Something in the water ..

A few weeks ago, I started volunteering with the British Red Cross. I’m training with them to become a competent First Aid Volunteer and so far, touch wood, its going well. Unfortunately, all indications are that it’s going to take a long while before I can actually go out on duties with them and give local events First Aid cover. Seen as how not only do I need to pass my standard First Aid certificate, but I also have to fill out all the reams of paperwork needed to get my red cross ID… and there’s a lot of it. The one that’s going to take the longest time is the full CRB check (that’s Criminal Records Bureau for you non- Brits). Unfortunately, here in the UK these things are not centralized, and so the check has to be sent to each police district that I have lived in for the past… umm… 5 years I think it is. Only when I get the all clear from all of these can I go on to work with children and vulnerable members of the public, which of course is part of being a Red Cross Volunteer. Now this would not be soo much of an issue except that i have moved at least 6 times in this time frame. Soooo I’m going to be waiting a while … and really that’s quite frustrating when I want to be getting out there doing things.

I’ve been so impressed by all the services that the Red Cross offers even just in my local area, that I wanted to try and do SOMETHING while I’m waiting.  This week I started three afternoons a week in my local Red Cross charity store. I’ve worked several different retail jobs in the past so this is a pretty easy thing for me to do. It’s a small store, not fantastically busy and nowhere near the department store hell of my previous experience. That being said, I don’t like retail work. There’s no way I would take a paying job in that sector because it drives me insane.  I’m doing this to help out the charity. Oh and well it gets me out of the house in a regular routine dealing with the public again which hopefully will help my confidence. I feel I’ve settled-in quite well. It’s a friendly team, easy to get on with, so that’s great.

Even with just my Basic First Aid. I’ve already been listed at the stores Second Official First Aider- something which did not at all faze me until the manager mentioned that in the time she has been there they have had one heart attack and a stabbing right outside the shop to deal with. Funny how she only mentioned this AFTER I had agreed to the extra role. No more stabbings please. Lightening doesn’t strike twice… RIGHT??

There is a reason I bring this up and it’s not all about you clapping me on the back for doing charity work. The amount of heavily pregnant women I serve in this store is STAGGERING. I mean, at least two for each afternoon I’ve been there which is CRAZY when you consider that I’m only really there for 3 hours at a time!  Like I don’t know what’s going on…  Is there something in the water where I live? Are they drawn to my infertileness in the same way cats are drawn to the one person in the room who’s allergic/afraid?  What’s the possibly some event here nine months ago that I missed a wild party that resulted in a lot of drunken sex??  WHATS GOING ON!??

Twice now my manager has joked about emergency deliveries right there on the shop floor and I’ve sat there firmly in the infertile closet biting my tongue and laughing. BIRTHING IS NOT ALLOWED. I haven’t covered that part of my first aid manual yet. In fact I don’t even have the manual yet!

It’s freezing here this week and I’m still taken aback by how little some of these ladies are wearing: belly all out on show for everyone to see.  Not that I have a HUGE problem with it but… it makes my insides twist and a lump in my throat when I sat there watching the shop floor, turn my head and come face to face with the naked baby bump in all its glory, poking out little belly button right in my eye line… how is she not shivering??

Many many rainbow moments this week…

Ali xX

Mothers Day

Today is Mothering Sunday or Mothers’ Day here in the UK so, of course, I’ve been thinking about my mum today. My mum and I are not close.  In fact, truth be told, we don’t have much in common except that we both lived with my dad and we are BOTH amazingly STUBORN.  Yeah, really… try and tell either of us we HAVE to do something – just try – you’ll see what I mean. of course I love my mum and if she needed me I’d be there in a flash,  but I haven’t thought of her house as home really since I was a teenager and seen as our main means of communication recently happens to be one line E-mails. She’s not my confidant. Sometimes I think she doesn’t really know me except of course how to push my buttons (“you’re just like your father” (I AM SOOOOOO NOT!!) “Drama Queen” … and other such things).  We can spend about three days together -  tops – before things descend into ugliness  and we’re pulling our hair out ( faults on both sides here I can assure you). I’m no angel. I get drawn into conflict way too quickly, reacting with my heart, yelling with my mouth before I engage my brain… D’OH so let’s leave my mother for now…

As I was thinking about her today, I started thinking of other women I’ve known in my life; ladies who have become close to me, perhaps looked out for me, perhaps just people I admire from afar but all of them have shaped or affected me in some way and thought me, about the type of woman I want to be. So on this day for mothers, I’m throwing the doors open. These few ladies all deserve a mention!

