Let us turn our attention to lovelier things. Eventually.

Well now. My last post rather ratcheted up my stats counter. Over 300 hits in less than 24 hours. Normally I get about 150 to 200 the day I put up a fresh post. Oh ah.

(Incidentally, I went back and answered all the comments on that post. I keep meaning to respond more to comments. Um… oops?).

Nearly everyone thought I should send the post, or a letter based on the post, to the columnist and/or the newspaper concerned, which was flattering. And I considered it. Normally, The Observer allows comments on Mariella Frostrup’s advice columns, you see, and I could’ve signed up and commented there, perhaps. But on that particular article, they weren’t allowing comments, for once.

Perhaps this meant they knew it was a contentious issue that the general public couldn’t possibly be civil about (the General Public, have, after all, proved themselves to be utter cunts about infertility, especially safe behind the internet screen of anonymity (so cowardly utter cunts at that)). Perhaps they were protecting the original letter-writer. Perhaps the editor(s) thought that Ms Frostrup was ridiculously, smugly wrong and were protecting her from a kicking. Who knows.

Anyway, this does mean that if I do send a tidied-up version of the post, it’d have to be directly to the editors and/or directly to Ms Frostrup and, you know? I’ve put it on record here. It’s google-able. I’m not hiding. But I do not have the energy, the time, or the anything else, really, to get into a pissing-contest with a national newspaper and its columnists. Either they’d politely ignore my letter, which would annoy me, or they’d print it, and then ignore it, which would annoy me less, I suppose, or they’d respond, and I actually don’t want to deal with that. I do not want to read pusillanimous self-justifications or non-apologies or platitudes or ‘best wishes’ from these people. I do not want to be challenged back, especially not by someone who, say, has NOT been trying to have a child for years and had several miscarriages. Being challenged on this by the Smug Childed, oh, God, no, I think I’d have a psychotic break.

And anyway, I’m so fucking cross about the whole thing that I’d shame myself. There’s a Chinese proverb that says: ‘never write a letter while you are angry’. And by the time I stop being angry, writing in about it will be daft.

So. If any of you want to write in instead, be my guest. I’m too much of an apathetic jelly-fish at the moment.

Meanwhile, it’s Easter, I am eating again, so H brought me a very fancy and very sweet little easter egg, and then he spent this afternoon making a darling little roast dinner, poussin, asparagus, wild mushrooms, sort of thing. We have celebrated… I’m not sure what, exactly. After all, we’re both atheists. Chocolate? Spring? Each other?

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8 responses to “Let us turn our attention to lovelier things. Eventually.

  • a

    I see your point, but I still think you should send it in.

    Easter is one of a very few sanctioned opportunities during the year to eat copious amounts of candy for breakfast. That’s something to celebrate.

  • korechronicles

    I had Easter eggs for dinner. Was lovely. As are both of you…and well worth celebrating.

  • katie

    New life. In any sense that that makes sense (new relationships, new leaves to be turned over, new spring flowers…)

  • Laurel

    Please forgive my especially awful grammar here…. anyway… I read this blog, Rolling Around in My Head, by a guy who’s long been an advocate for the disabled and is now disabled himself. He often describes incidents of discrimination (or, far more rarely, someone doing the right thing) in response to which he speaks up, asks for the manager, writes letters. But even he sometimes writes about an incident in response to which he doesn’t make a public comment but just seethes, or perhaps lets it go without much seething; because, he says, sometimes he just doesn’t want to deal with it. Sometimes he doesn’t want to have to say something. Sometimes he doesn’t want to give his time over to addressing an issue that he shouldn’t have had to address in the first place. Sometimes he wants to not have to say anything.

    In many ways infertility is a long distance from disability, but the similarity is that self-advocacy for those who experience either could become a 24-7 occupation if they let it. And, in the case of infertility, I imagine it is tiring enough to simply live with its natural consequences; explaining to the clueless who then likely would still Not Get It, much more so.

    (That said, I admit that am like a.–your post was so well written and I would really like the columnist to have her ass handed to her on a plate as you so neatly did.)

    • Laurel

      Oops, sorry to set a record for commenting on one posts but aside from the grammar I also edited poorly & repeated myself… need more coffee!

  • wombattwo

    Celebrate the fact that you have a husband who clearly loves you, and spends time making yummy-sounding dinners? My husband’s contribution on Easter Sunday was to peel some potatoes… Still, I suppose that was a start!
    Hmmm… I need more chocolate…

  • twangy

    Ah, I didn’t get it together to comment on Mariella – too scattered of thought and indeed of location. I do hope she’ll be ego-googling herself some day, come across your post and at the very least have pause for thought. It is churlish (AT THE VERY VERY LEAST, Mariella) not to acknowledge the huge part sheer luck has had to play in your life – starting with the simple fact of being born into a developed country. Not to SEE that, surely, is a terrible failure of imagination.

    But all that has been said, and better too.
    Happy eggs, May and H.

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