It's been 14 months since my last blog entry. I think that's a good enough indicator of how things are right now. I haven't forgotten William, but I have managed to carve out a new path. So much has happened in the last year; I've met so many wonderful new friends and I am involved in projects that are giving me a sense of fulfilment.
One of the people I have recently met is Mark Binmore, a multi-published author living near me, in Béziers. Touched by my 'story' and my blog, he tweeted it. Apparently it's now being re-tweeted by some household names! Thank you to EVERYONE who shares my blog. This is William's legacy - if my words help just one more grieving person, then I'm happy; the more people they reach, and help, the happier I am.
I'm going to post this and then I'm going to write an update post... Watch this space!
Thursday 12 June 2014
Friday 5 April 2013
Pills and other ills
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday 29 January 2013
Christmas, New Year, the birthdays and the future
I feel like I need to write a January update as quite a lot has happened in the last couple of months. The good news is that for those of you who don't know, Olivier came home in early December. He'd been gone three months and has now been back for over two and I am so happy about this, as is Isabelle and, by all accounts Olivier himself. He had obviously done a lot of thinking as he came back expressing a 'volonté', a willingness or even desire to try for another baby. He misses being a father and can't imagine himself without children. This is fantastic news! He has been very sweet too in making sure that I know he came home because he loves me and not just because he wants to be a father again. He has said time and again that if it's not possible, then so be it. God, I love him.
So onto the whole baby thing. If you have been following my blog you know not to even question this decision as one of 'trying to replace William'. If you have lost a child, or experienced grief at all I suspect, you know you can never, ever replace a lost one. But William represented a bond between us all and he was also Olivier's only child. We are forced into precipitating these discussions due to my age. I am 44 years old, nearly 45 and, believe me, the nearly counts. Every month counts now. I am at the twilight of my fertility, in fact closer to midnight than dusk. You want raw statistics? My chances of conceiving are 0 to 5% (both naturally and with IVF so that's off the list). Then to actually carry a baby to term...
But as someone who sees things very much in black and white and who is also pretty dynamic, I needed concrete facts, evidence of my current fertility situation. Is it worth trying or should we give up? I have finally found a gynaecologist (this is who deals with baby-planning in France, rather than an obstetrician etc) who understands our need to have a baby, is very knowledgeable and is willing to help us. In fact, when I first went to see him and explained my situation, he immediately offered me the LH (Luteinising Hormone) fertility test, which, combined with the FSH (Follicle Stimulating Hormone) test, gives an older woman a pretty good idea of whether they are still fertile and if so, how long they have left. This is the test the so called 'specialist' gynaecologist in Montpellier told me didn't exist!
I get the results for these tests on Friday, at which point he will also check my ovulation. Friday is a big day. I am excited but nervous. My last check was in July when my FSH was fine and my ovulations really good. But a lot can happen in 6 months at my age.. I am under no illusion that he could say forget it. If all the news is negative there is one option left to us if I want to carry my own baby - egg donation in Spain (although this wouldn't technically be 'my' baby genetically, of course). Obviously we'd prefer not to have to go down this route if possible, but we're not ruling it out either. We'll cross that conversational bridge of decision if and when we get there.
As for life since Olivier has been home. Well, sometimes it's been tougher for us both. We are a constant reminder to each other of what we've lost. When it was just Izzy and me here, it was so different, it was almost like we could pretend that it had always just been the two of us. With the three of us here, William's absence is tangible. That empty place at the kitchen table looms at us. However we try and spread three chairs, they never cover enough of the diameter of the round table to fill it. But things are improving. At first, one of us would break down at the table at least once or twice a week but now we have melancholy, staring-into-space moments but are able to much more easily hold back the tears.
Christmas was subdued. We had our little tree. Izzy had her Christmas. As usual, Izzy kept us going. Bless her. Over the Christmas holidays the hardest times were when she wasn't here to keep us occupied. We planned Christmas carefully. Christmas Eve Olivier's family came over to eat which was really lovely. Izzy and I had made our own crackers with loo-roll insides and eBay-ordered snaps from the UK (although you can't order crackers to be sent by post due to the fact they are explosives! Weird.) which they loved. We somehow didn't feel we had the right to snap crackers UNLESS we had made them ourselves. It's hard to explain, but it's all to do with the validation of fun. It cannot be flippant, it has to be earned or validated...