1) My actual mum ~ yeah despite what I said about her there are plenty of things I admire about my mum; like how she gave up her career when I was born 6 weeks premature and sick for the first 5 years of my life, hospital appointment after appointment, and at least 3 surgeries (that I know of ) in there.   How, during this time, she followed my father and moved to a completely different country (still, by the way, having to travel back to the UK with me alone so that i could have treatment). My parents uprooted on average every 2 and half years! So far my mother has moved house 36 times in her life!  I admire the strength she showed when she left my father even though it left her alone in a foreign country… I’m not thinking the 10 years it took for the divorce to be legal was fun either!

2) My adopted mum ~ actually she’s my best friends mum, but her parents have called me “adopted one” since I was 13 so… yeah my adopted mommy. She too has coped with illness in her life and recently retrained and went back to work. This, and the fact that my best mate turned out so great, already made her totally frikking awesome! On top of that she really treats me no different than her own daughter.  I know she’s always there for me even if I’m awful at keeping in touch (sorry mum!). She has this wonderful gentleness about her – forever warm and encouraging and in all the years I’ve known her I don’t think I’ve ever seen her lose her temper (seriously – WOW). Don’t be fooled – she’s no push over and she’s always frank and honest with her opinion without making anyone feel small. Totally LOVE her!

3) Mrs. Gadget Guy ~ talk about strong woman.  Yeah I know we don’t talk that often but she’s made of though stuff.  I realized that even before we met. I could tell when I read Gadget Guy’s post about her double mastectomy. I can’t even imagine having to go through that.  I am certain I would NOT deal with it so well. to be honest, her story moved me. I read it when I was still in a mess A YEAR after my life changing event.  She’s a survivor who inspires me to cope better and find some strength of my own.  When we did meet, I’ve got to tell you, I was only left more impressed. She’s funny as hell, too, and even though Gadget Guy spent a full week – no 10 days – showing  some random chick from the UK around their city (a chick  he met online) not only did she NOT freak out at the weirdness (heck, I was freaking out), she opened her arms and welcomed me. She gives great hugs btw. Carol definitely earns her Honorary Mum badge

4) Kayak Man’s mum ~ OK this is an odd one but bear with me, OK? I was invited to go over to Kayak Man’s parents for lunch today. I didn’t go and got some rare time home alone!  On the way back apparently there was some discussion about why I had refused. You know, like maybe I don’t like his parents. Maybe I’m scared of his mum (apparently Kayak Man’s DAD is scared too lol). Neither of these is the reason I stayed home.  I like Kayak Man’s parents just fine. I’m not scared of his mother (ok maybe a little ) I think “intimidated” is more the word. I admire her. She worked her ass off as a nurse doing crazy shifts. She’s spent time as a single mother and she’s raised three kids.   Here is a woman who successfully juggled career and kids  with amazing success .and even now she’s always busy doing something, learning something, teaching other nurses, caring for her grandson. She’s like super woman. I don’t understand how she has enough hours in the day! It freaks me the heck out that if she judges me by her ridiculously high standards, all I will ever do is fail to impress.

Now if only I could look to these ladies  lives,  keep them in my sights as role models and learn even a little from each…  I would be a much better , stronger, more successful woman.

Happy Mothers Day to you all … You SOO RAWK!

Love Ali xX

K.S. time home alone… quiet peaceful time… without Star Trek on TV = BLISS !

Infertility bites.

Lost… alone… overwhelmed… feeling like I could break down in tears at any moment. I’m weak today. Sometimes I have days like this when the world seems so big, impersonal and unfair.  I feel invisible even when people are around me, like I can’t connect with them somehow, as if there’s an invisible barrier between me and them like a comic book force field or a pain of glass. I can see the world I know. It was sunny today. I heard the bird song through the open window.  I even went out, even if it wasn’t to the beach like originally planned. Nothing particularly bad happened.  There was no catastrophic event.  No panic attack. I ate all my meals and I slept just fine last night.

So, why do I feel so numb… why did I come home intending to tidy the bomb site I now call my home and find myself completely unable to act -  not knowing where to begin. time just passing…

PCOS makes me tired. The list of problems and challenges feels so big that some days I can’t see the point. I often think what I would give for one day off, one day without having to worry. if people can notice the stubble yet or face the automatic assumption that I’m lazy and I don’t care or that I must be killing myself with junk food when nobodies looking just because I’m overweight if one more person tells me (hmm you’ve gained a little or thinks its ok to poke my stomach ‘cause they’re just “playing” I’m not sure if I’ll collapse in a heap or scream blue murder).  I wonder what it would be like to watch kids paying in the park or a mum with a new baby and smile… without the twisting feeling inside. The pang of envy that comes from knowing that nobody will ever laugh watching me with my child. I want to feel happy for them, to giggle at a toddlers never ending curiosity, to hear parents stories of sleepless nights, nappy changes, temper tantrums, even morning sickness, swollen ankles and labour… take for granted that one day I can share my stories too. It’s only been a couple of years since I was this way, but it feels like a lifetime ago.  Now every memory is tainted and leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. I fear that its quietly destroying my soul making me a bitter and jealous person that I don’t want to be.

