Being unable to shrug off this cloud of gloom, doom, anxst, rage and apathy by my own sweet self, I have seriously embarked on an attempt to find a counsellor. Moreover, one who lives within an hour’s public transport of my place of work and place of domicile, who deals with infertility and recurrent miscarriage (ie, won’t say ‘just relax’ and precipitate a punching incident), who doesn’t cost the frikken’ earth, and who can do evenings or weekends. So far:
- Never answered my query emails. I sent them to all three email addresses she had listed on her website. She states, in several places on said website, that she is keen on prompt replies to queries.
- Only had vacancies on the one night of the week I work late shifts. I could not shift my late shifts, my colleagues also having lives they wanted to get on with. And then, bomb-shell, several email exchanges in, she revealed she was pregnant, and would be going on maternity leave soon. I explained that, actually, given the Dead Baby Thing, this was not going to work for me regardless of the shift unrearrangements. She sent me back a very sweet email saying she perfectly understood and wishing me luck finding suitable help.
- Sent me an auto-reply to let me know she was on holiday for another week.
The hell, Universe?