I like my emotional upheavals to be brisk and snappy in their resolution, so I am pleased to note that I appear to have moved on to the next step. If we were to apply a Kubler-Ross model to my current emotional roadmap, I think I would now fall firmly into the "Angry" bracket. (Incidentally, I notice there is no bracket set aside in that model for the "Swilling Booze and Eating Cake while Lying on the sofa watching Crap Telly". Which, as any sensible infertile person knows, is a key stage in the grief process.)
Harumph. Yes. Having dispensed with the floor-crying for the time being, I find myself in a state of rabid pissiness, a sort of volcanic irritation with the world. It's to be expected, I suppose- when the universe sticks its tongue out at you saying "Neener neener neener!", a little anger is normal. I suspect my annoyance with the latest turn of events is on a grand scale, but it's the minor things that bugging me. For example, who was the fuckwit who left the bag of rubbish outside the door of the flats, so the foxes and other urban vermin could come and strew it everywhere in the middle of the night? Thanks, jerkwad. And you there, the person in the queue behind me. Yeah, you. Do you have to stand RIGHT BEHIND me, breathing your fumes over my shoulder, pressing the wire shopping basket into my lower back? This is my dance space, asshole, that is your dance space. Back the fuck off, Jack.
That kind of thing.
Plus, it doesn't help that subsequent to my recent IVF shipwreck, I have been subjected to more assvice than a clamped buttock. What I want to know is: when did people become so emotionally backwards? Why is it that everyone seems to think the correct response is to offer up endless unsolicited solutions? Whatever happened to a good old fashioned, "I'm sorry- would a soothing cup of tea help?"
Disclaimer: I should stress that I am not referring, in this post, to fellow bloggers and kind friends. I have had some preliminary solution-oriented discussions with a few people, much of it at my instigation. To a woman, everyone has been unstintingly helpful, supportive and unassuming. For which again, my thanks. No, rather I am referring to the insta-platitude dished out in a "careless shoot from the hip while shooting off the mouth" kind of comments from the seemingly oblivious hoards around me.
"Oh well, at least you can go on holiday now and drink lots of booze.". Why, yes. Yes, we can, and indeed we plan on doing just that very soon. I'm not stupid, I know that a holiday with the prospect of copious amounts of doing nothing at all while around drinking wine is a definite plus. But while I am grateful that we are able to have a nice break, the main reason we're taking a vacation is because we both feel like we have been dragged backwards though a hedge of emotional and psychological thorns. Because we're tired and still more than a little lost as to what to do next. But believe me, I would have happily foregone holidays for some time coming if it meant things could have turned out differently.
"Maybe you could work part time. You know, so you can relax?" There was a near throttling at this one. Leaving aside the other implications of the "R word", why do people automatically assume that working part time will equate to complete relaxation? As if during the days you are not in the office, you have nothing better to do than lie on the sofa engaging in the aforesaid "Crap Telly and Cupcake Fest". For me, working part time equals less salary, equals less money for treatment. Any advantage of having the time to sit at home freaking out about our options would be offset by the attendant freaking out that we no longer have enough resources to pay for those options. Erm, no.
"Will you try again?" Ah. While this no doubt is an interesting and relevant question, it's not something that should be pitched casually. The first time I was asked this was on the day after shipwreck, as I sat in a hysterical ball, trying to pull it together enough to speak the words "I can't come in today". Timing= bad. Also, the speaker's well meaning but offhand tone made it sound like it was just that I had had a complicated cheescake recipe turn out badly. As if it was simply a matter of whipping of a fresh batch, pop it in the oven and away you go! Tone=bad.
And lastly, my personal favourite, spoken by a person with three kids. "Well, you just have to stay positive. Get right back on the horse.". To which I say, oh please do shut the fuck up, sunshine. I am the horse.