My Privilege

27 04 2014

I often have these moments, usually at the weekend, where I look around me at what I have and I thank God for the privilege – my new life that is priceless and that no money can buy.

Just yesterday, I read a couple of blogs by people who cannot have children naturally and, so far, IVF has failed them too. Their sadness and their anger has affected me. It always transports me back to my previous life. That huge loneliness, the pain and the quiet suffering of two tormented hearts, striving for that ideal that others just find so easy, sometimes without even trying.

I wrote to both, and gave them a perspective from what I experienced. It’s a different array of experiences for everyone, but in effect, the risks are the same, the greatest of which I feel is not knowing the eventual outcome; or what other unintended consequences of remaining so focused to the one goal will be.

It is all consuming and it’s exclusive, downright personal and emotionally charged. We become different versions of ourselves, not the social, fun loving and outward people that we may have been. Our relationships with others become conditional – on them not being parents or becoming parents – on a shared existence of childlessness. It’s coping, it’s existing, it’s surviving, and it’s bloody painful. How my heart feels for these guys, going through the same journey that I did with all of those hopes, dreams and aspirations of parenthood.

The only real advice one can give is to encourage the development of a life that’s not dependent or conditional on becoming a parent. Enjoy the now, and let the future take care of itself. So easy to say, but it’s true. Couples need to nurture each other more during this time, when the chips are down. It’s so easy to move apart, emotionally. It harder to recognise that it’s happening. The anger you both feel needs to be channelled somehow, away from each other and family but dissipated in a way that doesn’t allow it to gnaw at you from inside and ultimately cause you to self-destruct. Nothing will remove the pain or the negative thoughts, but managing them and creating a broader perspective could prove more helpful than anything.

So, back to my privilege and a different reality. The living room’s been devastated by toys strewn all over the place, a dog’s grabbed a favourite building block, a fight has broken out over a small toy car, someone’s heart is broken and they’re in tears, by the smell of things, there are nappies to change, and according to the clock, it’s time to feed little mouths. Thank you God.

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Darcey and Alexander, April 2014

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Mummy and the family, Easter weekend 2014

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Darcey, April 2014 (3 years 7 months)

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Alexander, April 2014 (1 year 7 months)

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The Snip!

23 03 2014

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When you’ve personally not had to bear the sadness of infertility (except when you’ve been married to someone who was – and it leaves deep scars) and in your new life, with two successive acts of God, children just seem to appear, it rather begged the question do we want to have any more? By looks of things we could just continue churning them out…I had visions of a platoon of mini-me’s and mini-Mandys, with us sitting out our dottage with hundreds of grandchildren bouncing off our zimmer frames and taking the mobility scooters out for a blast around Auckland! I think the answer we came to was, sadly, ‘no’.

So down to the clinic to have initial discussions about ‘the snip’. I was really surprised by how many times they asked me do you want to do this, are you sure, have you thought about this etc etc. It’s hard to imagine any man casually going into a clinic and asking for his vas deferens to be disconnected. Of course I’d thought about it. I’d pondered and cogitated for years! I am 46 for goodness sake, I wouldn’t have done this lightly, at any time in my life, but come on, seriously, what did they imagine?

So, examinations then took place, a squeeze here, pressure applied there, ‘cough please…and again… once more…’. Then the biggest surprise of all. After all the questions, the prods, pokes and the justifications, the doctor said he couldn’t perform the operation. I had a moment’s thought that this rather friendly, avuncular clinician was having some kind of dilemma, and that morally, he couldn’t do it to me! Sadly, no, it was far more simple. For my sins, I had some how managed to acquire an inguinal hernia on my left side. As if that news wasn’t enough, it was accompanied by the news I had one on my right side too! I’d never been troubled or had any suspicions at all.

Whilst consultants don’t agree that it is necessary to fix the hernia problem before slicing into the other (so to speak), this one believed that dealing to the bilateral inguinal hernias was apparently very important, and that we’d have to fix them up first. What a palaver. However, never one to miss an opportunity, ‘could we do all three at once?’ I asked, ‘three for the price of one?’. So with a laparoscopic procedure, coming in from the top, I would now have a general, a rest-up in bed and be pampered for 24 hours! Marvellous. That was the theory. Major projects at work, back to work the next day (try putting on trousers, jeeze) and then the following week, a trip to the US, UK, Canada, Australia and back to Auckland. It was without doubt, a little, well, painful, at times – brought tears to my eyes, but needs must!

