3. Moments of Note
Three recent moments - memories of a loved one, a sisterly kindness & having a ‘normal’ Sunday.
Over the years of loss and complications trying to conceive, I have had to work out how to stay mentally well. It’s a full-time job, to be honest. Being open to the world around me helps me to take a much needed break from constant loop-like thoughts about my situation. ‘Moments of Note’ is a little project of mine to ensure I’m noticing, resonating and engaging with objects, people, feelings, ideas beyond the very narrow, often suffocating world of infertility. Naturally, as I do this I’m able to analyse my inner landscape, which invariably links to my perceptions of these moments. There is a reciprocity. An echo between what resonates externally and what is going on inside. What are your recent ‘Moments of Note’ and where exactly do they echo?
One
Occasionally I happen to be walking along the canal near my acupuncture clinic, at the same time as two elderly ladies walking their dogs. The cream pug and wiry-haired mutt amble along at the much reduced pace of their octogenarian owners — stopping to sniff and tear up soil with back legs flailing outwards.
I always say hello to the women, which can be difficult. Trying to insert my greeting into the lively, sing-song chitter-chatter passed back and forth between them — the energy of which is in stark contrast to the hunched shuffle of their bones along the towpath.
One of the women, the shortest and loudest of the two, has an Irish accent and it is this that I look forward to hearing. It’s very similar to my Nan Liz’s west coast lilt. It’s a sound that left the frequency of my life many years ago now, and one that try as I might cannot be impersonated. There’s a very specific gentleness to it, like a summer breeze causing sheets to billow on the line, it rises then releases into stillness.
Just a few seconds of this audio immersion from the returned greeting floods my system with memories: an image of a block of butter left out of the fridge, the smell of Senior Service cigarettes, the drowsy heat of an electric fire in a small room on a Sunday, the jolt of an old Mini driven over a pot hole, the comical reprimanding of Paddy the (very annoying) Jack Russell.
And then, it’s over like a sparkler burnt to the thumb.
Two
I was sent an unexpected kindness from my youngest sister Patsy, last week. I was having a stressful journey to my miscarriage clinic with dreaded signalling failures at Victoria where I get my connecting train — I had to surface onto Oxford Street and grab an Uber which didn’t have much luck above ground either, getting me to the station two minutes after my train had left. This meant I’d be half an hour late (my entire appointment slot) on a day they had told me they were busy with theatre cases for the rest of the afternoon.
This kind of situation is becoming more and more frequent for me — nightmare journeys to be told bad news then be poked, prodded and expensively infused. A panic attack on a train at the end of last year lurks in the shadows of my memory, like a shifty character on the grainy CCTV of a robbery. A return journey from the clinic in February saw me be witness to, and then become a victim of, harassment from three teenage boys so vile, so angry at the world, I could see their abusive childhoods play out in front of me. The neglect palpable. Their warped pain projected the full length of the carriage. Thankfully another woman they had also targeted called the British Transport Police, and two officers were waiting for them at the end of the line.
So, it’s fair to say I’m noticing how anxious I am about travelling to my appointments now, and my sister had obviously sensed this. Relaying the latest trouble over the family WhatsApp — I suddenly received £10 into my bank account from Patsy to “get a cake and hot drink” once I had a chance to relax. It was odd for me as the older sister to be ‘looked after’ and also to receive a gesture not attempting to smother with a platitude, but rather acknowledge the negative, the stressful, the need to find a small joy in yet another tough day.
Later, I bought two cupcakes.
One for Joe and one for me, piled high with neatly curled icing and adorned with decorations — shards of chocolate and fresh raspberries. I sent her a picture of the bag to show I had completed her kindness challenge. That, for now at least, I felt okay.
Three
A spontaneous trip to the English Heritage site Wrest Park was a slice of normality last Sunday. We both needed to get out of the house and ‘do something’ with our weekend. I don’t know what happens to time when hyper-focused on my monthly cycle and the hours of work needed to bankroll treatment. Months disappear, plans never materialise. We topped it off with an early roast dinner to be back home in time for the start of the F1 season. Joe often jokes by asking me if we are “doing things like normal people?” but it’s really a way of expressing how separate to the world we feel most of the time — like reflections trapped in a mirror within a photo.
A note on the notes:
I try to keep my Moments of Note as unrelated to infertility as possible, but the last few weeks have been utterly dominated by issues, thoughts and decisions around our story. For many reasons I have been struggling, which was reflected in only noting one thing (the ladies and their dogs) that was unrelated. I’ve been finding it hard to ‘see’ but I still wanted to show the echo I speak of, even when it’s not where I’d like it to be.
Jade x