beloved Dad who had since passed. That’s what I found the hardest.  I thought that maybe,  if she was anything like me,  that car was one of her last connections to her Dad and that hit me hard. I was so upset for her and I struggled to not blame myself.  Even though it was proven that it was just an accident and I was not driving recklessly, irresponsibly or dangerously (which of course I already knew)

That day, I had driven with a colleague to a Red Cross training in Kent St Sydney, some 150kms and over 2 hours drive away in peak hour traffic. My colleague remained in Sydney that night and I returned alone. Thank goodness! It started to rain heavily on the freeway on the way home. It hit hard and bucketed down from about Mt White. Visibility was almost non existent and traffic on the freeway had slowed to about 60kms. The rain didn’t ease until I exited the freeway at Ryhope when it stopped completely. There was no rain but the roads were covered in water. I was driving well below the suggested speed limit, simply because it was so wet and because it wasn’t my car.

I reached a crest in the road where it cambered hard to the left and the back of the car just kept going. I made the mistake of braking hard to try stopping the car from ploughing off the edge of a rather high drop which would have sent me hurtling through a paddock. Once I realised that braking was not the right thing to do, I started pumping the brake in the hope I would gain some control. This must have all happened in seconds. There was nothing more I could do (well that’s what I thought at the time. I just held onto the steering wheel and tried my darnedest to steer the vehicle. ( I know a little more now about how I should have handled a front wheel drive). Before I knew it, I was headed uncontrollably toward that tree. It was so fast and so surreal. I could see the tree focused within a circle of blurriness and literally saw snippets of my life flash before me. I honestly thought I was about to die.

This is my interpretation of what I saw as I hurtled toward that tree

The following is what I posted to my Mothers Facebook two days later.

Spelling and other mistakes have been corrected.

It’s me Rochelle, currently I’m unable to access my fb account since I don’t have access to my phone and security code.

I just want to let my family and friends know that I’m great, I’m still here and I will be discharged from hospital today or tomorrow.

For those who don’t know, I had an horrific car accident at approximately 6pm Wednesday night (25/02/14)  on Millar Rd, Wakefield where the car I was driving left the road and wrapped around a gum tree head on. After recognising that I was still alive, I realised I had to get out immediately as the car was on fire. I stopped, took a deep breath and commenced Systema Breathing Techniques as taught to me by my friend Deano Reynolds (thanks Deano :-)) I gained my composure and saw to my right a young girl who had turned the corner in her car and pulled up at the sight of my twisted wreckage. I called out to her to assist me but the poor thing was frozen. I was aware there was broken glass and pieces of shattered gum tree falling onto me through the broken windscreen. There was smoke gently wafting in through the window and it was then that I realised I was trapped. Pinned by my left leg under the dash and steering wheel. I looked to my left and recognised the driveway of Craig and his family, he and his twins are members of the fire brigade that I’m a member of. I started calling out to Craig to help me. After calling out the second time, it dawned on me that he wouldn’t hear me but then, by some miracle he and his boys were standing beside me. “Craig, it’s me”. He didn’t recognise my car as I was driving my bosses car. Craig looked like he went into shock at the realisation it was his colleague trapped in this car. Despite this, he and his boys worked at getting me out of that car and the impending fire. I could see the fire increasing rapidly and I guess, as a firefighter I knew the urgency of needing to be extracted asap. I was in a lot of pain, my neck, chest andback hurt real bad  and my hands were not working but it was a case of risking paralysation or burning alive. Craig coached me to get my leg out somehow. I still don’t know how I did. As soon as my leg was released Craig, Josh and Tom extracted me out through the window and carried me across the road. By the time I looked up, the car was involved and the seat I had just been removed from was now alight.

EDIT: I have since found out it was Craig and Jamie who lifted me out whilst the boys did traffic control and helped manage the scene.  It was then I remembered the car was on gas. I told Craig there was gas on board and he immediately cleared his boys and other people from the vicinity. From the moment of impact to the time they had me on the side of the road, I reckon would have been no more than 3 minutes. After I was moved in another vehicle, away from the accident, I heard the car explode. (Well that’s what it sounded like, it may have just been the battery).

I need to express my most sincere thanks and highest regard to Craig, Josh and  Tom along with Sally. I have absolutely no doubt that if it weren’t for them, I would not be here today to tell my tale. I know they are all incredibly humble and would not like all of the fuss, saying that it’s all part of the job. No it’s not. They looked after me, their colleague and friend, despite the risks and dangers to their own lives and despite themselves going into shock. I owe them my life.

Thank you to all of the onlookers and bystanders for your assistance.  Every single person who helped me in some way that day, the paramedics, the police and of course my beautiful Wakefield Rural Fire Service. Thank you for giving me another chance and saving my life.

EDIT: The newspaper article states that Joe from our Brigade arrived in the Cat 1 to help with fire control and vehicle protection. This is what I was told too. I have only recently discovered that it was in fact Killingworth FB. Enormous thanks and gratitude to Killy for your assistance too. 

Somehow I remained reasonably calm throughout the entire ordeal. I was just concentrating on my breathing after telling myself I needed to remain calm or I would not get out.