As I work for the health sector, I also thought it would be good to take a look at the service we offer patients in our wonderful elective surgery units. I am delighted to say it is fabulous care – from start to finish. I only wish the post operative sample clinics were under my control too. Turned up with my sample three months later, my daughter in trail, in a relatively full waiting room, to be asked what it was (the label was clear) and then to be told that I needed to go to another lab test centre, twenty minutes away. With a rush of blood to the cheeks, my sample clenched in one hand and my daughter in the other, I melted out of the waiting room in a nano-second. Some things, it would appear don’t change – my embarrassment for one.

It seems I never quite get it right. However, all appears to be working well less a few million of my little friends, much to Mandy’s relief.





“Daddy”

22 03 2014

Daddy

Me, Darcey and Alexander

“Daddy”. I never thought I’d hear this word, but I have and I do regularly, each and every day, and I love it. I’ve never forgotten that I thought for a long time that I never would, but it’s hard now to remember a life without Darcey and Alexander.

It’s an odd feeling at times, often contradictory, often guilt ridden, to try to remember what life was like before, and to imagine, just for a moment how it would feel not to have that responsibility, each and every second of every day for the rest of my life.

I yearned for 8 years or more to become a “Daddy” and now I am blessed with two children. However, I too go through periods of huge doubt, about me as a father to two under 4 at 46 years old. I worry enormously about my capability, competency and comfortability with it all. Sometimes I find it really problematic. I work extremely hard, my role is hugely demanding, it extracts every ounce of energy and every free thought that I have. Mandy also works extremely hard, with both children, each and every day, she’s a dedicated, non-complaining, caring and committed stay at home mum. She’s frazzled too, but yet still finds more energy to respond to their every need. I get home, yawn, eat and face walking the dogs then work, perhaps fitting in a bath at bed time for the children and occasionally a bed time story, before beginning yet more work, often into the early hours before rising four or five hours later. I am knackered, she is knackered, but apparently it gets easier.

So to complain, cry foul and not be the model of fatherhood has come as shock. I thought I could and would do it all. I can’t and never will. It’s time to accept I am human, and at the very least recognise two little people need an interaction with their Daddy that’s full, engaged and uncompromised.

I have at least built a castle, for the kids, that very shortly we will all enjoy! I might even find time to become a child all over. I guess though that my castle was a creative endeavour that allowed me to focus entirely on the children but at the same time enjoy, relax and experience something incredibly positive and nurturing. I am not sure I’d ever have built a castle, not now, but it was the sense of giving and seeing how excited the children were when I asked them if I should, that made me do it. Then I realised, I am doing what Daddies do, the world over. Perhaps I am not alone and we all struggle from time to time.

Bottom line, I would not give up these children for anything.

Their/my Castle.

Their/my Castle.





It’s never far away…

14 07 2012

Alexander David Archer-Page (26 weeks)

So, here we are, blessed again. This is the first time I’ve had the inclination to sit and write about our good fortune, for that is what it is. Alexander is now 30.3 weeks. He’s in the 95th percentile in terms of weight, placing him in the ‘large’ category and Mandy is feeling it, poor girl. It was exactly at this point, 22 months ago that Darcey came into our lives and is going well but is still small – 8.0kgs. However, she’s lively, bright and quite advanced developmentally, ahead of  her non-adjusted age group, when in fact she should be a couple of months behind, so that’s all good.

This week then had a psychological significance and every day that Mandy and Alex can hold on means that he will be safer, stronger and more resilient, whatever happens, but Mandy’s suffering increases.  We survived this week, but we’re taking each days as it comes, not as a given. Alex could arrive at almost any time over the next 10 weeks, if Mandy were to suddenly become ill, as she did with Darcey. Fingers crossed.

So, tonight, it was with sadness that I learnt that one of our friends has been unlucky – her IVF failed. It’s good that she’s talking about it, and actually we’re very pleased she’s talked to us. I remember that people who were expecting babies were the last on the list of people Jo and I wanted to talk to because they’d simply never understand – and in most cases, that would be true. In our case, it simply opens up the old wounds and makes me reflective of how far we’ve come, how lucky I, personally  have been, but what a painful journey I have ridden. It makes me think of Jo, her mum and dad, and how sad they’ve been not having children and grandchildren in their lives because of some unknown physiological condition. I cannot change that, but I can be very grateful for having been given a gift from God, not once, but twice.