Christmas morning was hard. Fortunately Izzy came into us with her stocking, so we didn't have to get up and only go into one bedroom. Then it was the hustle and bustle of the morning and before we knew it, it was time to drop her at her dad's for the week and we were off to very good friends of ours (two couples and their late-teen, grown-up children) for lunch with them. The day was actually really good fun (see? I can say that with much less guilt now - progress) - we were out of the house, somewhere we'd never had Christmas before, in someone else's Christmas in fact - all these things helped us step outside of the potentially sad day that it could have been. We were occupied with charades and Who Am I? all afternoon and then suddenly it was time to head off home. Boxing Day was spent at Olivier's dad's house so that day was filled (my first time back there). It was the next day that was hard. Suddenly an empty house, nothing to do.
We bumbled along until the Saturday night, when good friends of ours got married. We managed the apéritifs and then got to the reception ok but there were so many little children there, being tired and needy as it was getting late, and being cuddled by their mummies, including one on our table with a little boy, that I couldn't bear it and couldn't stop crying so we had to come home. Too soon for a wedding I think.
I should add in here that due to the fact that Olivier had come home, and we were intending to try for a baby, my psychiatrist had decided to use this moment of happiness to wean me off the pills. Let me tell you; it didn't work. By New Year's Eve I was a wreck. I almost physically felt my wall of protection crumbling. We went away for NYE - drove up into the Pyrenees, thinking that we didn't want to be sitting at home on our own, staring at each other or the box and thinking about what might have been. So we drove up to a little village near Font Romeu and booked a long French NYE dinner in a lovely restaurant in Font Romeu itself. Which we subsequently had to cancel because I was just too upset and didn't think I could sit through a meal in public.
It was odd because I wasn't prepared to feel so bloody sad on NYE. I had this gut-wrenchingly sad feeling that I was leaving William in 2012; that by entering a year that he'd never lived in I was somehow leaving him behind. Being completely off the pills by this point I am sure did not help. I think it was too soon and completely the wrong time to come off them.
When we got back home I called my psychiatrist and he was very good, suggesting I went back on the pills at a lower dose (my dose wasn't very high anyway thank goodness) and then we'd discuss coming off them again when we know where I am with my fertility. There's no point coming off the pills too early and being depressed if there is no chance of becoming pregnant. So first things first.
After that, of course, came William's birthday on the 11th January. It would have been his third. We were prepared mentally, although it was of course (how could it not be?) a very sad day. After school we all went up to the cemetery to 'see' him. Izzy took some arts and crafts bits she'd made for him, I took him a birthday card. I hadn't planned to, I just thought I would at the last minute. I opened it when we got there and left it propped on the tomb, amongst all the lovely plants and white flowers growing in pots there. Later on that evening, at dusk, we lit lanterns in the garden. Several of my friends also lit candles for William for his birthday and I thank them for that. I didn't ask them to do that, they just did and I think that is totally wonderful.
Then, on 19th January, it was Izzy's birthday and that hit me with such an unexpected force that I was quite stunned with the physicality of the sense of loss of William that day. It suddenly hit me that we'd never do all the things we were doing with Izzy, with William. I just wasn't prepared so the emotions battered their way through my wall and hounded me all day.
I'd like to say that's a brief resumé of how we've spent the last two months, but it's by no means brief! To summarise: we are back together as a family and working on keeping it that way which is something I never thought would happen and I am so happy it did. We still miss our baby boy more than ever. Some moments are harder than others. I've come to realise that PMT changes me and throws me back several steps too, which is what it felt like when I came off the pills. Incidentally, yesterday I halved my dose to 5mg - next step zero. If by some miracle I'm fertile, and the doc says ok yes, well your fertile moment will be at precisely 14.27pm next Wednesday, and there is any chance whatsoever of conceiving, then I want to be off these bloody chemicals.
What we are hoping against hope for is that I am fertile, I can and DO become pregnant and that happy pregnancy hormones take the place of the happy pills. Roll on Friday.
