I'm just an ordinary girl living in extraordinary circumstances.

September 14, 2005

Baby Steps to Babies

I made my way out of the office, in the midst of fraught turmoil and gerbil anxieties. Unusually for me I am dressed in bright colors-a cowl-necked turquoise blue shirt and a long silk skirt woven with flecks of turquoise and grass green, a peacock in a quiet white suburb. I weave my way to a peaceful working neighborhood in London, where the streets are unfamiliar and my zone travelcard only just reaches. Roadworks are going on-but in London roadworks are always going on-and I make my way to a quiet, unassuming white Victorian home. I knock on the door, and as it swings open I see a man in hid mid to late 50's, dressed in jeans and a linen shirt.

'Helen?'Â he asks, smiling.

'Hi Colin.'Â I reply, smiling back.

I walk into a house smelling of cooking food in a kitchen to the side. Looking around, it's clear it's a house that is shared by many working-type folk, and we make our way up two flights of stairs to a lovely, bright loft extension of pale wood and pale brick and pale light. There are a number of thick black couches spread about, and all of the furniture is of the pale Scandinavian pine variety.

We sit down and talk about the usual things-my name, my age, what I do. What happened that broken January night, and the long dark winter of the unwashed and uncaring, where I met depression and shook its hand before allowing it to run me over like a snowplow. I tell him only bare fragments of me, the basic parts I remember. I tell him how I can step out of myself and watch myself when I am in times of stress or pain. I tell him I have done it often, and sometimes still do.

He tells me it's a basic defensive action, one of the most basic in fact, a defense action brought out of the need to survive.

I tell him its highly effective, but if he can help me get rid of it, it's something I won't miss.

He uses that word a lot. Survive. He tells me a survivor, which I heard in Sweden as well, but I don't think that survival is a choice. It's just what one does.

I tell him it's good he has so many clocks in the room. I have to know the time. Every room has to have a clock, and I have to always be conscious of the time. I check the clock constantly, and when he asks me why I tell him I don't like to overstay my welcome, I never like overstaying my welcome.

We sit there and talk about little pieces of me, and in the end we agree to meet up 6 more times, and after those 6 times we can see if I feel it's helping me or not. If it is, we will continue. Based on the discussion we had, I can't see that it won't be helping me.

I have found my therapist.

In continuing with the Remarkable Week for 2005, today is yet another big day. Just after lunch Angus and I are trekking to the hospital to meet our doctor, to meet the man that will manage my hormones, will watch my ovaries blossom and grow with eggs. This man will set up a schedule with us, he will start medical tests to make sure I am fit to donate eggs and to have IVF. This man is in the driver's seat for our baby's future.

And once again, I am nervous.

We've met him before-we didn't care too much for him personality-wise but he is damn clever, has been doing IVF since it's inception in 1980, and has fantastic statistics. Maybe bedside manners can be overlooked. Maybe it's not important that he's not the kind of guy you'd want to have a beer with, it's better that he's the kind of guy you want deciding if your meds should be upped or not.

Angus feels uncomfortable with the cold clinicalness of IVF, and I can understand that-it must be so much better heading to bed with your loved one and having a roll in the hay to get from Step 1 to Baby. It maybe is a little strange knowing the exact moment you conceived, as opposed to looking at each other across a table and exclaiming 'Oh my God, it was that night we were in Bristol, that one with the Mexican food and too much tequila!'Â But seeing it all on paper somehow eases my mind-if I can touch a paper schedule, it's as though we're one step closer somehow.

Today we are going back to that hospital, back to that quiet wing with the walls full of newborn baby pictures (taunt us or motivate us? Why have all these pictures, do they really think it will help?) I hope that this visit goes better than our last one, I think we see that we need to watch and support each other through this ultimately frightening process.

I have not filled out that sheet of paper that my donated eggs' recipient and baby will receive. I am still unsure of what to say, and something in me tells me this may be the most important thing I ever write ever. I want it to be right, I want it to be something that comforts the family and tells them that the woman behind the sheet of paper wishes them a long, happy, beautiful life.

Last night Angus woke me and we spent a while making love in the darkness of the night. As a result, today I feel stronger and better about staring down the dragons. Maybe it's knowing I have a therapist that I can talk to. Maybe it's knowing I'm one step closer to getting eggs donated and the family of my dreams with the one boy that I want to grow old with (you, and the house, and the duck. Oh yes, darling. I'm getting a duck.) Maybe it's jus the Baby Steps to the Remarkable Week have me on some kind of path that I stare at with Willy Wonka Wonder.

As I left my therapist's (it's nice to say that, actually. 'My therapist'Â. It feels pretty fucking good to say that.) yesterday he called after me. 'You'll have to let me manage the time from now on, Helen.'Â

I smile and look over my shoulder. 'One trust issue at a time, Doc. Ok?'Â

-H.

PS-Many thanks to my kind and sweet anonymous benefactor-this lovely book arrived in the post. It's taken me ages to read, simply because I stare at the pages in absolute awe. Thank you.

Posted by: Everydaystranger at 10:05 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment
Post contains 1132 words, total size 6 kb.

1 I've been reading it for years and I still find things in those pictures. Graeme's pictures are just...yummy. I'm so happy for you that the therapist seems to be working out. I had a feeling it would based on your descriptions of him but it's great to get the actuals on him. ;-)

Posted by: Jim at September 14, 2005 10:46 AM (oqu5j)

2 Can't wait to see the pictures of the duck!

Posted by: ~Easy at September 14, 2005 01:33 PM (NL+Vn)

3 While beginning the healing with your new therapist is most important in taking care of YOU and your happiness, know that the hard work you're doing will strengthen your relationship with Angus and will help you be an even better mother. Some of the hard work I did in therapy long ago has helped me to feel I deserve the precious relationship I have now. And tell me...was it wonderfully validating to learn that something you probably found frightening is really a "basic defense mechanism?" I experienced something similar and thought I was weird or losing it...it was such a relief to learn that was actually "normal" considering what had happened. Though I don't know you, if you were here, I'd hug you. So proud of you! Peace, Serena

Posted by: Serena at September 14, 2005 01:49 PM (ToHm9)

4 I smile and look over my shoulder. Â“One trust issue at a time, Doc. Ok?Â” You know, I said something very, very similar to my therapist last week.

Posted by: amber at September 14, 2005 03:08 PM (VZEhb)

5 You wrote: . . .but I donÂ’t think that survival is a choice. ItÂ’s just what one does. Au contraire, darling. Every day you get out of bed and keep on breathing is a choice. From one sister who also shook hands with Mr. Depression to another -- I think you made the right one and you continue to do so. Every. Single. Day. xoxo

Posted by: Margi at September 14, 2005 04:37 PM (nwEQH)

6 oh, hooray for a good therapist. that's awesome. xoxoxo

Posted by: kat at September 14, 2005 04:52 PM (xJGrF)

7 Sounds good to me, too. University of Oregon athletic team name is "Ducks." So maybe we adopt you.

Posted by: Old Horsetail Snake at September 14, 2005 04:53 PM (acLa9)

8 Good luck with the IVF, Helen. Maybe Bacon and Egg are going to turn up after all. :-)

Posted by: David at September 14, 2005 05:21 PM (HABmw)

9 No duck!

Posted by: Angus at September 14, 2005 06:05 PM (ApFKI)

10 Margi's right. Survival is a choice, and you seem to be making the right ones. At least this week. I'm excited for you, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed