Last night I watched the first episode in the documentary/reality series "Keeping Australia Live". The series focuses on healthcare in Australia and how it impacts our lives. One of the stories in the episode followed a couple who were trying, as many do, to have a child but the only way that was going to happen was through IVF. During the episode the woman was told her IVF treatment had failed. Her grief was overwhelming, you could almost see her slumping to the floor based on the jagged crying and denials that were issuing from the phone. The IVF specialist delivering the bad news obviously felt for her.
This despair was balanced out by another story following a mother of 3, who had decided to donate her eggs so that another woman could have the chance to become a mother. Her altruistic gesture was one of generosity and from a place where she had children and wanted another woman to be able to experience what she had. She too, cried. Possibly tears of grief for the children she was giving up, or overwhelming feelings of sadness for the woman who's only hope was to receive an egg from another woman.
I met my husband when I was on the cusp of 30. He took a year to move to the state I live in and then 2 years to propose and then another year to organise the wedding and get married so by the time we were in a position to start trying to have children I was 34. Then we tried for a couple of years with no result. At 37 we found out that we couldn't have children. It wasn't a huge surprise - I have "issues" and it was always going to be a challenge for me to carry a baby to full term. But when the specialist said (after the investigation) "your insides are a mess" well that was it. We could have had surgery to try and fix some of the problems but there was no guarantee that would work.
To be honest I've never had an overwhelming desire to have children, but to not have the option at all was tough. We told all our friends and family so they didn't have to wonder. The first time I went into a baby shop, after getting our news, to buy a good friend a special gift for her first born was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. As was hearing from friends and family they were pregnant - a mix of joy for them and envy as well. Holding a baby for the first time was quick "let's get this over with" process (I could cuddle them for hours now). As a frustrated dancer I would have loved to have been a dance mum! Or to have a son who, potentially, could have played rugby (union, of course) for Australia!
But there is an upside. My husband has stood by me (I did give him the option of leaving). As time as passed we've discovered that he also has "issues" and our combined issues could have made life interesting for any children we had. We love watching our nieces, nephews and friends children developing in to beautiful young men and women. We are able to act as a safe haven for them and their parents.
So, to the woman trying to have a baby I hope you succeed, but I also hope you can choose when enough is enough. And that you can embrace your childfree life. You will mourn the children you could never had but don't let it define you, because children grow up to become adults and move on to their own lives, sometimes leaving you alone. (One of my ongoing sources of anxiety is who will look out for me as I age as I now look out for my own parents.)
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Going with flow
We had to travel interstate for a funeral recently. The funeral was on the Sunday of a long weekend so that was good, only 1 work day would be lost. Or so we thought.
The rain fell solidly for the first three days of our trip. On the day of funeral we woke early (we were staying on a farm some distance from the city where the funeral was to be), and decided to drive around to see what was happening. One crossing, over a creek that flows from town, was already cut and it was only 6.30am. We decided to drive to town to see what was happening and, not unsurprisingly, there was water over the road at the only exit out of town. Quickly driving home we packed and left with minimal goodbyes, which felt wrong. If we'd left half an hour later I doubt we would have been able to get through town and make it to the city.
The weather that day was appalling. As our good friend said in his eulogy for his father "it felt like nature was screaming". People had travelled from interstate to be at the funeral and were unable to make it from the capital up to the inland city. We knew we couldn't make it back to the farm, so booked into a hotel.
That evening we went to a fabulous Turkish restaurant for dinner - possibly the only restaurant open in the city on that wild Sunday night. We toasted our friend and ate delicious food. Returning to our hotel we were told there was no power. The power didn't come on at all that night so, after a restless night, we got up early and headed back through thick fog to the farm.
We were meant to be heading home the next day, but we already knew we couldn't make it back to the airport. Flights were changed (someone was looking after us - I'd purchased fully flexible fares so no cost to change), car hire extended and we waited out the deluge. Come Tuesday morning we did a bit of a drive around looking at the swollen creeks, marvelling at the power of nature.
It was a weird break. We were sad that we had to attend a funeral, but looking forward to spending time with family, all tempered with anxiety about the weather. Not relaxing. Our sleep patterns were all over the place - going to bed early, waking early. Perhaps the greyness made our bodies think it was winter?
The rain fell solidly for the first three days of our trip. On the day of funeral we woke early (we were staying on a farm some distance from the city where the funeral was to be), and decided to drive around to see what was happening. One crossing, over a creek that flows from town, was already cut and it was only 6.30am. We decided to drive to town to see what was happening and, not unsurprisingly, there was water over the road at the only exit out of town. Quickly driving home we packed and left with minimal goodbyes, which felt wrong. If we'd left half an hour later I doubt we would have been able to get through town and make it to the city.