So onto the whole baby thing. If you have been following my blog you know not to even question this decision as one of 'trying to replace William'. If you have lost a child, or experienced grief at all I suspect, you know you can never, ever replace a lost one. But William represented a bond between us all and he was also Olivier's only child. We are forced into precipitating these discussions due to my age. I am 44 years old, nearly 45 and, believe me, the nearly counts. Every month counts now. I am at the twilight of my fertility, in fact closer to midnight than dusk. You want raw statistics? My chances of conceiving are 0 to 5% (both naturally and with IVF so that's off the list). Then to actually carry a baby to term...
But as someone who sees things very much in black and white and who is also pretty dynamic, I needed concrete facts, evidence of my current fertility situation. Is it worth trying or should we give up? I have finally found a gynaecologist (this is who deals with baby-planning in France, rather than an obstetrician etc) who understands our need to have a baby, is very knowledgeable and is willing to help us. In fact, when I first went to see him and explained my situation, he immediately offered me the LH (Luteinising Hormone) fertility test, which, combined with the FSH (Follicle Stimulating Hormone) test, gives an older woman a pretty good idea of whether they are still fertile and if so, how long they have left. This is the test the so called 'specialist' gynaecologist in Montpellier told me didn't exist!
I get the results for these tests on Friday, at which point he will also check my ovulation. Friday is a big day. I am excited but nervous. My last check was in July when my FSH was fine and my ovulations really good. But a lot can happen in 6 months at my age.. I am under no illusion that he could say forget it. If all the news is negative there is one option left to us if I want to carry my own baby - egg donation in Spain (although this wouldn't technically be 'my' baby genetically, of course). Obviously we'd prefer not to have to go down this route if possible, but we're not ruling it out either. We'll cross that conversational bridge of decision if and when we get there.
As for life since Olivier has been home. Well, sometimes it's been tougher for us both. We are a constant reminder to each other of what we've lost. When it was just Izzy and me here, it was so different, it was almost like we could pretend that it had always just been the two of us. With the three of us here, William's absence is tangible. That empty place at the kitchen table looms at us. However we try and spread three chairs, they never cover enough of the diameter of the round table to fill it. But things are improving. At first, one of us would break down at the table at least once or twice a week but now we have melancholy, staring-into-space moments but are able to much more easily hold back the tears.
Christmas was subdued. We had our little tree. Izzy had her Christmas. As usual, Izzy kept us going. Bless her. Over the Christmas holidays the hardest times were when she wasn't here to keep us occupied. We planned Christmas carefully. Christmas Eve Olivier's family came over to eat which was really lovely. Izzy and I had made our own crackers with loo-roll insides and eBay-ordered snaps from the UK (although you can't order crackers to be sent by post due to the fact they are explosives! Weird.) which they loved. We somehow didn't feel we had the right to snap crackers UNLESS we had made them ourselves. It's hard to explain, but it's all to do with the validation of fun. It cannot be flippant, it has to be earned or validated...
Christmas morning was hard. Fortunately Izzy came into us with her stocking, so we didn't have to get up and only go into one bedroom. Then it was the hustle and bustle of the morning and before we knew it, it was time to drop her at her dad's for the week and we were off to very good friends of ours (two couples and their late-teen, grown-up children) for lunch with them. The day was actually really good fun (see? I can say that with much less guilt now - progress) - we were out of the house, somewhere we'd never had Christmas before, in someone else's Christmas in fact - all these things helped us step outside of the potentially sad day that it could have been. We were occupied with charades and Who Am I? all afternoon and then suddenly it was time to head off home. Boxing Day was spent at Olivier's dad's house so that day was filled (my first time back there). It was the next day that was hard. Suddenly an empty house, nothing to do.
We bumbled along until the Saturday night, when good friends of ours got married. We managed the apéritifs and then got to the reception ok but there were so many little children there, being tired and needy as it was getting late, and being cuddled by their mummies, including one on our table with a little boy, that I couldn't bear it and couldn't stop crying so we had to come home. Too soon for a wedding I think.
I should add in here that due to the fact that Olivier had come home, and we were intending to try for a baby, my psychiatrist had decided to use this moment of happiness to wean me off the pills. Let me tell you; it didn't work. By New Year's Eve I was a wreck. I almost physically felt my wall of protection crumbling. We went away for NYE - drove up into the Pyrenees, thinking that we didn't want to be sitting at home on our own, staring at each other or the box and thinking about what might have been. So we drove up to a little village near Font Romeu and booked a long French NYE dinner in a lovely restaurant in Font Romeu itself. Which we subsequently had to cancel because I was just too upset and didn't think I could sit through a meal in public.