I’m 26 for goodness sake.  I should be out there enjoying life – partying, traveling, and going on crazy adventures. Ok maybe just holding down a job and trying to make a home for myself with the occasional dash of excitement.  Instead I already feel like I’m running out of time… it seems so difficult to make anyone understand I’m infertile. It’s just a fact to them.  They feel sorry, they say things like well maybe IVF, maybe adoption… or that its awful  unjust… and even what a good mother I would have made and they move on. Why can’t I move on?  I feel like I have a gaping hole inside me that will never be fixed or filled and the prospect of papering over the cracks for the rest of my life is just unbearable.  Is it crazy that I sometimes wish I had some horrific injury, some scar  or cut or piece of me missing  just some physical representation of the hurt the sadness that is always with me… would being able to see make it easier for others to understand ?

I’m not TTC. I’m not even in a relationship where we’re thinking about it… but how do I face telling a future partner that being with me means giving up being a dad? How can I expect someone to choose me over that? 

This is the underlying issue for me next to this loss of a dream.  Sometimes everything seems so trivial… extra hair is awful, it’s embarrassing and my weight makes me feel ashamed. The list of nasties that we’re at extra risk of is as long as my arm and none of them are pleasant or easy to deal with. The period pains bring me to my knees and when I don’t get them I FEEL WORSE.  I don’t really feel like a woman – feminine or pretty are words that are used for other people unless you’re trying to make me laugh or taking the piss.  As for sexy… don’t even ! 

But I’m sure I could cope with all this… if only I could see the words “I love you mommy” somewhere in my future…

Hell… what am I talking about … I cope… I have no choice… and I don’t feel this way everyday. I’m not always thinking about it… I laugh, I smile, I have fun and I enjoy things just like everybody else.

But then there are days like this… alone, overwhelmed. I just want someone to hold me. I want to let go and cry again but somehow tears don’t come to stop my thoughts from racing.  maybe I’d  feel a little calmer so I can remind myself  that I’ll never find a new purpose  for my life if I stop looking .

I tried to call a few people but for one reason or another tonight they were all busy with their own lives… not that I begrudge them that one bit. The world does not come to a grinding halt ‘cause I’m having a bad day thank God because nothing would get done around here.

Ali xX

K.S.: things can only get better…

Can I have a word……… about a baby.

 Motherhood is hard. It’s a 24 hour job with no breaks. It’s a life long contract it’s draining financially, emotionally and physically… or at least what I have seen of it. I’m not a mother, but from every angle I look at it this gig is tough.

Yet there’s nothing I want more…  not even a Green Card. I’ve wanted to be a mum for as long as I can remember. Remco – that’s the name of my first doll – a baby boy to match the one my parents brought home from the hospital (we called the real one Andrew and a fine brother he turned out to be). I was two. After that came a little girl that cried tiny tears and had the most frightful blonde curly hair. She was from my Granny.  I had a bald Cabbage Patch baby whose head smelt funny that Santa left me one Christmas morning, Finally, I had Rosemary. She was a big baby and I saved up for her all by myself from my weekly pocket money (I didn’t tell them but she was my favorite).  I was nine. After that, my parents declared I was too old for dolls and a blanket ban on new babies was strictly imposed.  I remember them all. I loved them dearly. I only wanted to play the mommy game when I was a kid, much to the frustration of my playmates. What I loved best was “helping” look after my younger cousins.  I pushed Graeme to sleep in his pram when my arms still had to reach up to the handle. I couldn’t even see in to look at him. His mommy gave me the nod as he dosed off “mission accomplished”. I remember the wide eyed amazement I felt when I first saw my uncle cradling a new addition to the family. I just kept thinking she’s tiny. TINY.  No, you don’t understand – really really small. Breast feeding made my head spin. I’m sure I must have creeped my aunt’s out.  I didn’t intend to be rude but was fixed to the spot with fascination staring at them through the thick lenses I had to wear. Would have been a great look I bet.  I EVEN remember the first time I was shown how to change a nappy. How delighted I was that I was allowed to share the help (trust me this is the one fascination I have truly gotten over… yeah).       

I imagined I’d have three kids: A boy, a girl, a few years gap and then the baby of my family.  I even had their names picked out since my teens.