The weather that day was appalling. As our good friend said in his eulogy for his father "it felt like nature was screaming". People had travelled from interstate to be at the funeral and were unable to make it from the capital up to the inland city. We knew we couldn't make it back to the farm, so booked into a hotel.
That evening we went to a fabulous Turkish restaurant for dinner - possibly the only restaurant open in the city on that wild Sunday night. We toasted our friend and ate delicious food. Returning to our hotel we were told there was no power. The power didn't come on at all that night so, after a restless night, we got up early and headed back through thick fog to the farm.
We were meant to be heading home the next day, but we already knew we couldn't make it back to the airport. Flights were changed (someone was looking after us - I'd purchased fully flexible fares so no cost to change), car hire extended and we waited out the deluge. Come Tuesday morning we did a bit of a drive around looking at the swollen creeks, marvelling at the power of nature.
It was a weird break. We were sad that we had to attend a funeral, but looking forward to spending time with family, all tempered with anxiety about the weather. Not relaxing. Our sleep patterns were all over the place - going to bed early, waking early. Perhaps the greyness made our bodies think it was winter?
Monday, January 21, 2013
Sponteneity
This morning I had several chores needing to be accomplished - buy a new dress for a funeral we're going to, buy sandals to match the dress, buy a birthday gift for my sister in law. I'd achieved the first two and was heading off to begin the third when I bumped into the children of a friend of mine. Their mother was in the Apple store trying to get her computer woes sorted. Knowing my friend I thought this could take some time (she seems to have ongoing computer woes that mystify me, but some people have that sort of relationship with technology!)
As an aside, on the way back to the store, when we were agreeing that technology and my friend don't mesh well her kids helpfully told me that she had once gone to the Apple store because her phone wasn't ringing. The Apple people told her that her phone was set on silent. I wasn't surprised by this. I don't think her kids were, either. Oh, and my friend is also blonde!
We rocked up and she was on the Apple store phone getting help from someone somewhere in the world. I'd already asked the kids if they'd had morning tea (no!) and neither had I. So I suggested that I whisk the kids off for morning tea - giving her peace of mind and allow her concentrate on trying to get her technology woes sorted.
The kids, knowing I'm a soft touch, had milkshakes and shared a caramel slice. I had coffee and orange and almond cake (that old standby for the wheat intolerant). And we chatted and chatted and chatted! It was lovely! They're 8 and 12. I've known them since before birth. Births which were hard won (their poor father underwent surgery in order to make it possible to have them). One of my treasured memories is standing over the crib of the eldest when she was days old, looking at this gorgeous baby my wonderful friends had created.
They are growing into lovely young people - full of life and optimism. I hope we have more spontaneous get togethers in our futures!
As an aside, on the way back to the store, when we were agreeing that technology and my friend don't mesh well her kids helpfully told me that she had once gone to the Apple store because her phone wasn't ringing. The Apple people told her that her phone was set on silent. I wasn't surprised by this. I don't think her kids were, either. Oh, and my friend is also blonde!
We rocked up and she was on the Apple store phone getting help from someone somewhere in the world. I'd already asked the kids if they'd had morning tea (no!) and neither had I. So I suggested that I whisk the kids off for morning tea - giving her peace of mind and allow her concentrate on trying to get her technology woes sorted.
The kids, knowing I'm a soft touch, had milkshakes and shared a caramel slice. I had coffee and orange and almond cake (that old standby for the wheat intolerant). And we chatted and chatted and chatted! It was lovely! They're 8 and 12. I've known them since before birth. Births which were hard won (their poor father underwent surgery in order to make it possible to have them). One of my treasured memories is standing over the crib of the eldest when she was days old, looking at this gorgeous baby my wonderful friends had created.
They are growing into lovely young people - full of life and optimism. I hope we have more spontaneous get togethers in our futures!
Saturday, January 19, 2013
Vale Barry
We received one of those phone calls today. The conversation quickly went from cheery hellos (on our end) to "Oh no" to "I'm so sorry" to "When's the funeral". I was listening in from the kitchen and my heart sank. All sorts of scenarios were unfolding in my head. The reality was that the father of my husband's best mate had passed. He had cancer, so his death wasn't unexpected, but it was sooner than anyone had anticipated.
We're both deeply saddened. He was a good man. An environmental advocate, an outstanding natural athlete, a man of integrity. His recent passion had been damselflies - collecting, identifying and learning about them. He and his wife had travelled the world, raised three gorgeous daughters and a son and had a gaggle of grand kids.
So, instead of kicking back enjoying the Australia Day break with friends, we're heading off for a celebration of a different kind. On the upside we will get to spend precious time with my husband's family - his father begins treatment for cancer the morning we leave. I fear this is not the last cancer-related funeral we will be attending this year.