But then there’s another friend of ours, whose IVF journey has been so tortuous for her and her husband. She’s gone off air of late, finding it all too hard. Of course, I totally get that. It’s so utterly devastating. It worries me that they, as a couple are not in the same place about this. It harks back to the advice I would always give which is be careful what you wish for and do not let it become all-consuming. At the very least, you, the couple, need to be strong, united and in one place. Ultimately, if one of you is only luke warm about continuing IVF or trying another procedure or process, you stand to place your whole marriage at risk. The marriage and love for each other came first, that, above all else needs to be protected. I pray for our friends, that they will find reconciliation and inner strength to overcome their differences and unite once more.

So here’s the thing. Soon to be a dad of two children, happily married to boot, but feeling terribly unworthy and guilty, because of  all those who have tried to become parents and failed but keep on trying and trying. Those scars I bear are so deep that I guess they will never disappear. From those scars, however, comes empathy, sympathy and understanding – the only support I can offer to those around us who are sad, feeling desolate and angry.

Whatever went before, it’s never far away.





Thoughts at Christmas and New Year

18 12 2011

Christmas, 2011

At this time of year, my mind tends to reflect on things past. My thoughts about infertility have become all the more enlivened by the stories of two people I work with. I had no idea both had gone on the IVF merry-go-round, neither has been successful. It makes me truly sad, for them, but how I cherish Darcey right now. Christmas is about children, and for us, it’s become alive once more. However, I remember all those Christmases where we made the effort, but somehow, it never seemed right or fulfilled – however hard we tried, something was missing.

My heart goes out to all those who will again experience that loneliness. Remember though, you must take heart from being together, ensuring that you focus on the pleasure you give each other from a fulfilling relationship, one that is not dominated alone by infertility. If it is focused around infertility, you need to ensure that there is room for something else. Do not obsess about it or alienate each other. Give yourselves a gift this year, for just one day, of not giving IVF a second thought for at least 24 hours.

I really do wish all those valiant couples the very best of luck in 2012, if 2011 wasn’t your lucky year. God bless and have a very Merry Christmas and a wonderfully special 2012.





I am Darcey’s grandfather, apparently.

13 03 2011

Darcey and her 'grandparents'

 

I waited a long time to become a father and only ever fleetingly considered what it would be like to be an older dad, some ten years or so past the average age of paternity.

I have wondered how Darcey would feel taking me to school events as the more athletic dads pummeled me on the race track, how she would feel when her name was called out and there was me, sitting there clapping furiously at speech day, prize giving day, or graduation day… meeting her post-pubescent teachers, shocking them all with my wisened looks, imagining the comment ‘goodness, that’s Darcey’s dad, he’s so old…’

I dismissed the ageist thoughts as irrelevant, totally, completely and utterly. Who cares, I thought, I will never let it get to me.

Well, on Saturday, I was talking to one of the staff members who knows me, at our favourite bar come restaurant, with Darcey bouncing and gurgling in my arms. She was making very polite conversation about babies in general and then she said it, “Is this your first grandchild?”. In the length of a nano second, I died, was resurrected and carried on living, all with a smile, as I laughed out loud proclaiming “…actually, this is my first daughter…” to which a very embarrassed young woman replied, diplomatically, “oh, yes, I am so sorry, how silly of me…”

The problem is, this was not the first time, but I had forgotten that is had occurred before. I was picking up my free iPhone (as you do, courtesy of Vodafone Complaints Resolution Department) from one of their friendly stores in Ponsonby, and proudly, I entered the stored with Darcey for the young guy there to ask me “how old’s your granddaughter?”. He was serious but very quickly became very embarrassed by his faux pas.

So, the questions remain, do I look like a granddad, or are these young people (both in their early 20s) ignorant, unworldly-wise or just plain rude? Well, I must admit, even when I was twenty something, I don’t think I was ever that brazen to make any kind of reference like that in the first place to a customer or someone I didn’t really know. I’d worked in retail for over 10 years and had seen a few odd situations, couples mainly, where you’d wonder if the younger one was a son or daughter rather than a partner… It might just be that times have changed and people think nothing of speaking their minds like this, without fear of causing offence or embarrassment – and, so, there we are, I am showing my age – the generation gap writ large – between these kids and me.

