Isolation and the Curtains

It was around the year 2000, we had ventured into the world of home ownership and a mortgage.  The neighbourhood we moved into had a mix of established families and new families, just like us.

We became quite a tight bunch with parties, BBQs and weekend drinks on various driveways or swimming pools. Many a headache was shared by all.  It was only a matter of time before us young one’s would start to grow our families.  Some might say there was something in the water, within the space of a year, every young family had their first child, except us.

The atmosphere changed as these young mothers and fathers came to grips with their new roles.  Mothers finding comfort in each other as they muddled through caring for their first born.  Fathers contemplating with each other the change to their lives and wives, over a beer on the drive way, except us.

Our time was spent on the IVF treatment roller coaster, buoyed by the Dr’s ‘You have an 80%’ chance, of success at your current age’.

Little did we know of the toll it would demand, financially, emotionally and of our time.  But enthused by our 80% chance, we structured our holiday time around the treatment. Simulating drugs administered at a specific time, to grow those valuable eggs.  Regular ultra sounds to track the growth of the follicles in which those egg resided, waiting for the magic measurement to be achieved so the trigger shot can be administered.  Regular blood tests checking hormone levels to ensure over stimulation has not occurred.  All this time believing we had that 80% chance.

Meanwhile, the babies have grown, the mothers are bonding whilst pushing prams around the park.

Its trigger day, the follicles are mature, it’s time to harvest, so I administer the last injection. From those multitude of follicles we end up with 2 viable eggs.

I can remember coming home after the implantation, feeling numb, I should have been on top of the world, we were going to be one of the 80%.  We hunkered down, battened the hatches and closed the curtains to protect and ensure we didn’t take risks.   From our protective bunker, we watched the world go by, we watched the mothers strolling with their prams, we watched the fathers struggling to fit the baby capsule in the car.

It was no secret what we were doing, we live an overt type of life.  Our neighbours waves developed an apprehensive shudder, almost like they knew we were on tender hooks.

It didn’t work, our neighbours waves became even more hesitant, eye contact began to wane and we kept the curtains closed as we dealt with our pain.

As more failed attempts occurred the divide between us and the neighbourhood widen, through the gap in the curtains we watched parents begin trying to control their children as they chased them around the street.

It is obvious now that as our despair became deeper and deeper, it had an effect on our thinking.  Through that hazed filter, that we didn’t realise was there, we can’t help but think why are we being treated differently, we are still the same people, what have we done?

Obviously we have done nothing but highlighted to our neighbours how lucky they were, through our despair.  I like to think the poor souls didn’t know how to behave and so retreated to a comfortable place as they themselves dealt with how to navigate their lives around us as we kept the curtains closed.

It is true, this journey is a lonely one, but it’s important to remember that there is good in most people and how you perceive their behaviour is not necessarily what they are thinking.

We constantly had to remind ourselves of this as we waded through our despair and it is one of the lessons I give to you.

We no longer keep the curtains closed.

Holiday, Mothers Day and Bianca Dye

It was Sunday 8th of May 2016, we are a few days into a 40 day road trip of the southern USA with friends. We had dropped them with family in northern Florida and we are taking the opportunity to dash down to Key West.

As we woke in our motel on the side of the i10, we adhered to our ritual, having a little time checking out whats been going on in our social media worlds, we accept the fact that social media is a big part of life these days, we embrace rather than ignore it.

The night before, I had read an article by Bianca Dye, an Australian Radio personality, who is going through the IVF process and she summed up perfectly the pain that Mothers Day brings to those like us. (Follow the link below)

When Mother’s Day cracks your heart open in pain.

Ordinarily I read interesting articles to my wife as we lay perusing the virtual world.  But not this day, this day is different.

Bianca’s article touched me, in a strange way, it wasn’t that I didn’t know everything she wrote.  Everything she had shared I had either experienced or witnessed, but it gave me a sense of not being alone.  It showed me that the  gift of sharing could be a salve for others wounds and this was the genesis for my blog.

We are 14 hours behind home and our feeds are filled with all the love of Mothers day. I knew what was going to happen, I could time it, sense it.  I know it’s a cliché, but with the years we have been together, you can almost sense what the other is thinking.

I knew the pain my wife would feel, I knew the tears would roll, I knew she would grieve, again.  Knowing all this, as the grieving began, all I could say was “Whats up?”.

Yes girls, you may view this as a stupid statement of a man who is oblivious to his wives feelings, but let me expand on this.

As far back as I can remember, I was always fending for myself, my formative years were spent in a small English village and the countryside was my playground, be it roaming the fields in summer, building tree houses or cycling for miles.  But through it all ,I along with my friends, were the masters of our own domains.  We would solve problems, like how to build a platform in a tree, or how to stop the sand falling in on us whilst excavating our underground bunker.  Still amazes me that we are all still alive, luck played a huge part I’m sure.

My dad was a shift worker and my mum never drove, so transport was up to me, if I needed to get somewhere I would ride or walk.

Skip forward a few years, we have emigrated to Australia, I have found a group of friends that loved to camp up in the mountains behind the city.  We were 16, with no adult supervision, we walked for miles camping over multiple nights.  Cooking our own food, making our own bedding, constructing our own shelters, it was all up to us.

If you had an issue with someone it was usually dealt with in a boyish fashion, one of us the victor and the other having a lesson in how to deal with defeat.

Girls, are you getting the picture, we are doers, we grow to be  fixers, we see a problem we need to sort it out.  We develop a plan, we see the goal and we work towards it.

Back to Mothers day, I have no plan, I feel useless because I know what is coming and I can’t do anything about it.  With all the skills I’ve amassed in my 49 yrs on this earth, I can not fix this.  And so awkward makes you do stupid things, like say “What’s Up”.

And so I walk over to her, kiss her on the forehead, to let her know she is not alone.