I want to add a PS to today's blog. I forgot to mention that as of Tuesday this week, I am 'happy pill free'! I spent a few weeks on 5mg, then on 2.5 (biting the little beggars in half every other day) and now none at all. Zip. Zilch. Que dalle.
Regardless of the fact that I spent ages weaning myself off the pills and that I was on an almost placebo-level dose at the end, I have still been having regular dizzy spells this week. Quite strange. It's a bit like missing a second here and there, or your brain not quite working in time with your body. But I'm sure that will go soon. If I had it my way, I'd be on the pills forever. They really do help. But I'm very much a 'body is a temple' type person when it come to motherhood, and if there is even the smallest chance that that might happen, I want this body as clean and ready as possible.
Talking of my desire to have another baby, it came to my attention today that a couple of local ladies had last summer been spreading gossip heavily laced with their own opinions about my desire so quickly to have another child. It doesn't bother me that they don't agree because that's how I felt (my pragmatic side taking over I guess), it's how I still feel and in fact, I was absolutely right as I may well have been able to have a child back then, as in the last few months my hormone counts have dropped so drastically, so suddenly.
What bothers me is the malevolent gossiping. It's not their business. It's not their life. It's mine. I know; slightly hypocritical as here I am telling the world about my life, but that's just it, this is ME telling you about MY LIFE. I think they revelled in having 'insider information' and it must have made them feel important to be able to spread that with a little bit of extra topping for good measure. Suffice to say, they will play no future role in my life. If I need a cleaner, I'll go elsewhere.
Friday 5 April 2013
Easter and our own egg hunt
I've been trying to write for a while now. It's not necessarily lack of time that has held me back, although that is part of the reason, it's a mixture of many things. I've come to realise that, due to certain things that have happened to me since we lost William, I felt guilty about grieving, which is not fair and just gave me another trauma to address, work through and assuage. I'm still not sure I have. I'm not even sure I should be writing my blog again. But I know I feel bloody cross that my guilt has been a major obstacle to my writing, which was initally so cathartic. So, fighting that, here I am. Moving on. In all senses.
So, after my last post in January, I guess you want to know where I am with my fertility? In a word, barren. Just a few months too late for any possible chance of conception. Statistically I have a zero to 1% chance of conceiving naturally or even with help. So, cards on the table, I'll never have another genetic child of my own. Armed as I now am with a brain full of information on fertility, how to measure it, what happens on average at what age etc, let me tell you, when I read articles written by women in their fifties, talking about the crisis they are going through at the 'loss of their fertility', it makes me want to scream at them, and at EVERY woman, "No! That's your menopause love! You lost your fertility at precisely 44!!!" (NB I will be 45 next month.)
(Remember, I am talking much more than 'the average' here; I'm talking about well-documented statistical facts. Yes, as so many tactless people have told me after I'd explained about my infertility, "Well, I had a friend who had a baby at 45/46/47," their chances were still 0-1% so they must therefore be the ones IN that statistical bracket! I'm not. To give birth to a healthy baby with no birth defects at the age of 41 as I did, meant that William was in the 20% chance bracket. You get to 42, it's 10%, 43, it's 5%, 44 and there you have it - 0-1%. Let that put a rocket up the bum of older mums who want to get pregnant - get on with it please! And to those 48-year olds out there still using contraception - ha ha to you! Sorry. But go get the egg test if you need to and throw away the contraception.)
So I've been going through some really tough times lately. I've been missing William even more, if that's possible, as well as compounding that with grieving for the absolute loss of my fertility, of my chance to have another genetic baby of my own, of OUR own. Our own unique mix of genes that made William so so special can never again be reproduced.
So what next? Well ironically this Easter saw us, after much soul-searching and deep discussions, send off the contracts to the clinic in Spain in order to start the search for an egg donor. Our own personal Easter egg hunt has begun. Who knows how long we'll have to wait for a 'Scandinavian type' (as I am classed) to walk in of her own accord to a fertility clinic in hirsuite Southern Spain, I can't tell you. But if any of you out there know of any beautiful, kind and sweet-natured blondes with a Masters who live in Southern Spain, feel free to encourage them to donate their eggs!