It was odd because I wasn't prepared to feel so bloody sad on NYE. I had this gut-wrenchingly sad feeling that I was leaving William in 2012; that by entering a year that he'd never lived in I was somehow leaving him behind. Being completely off the pills by this point I am sure did not help. I think it was too soon and completely the wrong time to come off them.
When we got back home I called my psychiatrist and he was very good, suggesting I went back on the pills at a lower dose (my dose wasn't very high anyway thank goodness) and then we'd discuss coming off them again when we know where I am with my fertility. There's no point coming off the pills too early and being depressed if there is no chance of becoming pregnant. So first things first.
After that, of course, came William's birthday on the 11th January. It would have been his third. We were prepared mentally, although it was of course (how could it not be?) a very sad day. After school we all went up to the cemetery to 'see' him. Izzy took some arts and crafts bits she'd made for him, I took him a birthday card. I hadn't planned to, I just thought I would at the last minute. I opened it when we got there and left it propped on the tomb, amongst all the lovely plants and white flowers growing in pots there. Later on that evening, at dusk, we lit lanterns in the garden. Several of my friends also lit candles for William for his birthday and I thank them for that. I didn't ask them to do that, they just did and I think that is totally wonderful.
Then, on 19th January, it was Izzy's birthday and that hit me with such an unexpected force that I was quite stunned with the physicality of the sense of loss of William that day. It suddenly hit me that we'd never do all the things we were doing with Izzy, with William. I just wasn't prepared so the emotions battered their way through my wall and hounded me all day.
I'd like to say that's a brief resumé of how we've spent the last two months, but it's by no means brief! To summarise: we are back together as a family and working on keeping it that way which is something I never thought would happen and I am so happy it did. We still miss our baby boy more than ever. Some moments are harder than others. I've come to realise that PMT changes me and throws me back several steps too, which is what it felt like when I came off the pills. Incidentally, yesterday I halved my dose to 5mg - next step zero. If by some miracle I'm fertile, and the doc says ok yes, well your fertile moment will be at precisely 14.27pm next Wednesday, and there is any chance whatsoever of conceiving, then I want to be off these bloody chemicals.
What we are hoping against hope for is that I am fertile, I can and DO become pregnant and that happy pregnancy hormones take the place of the happy pills. Roll on Friday.
Monday 3 December 2012
The approach of Christmas
I haven't blogged for a while. I keep meaning to, but something stops me. I can't explain what it is. Am I more confused or do I simply have less need to 'share'?
I received wonderful news yesterday from a couple I met at the bereavement weekend - their lost only son's wife has given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. It gave me such joy to hear this news. New life and, I hope, joy for the new grandparents. They will have new names now; they may not hear 'mum' and 'dad' any more, but they will hear 'grandma' or 'nan' or 'nana' and 'grandad' or 'grandpa' or perhaps somehting more personal to them. I'm so happy for them.
As for me, well, my tears are always just below the surface. I still cry at the drop of a hat (or the sound of Izzy's music box that William used to play with all the time, or the sight of a tiny tupperware lid with 'lamb casserole' written on it) but my wall of protection is getting stronger. It's not there to help me forget, just to help me survive. We are having a subdued Christmas this year - we still have Izzy, so we have compromised in small ways such as by buying a much smaller tree than usual (this weekend - we always do it the first weekend of December) and I didn't get all controlling about decorating it evenly all over like I usually do; I gave Isabelle the box of decorations and let her get on with it.
There is some good news: Olivier and I are making steps to get back together again and, although he hasn't moved back in, he stays here a few nights a week. We're taking things slowly. It's less painful to be around each other now and we are finally helping each other's tears. William still has an important place in our everyday lives; for instance, we have bought an advent calender for him. So, as Olivier is here some mornings, all three of us are taking it in turns to open the advent calender on William's behalf. It's sad and hard but somehow necessary. Isabelle will have a present from William at Christmas. We have decided that our little symbol that represents him is a star so she will be getting a hand-made bracelet with a star on it that I hope she will wear without losing, for once! I sign all my letters and cards with our three names plus a W in a circle to represent William. I even bought William a little bouncy ball the other day when we went on an outing to the local planetarium - it's in his bedroom. We are constantly marking his little life and this helps.
