Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Today, a poem of hope. Here's looking forward to the day "when the snow-drift is gone and the buttercups bloom in its place." Surely, surely, that day has to come.
I Told You, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
I told you the winter would go, love
I told you the winter would go,
That he’d flee in shame when the south wind came,
And you smiled when I told you so.
You said the blustering fellow
Would never yield to a breeze,
That his cold, icy breath had frozen to death
The flowers, the birds and trees.
And I told you the snow would melt, love.
In the passionate glance o’ the sun;
And the leaves o’ the trees, and the flowers and bees,
Would come back again, one by one.
That the great, gray clouds would vanish,
And the sky turn tender and blue;
And the sweet birds would sing, and talk of the spring
And love, it has all come true.
I told you that sorrow would fade, love,
And you would forget half your pain;
That the sweet bird of song would waken ere long,
And sing in your bosom again;
That hope would creep out of the shadows,
And back to its nest in your heart,
And gladness would come, and find its old home,
And that sorrow at length would depart.
I told you that grief seldom killed, love,
Though the heart might seem dead for awhile.
But the world is so bright, and full of warm light
That ‘twould waken at length in its smile.
Ah, love! Was I not a true prophet?
There’s a sweet happy smile on your face;
Your sadness has flown – the snow-drift is gone
And the buttercups bloom in its place.
Monday, April 12, 2010
I've been in a pretty dark place.
But it occurs to me that, broken heart or not, shattered dreams or not, swollen-cheeks-and-mascara-stained-pillows or not, the sun will still come up tomorrow and you still have to get your arse out of bed and get on with your life.
And maybe resilience is about continuing on, 'head bloodied but unbowed'?
Invictus, by William Ernest Henley.
Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.
And bloody hell Sarah. I had no idea you still checked this. Thanks. I love you xx
Sunday, April 11, 2010
I have been trying to get pregnant since:
- She met the guy she is now married to
- She married the guy
- She discussed with me the merits of private health insurance for having a baby and then took out said insurance
- Waited out the year-long 'waiting time' for private health insurance before starting to try
- Trying for three months before getting pregnant
- Having a miscarriage
- Wanting to comisserate with me about how hard 'our lot is' with respect to not being able to have a baby
- Getting pregnant and then having a baby
- Looking after baby for 15 months
- Discussing with me that she is coming off the pill
- Announcing today that she is 10 weeks pregnant with second baby
I have decided to write an honest list of the things that make my life worth living, in the hope that it will make me feel better:
- My cat, who does a running jump from the yard onto my front fence to greet me when she hears my car come down the street
- Spooning with my husband every night, although admittedly not at the moment as I have not forgiven him for his antics during an argument last weekend.
- Expensive red wine in Riedel glasses
- I would like to say my friends but that's not true at the moment as I can't bear to be around their pregnant bellies or their children, or hear any more pregnancy announcements
- I would like to say family, but really, don't get me started on my brother (see earlier posts. He is called Narcissus), I hate how my mother looks at my tummy every time I see her to see if it is growing, and, bloody hell, even my grandmother said to me recently that she is thankful that my cousin has six children because it 'makes up for me'
- Bubble wrap
- The smell of the ocean
- Cooking something really good
- Making someone smile
- Waking up on a Sunday morning and knowing the day is yours
- Crispy flatbreat proscuitto, cheese and mushroom toasties from Cibo
- Dazzling sunsets in the outback
- Getting up early and making tea in a billy while camping
- Laughing (not doing much of that lately but I remember it being nice)
- Freshly washed sheets
- The movie Dan In Real Life
- The book The Bronze Horseman
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Just a quick note to let you know that unfortunately Joey has jumped out of the pouch and I’ve had a miscarriage this week.
I started bleeding heavily on Tuesday and saw my IVF Doc today for a scan. Unfortunately the nurses forgot to tell him that the scan was to diagnose a miscarriage rather than a pregnancy, so he came bounding out of his office asking how the pregnancy was going and if I was enjoying things. I got a bit messy when I explained that much of the pregnancy was down the hall in a hospital toilet.
Anyway, he was actually incredibly sensitive after that and arranged a D&C straight afterwards in the Private Hospital. So I’m home now, being forced to keep my feet up by Cameron who has donned an apron and a nurse’s hat and is busy clucking around me and cooking risotto.
Trina, sorry I won’t be joining you in the bump club at New Years, but I do look forward to meeting You Junior in May.
At least I’ve still got 10 more little Joeys in the freezer and my doctor says that even though I miscarried, the fact that the pregnancy started so well is very encouraging for the future (how’s that for glass-half-full). And it was really nice being pregnant for a joyful seven weeks. Must have been those damn poached eggs. Or, more likely, your dodgy pumpkin soup last week Pip (JOKE!).
Sorry to tell you in an email rather than the phone. But seems that, although I want you both to know, I’m not quite ready for talking yet.
Love you both so, so much. Really, truly. I hope I get to keep you as friends for a very long time.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Be optimistic - it could be my turn. So bought a pregnancy test.
Of couse it was negative. What a waste of $8.
And now I have to go visit my pregnant friend for lunch, even delivering them a baby present.
What fun. No wonder I dread weekends.
Friday, December 12, 2008
I am quite a generous soul, so, clueless Google friends, I will, from time to time, answer your questions for you.
Today's question comes from Mrs Dim, in North America:
Q: How do I announce my pregnancy to my friend, who I know has been trying to get pregnant for some time?
(That was seriously what she typed into the search engine!)
A: Well, Mrs Dim. The answer is simple. You are not really this lady's friend, because if you were, you would have done one of two things:
- Become infertile yourself, OR, if you were too selfish to manage that, then
- Hold off becoming pregnant until your friend becomes pregnant, adopts, otherwise comes to a solution which works for her, moves a very long way away (eg, Antarctica), dies, has a sex-change, or all of the above.
THAT be a friend.
I hope I have been of some assistance.
Dr Barreness. MBBS, BSc (majoring in Twitter, and Bisted)
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Takes me a while to figure out what it is.
It is one of those pee-on-a-stick ovulation kits.
"Thought you should try this," Aphrodite breathes in a low voice, from the corner of her mouth. Like a secret agent.
I nod. I walk away. Gutted.
What did she think my reaction would be?
"Oooooh, thank you Aphrodite, you fertility goddess, you. Here I am, cradling three years' infertility. Multiple doctors' appointments. Transvaginal ultrasounds. Blood tests. A fucking laparoscopy. The medical opinion of half a dozen experts,
"All that, and husband and I didn't realise you had to have sex at an appropriate time to get pregnant. Silly husband and I, had just been sitting on the porch, cups of tea in hand, every day, for three years, waiting for a fucking stork.