We're both deeply saddened. He was a good man. An environmental advocate, an outstanding natural athlete, a man of integrity. His recent passion had been damselflies - collecting, identifying and learning about them. He and his wife had travelled the world, raised three gorgeous daughters and a son and had a gaggle of grand kids.
So, instead of kicking back enjoying the Australia Day break with friends, we're heading off for a celebration of a different kind. On the upside we will get to spend precious time with my husband's family - his father begins treatment for cancer the morning we leave. I fear this is not the last cancer-related funeral we will be attending this year.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
Supporting your friends
I was talking with friend today about attending the funeral of a mutual friend's mother. The friend I was speaking with was amazed that I'd attend a funeral of someone I'd never met. Whilst I had actually met my friend's mother once, many years ago for about 30 seconds, I'm attending the funeral to show my friend that I care about her, and want to support at this time.
Other than sending a card, an email, flowers or calling, I don't know what else I would do to show my friends that I want to offer them respect and condolences at such a difficult time. I'm also interested to hear about this woman's life.
My friend's mother was a respected potter. The National Gallery has pieces of her work in their collection. I have a piece of hers (given as a gift to me years ago). Years ago I went to the last exhibition my friends mother held. Her work was the type that appealed to me - delicate but robust, gorgeous glazes. refined. You could see the confidence of the craftswomen as she had formed the clay.
Other than sending a card, an email, flowers or calling, I don't know what else I would do to show my friends that I want to offer them respect and condolences at such a difficult time. I'm also interested to hear about this woman's life.
My friend's mother was a respected potter. The National Gallery has pieces of her work in their collection. I have a piece of hers (given as a gift to me years ago). Years ago I went to the last exhibition my friends mother held. Her work was the type that appealed to me - delicate but robust, gorgeous glazes. refined. You could see the confidence of the craftswomen as she had formed the clay.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
New Year
Perhaps successful new year would be a better wish. (Our business is going through a major slump and we've spent the last week trying to see if we can make it through to the other side)
Or healthy new year. (My father in law has had a cancerous growth, deemed to a be secondary, removed recently. I don't know if they've found the primary. I fear he's not long for this world). And my husband has leukaemia, which is a cloud that quietly sits above our lives.
Or a fiscally responisble new year (The fiscal cliff is scaring me - perhaps the US will drag us all down. But on the upside our stock market has had the best result for few years and the price of iron ore is on the up.)
Happy New Year - I hope so.
Hot, hot, hot nights!
It's summer in the Southern Hemisphere and, true to form, we're in the middle of what feels like the annual Christmas/New Year's heatwave here in Perth. The trick is to bunker down early, turn on the air con and fans and set your self up with what ever is your fancy - books, tv, games on the iPad (spot the guilty pleasure). Once the heat of the day passes it's wonderful to open up the house and do some outside things that during the day would have been really unplesant (gardening and hanging out washing come to mind).
This weather does make for glorious nights though. Tonight we're celebrating the new year with friends in their gorgeous back yard. They used to have a dog but since Paddy went to the long paddock they have rejuvenated their back yard and now it is a productive little oasis! My friend is a fantastic cook so we will be feasting well, sitting on the cool lawn, looking at the stars.
We were meant to go and spend this new year with other friends "down south" but I've hurt my back and long car trips (or sitting down for long periods) is pretty much out at the moment. My down south mate is making me feel guilty, posting on Facebook how great it would be if we could be together. It would be great, and we will spend other new years eves together, but her posts let me know how much she loves me (and my hubby, too, of course!).
Last new years eve was spent with friends in Brisbane on their back deck. We cooked a Spanish feast that was meant to go for 4 courses but at the end of course 3 we threw our hands up because we were all full! We've recently seen those friends and reminisced about what a lovely evening we had.
We are so fortunate to have such wonderful friendships. They are what sustain us when the going gets tough.
This weather does make for glorious nights though. Tonight we're celebrating the new year with friends in their gorgeous back yard. They used to have a dog but since Paddy went to the long paddock they have rejuvenated their back yard and now it is a productive little oasis! My friend is a fantastic cook so we will be feasting well, sitting on the cool lawn, looking at the stars.
We were meant to go and spend this new year with other friends "down south" but I've hurt my back and long car trips (or sitting down for long periods) is pretty much out at the moment. My down south mate is making me feel guilty, posting on Facebook how great it would be if we could be together. It would be great, and we will spend other new years eves together, but her posts let me know how much she loves me (and my hubby, too, of course!).
Last new years eve was spent with friends in Brisbane on their back deck. We cooked a Spanish feast that was meant to go for 4 courses but at the end of course 3 we threw our hands up because we were all full! We've recently seen those friends and reminisced about what a lovely evening we had.
We are so fortunate to have such wonderful friendships. They are what sustain us when the going gets tough.
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