Time to share...
So I am sitting in my living room in my mis-matched pyjamas and probably looking like I should be an extra for a war movie (I haven’t dared look in the mirror yet but judging by my typical morning face and ‘do I’m not hopeful). I have had two cups of tea but no breakfast. My hands are cold because I have been sitting for so long on this computer trying to figure out how to set up my first ever blog online while my twin toddlers are watching ‘Mr Tumble’ before their mid-morning nap. The cat won’t leave me alone.
Outside my window I can see busy mothers rushing back up the street after leaving their children at school. I wonder what I will feel like and what I will worry about when I am in their shoes. I panic a little. How on earth am I ever going to manage a school run with twins? How will I manage to get myself and the children into two different schools on opposite sides of the city? What will my employer say when I am later into my own classroom than the pupils? Stop that! For now, just worry about the immediate issues. Like how am I going to get showered and dressed if the kids won’t stop climbing the window sill every time I leave the room. Or what will I do when I have no money in my account anymore. Or when my tyre finally gives in and I am stuck on my own by the side of a busy road with screaming children in the back and no ability to change a tyre. Enough!
It’s hard work. It comes at a cost. I’m tired and stressed. But you know what? I’m far less stressed and exhausted than I was a year ago. Looking back two years, three years, four years… I was totally wrecked. I had no physical strength, my immune system couldn’t care less about me so I was constantly ill. I felt embarrassed of my image and my apparent lacking of ability to do my job. I was angry at everything and hurting so deeply that no one seemed to know what to say to me anymore. I felt like I had let everyone down and was pretty much a constant source of disappointment to anyone who knew me. I felt selfish and useless and ugly and bitter.
This is what happens when the thing you want with all your heart is taken away over and over again. This is what recurrent miscarriages did to me on the back of the stress of undergoing daily hormone injections and twice weekly internal scans for years.
It started as all very exciting. Then frustrating and repetitive as the first pill-based treatments didn’t work. Then terrifying when the needles came out and this needle-phobic had to ‘man-up’ and ‘get over it’. Then it was exciting again as the drugs seemed to be working…
The first miscarriage was a dreadful blow but came with ‘these things happen’ and ‘you’ve got plenty of chances left, you’ll be fine’. The second miscarriage (and second consecutive Christmas ruined, by the way) was so much worse. That one came with confused faces and repeated consoling phrases that now had no worth to the cynical voice in my head. That winter and spring took me to a place I never ever want to return to. A place where every woman is your enemy and every baby is a terrifying monster to you. A place where your friends start to back off and your husband looks like he regrets his vows. A place where a lamppost on the drive to work offers you a dreadful temptation as you can’t stop the tears rolling down your face.
Another year passed and another pregnancy occurred. This one also came to nothing. Family started to peel away and colleagues’ faces became stony and quiet when I walked into the staff room amid talk of another staff pregnancy or birth announcement.While others talked about their holiday plans for half-term, I walked away knowing my half term was to be used for investigative blood tests. I was so frightened that when I counted the blood forms that arrived by post I nearly vomited in the kitchen sink.
But I did it. I sat while eighteen vials were taken back to back. The results meant nothing. But at least my husband now realised what lengths I was willing to go to for my child. A renewed level of respect was formed on that day, and this was enough to help me fight for one more try with hormone injections and added IUI.
I attended an adoption meeting while knowing I was pregnant. I felt so confused. Happy? No, pregnancy tests no longer had that effect because they did not signify an actual pregnancy for me. They offered a glimmer of hope but it is overloaded with anxiety and pressure. I felt instantly sick. I joked that if this one didn’t stay, it wasn’t worth carrying on with another IUI round and then the dreaded IVF. I shouldn’t have joked.
The ultimatum was there. It didn’t need to be spoken aloud. It loomed uncomfortably and weightily between us like a wall of lead. I knew I would never convince my husband to pursue further treatment. I knew if I wanted to carry on, I would be doing it without him and my marriage would be over. My home would have to be sold and the rips in my life would be pulled and torn apart forever. I had nothing left to fight with. And if I am honest, I was a little relieved to be out of the routine of hospital appointments and ‘two week waits’. I was devastated, but also shattered and knew I needed to take myself out of the pit I had found myself buried in.
A few months passed. Then we headed for a meeting to inquire about adoption and never really looked back. I will write about adoption in a separate post because the year we have had is worth exploring separately. I will say that the feeling of wanting a birth child doesn’t really go away. I know that now. But it isn’t the loud screaming voice it was. My life has made a massive turn and I wouldn’t undo the changes that have been made for anything. I’m happier than I have been in such a long time. I’m able to talk about what happened to me and see things slightly differently now. I hope that if I carry on writing and sharing, I might attract readers who can gain some comfort in knowing they are not alone. Maybe even shed some light on what might happen if different paths are taken.
I have to go now. The children have decided to turn the television off and I can sense their eyes upon me from across the room as they realise they could be enjoying warm
milk and story time.
Bye for now x