Some of you may remember that I started a blog a few years ago that was well received by fellow arrsers. It got pulled as there was a chance of having it published - sorry about that. *Well, that never came about so I am blogging it again. Below is the opening couple of pages. If you'd like to follow it then you're more than welcome.



Wednesday 18th August 2004

Beth is sitting alone in the conservatory.* I am in the kitchen preparing to go out and collect some groceries or something just as trivial.* I know she needs to talk but I really don’t know what to say.* It wasn’t supposed to be like this; long periods of silence broken only by Beth crying and the dog trying his best to work out what’s wrong.

It should have been a lot easier for the pair of us as we knew the statistics were stacked against us.* However, faced with the reality of the situation, I for one was totally lost to the scene unfolding around me.* You see, for the previous 3 years I had been the support structure for Beth.* I had escorted her to appointments, collected medical supplies, sorted finance when required and, more importantly, been the strong one when times were hard.* In a way, I had divorced myself from the situation in order to look after the patient: Beth.

And that is why I am standing in the kitchen desperately searching for the right words to comfort her.* I am not grieving for the loss of what could have been the child we both so desperately want to love.* She is the one the doctors have focused on.* She is the one who has had to subject her body to daily injections with constantly increasing levels of strength.* She is the one who has endured intrusive procedures whilst wishing she was somewhere else instead of staring at a cold, faceless ceiling.

And I am the Husband.* I am the one who has stood by and watched as she has travelled this path.* She knows she is not alone and that I am there for her whenever she needs me.* But she needs me now and I am lost as to how I can let her know I love her with every ounce of my body and soul.* I am only a spectator, almost an outsider to a show that is playing out in front of my eyes.* If anything, I have a small bit-part; that of a supporter.* There have been times when doctors have refused to make eye contact with me whilst nurses and reception staff have failed to even recognise I am in the room.* And that has hurt.*

But this is not about me, not today.

This is the aftermath of our failed attempt at In Vitro Fertilisation; IVF.

I am trying to make the transition from Support Worker to grieving partner.* I know I need to be with Beth, hold her, comfort her and help her to move forward and look to the future but it’s so bloody hard.

And so, with tentative, almost childlike steps I make the journey and we come together as Husband and Wife, joined in a grief that is just so hard to explain. You see, the thing we have lost, a couple of miniscule cells, was such a small and delicate thing.* What we have lost however, represented so much more to us than we could ever realise.* At the most basic level it was three years of hard work combined with, literally, a considerable amount of sweat, tears, love and prayer.* At the more emotional level, that small group of dividing cells represented the one thing we both desperately wanted more than anything in the world; a child of our own to hold and cherish.

Today was perhaps the hardest day of my life.

Early Days

It had always been our plan to start a family when we both turned 30.* I don’t know why we picked that age; it just seemed to be a good solid number.* Both Beth and I knew that we had things to do before we settled down to ‘family life’ and therefore we both were happy with the plan.

At the time of agreeing this great plan we were both 27 and about to marry.* We had met two years earlier though mutual friends and we were simply enjoying each other as only young lovers can.* She was, and still is, a damn fine Primary Teacher and I was just about to leave the Army following ten years of service.

If the truth be known, we first discussed children and numbers whilst visiting Alton Towers with my parents.* Back then it was so easy, almost naughty, to plan our futures down to the last detail.* Things like where we would live, the type of dog we would have, how I would look after her by writing one Best Seller every two years.* It is fair to say that we were young, desperately in love and keen to get on with our future.

And so, we embarked on our lives together with the same amount of bravado that all young couples seem to posses.* We holidayed in Spain, took up new hobbies and generally enjoyed our time together.* It really didn’t seem like three years had passed before we began to realise that the baby scenario would soon be upon us.

It seemed strange at first, not using contraception, as I for one had spent my whole adult life ensuring that angle had been completely covered.* However, this was the real deal for the pair of us.* It wasn’t for fun, although it was great at the time; this time we really meant business: we were making a life!* Now to some, that may sound a little corny; making a life.* But that’s what it all boils down to: the bringing together of DNA in order to create another Human Being, is the bottom line.* It’s one of the most basic functions we can complete and thousands, if not millions of people do it on a daily basis.

In the early days we were just happy to enjoy the moment, the sheer excitement of the situation and the potential consequences of our actions.* There was no need to worry as we had so much on our side.* Youth, health, a strong love for each other and, above all else, a determination to succeed.* I have to say that it is a wonderful feeling when your partner turns to you and lets you know that she is ready to bear your baby.* It really is a great feeling and one that I will cherish forever.

