I just started reading the book with this title from Phillip Yancy. Only read the first chapter, but it's already starting to resonate with me. Don't get me wrong - neither me nor anyone else I know is currently dying of cancer or anything equally traumatic, but this infertility thing is sure taking it's toll. In the first chapter Phillip talks of a friend of his that had been diagnosic with Hodgkin's Lymphoma and was undergoing treatment in the forms of chemo and radiation, and he talks of some of the christian friends of hers that visited all with differing ways of trying to help her through her time of suffering. Some were like "wow what did you do wrong to cause God to smite you like this??!" (don't worry, I'm paraphrasing - any friend that said that should be struck off the list!), or "Don't worry - God's got an awesome plan in all this and if you praise him through it and trust him he will reveal his purpose anad all will be well", or "Just believe and have faith and you will be healed!". As you can imagine none of these responses was really what she needed to hear, or very helpfull.
Yes she was eventually cancer free, but how should we be supporting our friends/family that go through similar things - or I guess in our situations - how should our friends/family be supporting us through infertility and it's related issues?
As I said - I've only read the first chapter so I'm not expert (YET). But it strikes me that maybe the answer resides in solidarity and just listening to people when they are struggling like we are. Of course I'm a guy, and every guy has a pathological need to fix things. Often these outbursts of helpfulness are completely inappropriate and as I said - pathological. Maybe the best thing we can do for each other is just be there - and I think that's why this whole blogging thing has been really helpful for me - cause I know you guys are out there reading my musings and posting messages of encouragement when you feel led to.
I think that my family particularly feel a little left out and maybe even shut out of what we are going through. I mean parents in particular - because we tell them very little of what is truly going on. None of my family will ever read the words written here for a number of reasons, but mostly because we know that they will want to help too much, they will want to smother us with affection, understanding, and share the grief. The truth is that you have to let someone into that circle of trust, they can't burst onto the scene and exepect that you will appreciate their words of wisdom and advice. Maybe there is some latent rebelliousness that didn't get expressed in my teens or something. It's just that every time they have come to us with a view to help us through this process it's sounded very much like one of the previously mentioned friends who had all the answers, but none of the tact.
I initially promised myself that this blog would focus more on the musings and issues that we faced rather than the physcial journey of where we are at blow by blow, but I'm realising that it's too difficult to seperate the two.
Sarah has just finished her two days of imposed bed rest after the transfer, and after being thoroughly bored to tears, she discovered that she could have been reading "Where is God when it hurts?", so was a little annoyed that she'd spent so much time doing nothing!
Thank you guys for wishing me a good nights sleep - I think I've really had no option but to sleep well cause I've been too tired. But this morning was blissful - the Saturday morning sleep in was great! Although the only reason that I woke up was because Sarah woke me because she could tell I was having a nightmare (I'm sure I would have slept right through it to it's conclusion if she'd not woken me!), and the second time I was woken from deep blissful slumber was from a phone call from work. And after that I couldn't get back to sleep. Oh well.
So we are due for our 2ww blood test on the 10th of November...