Five days till Saturday, when my period is due. Seven days till Monday, when a blood test is due. I’m terrified. Terrified that this hasn’t worked. This is my last chance, and I don’t want to think about a future without a child. But I know I’ll get through that feeling, if I need to.
I went out on Friday night with a bunch of girlfriends for dinner. When I expressed uncertainty, fear, doubt, one of the girls said, keep believing, you’ve got the power of the collective unconscious behind you, willing this to happen for you. So that’s what I’m holding onto. But by now, it’s either implanted, or it hasn’t. So I’m pregnant, or I’m not.
I have no symptoms, not a one, unless you can call a fat gut a symptom. Or is that just a symptom of the complete lack of cardio in my life lately? The Crinone (progesterone) gel, which I have to squirt up my hoo-ha, seems to do nothing – at least when I was on the Pregnyl the last two cycles, I felt something – sore boobs, lethargy – something at least. This time nothing. Nothing to give me hope. Of course, I still have hope. I hope I’m pregnant with twins. Then I really hope I’m not pregnant with twins – just the one will be fine. But then again, twins? Insta-famiglia – just add water (or a sh!t load of very expensive drugs).
I find myself crying when I focus too much on it. I think it’s loneliness really; perhaps this was an attempt at never being lonely again, and if I’ve failed?
Of course, this time of the year is the hardest to deal with this sort of thing. I have no family in Sydney. Most of the time that’s fine (!), and to be honest, I don’t really want to spend this Christmas with my family, because we are all so… alone. We’re all a bit pathetic really – each of us single. My dad is single. My brother is single. My mother has a “gentleman friend” who won’t commit to her. Can you believe that still happens in your 70s??! God help us. This man is following on from a pattern of men my mum has been involved with since she married my dad. Men who think they know it all, and don’t mind telling you. My dad usually spends Christmas with his brother and family. Who I really don’t want to see because my aunt thinks what I am doing is “dangerous”. Don’t need that around me right now, or ever.
My brother is coming up to Sydney for Christmas though. He took a lot of convincing, preferring to spend Christmas alone and lonely. He hates Christmas, and doesn’t cope too well with life in general. I tell him he’s depressed, he says he’s not. But he is. It makes me so sad that he finds life so hard. Last year at Christmas we had a big fight and I said to him, “sometimes you just need to play the game” (meaning the game we all play to get along with people, to smooth things over, to make life a bit easier). He shouted back, “I don’t know how to play the game. I don’t how to play the game of life.” It’s so awful, to think of him constantly swimming against the tide, constantly feeling that people are rubbing him the wrong way, that life is out to get him, that people are inherently selfish.
I don’t believe they are. I believe people are pretty much good at heart.
Well this was a much more depressing post than I had planned – sorry about that.
On a more positive note, last night we had our office Christmas party. The theme was “tropical” and my boss decided we were going as Gilligan’s Island – with me as Ginger. Except he didn’t tell me till yesterday morning. So yesterday afternoon I raced around to all the vintage stores in Darlinghurst and found a fabulous aqua shift dress with a chiffon floaty thing at the back. I walked in and said to the organiser, “There better be a prize for best dressed, because I went to a lot of trouble.” Anyway, I won, or my team did. See below – I look good!!
“Ginger” with “Maryanne” in the background, and the Opera House. (Any excuse to buy a 60s frock)