Equations of healing

To demonstrate what a "changed" person I've become, I met my pregnant friend for a drink the other night. Well, I had a "drink" in the sense of the alcoholic beverage while she sipped a dainty ginger beer. But since the no-smoking ban came into force in Scotland, there is really no excuse for knocked up women to avoid the pub/bar. This is great for those of us who want to ease the discomfort of such social engagements with a double vodka.  Works for everyone. 

The last time I saw this friend was in October at a party. There we both enjoyed a number of "drinks" in the alcoholic sense, and I didn't get home until 5am. Unheard of for me, but delightful all the same. During the festivities, she confessed over a couple of glasses of wine, she and her husband were "trying". Oh, I said, I can give you lots of tips. Or, at least theoretical tips, since as we know, not a single one worked for me.

As it turns out, my little pearls of conception wisdom were not needed, because she must have already been a couple of weeks along by that point.  The next I heard from her she was going for her scan, just before Christmas.

Just like that. So simple, isn't it, for some.  You want a baby, you have sex with your partner, and hey presto. The thing is, this friend is one of those people who always seems to effortlessly achieve whatever she wants; great job, great house, great man.  I wasn't in the least surprised that the baby came along, on schedule, as intended, exactly at the right time.

I've known this woman a long time. We went to university together, she shared my flat for about six months, we danced at her wedding. I like her; she is kind, funny, bright and beautiful. And I knew that unless I could bring myself to make some gesture now to acknowledge, indeed to embrace and celebrate her pregnancy, then I wasn't putting my money where my mouth is as far as getting over this whole infertile-bitter thing.  Or for that matter, being much of a good friend.

So I emailed her, arranged to meet her.  They don't go in for baby showers here, and this was my only opportunity to give her something for the impending arrival. And as it happens, I had something to hand. Because, you see, when you are learning to knit, baby things are quite easy to churn out- small, not too time consuming or soul-destroying when you fuck up and have to frog the whole project.  I had whipped up a little hat and matching booties with some lovely yarn that Anna H. had sent me for my birthday.  Cute baby gear sitting at the bottom of my knitting bag, going nowhere.

I fished it out, and wrapped it in some nice paper. As I did so, I came over all funny. I found myself clutching the hat in my hand, unwilling to let it go. Come on, I told myself, reaching for the tape, get over it.  Get over it get over it getoveritgetoverit.  It's just stuff.  You can always knit another set if you ever have a kid. Oh wait, right, you're not going to. But if you do. If you did. If... Oh shut up and stick the package in your handbag.   

I was early, as always, and standing outside the bar was afforded an excellent view of her bump (surprisingly pert, considering she is eight months along) as she walked down the road toward me.  As she approached, I suddenly had the old horror.  Shit, I thought.  This was a really, really bad idea.

We had a nice enough time, I suppose. She was pleased and touched with the present, which made me feel a little better about being able to give it. And the talk was fairly evenly balanced for the most part (my tales of woe over the last months versus antenatal classes. Career ambitions verses decorating the nursery). As I left, I congratulated myself for not once revealing there were moments when sitting there with her felt exactly like a hot poker was being driven through my heart.

I walked home feeling troubled.  Guess I haven't changed so much, after all.  Guess there are certain days and certain spaces when this is still so very hard. But the worst thing was the mental battering I gave myself for days afterward for not being over it yet, for not being all OK about it, for not being able to effortlessly celebrate my friend's seemingly effortlessly obtained happiness. I went out and asked the slowly budding bay tree: how long is it going to take?  How much longer until I can honestly, truly say it doesn't bother me anymore? What if I can never say it? 

What I realised today was this:  the amount of time it will take for me to feel better about not being able to get pregnant and have children is directly proportionate to the amount of time it will take for me to start feeling better about the life I have, or can have.

Such a simple equation, and yet so very hard to calculate.

Comments

[Mellie]

Oh Mare, even if it wasn't so effortless for you I think it's an achievement that you met your friend at all.

And as for that elusive math answer - if anyone can decipher it, you can.

[Nicole]

I believe you can figure this out.

It is so hard to see people get pregnant so easily when it is so hard for some of us, and maybe even impossible. Good for you that you tried to rebuild this relationship.

It shows you are strong and a good friend.

[Lut C.]

You're making progress by leaps and bounds. I have been reading blogs for less than a year. When I first read yours, you were still in the thick of cycling.
Don't be too hard on yourself. Come on, you gave her cute baby gear, that you took the time to make yourself!

[Betsy]

Mare,
I am in awe! You are truly amazing to meet your friend AND give her that gift.
I, too, am searching for the answer to that equation. I was always good at advanced math, but as I susupected, it can't be applied to real life problems.

[Amyesq]

Oh Lord. That sounds awful. In fact, I am quite nauseous just thinking of it. I didn't think about the whole PG women in pubs thing now. That's just $(*#ing great.

You really do rule, Mare, for being strong enough to do that. It may have sucked for you, but I bet your friend really, really appreciated it. Serious points, my dear.

[Jill]

Mare, meeting your friend and giving her the baby hat and booties that you knitted was very beautiful, kind, and generous. Those acts would be way too painful to contemplate in the depths of infertility despair. I'll bet if you look back, you will realize how far you have already come. I think you should give yourself a lot of credit.

[art-sweet]

Mare,

Just wanted to say thank you for sharing this.

My boss is one of these perfect people. My age (and my boss) perfect marriage, two beautiful little girls, thriving career and a genuinely nice person. I keep wondering what essential quality she's got that I lack.

I wish there were something I could do beyond saying from afar that I think you're pretty bloggity awesome.