I believe they'll wait a few months to see whether they have a walk-in or not, then they will check what they have in the freezer. (Olivier doesn't like me using that word, but you have to add your own touch of light-hearted humour in these situations.) I wanted to know why they didn't look in the freezer right away, and my Googling didn't really find me any answers as to viability, advantages and disadvantages of fresh versus frozen. So I guess now we're just in their hands regarding finding us the right egg and we'll have to trust they know what they're doing. I bloody hope so - I'm not sure what I'd think if we did end up with a dark-skinned, dark-eyed baby looking like it may have a touch of hypertrichosis. (BTW This particular clining operates on a policy of one donor-one couple so no-one else gets her eggs. Except her of course. Plus Spain has never changed their legal policies regarding anonymity so we'll feel much more secure about any potential child being 'ours' forever, if you can understand that.)
So our brains are now aswirl with new data, new stats, new percentages: the chances of a successful implantation, chances of us actually ending up with a baby, etc. And questions we'll have to find an answer to later, if this all happens: "one egg or two madam?".
Once again, another bridge to cross if and when we get there.
As for our daily life, well it seems that we can bumble along, certainly a long way from our old selves, but bearing life in a so so manner for a while with regular, different-sized dips. Sometimes it's a short dip, sometimes it lasts a week. Triggers are many and varied. Just recently, for instance, it seems I can't get into the car and drive on my own without bursting into tears. I'm having to really try and reign this in, because at the beginning of this year, after completing an on-line course, I qualified as a TEFL/ELT teacher (Teaching English as a Foreign Language/English Language Teacher) and have slowly been building up my teaching hours in order to fill the days and generate some much-needed extra household revenue. So I drive, I weep, I stop, I put on my 'I'm really just a normal person' face and I teach.
I think this week has been extra hard due to the fact that the Easter weekend was very social. In fact more social than we've been 'since'. On Easter Sunday the three of us went to a big family lunch at Olivier's family's wine domaine. There must have been 30 people there including all the children. And that's the stickler - we saw all Olivier's cousins' kids for the first time - all the kids that William should have been there playing with, chatting to with his expanding vocabulary and interacting with, demonstrating his ever-growing personality and self-awareness. But he never will. And on Easter Monday, gluttons for punishment, we did the same thing again with our very close group of friends. Don't get me wrong - we had a beautiful time on both occasions, and it was really and honestly fabulous to see people whom we hadn't seen for many months. But we didn't reckon on how emotionally draining it would be. So yes, this week has been very tough indeed. We are deliberately keeping ourselves to ourselves this weekend to recharge our mental energy.
The other huge decision that we have had to make is what to do this summer. Of course, using the pool is totally out of the question, at least for Olivier and I. I suspect that Izzy will have no qualms about jumping in the first opportunity she gets and rightly so. The water isn't poisoned. It's only our adult minds that cannot cross that barrier, the tortuous association of the pool being William's killer. I still wake up every single morning with the image of him vividly imprinted in my mind, like it was yesterday. It still flashes into my head when I least expect it, sometimes making me gasp out loud. I don't think it will ever go. Thank goodness only I have that and not Olivier or God forbid, Izzy.
So we decided that the best option all round was to rent the house out for the two summer holiday months of July and August. This would remove ourselves from the situation, the pool, and also bring in enough money for at least the first round/try of egg donation (did I forget to mention it's hugely expensive? Not that it matters - and they know that I guess). So 'Operation House Rental' started a couple of months ago and so far we have a grand total of two whole weeks booked. Sh*t. Not enough to really merit the effort that it will take to prep the house for rentals (and put bunk beds in William's bedroom and clear all his toys and things away - I wonder whether we'll put them back again at the end of the season?) but still, two rentals that we'll have to honour.
However, my mind being what it is and constantly searching for time-filling projects with no real fear of the new, I have been in talks with a company that right now offers foreign teenage language students from around the world the opportunity to spend time living with a French family to learn French. I have proposed to the MD a collaboration between myself and other Anglophone (ie English-speaking) households here in France to offer French kids ENGLISH language stays without having to leave the country! I have 11 families interested and half of those include at least one ELT so would be able to offer English lessons too. I'm going to roll with this and see if maybe we can get this to work and fill a few of the summer weeks with a student coming to live with us. The advantages are many: financial of course, but also what fun for our very lonely now only child Izzy to have a playmate/older brother or sister for a short time, and for us to have the house a bit fuller and encourage us to find fun activities to do.
