I’m not supposed to be writing this post. I’m supposed to be writing a charming, happy, congratulatory, excited-and-delighted email (to be followed by card and gift) to a friend who has just given birth.
Eh. The regular Gentle Readers will understand why I’m finding this hard on basic principles. Me = bitter twisted infertile bitch with Uterus Of Doom, after all. Other people just, you know, hauling off and having babies like it’s a) normal and b) no biggie, make me sweaty with envy. Sad, pathetic, and massively undercutting my persona of Totally Ace Rimmer About It All, but there you go.
But wait! There’s more! This particular friend is the friend who got pregnant a few weeks before I did, back at Christmas, had a bit of a scare, but then proceeded to have a perfectly healthy contented pregnancy, with me limping behind all the way, thinking of Zombryo.
When she announced her pregnancy to us, back in March, I was, well, I cried, but I was frankly relieved that her Avoidant with a Capital A behaviour towards us was due to her own scare and worries, and not because she was being a dillweed about our miscarriages.
Since when, from her, supportive communications, nil.
Not one fucking word about our losses, not one question as to how we’re doing, where we’ve got to treatment-wise. Not one word about bloody anything, in fact. We communicate on f*ckb**k. No letters, no emails, no phone-calls. Just, the odd f*ckb**k remark about swollen feet or wishing the baby would turn up early (ARGH). To which I responded, I hope, with empathy and grace.
To be fair, I haven’t been emailing or phoning her either. And how is a person supposed to know a friend needs a little support and sympathy if said friend crawls into a cave and goes silent? If you want help and sympathy you have to ask, right? Right?
Anyway, she was probably embarrassed, and English, and uncomfortable with emotional messy stuff, and didn’t know what to say, and was scared of saying the wrong thing.
Which would be fair enough, apart from the bit about her being a friend for a dozen years, and our seeing each other through any amount of messy relationship crap as young women. Apart from that. Ignoring your friend who has had several miscarriages while you gestate a lovely healthy infant, that’s kind, really, isn’t it? For the best? I mean, who gives a fuck if you lose the friend in the process?
H and I had a horrible row about this on Sunday. Not that H doesn’t have some sympathy with my position, but he doesn’t feel particularly hurt or abandoned by V’s behaviour, and said so. Alas, he chose to say so in terms which came across a bit ‘what the hell is wrong with you, May?’ and I was so angry I screamed at him and then I cried and cried. I’ve lost my babies and I’ve lost a dear friend and I feel full of guilt and anxst that this is, after all, my fault. I could have done more, stayed in touch more, explained myself better, or, indeed, got over myself and thrown myself whole-heartedly into celebrating the arrival of her child and left my own heart-ache out of it. And now H was, seemingly, impatient with me and unsympathetic.
Actually, H is not unsympathetic. He feels awkward, I gather, because he’s less bothered than I am by V’s withdrawal, but because he feels loyal to me, he is annoyed with her for upsetting me (cognitive dissonance). Being an H, he detests feeling annoyed with anyone, and so acted impatient out of sheer discomfort. He bought me pink roses, to say sorry.
And then, later, confessed he was worried that were he in V’s position, he’d do exactly the same thing, i.e. be too embarrassed and uncomfortable to ever mention ‘it’ (whatever ‘it’ was in this case) and edge away. So, he felt almost got at, when I was bitching vigorously about V.
Dammit. And I know I have been shitty to friends in need, ‘forgetting’ to get in touch, failing to ask how things were. Damn damn damn damn damn damn.
7:31 am GMT: Edited to add: Please, please, please, for the love of God, Gentle Readers, stop telling me to rise above this and give this relationship one more chance, and stop explaining and excusing V to me. If you read the post, and previous posts, you’ll see I have been excusing and explaining V to myself for the past five years. And if you read the post, you’ll notice the first thing I say is I’m in the middle of writing to V to make sure she knows I am happy and delighted for her and her baby, and that I want to stay in touch and rescue the relationship and be a friend to her.
Please, people, can’t my very own, fairly anonymous, fairly unknown little blog be somewhere where my feelings come first? They don’t bloody come first anywhere outside this blog.