Sunday, 18 March 2018

Once I was fun

It's been ten months since the medical management of miscarriage.  As I head towards the anniversary of the miscarriage I can feel my anxiety rising.  This time last year I was about to do a pregnancy test following our final frozen embryo transfer.

A year on from that, we are in some kind of limbo yet again as we wait for an appointment at the recurrent miscarriage clinic.  I had all the tests done at the end of October.  It shouldn't take this long to get an appointment; we were initially told it would be about two months.  Four and a half months later and numerous attempts to get in touch with the clinic, and we are still waiting.  I've managed to speak to someone twice.  Both times, almost a month apart, I was told they were still waiting on two test results.  I've been in touch with the Patient Information Liaison Service, and I still haven't really got any answers.  The last time I spoke to someone they said it could be up to six weeks until we had the results back.  He said then that he would chase it up weekly, but we're three weeks into that six and I'm not holding out much hope that it'll happen any quicker.  I actually have a feeling that these two tests have been mislaid, and that it would be quicker to get them repeated. 

As we wait for this appointment, my anxiety just continues to increase, like this clinic appointment is make or break.  Will it inform how we move forward? Yes.  Will we get any answers? Not sure.  Will it help us get pregnant? Probably not.  Will it help us move on? Hopefully.  Sadly, I can think about little else. 

As always, I'm extremely thankful for those around us who are considerate of our situation, who are gentle with us and continue to be, despite the time that has passed by.  We certainly haven't been immune to insensitive people.  Unfortunately, they stand out against a backdrop of wonderful friends.  The thorns between the roses.  I guess there will always be someone who thinks you should be over it by now, who knows someone who is worse off than you, who will not think at all before they speak, who will not inform themselves of the best way to navigate their infertile friends.  And there will be some who don't think they should have to.  

I look back at the person I was when this journey began.  I see the naivety for what we were about to face, and the hope, and excitement at seeing babies, and bumps and baby things.  The plans of what baby things we would have, and how we would handle certain situations.  Now, I don't think about those things at all.  We rarely say, "when we have a child we'll...."  Social situations continue to be difficult.  I like to be very prepared.  I like to know who will be there, where I will sit, and often plan conversations in my head.  I realise that I must sound mad, but I need to know so I can keep it together.  When I'm blind-sided I don't know how I'll react.  With anger?  By crying? 

So you see, this is why it's important to be sensitive to your infertile friends.  (Or anyone with known anxiety and depression for that matter!)  It's not about treading on eggshells.  It's just about preparing them and being informed so that you know how they might react.  Mostly it's about communication.  Chances are that if you talk to them regularly enough, you will know enough to be supportive, nurturing and sensitive, and it won't seem like a big thing, or a chore. 

I am sorry that I am this person now, this person that has to be navigated.  That has to be understood so deeply.  That is so anxious.

I grieve for the person I used to be.