I really don't know what I would have done without Isabelle; she has validated my passage through the darkest, darkest days and into something slightly lighter and bearable. I wouldn't have been able to pull myself along and up if it wasn't for her; I would have wallowed I think for much longer. She has allowed me to reach a stage where I can say without shame that I will not let being a bereaved parent define me as a person. My grieving has moved into a very private realm now, and I think this is why I haven't blogged for a bit. It's not about forgetting William. It's about living in his name; making sure that our family gets back on track and that we manage to salvage our family unit and thrive. FOR William. I think, to have lost everything - losing William and then Olivier leaving, has made Olivier's potential return seem such a blessing.
One more thing while I am here. I wanted to recount my first experience, a couple of weeks ago, of meeting someone I knew who didn't know about William. Thank God this took a few months to happen, because it left me completely and unexpectedly floundering. I bumped into a lady who I knew before but had moved to the coast and hadn't been back this way for a while. I was with Bassie THANK GOODNESS. So, after the first hellos, this lady (who was also with a friend) asked how the 'children' were. Not wishing to make her feel awkward, I replied with 'Yes, fine' and hoped we could move off. She then said, 'Of course it's childREN now, isn't it? Because you have two now don't you?' 'Yes,' I replied, thinking please stop now and move on. Then she said, 'And your son? How old is he now? Two and a half? Three?'
At this point I just stopped talking and my fists were clenching and unclenching at my side and I was just swallowing. Bassie, bless her, stepped into the huge void and said, 'You obviously haven't heard. Nicole's son died earlier on this year.' The lady's companion gave a sharp intake of breath and an 'Oh no' and the lady I knew just looked aghast, muth open, not saying anything. It was one of those moments that I will never forget. It is still so clear in my head. Of course, then we found ourselves consoling THEM. I think this is why I instinctively didn't mention anything; to protect their feelings. But that's the first one of those situations now exerienced. Will this experience help me if it happens again? I honestly don't know, but they say the first of everything are the worst, so hopefully it won't be worse than that.
So, talking of firsts, back to Christmas. Christmas Eve was due to be spent just Izzy and I at home so that we could go to bed in our own beds, wake up in our beds and do stockings etc together. Maybe a bit sad, just the two of us, but a balance. No false effort to be jolly, no going away to try to escape the sad feelings (which would inevitably be futile). Just us, at home. Well now, if things go well, Olivier will be with us too which will be fabulous. We may even have a quiet dinner on Christmas Eve with his parents.
On Christmas Day Izzy will go to her dad's after presents and Christmas breakfast here. I have been invited to spend Christmas Day with my friends John and Theo and their family and friends - it will be the first Christmas I have ever spent without my family. But it will be good to step outside the box; do the day differently. I need to.
And then we have William's first absent birthday to face, on the 11th January (he was our binary baby - 11.01.10). In a physical sense, we have lanterns (with stars on them) to light. Mentally, it's going to be agonising.
As my blogging has become less necessary in a cathartic sense, just in case I don't blog again before the season starts, I wish everyone a contented Christmas and fulfillment and peace in 2013.
I received wonderful news yesterday from a couple I met at the bereavement weekend - their lost only son's wife has given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy. It gave me such joy to hear this news. New life and, I hope, joy for the new grandparents. They will have new names now; they may not hear 'mum' and 'dad' any more, but they will hear 'grandma' or 'nan' or 'nana' and 'grandad' or 'grandpa' or perhaps somehting more personal to them. I'm so happy for them.
As for me, well, my tears are always just below the surface. I still cry at the drop of a hat (or the sound of Izzy's music box that William used to play with all the time, or the sight of a tiny tupperware lid with 'lamb casserole' written on it) but my wall of protection is getting stronger. It's not there to help me forget, just to help me survive. We are having a subdued Christmas this year - we still have Izzy, so we have compromised in small ways such as by buying a much smaller tree than usual (this weekend - we always do it the first weekend of December) and I didn't get all controlling about decorating it evenly all over like I usually do; I gave Isabelle the box of decorations and let her get on with it.