Over the following six months we began to grow slightly concerned over the lack of progress.* You see, Beth had suffered from irregular and painful periods as a teenager and had therefore been prescribed the contraception pill as a solution.* In fact, her hormone levels were so screwed up it was the only way of re-balancing her.* Therefore, it came as no shock at all when the doctor told us of his slight concern and that he was referring us to the NHS clinic for further consultation and tests.*

I say it came as no surprise although, with hindsight, it was to be the beginning of a long and emotional journey for the pair of us.* It was also the time when I began to experience the transition from Husband to Support Worker.* I am sure it was unintentional but, when I look back, I am sure that’s when it first occurred.

Things soon settled into a routine after that first consultation at Winchester General Hospital under a leading Consultant and his team.* It was here that my feelings of second citizenship began to develop.* For example, when we first met one of the junior members of the team, he was quick to settle Beth down and begin the work up of endless forms and questions.* Not once did he bother to ask me how I was or if I was settled.* Nor did he look at me when confirming my details which were done via Beth.*

At the time I let it pass as I had heard this was the norm when dealing with our type of problem.* Obviously the focus was on Beth as she was the one who would eventually have to carry our baby.* It was, however, the first time I had experienced such behaviour, and as Beth and I left the building, I was aware of a niggling voice in the back of my head that would, over the coming months and years become such an issue that I often found it very difficult to bite my tongue.* Why?* Because I was there as well; travelling along this path beside my wife.* At times I wanted to shout at the doctors just to let them know that I also hurt, was also devastated, also wanted to cry.

If I am brutally honest I was quietly fuming with their behaviour which was both insensitive and arrogant.* It alienated me from the process and, in part, from Beth at a time when we needed to be there for each other.* These feelings of anger and frustration stayed with me for a lot longer than I ever thought they would.* The NHS really need to take a hard look at themselves and how their behaviour is perceived by the very people they are trying to help.

All in all we were under the NHS team for about nine months.* As every cycle came and went we began to realise that, perhaps, we would need to look for other avenues of treatment if we were to achieve our goal.* Whilst the NHS team had tried their best and provided the relevant drugs at the correct times it just wasn’t working.* On occasions, however, I did feel they had to be pushed along in order to arrive at a decision in our favour.* Whilst I am loathe to give them a hard time, I have to say we very rarely saw the same doctor twice and I still feel that had an impact on the way our treatment was monitored.

Beth’s treatment included various forms of drugs, one of which was to be injected at critical times during her cycle. *Prior to this it was tablets but when she switched to injections I began to suffer.* I know it’s a strange thing to say when I am not the one actually being injected.* However, I defy anyone who loves another to sit there and not feel for that person as they prepare a needle dosage and then inject it into themselves in the same place on a nightly basis for up to four weeks.

At this time, and for the first time in my life, I felt an emotion so strong it scared the hell out of me: guilt.

Here I was, sitting in our lounge, trying not to watch Beth inject herself with drugs in order to realise our desire for a child.* And it struck me that, realistically, that’s all I could do.* At times she would swear as it hurt so much.* At other times she remained silent but in considerably more pain that she was letting on.* And, throughout the entire process all I could do was ask if she was OK.* Yes, I felt useless and yes it was devastating.

To deal with this guilt I would often channel it into humour, pretending that I was not watching as I was afraid of needles and that I would faint if I had to do it rather than Beth.* However, in the back of my mind I was asking if I actually would have the courage to do it?* Would I be able to do what she was doing?* I often think about that question, even today, and I really don’t think I could.* And that’s where the guilt lies.* It was at this time that I began to see Beth in a new light; she was as hard as nails and twice as tough.


Also, I recognised that the distance between the pair of us was growing in terms of patient and supporter.* It was Beth who was collecting the prescriptions and administrating exact dosages on a nightly basis whilst I provided humour and soothing words, tea and biscuits.* It was also Beth who suffered the many side-effects of the drug whilst I carried on with the mundane chores of everyday life.

This form of treatment continued for three cycles.* Now, it was a period of our lives where we began to realise that time was measured against Beth’s cycle.* She would inject and, at the optimum moment, I would provide my DNA and we would wait with baited breath.* This was, perhaps, the hardest bit for the pair of us.* However, as time went on we became hardened to the expected result.* We likened it to sitting on a roller coaster as it really was a case of riding the ups with the downs.* Whilst we enjoyed the highs of trying to make a baby, well who wouldn’t, we really found it difficult to deal with the fact that at the end of every cycle we were left with nothing.*

And so, we would begin the whole monthly process again, starting with the visit to the NHS clinic for the normal round of questions and suggestions about the way ahead.* Again, it was during these times that I was almost excluded from the process as Beth was the main focus.* However, I was beginning to fight back.* I began to develop the art of asking the questions as that meant the doctor would finally have to acknowledge the fact that I was actually in the room!* Well, that was the plan.* What happened, however, was that they would answer the question whilst looking directly at Beth.* Damn!