But also it would mean being able to stay in our own house. Which, you know, deep down, we are reluctant to leave (apart from those two weeks we already have booked, of course); it is after all our home and, enticing as the rental income is, if we can make money AND stay here, then it's a no-brainer. Are you wondering about the pool? So am I. We'll definitely fill it for whoever wants to go in it. It just won't be us. And one day, if we ever have enough money, we'll fill it in and build another one on the other side of the house. It will cost the same as moving, believe it or not, so there's not much to think abou there.
So that is this quarter's update. All the best to you, reader, and remember to give your kids a huge hug and a kiss when you go up to bed every night, just like I used to do; a little habit for which I will be eternally thankful. I can remember caressing William's face, stroking back his curly hair, kissing him, breathing in his smell and telling him how much I loved him (as I still do with Isabelle). And while I can still remember that, it assuages in really the most miniscule way my guilt and regrets for a life our son will never live.
So, after my last post in January, I guess you want to know where I am with my fertility? In a word, barren. Just a few months too late for any possible chance of conception. Statistically I have a zero to 1% chance of conceiving naturally or even with help. So, cards on the table, I'll never have another genetic child of my own. Armed as I now am with a brain full of information on fertility, how to measure it, what happens on average at what age etc, let me tell you, when I read articles written by women in their fifties, talking about the crisis they are going through at the 'loss of their fertility', it makes me want to scream at them, and at EVERY woman, "No! That's your menopause love! You lost your fertility at precisely 44!!!" (NB I will be 45 next month.)
(Remember, I am talking much more than 'the average' here; I'm talking about well-documented statistical facts. Yes, as so many tactless people have told me after I'd explained about my infertility, "Well, I had a friend who had a baby at 45/46/47," their chances were still 0-1% so they must therefore be the ones IN that statistical bracket! I'm not. To give birth to a healthy baby with no birth defects at the age of 41 as I did, meant that William was in the 20% chance bracket. You get to 42, it's 10%, 43, it's 5%, 44 and there you have it - 0-1%. Let that put a rocket up the bum of older mums who want to get pregnant - get on with it please! And to those 48-year olds out there still using contraception - ha ha to you! Sorry. But go get the egg test if you need to and throw away the contraception.)
So I've been going through some really tough times lately. I've been missing William even more, if that's possible, as well as compounding that with grieving for the absolute loss of my fertility, of my chance to have another genetic baby of my own, of OUR own. Our own unique mix of genes that made William so so special can never again be reproduced.
So what next? Well ironically this Easter saw us, after much soul-searching and deep discussions, send off the contracts to the clinic in Spain in order to start the search for an egg donor. Our own personal Easter egg hunt has begun. Who knows how long we'll have to wait for a 'Scandinavian type' (as I am classed) to walk in of her own accord to a fertility clinic in hirsuite Southern Spain, I can't tell you. But if any of you out there know of any beautiful, kind and sweet-natured blondes with a Masters who live in Southern Spain, feel free to encourage them to donate their eggs!
I believe they'll wait a few months to see whether they have a walk-in or not, then they will check what they have in the freezer. (Olivier doesn't like me using that word, but you have to add your own touch of light-hearted humour in these situations.) I wanted to know why they didn't look in the freezer right away, and my Googling didn't really find me any answers as to viability, advantages and disadvantages of fresh versus frozen. So I guess now we're just in their hands regarding finding us the right egg and we'll have to trust they know what they're doing. I bloody hope so - I'm not sure what I'd think if we did end up with a dark-skinned, dark-eyed baby looking like it may have a touch of hypertrichosis. (BTW This particular clining operates on a policy of one donor-one couple so no-one else gets her eggs. Except her of course. Plus Spain has never changed their legal policies regarding anonymity so we'll feel much more secure about any potential child being 'ours' forever, if you can understand that.)
So our brains are now aswirl with new data, new stats, new percentages: the chances of a successful implantation, chances of us actually ending up with a baby, etc. And questions we'll have to find an answer to later, if this all happens: "one egg or two madam?".
Once again, another bridge to cross if and when we get there.
