What went down

Heya, Best Beloveds. I’m sorry I’ve worried you by going into a month-long sulk of advanced and extreme sulkiness. Nothing massively exciting or new has happened, and I was having something of a crisis. Let me make itemised lists at you, given that it’s my ‘thing’:

Item – H and I have not been very pleased with each other. I mean, I still love the man dearly, but for a while there I didn’t like him very much. Remember the Possible-Chemical I had for Valentine’s Day this year? It upset me badly, and also upset H badly, and H had an ‘oh, that reminds me, I am actually very sad about all the previous miscarriages’ mind-fuck moment, and ran off into the Cul-de-Sac of Solipsism – actually, he’s been spending quite a lot of time in the Cul-de-Sac of Solipsism since he began counselling – and I had an ‘I have been completely abandoned by the entire Universe and frankly, this is not a good moment to be abandoned by the entire Universe’ shriekathon and yes, it was oodles of fun. So, the past month, we have mostly been having very un-amusing fights.

Item – One of the Big Things We Fight About is the fact H has been dragging his feet and digging his heels in and in extreme cases wiping the whole saga from his memory when it comes to Moving Forward In A Forward And Purposeful Direction when it comes to actually treating the causes of our infertility and recurrent miscarriages. It’s not that H doesn’t want kids – he does, very much. But he very much does not want to be the infertile tragic couple who need to do all this medical shit with no guarantee it will work, so he tries to pretend it isn’t happening, which may be good for his psyche but it is very bad for his marriage, as, fuck it, we are the infertile tragic couple who need to do medical shit. Especially as my uterus is something of a destroyed wasteland, and my immune system is a silly, silly bitch who can’t tell an embryo from a tumour. We had the ‘I am 38 in May and you have destroyed my only chance to have a child with your foot-dragging nonsense’ talk. Yes, I went there. Which was very un-amusing.

Item – H is now playing a ridiculous game of phone-and-email-tag with Doctor Fourth Opinion’s distressingly ditzy secretary, to set up LIT and intralipid schedule and work out who, when, and how he will have an HIV test and so on. We’ve been given a provisional date for LIT of ‘April’. Oh, for the sake of fuck. But at least H is On It, and no longer on his prolonged river cruise in Egypt.

Item – Then I got flu. I spent a week with a fever. I haven’t been so unwell from a mere germ for years. I missed several days of work because I was so ill. I’m still hoarse, three weeks later. OH GOD I WAS SO VERY VERY ILL.

Item – And then I got my period. Ow. It’s day 14 of this cycle and I still haven’t had a day I could get through without at least one dose of painkillers.

Item – This makes me rather poor company, and I apologise to the friends I visited last week in a state of disgruntled mutism. Hi! It was all totally me! You were lovely and delightful and charming and made gluten-free cheesecake you absolute STAR!

Item – Oh, and I visited family. Conversation with my aunts ensued, and The Menopause was the subject du jour. I said, wryly, that I must be the only woman I knew desperately hoping for an early menopause, and alas the ladies in my family keep going until their late 50s. So one Aunt wanted to know why (are you kidding me? Haven’t we discussed this?). I explained (again) that I had adenomyosis and endometriosis. ‘Endometriosis?’ said Aunt, ‘Oh, I had a friend at yoga with that. She had a little operation and now she’s fine. Why haven’t you tried that?’ I blinked. I stared at her. I blinked again. I said, eventually, ‘but I’ve had several operations, Aunt. And they haven’t worked. We’ve discussed this. You gave me all those herbal remedy tips about how to recover from the anaesthetic.’ Aunt, then, shamelessly, started telling me all about Curing All Known Diseases By Yoga. I don’t even.

Item – I am generally getting the impression from a great many friends and family that they’re very much over May being chronically unwell and infertile and the dead embryo thing, ugh. So most people now ignore it all. They ignore it all so well they keep forgetting that being chronically ill means that once a month (32 day cycle. Like FUCKING UNWELCOME CLOCKWORK) I am too ill to do anything, and for three weeks out of five I am in near constant pain and consequently exhausted. I mean, who the hell is chronically ill for years on end, anyway? Oh, right, CHRONICALLY ILL PEOPLE.