It came as no surprise to the pair of us that the NHS could only take us so far along the path towards babydom.* Finally, after nine months, they decided to call it a day.* The Consultant and his team were good but no good for us.* It was the little things really, such as not seeing the same person twice, not reading notes prior to seeing us and having to be made to explain the whole picture every time we met someone new.* We both felt it was time to move on and that was the end of the NHS.* There was also the small fact that the NHS had nothing else to give us; I think we jumped before they got ready to push.

Over the entire period we spent with the NHS there is one episode that will stay with me for life.* The Consultant, a wonderful eccentric old chap, your typical country gent, complete with red cheeks and comfortable waist was the type of man we should all meet at least once. *One of the only times he spoke to me, he turned and, with a twinkle in his eye, offered the following pearl of wisdom:

“Young man, now is the right time to, you know, add the spice of life!”

MWA

A Life Less Complicated

Well I for one am at a loss for words...

Mate. I'll be straight with you. It's well written but it's not my kind of read....too sensitive and invasive (into your emotions and thoughts-not mine) for me. Engaging though. Probably not in the way you intend it to be, to be fair, but good nevertheless...

Not enough fisting for my liking, but I'm sure MWA knows that already

I would like to know what that Fally chap has to say about this matter.

Like it very much. Thanks for posting.

we had a very similar experience back in the day ,our consultant being the emminent prof Steptoe, a physically and mentally challenging process that in our case did not come to fruition. Life goes on somethings are not to be, at the end of the process some tears were shed, but it was decided that a porsche would suit our image of " no breadsnatcher "couple in their twenties on good money with no worries about having to provide inlaterlife for the rugrats ce la vie.

Originally Posted by revmodes

we had a very similar experience back in the day ,our consultant being the emminent prof Steptoe, a physically and mentally challenging process that in our case did not come to fruition. Life goes on somethings are not to be, at the end of the process some tears were shed, but it was decided that a porsche would suit our image of " no breadsnatcher "couple in their twenties on good money with no worries about having to provide inlaterlife for the rugrats ce la vie.

My mother had the privilege of being Medical Secretary to Dr Patrick Steptoe in the 1960's whilst they were both employed at Oldham and District General Hospital in Lancashire.

She mentioned that he had a type of 'wandering hand' condition that was usually cured by a punch in the bollox.

Thanks for feedback; there's quite a bit more so if I am allowed by the MODS I'll keep posting every so often.