There is some good news: Olivier and I are making steps to get back together again and, although he hasn't moved back in, he stays here a few nights a week. We're taking things slowly. It's less painful to be around each other now and we are finally helping each other's tears. William still has an important place in our everyday lives; for instance, we have bought an advent calender for him. So, as Olivier is here some mornings, all three of us are taking it in turns to open the advent calender on William's behalf. It's sad and hard but somehow necessary. Isabelle will have a present from William at Christmas. We have decided that our little symbol that represents him is a star so she will be getting a hand-made bracelet with a star on it that I hope she will wear without losing, for once! I sign all my letters and cards with our three names plus a W in a circle to represent William. I even bought William a little bouncy ball the other day when we went on an outing to the local planetarium - it's in his bedroom. We are constantly marking his little life and this helps.
I really don't know what I would have done without Isabelle; she has validated my passage through the darkest, darkest days and into something slightly lighter and bearable. I wouldn't have been able to pull myself along and up if it wasn't for her; I would have wallowed I think for much longer. She has allowed me to reach a stage where I can say without shame that I will not let being a bereaved parent define me as a person. My grieving has moved into a very private realm now, and I think this is why I haven't blogged for a bit. It's not about forgetting William. It's about living in his name; making sure that our family gets back on track and that we manage to salvage our family unit and thrive. FOR William. I think, to have lost everything - losing William and then Olivier leaving, has made Olivier's potential return seem such a blessing.
One more thing while I am here. I wanted to recount my first experience, a couple of weeks ago, of meeting someone I knew who didn't know about William. Thank God this took a few months to happen, because it left me completely and unexpectedly floundering. I bumped into a lady who I knew before but had moved to the coast and hadn't been back this way for a while. I was with Bassie THANK GOODNESS. So, after the first hellos, this lady (who was also with a friend) asked how the 'children' were. Not wishing to make her feel awkward, I replied with 'Yes, fine' and hoped we could move off. She then said, 'Of course it's childREN now, isn't it? Because you have two now don't you?' 'Yes,' I replied, thinking please stop now and move on. Then she said, 'And your son? How old is he now? Two and a half? Three?'
At this point I just stopped talking and my fists were clenching and unclenching at my side and I was just swallowing. Bassie, bless her, stepped into the huge void and said, 'You obviously haven't heard. Nicole's son died earlier on this year.' The lady's companion gave a sharp intake of breath and an 'Oh no' and the lady I knew just looked aghast, muth open, not saying anything. It was one of those moments that I will never forget. It is still so clear in my head. Of course, then we found ourselves consoling THEM. I think this is why I instinctively didn't mention anything; to protect their feelings. But that's the first one of those situations now exerienced. Will this experience help me if it happens again? I honestly don't know, but they say the first of everything are the worst, so hopefully it won't be worse than that.
So, talking of firsts, back to Christmas. Christmas Eve was due to be spent just Izzy and I at home so that we could go to bed in our own beds, wake up in our beds and do stockings etc together. Maybe a bit sad, just the two of us, but a balance. No false effort to be jolly, no going away to try to escape the sad feelings (which would inevitably be futile). Just us, at home. Well now, if things go well, Olivier will be with us too which will be fabulous. We may even have a quiet dinner on Christmas Eve with his parents.
On Christmas Day Izzy will go to her dad's after presents and Christmas breakfast here. I have been invited to spend Christmas Day with my friends John and Theo and their family and friends - it will be the first Christmas I have ever spent without my family. But it will be good to step outside the box; do the day differently. I need to.
And then we have William's first absent birthday to face, on the 11th January (he was our binary baby - 11.01.10). In a physical sense, we have lanterns (with stars on them) to light. Mentally, it's going to be agonising.
As my blogging has become less necessary in a cathartic sense, just in case I don't blog again before the season starts, I wish everyone a contented Christmas and fulfillment and peace in 2013.
 |
| Christmas 2011 Rip Van William wondering why WE'VE woken HIM up and what this big sock is doing on his bedroom floor! |
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| William sort of meets Father Christmas, 2011 |
Thursday 25 October 2012
A Glimpse Into Izzy's Head
Last night when we had our bedtime chat after reading, both of us lying down on her bed, I told Izzy I had something important and a bit sad to tell her. I asked if she could guess what it was. She replied, "You're never going to have another baby, Mummy?"
