Terror Moments

Yes, I’ve had a few. Oh, I know you all look at me and go, gee, isn’t she just all cool, calm and collected all the time, wow. (Or not. Whatever.) But one thing I’ve discovered is that this process is full of unexpected moments of sheer terror. Right when you least expect them, what’s more. Because they are, well, unexpected. Um.

Anyway, I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been told “you seem to have the right attitude towards all this.” Which is nice, but I don’t. I have a PR line which serves to reassure people – doctors, nurses, my mother, family, friends, myself – all is well in my world. And then I have my reality, which doesn’t always conform to the PR line.

What I tell people is this: I have to try. It will either work, or it won’t work, but if I don’t try, then I will regret that forever.

Which is all true, even if it leaves out the bit about what happens if it doesn’t work, but anyway. And it doesn’t mean I don’t have my private terror moments, the same as everyone else.

The first biggie, I mean real biggie, came after I’d made the call to the nurse to say, yup, this is it, we’ve had all the tests, we’ve done all the poking and prodding, we have totally given up this ever going to happen naturally, so now it’s time to book us in and get us started. Nurse was lovely. I was calm. We spoke through what would be needed, made the appointment, all very professional, slotted it in the diary, all organised and efficient. Chatted in a polite and friendly matter. Laughed, even.

Then I hung up the phone and panicked.

See, it was real, then.

We were really going to do this.

The Partner has them late at night, say at 3am in the morning. I don’t so much, because I learnt years ago how to deal with middle-of-the-night-freak-outs: Chocolate. Trusies. See, that time of the night is when you’re blood sugar is lowest, and your brain has closed “rational” down for cleaning, so the irrational and illogical and freaking terrifying for no good reason kick in. So if you ever find yourself awake freaking out at 3am or similar time, just get up and get yourself a chocolate bar. You’ll push up your blood sugar, your brain will sudden detect you are upright and switch ‘rational’ back on, and your fears will possibly decrease from something approximating the Mt Everest of stress to a more realistic speed-bump in the process.

So, anyway, yesterday I went into the meeting with the nurse to pick up all my needles and get the instructions – already well forgotten – on what happens next, plus another run down of The List, feeling all confident and pretty much in control of life, the universe and everything.

Sometime in the middle of The List, probably about the hyper-stimulation speech, a terror moment started to hit. By the time I came out of there, several thousand dollars poorer and carrying a bright green bag full of hormone injections and pamphlets with cheesy photographs, , I was feeling less confident and in control and more like I had no idea what I was doing or what I had to do next or if I could at all cope with any of it.

Emotional roller-coaster? I haven’t even started on the hormones yet.

That’s tomorrow’s fun and games.

Kind regards
The Patient

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Published in: on February 15, 2011 at 11:08 am  Comments (1)  

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