Sorry about the lack of fisting Smudger....I had a tight deadline

MWA

Drugs and Support
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Let’s be clear about one thing. *As you and your wife progress along the path of IVF you will need to prepare yourselves for the one essential item required to make it all happen: drugs, and plenty of them! *Whilst we knew drugs would be playing a big part in the process, it really was an eye opener, to me at least, to see just how much Beth was expected to inject and digest as the days and months ticked by.
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I think the worst thing, as the partner, was the fact that I was unable to take part in this process. *Indeed, it was a very private thing between Beth and the drugs. *I know that may sound rather alien to those who have no love for all things sharp, or small round powdery objects, and you’d be right. *I am sure if the roles were reversed and it was me who had to stick myself with sharp objects then I’d be screaming like a worn brake pad, believe me.
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Another factor that may come as a surprise is the cost. *Whilst we knew it wasn’t going to be cheap, when you get the call from the drug company to let you know they have your order and, by the way, how would you like to pay, you certainly sit up with a start! *I think the amount we spent on drugs for our first attempt was in the region of £1000. *Whilst not a fantastically obscene amount of money, it is a lot by any standard. *It was, however, worth every penny, despite the final result.
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Side effects?
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Oh yes, believe me when I say that side effects are all the vogue when you play with drugs at this level and magnitude. *We were both warned by the doctors that things would be different for a while and, indeed, they were. *I was specifically warned by the doctor about Beth experiencing the first stages of the menopause. *That is to say, hot flushes, sleepless nights, confusion, and short fuses to mention just a few. *I knew that when Beth got a flush she was capable of lighting up an entire room and those within it.
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It would though, be unfair for me to pretend that we had a hard time with the side effects. *Beth was only lightly hit and for that I can only thank my lucky stars! *However, I have had a brief glimpse of the future and believe me when the menopause eventually comes calling, boy is it going to be fun!
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There were two factors that caused Beth great concern; weight gain and knowing the drugs were affecting her in so many ways and being unable to do anything about it. *I also think that her knowing that I knew that she knew that I knew didn’t help either! *All I can advise at this stage is to ride it as you find it. *When your partner is down, be there for her and when she bites your head off, don’t respond in kind. *However, when she complains about gaining weight, you’ll need to call that one yourself my friend; only you will know the right answer! *
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At this stage, the most important piece of advice I can give you is this; learn to laugh about the whole thing. *We found this to be the best medicine available at a time when stress levels are often very high. *But, and this is paramount, always laugh with her and never, ever at her. *That would be very silly indeed. *You also need to understand that it really isn’t her fault and, at the end of the day, she has injected and digested some serious dosages into her body for both of you. *When you need to, hold her hand. *When you need to step back and allow her the space she will undoubtedly need, make sure you move first. *And, when she is ready, when she needs that cuddle or reassurance, be there for her. *That’s all you can do, that’s your job, you’re her support at this time.
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Elsewhere in this book I talk about feeling like a supporter to Beth as she has travelled along the path towards IVF and I have grown to realise that this is just one of many roles I have taken on since this whole thing kicked in. *I also guess it took a while to come to terms with the way the NHS wallers made me feel; almost like a second class citizen.
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It’s a difficult one really as, when I took my vows all those years ago, I promised to treat Beth as an equal, a partner in all that we did. *There hasn’t been a day that has gone by since our wedding that we haven’t discussed various issues, making decisions, both trivial and important. *We have debated, argued for points we believe in and, more importantly, stood firm together in the face of difficulty.
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And, therefore, I suppose that is why I have had to accept the role in which I now find myself; Beth’s support team. *Alongside me I find a team of supporters anyone would be proud to have on their side. *Beth’s parents, for example, are two people who deserve our thanks tenfold. *Simply put, they have been there when we both needed them. *They literally carried her to the car on the day after she had her first crop of eggs harvested and she needed to go back to the hospital, sharp like. *When she needed to talk to her mum, Carole was always ready to listen, offering words of comfort and support. *Likewise, Ben has been there to carry me through the most difficult of times. *His quiet resolve and bearing are two qualities that sit well on his shoulders. *At other times they were there just because it helped us to carry on when times got really dark.
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Beth and I often joked about the whole process of IVF. *Why? Because that’s the easiest thing to do as it’s such an emotionally charged time. *If we had treated it as a major life changing event, of which it certainly is, it would have allowed other, stronger, emotions to surface. *I have called her ‘The Vessel’ from day one as; realistically that has been her role throughout. *Everything that has occurred, everything she has done to her body, and everything she has gone through has been for one reason. *Therefore, her body has becomes the vessel for our one chance of what we have dreamed of for so long. *And, you can bet your last pound that I wrapped her in enough cotton wool to soak up Lake Windermere!
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Did she appreciate this? *Did she accept being told to sit down and read a book, or magazine? *Like hell she did! *That’s where I came in as the support team. *It really was a case of making sure the vessel was catered for at every turn along the road. *If she looked like she needed a drink, it was delivered. *If she looked hungry she was fed without hesitation. *If she looked tired, off to bed she went, grumbling as she climbed the stairs. *Did it get to me that I was the perceived bad guy in all of this? *Yes, it did, and yes, I do feel guilty about that but what you need to remember about the whole thing was that I had an equal share in this and if it meant that I carried and fetched like a chambermaid then so be it!
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What else could I do? *I have come to realise that this ‘role’ was indeed my part to play. *My wife was showing her love for me and our unborn child on a daily basis and there was I, whinging to myself about having to make her a drink. *For God’s sake, how petty was that?
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Gentlemen, if you are reading this book and you have come this far in the process; here is my advice for what it is worth. *Your partner loves you with every ounce of her body, perhaps more than you can and will ever imagine or realise. *She is putting herself through what can only be described as hell in order to make your joint dreams come true. *For that you need to be there 24 hours a day for her. *If she wants Beef Pot Noodle at some un-godly hour of the day then it’s up to you to get off your backside and find some, regardless of time, distance or cost!
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Finally, what I will say about your supporting role is this; make sure you have your own support structure in place as you will need it. *You simply won’t be able to cope on your own and now is not the time to try and push on with the brave face. *In order to be there for her you need others to be there for you; seek them out now. *They will play their part so you can play yours.
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