-art-sweet

[Annie]

I have heard it said that in this life, what counts is not the way you feel about something, but that you do the right thing. And being so generous with your friend was a great, good, right thing to do, even though it hurt. (And being in a similar boat, I can imagine how much it hurt.) Blessings on you for stretching yourself to embrace someone else.

[-Blue]

Oh Mare you are just awesome. I'm so sorry you had to hurt but I'm stunned at your strength, meeting her, giving her the gift.

-Blue

[Allie]

What a profound post. Beautifully said. Even if you aren't pleased with your recent feelings, you certainly seem to be in touch with them. Hoorah for you, Mare. I think it took guts to meet with your friend and offer such a personal gift.

[thalia]

Well done. You got through it. You did something kind and thoughtful and that's wonderful. From what I've read of others' lives on here, it can still be hard to hear of effortless fertility even when an infertile is about to give birth, so you did really really well.

How are things with E?

[Ellen K.]

I like Annie's comment about what really counts in life. I think that as women, we have a tendency to believe that effusive displays of cheer and congratulations, no matter how you're hurting inside, are an absolute requirement for friendship, or hell, even mere acquaintance. "Can't you just be happy for her?", etc. And at least in the U.S., that happiness is supposed to be of the over-the-moon sort. But I'm done with "happy" for others. I'm just striving for "pleasant." And so I think your handling of the situation was exactly on target, and more importantly, sincere, and that having done the right thing-- having been strong for the sake of a friendship--you are more than entitled to feel some self-doubt and sadness.

[elecriclady]

I think it was so amazing and generous of you to do what you did. Getting over the bitterness isn't a switch you can flip, it's a slow, inching journey, with lots of pauses and turning back before you inch forward again. The fact that you were still able to be a good friend to your friend, despite feeling as you did--well, again, amazing.

[Alchemilla]

Mare sweetie, you behaved beautifully, with grace and generosity in a situation painful to you, at a cost to yourself. Yes it hurt but you did it, and you should be profoundly at peace with yourself for it - that it wasn't effortless makes it all the more praise-worthy. It's like bravery - you can only be truely brave if you feel afraid but do the frightening thing anyway. If you don't feel fear then what you do isn't brave.

xxx

[Truly Tested]

Reading your post, I couldn't help feeling that you are being unncessarily hard on yourself. What you did was above and beyond and showed great generosity of spirit. If you hadn't made as much progress as you have, I don't think you could have done what you did.

[chris]

This is really a beautiful post. Thanks for sharing. Take care.

[Donna]

Coming out of lurkdom to say that last statement touched me deeply -- it is the hardest equation to calculate. I wonder all the time if I'm ever going to feel OK about the wonderful, albeit childless, life that I have.

I love Alchemilla words about bravery, and I'll add one more parable: Morality is doing the right thing when noone is looking. I hope you don't mind if I link you on my blog, I'll be back to continue reading your story.

[Menita]

That took a lot of strength. I'm not sure I could have done it, back in the day.
That was quite something you did.

[Anne]

We can't control our feelings, but we can decide how we are going to act on them. You did a brave and good thing.

As I was reading, I was thinking of your actions as kind of like...weight-training for the soul, or something. Hurts like a bitch at the time, and for the next several days you feel your sore muscles and wonder what the hell you were thinking, but if you keep at it enough, (even cursing all the while!) eventually you will notice progress.

[ink]

I can only echo what everyone else has said so well. You really have acted with profound generosity and courage, Mare, and in doing so you have both supported your friend and helped yourself move forward.

Grief (it's a more accurate word than "bitterness" I think) isn't something that can just be turned off. It's a journey that takes as long as it takes. The important thing is that you haven't allowed yourself to stop moving forward. You haven't allowed your own pain to keep you from doing what you know is right. And that takes heart and guts and mind and soul.

You will get through this, I have no doubt. Sure it will take time and you will hurt, but it won't - it WON'T - last forever ... because you won't let it. I love Anne's analogy of "weight-training for the soul." Perfect!

[Alli]

She won't ever know how hard that was for you to do - you're a good friend.

[antiquemommy]

What a moving post. I was exactly where you are at one time. I couldn't even look at a pregnant woman. And when I finally did start feeling okay with my childless life, I scheduled a hysterectomy and enrolled in a graduate program. Two weeks later I found out I was pregnant. In the famous words of Avril Lavigne, life's like that.

[Meg]

You handled that so well. I'm scared that I will never get over it.

[Kell]

Can I just say that last sentence is completely the same thing I have worked out. The more I feel positive about what the future can hold for us, the less I feel sad about what it doesnt. I am lucky enough to have one child but we were unable to have another. Today I gave away the last of my baby things. It hurt even though I feel I am making some progress. I feel more hopeful for our future, but I know I will always have that hurt, I just hope it gets more bearable with time.

[Sharon in Montana, USA]

Hi, I just had to comment after stumbling on to your site. I'd been googling for "implantation bleeding, progesterone" and clicked on your page. I can't tell you how much your commnents back in August sounded like me. Peering intently at the pee stick, hoping to see the faintest of lines. Still being able to express humor even though you are going through a horribly emotional time. The frustration you express is so much like my own and the realization that it's so easy for others yet elusive for us is heartwrenching. I'm 39 and had 6 miscarriages and 2 ectopics. Stupidly I'm still hopeful. There must be something the matter with me!

Thank you for sharing your pain and your humor. It made me laugh because it sounded so much like myself.

I'll drop back by to visit. I have my own blog page at www.sharon.jonsullivan.com