I wonder what it is then about my face, my build, my body, my manner – that when someone sees me with Darcey, with all that evidence amassed they wonder, seriously, if I am her granddad. Okay, I have no hair, I have hardly any wrinkles and no gray strands within the hair on my head that remains, so what is it? Inside, I am laughing to myself that if they think I am indeed Darcey’s granddad, then I’d love them to meet her grandmother, and whilst we’re at it for pure shock value, let’s introduce the great grandparents too, they’d be horrified!

There is something else here though, in their defence, which is the possibility that I remind them of their parents, since their parents could definitely be of the same age as me. It would be inconceivable to them that their parents could ever be capable of having kids, let alone enjoy a healthy sex life at the tender and ripe old age of 43, going on 44!  Hence, in their eyes, the only relationship I could have to Darcey would be as her grandfather, anything else is simply too horrible to consider. How funny. It’s feasible, I don’t really get it, but I guess it makes sense in their eyes.

Whatever the rationale, it’s not so much the age thing as it applies to me, I am really seriously perfectly relaxed about it (please believe me, I am), even if I am not looking as youthful on the outside as I thought I did. Actually, for me it’s the thought of how Darcey will feel. Whilst I am pretty confident that as her mum and dad, we will be more active still than most parents of children Darcey’s age, it does worry me that she will feel a tad embarrassed, for more reasons than those young people are about their parents in general.

One thing is for sure…I won’t be the source of embarrassment to Darcey for trying to look and act younger than I am – I can at least promise her this much, the oldest swinger in town I will never be!





The loneliness of it all

23 02 2011

‘No body understands’ is a phrase I’d utter repeatedly to myself. I had had such visions of me, a dad, running around doing all those fatherly things. How could it be? But then how bad could it be, I wasn’t the infertile one. The guilt I felt was immense, but the sense of being utterly alone was even greater.

When I started looking at the family tree, I don’t know why, I started digging at this time, I could see that the line was a very fertile one. On Dad’s side, my great great grandfather was one of 10, my great grandfather was one of 9 and my grandfather was one of 24 (from two marriages). Dad was one of 10 (6 still born). Mum’s side we knew less about but she was one of four, her father was one of three and his mother was one of 9 or so. I was one of 5 (two marriages). When my father went to have a vasectomy, after two previously failed attempts, they told him he was probably one of the most fertile men for his age in West Sussex. Then of course, the evidence came back that I was ok biologically.

As I’ve said before, all that is no consolation, I might as well have declared myself infertile because actually, the predicament is acutally something that afflicts two people, you the couple – it’s a shared problem. But it’s a tricky business to share because one of you will turn round to the other at some point and say ‘you can’t know how I feel in all this’, and it would be true; but, my advice at that point would be not to argue that point, but to concede. However, my reposte would be that there are two people in this relationship and we both hurt but in different ways. This is what gets missed.

The truth is, you owe it to each other to recognise the different positions you find yourselves in. The focus is so naturally the one who is biologically or biochemically challenged, all the attention is on that half of the relationship, but the other half needs comfort too. The other half in all this is told that they ‘don’t have a problem’, but the reality is they do, and if  you ignore this, then, over time, the real problem will actually become your relationship, not infertility.

How many times have we all privately gone away to weep? How often, by contrast have we wept together? On how many occasions have we made time and stripped down to ‘yours and mine’ where we expose our true, deep feelings about all of this? In all probability, a lot at first, less so as time has moved on. My advice is that it should be ongoing. Make no assumptions, leave no hostages to fortune – the narrow focus on the end game can leave your partner silent, emotionally crushed and unable to express how they really feel. Both of you have a responsibility to monitor the temperature of your feelings and to resolve any issues that do exist before moving on.

The loneliness of deep inner feelings will gnaw into the fabric of your love for each other. It will be expressed in word or deed at some point, but surface it will and the shock could be devastating. So, remember, you are a couple, you’re doing this together, you need to know how the other really feels because the process you’re engaged in needs informed consent of the deepest kind. If it all seems too hard, slow the process right down to relieve the pressure of it all and get yourselves back on an even keel. Only then, when rational thought returns should you continue, along that well trodden path, together, whatever the outcome.