As for our daily life, well it seems that we can bumble along, certainly a long way from our old selves, but bearing life in a so so manner for a while with regular, different-sized dips. Sometimes it's a short dip, sometimes it lasts a week. Triggers are many and varied. Just recently, for instance, it seems I can't get into the car and drive on my own without bursting into tears. I'm having to really try and reign this in, because at the beginning of this year, after completing an on-line course, I qualified as a TEFL/ELT teacher (Teaching English as a Foreign Language/English Language Teacher) and have slowly been building up my teaching hours in order to fill the days and generate some much-needed extra household revenue. So I drive, I weep, I stop, I put on my 'I'm really just a normal person' face and I teach.
I think this week has been extra hard due to the fact that the Easter weekend was very social. In fact more social than we've been 'since'. On Easter Sunday the three of us went to a big family lunch at Olivier's family's wine domaine. There must have been 30 people there including all the children. And that's the stickler - we saw all Olivier's cousins' kids for the first time - all the kids that William should have been there playing with, chatting to with his expanding vocabulary and interacting with, demonstrating his ever-growing personality and self-awareness. But he never will. And on Easter Monday, gluttons for punishment, we did the same thing again with our very close group of friends. Don't get me wrong - we had a beautiful time on both occasions, and it was really and honestly fabulous to see people whom we hadn't seen for many months. But we didn't reckon on how emotionally draining it would be. So yes, this week has been very tough indeed. We are deliberately keeping ourselves to ourselves this weekend to recharge our mental energy.
The other huge decision that we have had to make is what to do this summer. Of course, using the pool is totally out of the question, at least for Olivier and I. I suspect that Izzy will have no qualms about jumping in the first opportunity she gets and rightly so. The water isn't poisoned. It's only our adult minds that cannot cross that barrier, the tortuous association of the pool being William's killer. I still wake up every single morning with the image of him vividly imprinted in my mind, like it was yesterday. It still flashes into my head when I least expect it, sometimes making me gasp out loud. I don't think it will ever go. Thank goodness only I have that and not Olivier or God forbid, Izzy.
So we decided that the best option all round was to rent the house out for the two summer holiday months of July and August. This would remove ourselves from the situation, the pool, and also bring in enough money for at least the first round/try of egg donation (did I forget to mention it's hugely expensive? Not that it matters - and they know that I guess). So 'Operation House Rental' started a couple of months ago and so far we have a grand total of two whole weeks booked. Sh*t. Not enough to really merit the effort that it will take to prep the house for rentals (and put bunk beds in William's bedroom and clear all his toys and things away - I wonder whether we'll put them back again at the end of the season?) but still, two rentals that we'll have to honour.
However, my mind being what it is and constantly searching for time-filling projects with no real fear of the new, I have been in talks with a company that right now offers foreign teenage language students from around the world the opportunity to spend time living with a French family to learn French. I have proposed to the MD a collaboration between myself and other Anglophone (ie English-speaking) households here in France to offer French kids ENGLISH language stays without having to leave the country! I have 11 families interested and half of those include at least one ELT so would be able to offer English lessons too. I'm going to roll with this and see if maybe we can get this to work and fill a few of the summer weeks with a student coming to live with us. The advantages are many: financial of course, but also what fun for our very lonely now only child Izzy to have a playmate/older brother or sister for a short time, and for us to have the house a bit fuller and encourage us to find fun activities to do.
But also it would mean being able to stay in our own house. Which, you know, deep down, we are reluctant to leave (apart from those two weeks we already have booked, of course); it is after all our home and, enticing as the rental income is, if we can make money AND stay here, then it's a no-brainer. Are you wondering about the pool? So am I. We'll definitely fill it for whoever wants to go in it. It just won't be us. And one day, if we ever have enough money, we'll fill it in and build another one on the other side of the house. It will cost the same as moving, believe it or not, so there's not much to think abou there.
So that is this quarter's update. All the best to you, reader, and remember to give your kids a huge hug and a kiss when you go up to bed every night, just like I used to do; a little habit for which I will be eternally thankful. I can remember caressing William's face, stroking back his curly hair, kissing him, breathing in his smell and telling him how much I loved him (as I still do with Isabelle). And while I can still remember that, it assuages in really the most miniscule way my guilt and regrets for a life our son will never live.
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