Throat Monster

It's funny how things change. A few months ago, if you'd asked me if I minded being around pregnant women and babies, I would have said, "Och, no. No problem. Yes, it makes me a little uncomfortable, but not so bad that I have to excuse myself from the baby shower or anything."

Today I went to see Doctor Best Friend. She's not really my friend. I realise I never explained how she came to be designated as such. You see, I like this woman. She's nice, really nice, and I might even have something of friend crush on her. She's been great about giving me all the preliminary tests as soon as I asked, she's a dab hand with the old needle, and she doesn't blow smoke up my ass about "just relaxing". After our first meeting, I decided that she was going to be my new best friend in the sense of getting me where I wanted to be in terms of treatment. And so she has been.

Doctor Best Friend asked me to come in for a sort of check up after all the thyroid carry-on and to make sure our referral to the Ass-Con Centre had gone ahead OK.

As I sat waiting, a woman with an adorable baby in a big pram came out. I helped open the door so she could manouever the behemoth of a buggy out into the hall. The baby stared up at me with big googly eyes. The mother snapped at me that she could manage. I sat down feeling superfluous.

Two seconds later, a hugely pregnant woman waddled past and took a seat for her appointment.

It's really odd when you can identify the exact moment when the bands that have been holding your heart and hope and courage in place suddenly give way. I felt an elastic pinging sensation in my chest.

Doctor Best Friend called me in. We chatted about the appointment in October, and she suggested E. get tested again. We discussed going private instead of waiting on the NHS, and she told me that the Ass-Con Centre gave good care, that they were good people. But we agreed it would be best to have E.'s swimmers checked out again before October, so he and I will have a clearer picture as to what we might be dealing with there.

Then, as we were winding up, she asked me about work. Work sucks right now, I said, and all of a sudden I got the worst case of throat monster- you know, where you nearly choke to death on the tears that are rising up on you, the lump in your throat swelling out of proportion, your eyes watering.

Maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself, but I realised afresh how utterly miserable I have been lately- at work, at home, in my sleep. I looked into Doctor Best Friend's endlessly kind blue eyes, and I wanted to cry and cry and cry. Everyone around me is pregnant, everyone else gets to be a mother. I want it to be me, I want my turn, I want for E. to be a father, I want us to be a family.

My wanting is like a monster of its own. Now I come to understand that while it has grown quietly, it has grown. It has sharp teeth and strong claws. And it has slowly reached up and taken hold of my life in a vice-like grip. I am strangling on the force of my wanting things that I cannot seem to have. The monster has me by the throat now, and I fear it will be so hard, so very hard to ever shake it loose if things don't go our way.

I didn't cry. I didn't say anything about how I was feeling. I pulled myself together. I made some lame comment about that's life, and anyway I have a great support system on the Internet blah blah blah.

I really don't think she would have minded if I cried, but I hate crying in front of other people. I prefer to do it in the privacy of my own shower, or under the covers.

And I realised if I started, how hard it was going to be to stop. I only had a 10 minute appointment, but I already have enough tears inside me to last the rest of my lifetime.