I haven’t been much fun to be around lately.
It all came to a head a few days ago when a work thing was going wrong. My response was rage. Not shouting or throwing things or beating my bed with my fists and feet (as much as I wanted to). Just silent anger, simmering beneath the surface.
Completely throwing off-balance my marriage.
It’s difficult because my ability to cope directly affects my husbands ability to cope. My rage throws him into turmoil, which throws me deeper into turmoil. I have to be the strong one, but it’s really hard to keep two people afloat when you’re struggling on your own.
I know I can’t always be the rock, but I don’t want to be that angry person. I don’t want to be the person who is one thread away from snapping all the time. I grew up in an angry house and I don’t want that for us.
I know why I’m not coping. An upcoming appointment – the make or break one.
Can we make IVF work?
The truth is, I’m leaning towards no, which means I’m very nearly at the end.
We could maybe make it work, with cooperation, with some understanding about freezing sperm in advance. But then I stumbled across the blood test and that’s going to be a very hard brick wall. We may come unstuck over a blood test.
I know the reality behind it. It’s not the needles he fears but it’s a build up of trauma, bad experiences, feeling powerless, strangers, feeling unsafe, unknown environments. It’s not a blood test it’s Everest. I can understand this but people who don’t live with the effects of mental illness every day can’t fathom it.
And this is more stress added to a stressful situation, because I have to go in every time and defend my husband. He’s a good man, he loves so completely, he would be a good dad. He deserves this. But he’s used to be put to the side because he doesn’t fit in the box and that is what things like World Mental Health Day and all of this inclusiveness doesn’t address. If you can’t go to the Doctor, tough. If you need heavy medication and need to see a psychiatrist, but you physically can’t go because of your mental health, you are stuck. The sickness keeps you sick.
I went off on a tangent, but what I mean to say is, I have to go in there and fight for my husbands medical needs to be accepted as medical needs. Mostly, they don’t seem to be recognised as such.
Not only all that, but additional information about our fertility is looming. My husbands SA – how fertile is he? My AMH, how fertile am I going forward? Worst case scenario, we could walk away with no further options and our hopes of a maybe-someday-miracle-if-we’re-lucky dashed. Its Schrodinger’s Cat: I’m simultaneously living in a world we have options for having kids, and one where we have none.
It’s no wonder I’m losing the plot!
My husband says that we’ll end up on a lifestyle block with another little dog (my arms ache to carry something) and he’s sure we can be happy together, just us. It’s not so bad. And I nod my head and smile and I want that to be true so badly. I want us to be enough but I don’t know if I can do it.