Barren Mare

Seizing the Joy

A year ago , as I sat burbling into my Christmas pudding, I remember thinking one thing quite clearly: "At least this time next year, I'll know. I'll know whether we followed through with our treatment plans, and I'll know if we succeeded, or failed. I'll know if I am going to get pregnant in 2005. I won't be sitting around waiting for answers; I won't be forever on the sidelines while others go forward. I'll be on my way to the better things. Because better things must surely coming my way. Surely I am due some joy."

With the benefit of that great gift, hindsight, I now see how spectacularly naive that line of thinking was. Because in reality, I don't know a whole lot more than I did then. If anything, I know less. I have no idea why the treatment failed, and I don't know if I'll ever be pregnant. In the big scheme of things, I confess it doesn't even matter much right now. The answers I was looking for then have fallen away completely in the face of even larger, scarier problems. Never in a million years would I have expected the strange twists of the last several months. In my quest for one particular joy, I've come very close to losing a great many other important things.

What I now think is this: nothing much is certain. Today, I have my health, a lovely home, parents and friends who love me and will stand by me in bad times. There's no guarantee that tomorrow will necessarily bring anything better, because frankly, that's not how it seems to work. I've been waiting too long on this dark beach, searching the horizon for a sign of a rescue flare. I've been pacing up and down in one place, playing with the lighter in my hand but not sure I should go into the forest to gather some firewood for a bonfire of my own.

But now...now I think it's finally time to start making my own joy. Time to go out and seize handfuls of joy in both fists, as much as I can find. As much as I can carry.

I wish you all so much joy of your own, not just for Christmas but for every day. If it takes an effort to leave a familiar place of safety to go out looking for it, then I hope you know I'm not far away. I'm right here. I'm right beside you.

And I have cake.

Make mine a double

I'd like to give you a proper update about the doings here at the Barn, but we continue to flail wildly in a state of unholy flux. Nothing is really clear yet, and it seems to change from day to day. We're splitting up! He's moving out! No, wait, he's not, or at least not yet! Maybe later! Or he might stay! But the relationship is still over! Or maybe not quite completely! We want to work it out! No, we don't! Oh, fuck this! Or, not!

Is it any wonder that my primary means of functioning these days is to ensure that there is constant supply of mulled wine or perhaps a tasty single malt whiskey? Since everything relating to Christmas continues to grate on my raw, flayed nerve-endings, it seems to be the only way to really dull the drumbeats of doom, at least temporarily.

Of course, this approach has its hazards as well. Yesterday, for example, I endured the tedium of a colleague's retiral do by quaffing three or four glasses of cheap but potent wine in quick succession. Yes, my stomach was completely empty. Yes, it did go straight to my pointy little head. Errmm, ish blurry nice to haff drinksh. Chrishmush naw soo bad, really.

Somehow during the course of the evening, I found myself undertaking to embark on the study of the Japanese language. I must have been pretty convincing in my enthusiasm for this plan (me? learn Japanese? who knew?)- since upon my arrival at my desk this morning, I found my colleague had considerately deposited a number of her own language tapes and books for my learning pleasure. Good grief. What have I gotten myself into?

Also, I've been noticing that notwithstanding all the comradely drink induced joie de vivre, people are generally so much more sympathetic and understanding of heartbreak and relationships woes than they are of the pain of infertility. I suppose that's hardly surprising, really- most people can relate to have one's heart spattered all over the tarmac at some point in their life, whereas the fine subtleties of the Dance of the UltraSound Wand are not so easy to comprehend. I don't even need to go into the detail of my troubles at home; the mere mention of any stress on that front, and folks start patting me like a sick puppy. There, there dear. There, there.

It's all much appreciated, of course. But the bottom line is I have been having problems with E. for, oh, about five minutes; as opposed to the relentless torture of infertility which has lasted for at least the last year and a half, and during which time nobody particularly gave much of a flying fuck.

Wee dram, anyone? Make mine a double.

Against the Ropes

When something bad happens to one of my favourite bloggers, I read in horror from the sidelines. It's a bit like watching a boxing match, where an unwilling combatant endures pummel after pummel. When they finally go down, I sit there biting my fist, wondering how long they will lie there motionless. Whispering under my breath, "Get up. You have to get up. Oh, please, can you get up?"