The paramedics arrived and did their thing including taking my blood pressure. They took it again. And again. And again, before reaching for a second sphygmomanometer to take it several more times. The paramedic then asked his colleague to take my blood pressure a couple of times. I remember asking if there was a problem. They told me they didn’t think so and that was the problem. I was asked if I was implementing some sort of relaxation technique and I told them I was. The paramedic told me whatever I was doing, to keep doing it because my blood pressure was perfect and they had never seen anything like it before.

Once I arrived at the hospital, the nurses commenced working on me straight away. They cut my jeans off (and I had wet myself) they refused to cut off my tie dyed jacket because they liked it, they cut off my T-shirt but refused to cut my underware, stating that they understood how hard it was to get good fitting bras. I appreciated that. They too took my blood pressure several times before paging the doctor. He asked if I was implementing any relaxation technique also and could not believe my blood pressure either. It was still giving a perfect reading.

It was short lived though. I broke down when my children and my Mum walked in. They were only informed that I was in hospital but they were not allowed to be informed why or how. That upset me quite a bit.

Not long after I really started to struggle with the pain. The collar I had around my neck was digging in, pulling and hurting terribly. May back was hurting so bad, my neck, my arms, my legs, it just all hurt. I felt like I was going to climb the walls. I could not keep still and I kept getting in trouble for moving around when they still didn’t know if I had any fractures.

X-rays were done, ultra sound and various other tests before I was transported to the ward to commence my recovery. I had much bruising and a huge haematoma that extended from behind my earline, along my jaw, down across my chest, across my rib-cage and wrapped around my back. The x-rays did not show any fractures due to the haematoma covering them it is believed and I did not learn about most of them until almost two weeks later when the pain in my neck, ribs, chest and back were worsening.

I managed to fracture my neck, C5 and C6, my right collarbone, five ribs on my right and a tiny bone in my left ankle, the Talus.

Some of the bruising on my left leg. The haematoma down toward my ankle was showing signs of compartment syndrome.

Pretty bad photo but here I am on the ward, day two, trying to walk again.

If you click on the image below, it will take you to the news article in The Newcastle Herald.

Click HERE to follow the link to the newspaper article

The hardest thing I find now is driving past that spot. I felt I had to drive there the day I was released from hospital. I felt that if I didn’t, I would never drive that road again. That is when I got out, walked the road, walked back through the evidence that was still there and tried to nut out what happened exactly.

It is 15 months since that accident and I still struggle to drive that road, especially in the wet. I have to drive it though, it is the road to our station and the most direct route from home. It is even the most direct route to my sisters home.

If you drive that road now, you can still see the scorched tree and the burnt, melted tarmac on the road. Still to this day, a constant reminder of how very close I came to my last day here on earth.

A friend of mine told me she is beginning to think I am secretly a cat because I seem to have nine lives. It certainly feels like that sometimes.

Was my recovery hard? Damn right it was. Many people commented that I seemed to handle it all so well and heal so fast. In many ways I did not handle it well at all. I cried myself to sleep each night for months. I had nightmares and what they call flash backs and was diagnosed with PTSD. I had this awful, awful sensation every time a car I was travelling in turned a corner. It honestly felt like the car was losing control, the back end was sliding and we were going to lose control again. It didn’t matter who was driving whether it was me, my son, my Parents, my daughter, whoever. I was convinced the car was out of control. Even though it was psychological, it felt so incredibly physical. I would get all sweaty, shaky, my breathing would become rapid and my insides would churn. Sometimes I would even be physically ill and have panic attacks. It was hard. I’m sure I must have stretched the patience of my family. I was so jumpy and edgy around cars. I can’t tell you how I overcame this. I worked with my psychologist regularly and still do. I still struggle to be in a car with someone else driving and I still get anxious when driving in the rain. I’m improving every day and more often than not, I usually forget the whole thing.

The pain was unbearable, even on morphine. More pain on top of my chronic joint pain was just yucky. It hurt to breathe for months, I couldn’t turn over in bed, in fact lying down was incredibly painful. The pain in my neck just did not give up. I begged my doctor to do something. His advice was that it was time to get back on-board the firetruck.

WHAT? Are you serious? How do you think I will be able to climb up into that vehicle?

The very next day, I found myself on-board assisting with storm relief. It would have been about Monday 27th or Tuesday 28th April. Some nine weeks after the accident. It worked. Whether it was the action of pulling myself in and out of that truck all day or whether it was just the fact that I was back out, doing what I love, helping and contributing and gaining my confidence once again. I just don’t know but I have barely had any problems with it since.

I think that is all I have to say.

In all of this, I just want to offer you hope and encouragement to find joy in the small things. I actually had to become more mindful of finding my joy after this event and although it took me months, I find my joy every day.

If you ever find yourself in a sticky situation, remember to remain calm. Utilise whatever technique you can, whether it be relaxation techniques, prayer or Systema Breathing Technique. You can do it!

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The Accident Trigger Warning: This post may evoke recall of previous traumatic events. If you feel you need to talk to someone please go to…