I answered, "Well, that's part of it, yes. But the main thing is that Olivier and I are going to divorce."
"Does that mean you and Olivier will never get married again?" (I think she means live as a married couple)
"Well it means that we are still married right now but at some point in the future we won't be any more."
"So he won't come and stay at the house any more?"
"No. Are you sad about that?"
No reply.
"How do you feel about that?"
Quietly, "OK."
"Mummy is going to concentrate on you now, Izzy. What would you rather have, loads of time concentrating on you with you and I doing loads of really fun things and spending heaps of time together or to have a new baby brother or sister who takes up Mummy's time again so there is less for you?"
"A baby brother or sister."
Heartbreaking.
I answered, "Well, that's part of it, yes. But the main thing is that Olivier and I are going to divorce."
"Does that mean you and Olivier will never get married again?" (I think she means live as a married couple)
"Well it means that we are still married right now but at some point in the future we won't be any more."
"So he won't come and stay at the house any more?"
"No. Are you sad about that?"
No reply.
"How do you feel about that?"
Quietly, "OK."
"Mummy is going to concentrate on you now, Izzy. What would you rather have, loads of time concentrating on you with you and I doing loads of really fun things and spending heaps of time together or to have a new baby brother or sister who takes up Mummy's time again so there is less for you?"
"A baby brother or sister."
Heartbreaking.
Wednesday 24 October 2012
Another new chapter
Well. It's been a funny old time since my last post. My long-time friend (we've known each other since we were teenagers) Sean came to stay, ostensibly to provide companionship, friendship and a good, strong pair of working hands to help me get some house jobs done and to help my builder, Alex, with the ongoing bathroom project.
Sean was a breath of fresh air. He would not let me do anything - so chivalrous. When out shopping he wouldn't let me carry a bag, at the supermarket he fetched and then put back the trolley, he made copious cups of tea, emptied the kitchen bin when it was full, helped no end with my jobs list and I even found him mopping after having Hoovered when I came back from fetching Izzy from piano on Saturday morning! He and Izzy bonded immediately (Sean has three grown children) and baked together, played connect 4 together, he read her bed-time stories - and all performed willingly and with enjoyment! Izzy completely blossomed in his company. What a breath of fresh air! What a star!
Essentially, I have been looked after for 12 days. Cared for. Hugged as I wept my regular William tears into his big, broad shoulders. And how nice it was! I have spent six weeks begging and cajoling Olivier to come home; working hard at trying to repair my marriage, as you all know by following this blog. Well these last few days have allowed me to see slightly clearer. IS that what I REALLY need to do? However much I begged, my husband could not or would not budge, advance, see the future more clearly. Six weeks of hearing 'I don't know' to every question I had for him. Six weeks of him saying that he didn't see how we could pull it back after losing William. And four months of hearing that he will never have another child.
I know that six weeks is not long in the grand scheme of things and especially as I have this mantra swirling arond in my head that you mustn't make big decisions within a year of loss, but it has been nearly four months now since we lost William and it's become demeaning and dispiriting to keep battling and not even advance a little. In fact, I feel that Olivier has been slowly pulling back. While Sean was here, he refused to come to the house. If he loved me, surely he would be here every day, battling his corner while there was another alpha male in concurrence? But instead he stayed away.
So yesterday Sean left and Olivier finally came to the house, supposedly for dinner but we never got that far. We chatted, I told him I didn't think our marriage could survive. I won't go into details as that is too personal and not fair on Olivier, who I still love and have a huge amount of respect for, but I had finally seen a benchmark of family functionality while Sean was here, and this removed the blinkers from my eyes. I had had my engagement ring repaired recently (the pearl had lost its sheen and I'd lost a diamond out of it in the mélée of William's accident - more symbolism). This was with a view to show Olivier and say, 'Look! I got the ring repaired. You mean the world to me. Come on, let's make this work.' Instead, as he took the proffered band and said, 'Oh, you got the ring repaired', before handing it back to me I found myself saying, 'Keep it. It's over.'