I know some of you are very worried about me, for which again, *mwah* with the kisses on your smooshy cheeks. If I am being quite honest, I am also worried about me, which in the circumstances is rather understandable. So this is just to let you know that I am not down for the count, but rather, reeling against the ropes.

Honestly, this could not suck more. And it has all come at possibly the worst time in what has to be the shittest year of my life. Everyone else is scurrying around buying presents, arranging time with friends and family, decking the halls; meanwhile I am wondering whether to stick that bough of holly in my eye now or later.

I feel like the big black cloud in everyone else's winter wonderland. It's so unseasonally glum that people are eyeing me with the wariness usually reserved for rabid dogs and the criminally insane. I went to my office Christmas lunch yesterday and it was like a vortex of doom whereever I sat, until folks eventually gave me a halfhearted pat on the shoulder and sidled away. Only my boss was oblivious, but that meant he rabbited on for half an hour about the monumental crisis of Biblical proportions in his house; namely, that the wallpapering might not be done in time for the houseguest's arrival. Fuck me, the wallpapering. Yes, that puts it all in perspective!

Finally, I was forced to throttle him with the paper hat from my Christmas cracker and stash his body under the table. Such hijinks go on at these events, so nobody really noticed. He may even still be there, for all I know.

The Difficult Thing

I'm out of the bath and into my fluffy slippers and cashmere "sleepy pants", as they are referred to in this house. Shall we talk some more? Oh yes, let's do.

I should say that one of the reasons I was more than a little hesitant about discussing what is going on is because E. knows about this blog now. And while I don't think he's reading it, or is even particularly interested in what I say here, I somehow think it would be extremely counterproductive to our fragile equilibrium if he were to see me spilling the nitty gritty of all our very private stuffus into the gaping maw of the Internets.

So I will try to exercise good judgment on that score and keep it fairly general, if possible. Along those lines, constructive comments are always welcomed, but I will exercise editorial discretion and delete anything I feel is inappropriately nasty. [Editor's note: Of course, these ground rules may be revisited in the event of a break-up, in which case I will be stacking a set of pitchforks by the door and letting you have at him. Heh heh heh.]

Those caveats in place, I must tell you: infertility, and all it brings with it, is in my opinion not the main cause of my current relationship woes. I have now realised that the problems- which are more to do with intimacy and commitment- have always been there, coiling in a dark sludgy oilslick under our feet. Unfortunately, until now I just chose to ignore it.

And that was actually quite easy to do. Because in fact, the whole challenge of trying to have a baby has probably helped mask those underlying difficulties for some time. You see, I truly believed that although E. didn't want to get married, that he was still fully committed to me, and to us, in all the other important ways. We bought a flat together, and although he didn't live here seven days a week, I thought this place was considered home. We had a number of shared goals and plans for the future, not all of which were baby related. Our lives meshed with each others in a thousand ways, large and small, as is natural when you build a full-fledged partnership with someone over time.

Then of course, there was the baby thing. I never even questioned his commitment to me once that began, because until the IVF failed, we seemed to be so much on the same page about it. We wanted a baby, so we would do whatever was needed. And I never for one minute imagined that he would put me through something like IVF if he wasn't sure he loved me and wanted to be with me.

I know if you asked E. what was going on, he would tell you: he did want all those things. He was committed, or at least, he thought he was. But then something changed. For one thing, he moved in. All of a sudden, "Sweet Committed E." has been replaced by "Confused Thrashing Manbeast". Also known as "I Guess I Don't Know What I Want After All E."

Meanwhile, I was merrily traipsing down the rose-strewn path, thinking that despite not having the family we hoped for, other nice things could be put in place to at least attempt to compensate for that particular disappointment. Thinking that at least I still had the love of my life by my side. Therefore, imagine my ugly surprise when, with no warning whatsoever, on bedding down one night with Sweet Committed, I discovered I had woken up to Confused Thrashing Manbeast.

I believe the person I love is still in there somewhere. I see signs of him from time to time. But there are days when I am really not sure he is ever fully coming back. And the difficult thing is not knowing, all things considered, how long I should wait, hoping for that to happen.