Item – Why, yes, I am depressed, thank you for noticing. Why on earth shouldn’t I be?


14 responses to “What went down

  • Jo.

    No wisdom, but lots of love, headed your way.

  • Elissa

    I am so sorry you have been riding the craptastic express! However, it is lovely to hear from you.

  • waterbelle44

    Hi – I was getting worried – and so sad to read this. JESUS H. CHRIST but you have been through so much. Not even gluten-free cheesecake makes it OK, though I hope it at least makes it tolerable, for that moment. Here’s to plans and moving forward together with H.

  • a

    Hey, me too. Wanna get together and sulk in quiet peacefulness together?

  • Moira

    Totally unhelpful but it’s all I can offer hugs. Want me to swear profusely on your behalf?? I’m so on it!

  • Twangy

    Also ready to swear and curse in colourful manner. I am so, so sorry. I didn’t realise things were so bleak.

    For what it’s worth, you were delightful company as usual. Very funny! Yes, really. No, I don’t know how you do it, either.

    I am hoping this is a darkest before dawn moment for us. Oh surely to god it must be?

    It’s April, now, isn’t it. LIT, then, that is progress. My fingers are very crossed.

  • Sheila

    So sorry to hear you’re having such a rough time these days…..

  • Valery Valentina

    chronically ill, so very un-amusing indeed. What would the world be without unhelpful Aunts? Guess there would be less people doing yoga…
    I’ve been thinking of you a lot these months. If only I could send some of my recent luck your way. Will try to put some thoughts in email.

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    I discerned no disgruntled mutism whatsoever! You are, of course, completely entitled to behave at all times like Cthulhu with a trodden-on toe, because this, as you say, is becoming tragic. The mind-boggling addition of imposed sterility being the Only Proven Cure for the Ludicrous Level of Monthly Suffering is just… just… irony turned up to 11. Karmic horseshit. Or something.

    And that Aunt is definitely out of the Agatha stable, just when you required more and better Dahlias. I can only suggest that you run from further Aunt conversations involving Lady Parts like the wind, because I know the type of aunt you mean, and they are Unshamable, Uneducatable, Unalterable, Unremorseful, Irredeemable and, ultimately, effectively deaf as a fucking post. Waste not your righteous ire. Unless you really want to, in which case, I will come round and help you ambush her with a bucketful of henna and asafoetida, which fragrance, no amount of yoga will remove in a hurry.

    Despite being a veteran of a very great deal of medical shit, I don’t quite understand the reluctance to engage with fertility treatment, because I personally have always galloped at highest possible speed to the position of Creating Best Odds For Pregnancy, taking the view that dodging miscarriage was, ultimately, a numbers business. (It seems my personal odds for success are about 1 in 8, or worse. I do wish I knew how MUCH worse, obviously). I barely noticed the treatments themselves – particularly the latter ones – except in terms of lost time and faffing about. And the wallet-damage, of course. In the greater scheme of my Miscarriage Misery, the treatments that kicked it all off were just an irritation; a means to a line-on-a-stick end. John, however, doesn’t feel this way and is, as I have said before, violently opposed to more medical intervention. He would also be foot-dragging and memory-wiping at this point, I assure you. Whereas I have confused myself on more than one occasion trying to remember which cycle Harry originated in, John tends to obsess aggravatingly over the fact that Harry was (Ah! I remember now!) organically conceived. When I look back, it’s the miscarriages I grieve significantly, not the treatment that brought them about. The psychology of the gender-divide on this matter puzzles me, but it evidently exists.

    All that being said, April sounds… good! Soon! Although distressingly ditzy secretaries are NOT what is required at this point in the proceedings. Can her desk be camped-out upon? Besieged? Assaulted with telephonic weapons? Can she be beguiled with a cunningly-laid trail of mini-eggs? I have lots.

  • Illanare

    Unhelpful, but heartfelt, hugs

  • T

    May, I am glad H is in therapy, although there is often unpleasant fallout as emotional things become untangled. Are you in therapy too? And are the two of you in couples therapy together?

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