You don't need to know the rest, but eventually I was alone in the house. Strangely elated, but I knew I was on one of those false adrenalin highs. This soon turned into utter despair as I wept now for the the loss of my marriage, my assured future, my family life... But the phone started and didn't stop all night. Various friends called and buoyed me and I am now back in touch with one of my best and dearest friends, Di with whom I'd fallen out a few years ago for a daft reason. Di lives just outside Malaga with her 5-year old son and has invited Izzy and I to visit, so today I booked tickets for a few days in the school holidays. It will be so good to see her.
One more thing - I finally downloaded and started my on-line TEFL course yesterday which I feel GREAT about. I'm going to give this my all. I'm off to lunch today with a friend, Teena, who is an English teacher here and hopefully she can give me some pointers.
Progress, advancing. But I have to admit that today the heartache is back there, physical symptoms of emotional pain. A completely valid need to mourn the end of my marriage now too. So much has changed in such a short time. But I owe it to William to make sure that Isabelle and I are content, fulfilled and even happy - it's what he would have wanted.
Sean was a breath of fresh air. He would not let me do anything - so chivalrous. When out shopping he wouldn't let me carry a bag, at the supermarket he fetched and then put back the trolley, he made copious cups of tea, emptied the kitchen bin when it was full, helped no end with my jobs list and I even found him mopping after having Hoovered when I came back from fetching Izzy from piano on Saturday morning! He and Izzy bonded immediately (Sean has three grown children) and baked together, played connect 4 together, he read her bed-time stories - and all performed willingly and with enjoyment! Izzy completely blossomed in his company. What a breath of fresh air! What a star!
Essentially, I have been looked after for 12 days. Cared for. Hugged as I wept my regular William tears into his big, broad shoulders. And how nice it was! I have spent six weeks begging and cajoling Olivier to come home; working hard at trying to repair my marriage, as you all know by following this blog. Well these last few days have allowed me to see slightly clearer. IS that what I REALLY need to do? However much I begged, my husband could not or would not budge, advance, see the future more clearly. Six weeks of hearing 'I don't know' to every question I had for him. Six weeks of him saying that he didn't see how we could pull it back after losing William. And four months of hearing that he will never have another child.I know that six weeks is not long in the grand scheme of things and especially as I have this mantra swirling arond in my head that you mustn't make big decisions within a year of loss, but it has been nearly four months now since we lost William and it's become demeaning and dispiriting to keep battling and not even advance a little. In fact, I feel that Olivier has been slowly pulling back. While Sean was here, he refused to come to the house. If he loved me, surely he would be here every day, battling his corner while there was another alpha male in concurrence? But instead he stayed away.
So yesterday Sean left and Olivier finally came to the house, supposedly for dinner but we never got that far. We chatted, I told him I didn't think our marriage could survive. I won't go into details as that is too personal and not fair on Olivier, who I still love and have a huge amount of respect for, but I had finally seen a benchmark of family functionality while Sean was here, and this removed the blinkers from my eyes. I had had my engagement ring repaired recently (the pearl had lost its sheen and I'd lost a diamond out of it in the mélée of William's accident - more symbolism). This was with a view to show Olivier and say, 'Look! I got the ring repaired. You mean the world to me. Come on, let's make this work.' Instead, as he took the proffered band and said, 'Oh, you got the ring repaired', before handing it back to me I found myself saying, 'Keep it. It's over.'
You don't need to know the rest, but eventually I was alone in the house. Strangely elated, but I knew I was on one of those false adrenalin highs. This soon turned into utter despair as I wept now for the the loss of my marriage, my assured future, my family life... But the phone started and didn't stop all night. Various friends called and buoyed me and I am now back in touch with one of my best and dearest friends, Di with whom I'd fallen out a few years ago for a daft reason. Di lives just outside Malaga with her 5-year old son and has invited Izzy and I to visit, so today I booked tickets for a few days in the school holidays. It will be so good to see her.
One more thing - I finally downloaded and started my on-line TEFL course yesterday which I feel GREAT about. I'm going to give this my all. I'm off to lunch today with a friend, Teena, who is an English teacher here and hopefully she can give me some pointers.
Progress, advancing. But I have to admit that today the heartache is back there, physical symptoms of emotional pain. A completely valid need to mourn the end of my marriage now too. So much has changed in such a short time. But I owe it to William to make sure that Isabelle and I are content, fulfilled and even happy - it's what he would have wanted.
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