I believed, I was born to be a mum, apparently I was wrong.

If you’ve read my blog at all, you’d know that’s not going to happen for me. The chances are I won’t be a mum… ever (I know, I know. people have told me before there’s always adoption. I love the way they sound so happy when they say it, though the thought of it makes me die a little more inside – I don’t want a baby. I want MY baby. Maybe my outlook will change with time. Here’s hoping)

I’m not telling you all this to talk about myself though. I don’t need sympathy or pity or tissues.  I’m not sitting here crying my eyes out either. I just need you to understand. I know about wanting babies. I know about being broody. Yeah, they don’t turn that off when your reproductive system goes into meltdown. I understand. If you could give me nine months of carrying a child when the time is right for me, you can have the rest of my life. Seriously.

The key for me is “when the time is right.” My dream of having a child is not to have one at all cost. I want to be able to support my children.  I want to bring them into a loving and stable environment. If you offered me the chance to carry life right now, I’d like to think I’d say no. I know it would tear me apart to pass that up but I hope to goodness I’d be strong enough for the baby’s sake.  I’m in no place to look after a child. I’m embarrassed to admit it but I wouldn’t cope.

Don’t take this as me being anti-single parent because I’m not – there are many, many genuine reasons that either parent ends up raising an infant alone  and I have nothing but respect and admiration for anyone in that position. I believe they should be given every support.

BUT … you’re 22 years old.  You have two wonderful children already – a son who’s so smart, a daughter with the brightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen – each depending on you to show them how to fulfill all the potential they were given, each looking to you to nourish and protect them – watching you, learning by your example, with so much love to give you if you would only let them.  They have no father figure, which I know means you have to be both for them. I know that kills you. You’ve been to the edge and I’ve heard you cry. Wished I could be right there to hold you and help you to make things a little better to ease the burden.  I know the fierce love you have for them but I also see the struggle of coping with two young children on your own – the heartache of one living away from you .

I was devastated for you when you miscarried your third child. I was so mad that you didn’t call me, didn’t let me be there, never reached out to me until after the fact.

Now you’re pregnant. Congratulations.

I want to be happy for you.  I want to be able to jump up and down and scream for joy to look forward to your new journey, to shopping for baby clothes and meeting your child.

But there is so much I don’t understand. I thought you were struggling with two? I thought you were focusing on getting your son back with you and not living at your mother’s? I thought you would have learned to be more careful… or did you plan this? Do you want it? Are you really happy?

What about the father? Is he happy… does he want a child? Will he be there for you and the three kids always? How long have you been together anyways? Is a few months long enough to decide to create a life together? From what I can see, he’s so young – I mean in some countries he’s still underage.

What am I missing? What pieces of the puzzle do I need to see things the way you do? Because, right now, I’m angry – angry and hurt. I mean if everything you’ve shared with me is true then I’m so scared by the prospect of another child that, to be honest, I feel like you showed amazing irresponsibility. If it’s not true then you’ve lied to me all this time?

What do you want from me? Someone to listen? You can have that. Someone to care? You know I do. Someone to jump into your arms and tell you this is the best news ever? I can’t do that. I’m sorry. I wish nothing but the best for you and your kids. Always have… and always will. For heaven’s sake I’m not saying you shouldn’t have the child. I would never wish the pain of giving up a child on anyone and I certainly couldn’t ask of you something I would find so utterly impossible any more than I would wish harm on an unborn child. After all, babies don’t choose the situations they are born into. They have to trust that someone else thought about that. Convince me you thought about it.

I have read so many sad stories recently. I’ve been looking, you know, for others with PCOS – someone who might know what I am going though. searching for information, trying to figure out how I can cope, what I should do to help myself – because I need to deal with this and, unlike you, I had no control over what’s happened to me. I mostly found women, couples struggling with infertility, waiting for years, hoping praying to be on the right side of a statistic, desperate for miracle. These people are in stable relationships. They have homes of their own. They have jobs – work for their living and endure terrible heartache. How is it fair that they find impossible something which you seem to take for granted? I find myself wondering if you walked a few miles in their position, would you still have such a casual attitude to the creation of life that you appear to have right now??

It infuriates me, but the truth is the world is not fair. The taxpayers money will be spent on supporting your third child, meanwhile the NHS is refusing other couples fertility treatment. I guess there’s only so much money to go round, huh?  

So, there you have it – the honest ugly truth. I’m angry with you. I’m a little hurt. I’m disappointed. Most of all, I’m confused and I don’t want to go on feeling this way.

Please explain. Make me understand.

 Love  Ali xX

“Children begin by loving their parents ; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.” 

 ~ Oscar Wilde