KimR
Life takes you by surprise. The year of 2018 pulled the rug under my feet to expose an unknown void or cavity. It introduced me to a feeling of free fall lasting from first waking up to crying myself to sleep. The year had started nicely – I got a small extra contract to finish my PhD and I thought I would do exactly that. To unwind from the hard work, we went skiing in the nearby mountains almost every weekend. Beautiful ski resorts and lots of fun on the piste. Then one weekend I went skiing with a bunch of people who went off piste frequently and did not really bother to wait for me when I needed a break. By the end of the day I felt dehydratedand tired and I lost my balance. The twist in my knee was so strong that I heard and felt my cross-ligament snap.
Fast-forward I went for a re-constructive surgery of the ligament, and had lots of physical therapy. That summer, I also finally went to see a gynaecologist to understand why my period had never returned. My blood-work was done and the results came back menopausal - but I did not worry much. My doctor asked me to redo the tests with an endocrinologist a quarter of a year later. Autumn that year established that my hormone levels were menopausal. The endocrinologist (a male doctor close to retirement) told me “If you want to be a woman, ahem, a mother you need to have egg donation.” I walked home from the appointment crying, slowly circling my way back one step at a time. Two hours later I arrived at my door step already in free fall.
The grief and the flood of tears that ensued were unstoppable. I wanted to be alone, I could hardly work, I walked through my pair of walking shoes. Walking made my grief bearable. It felt like the grief broke my connection to the world. I felt the sting of isolation during my darkest months and years. My sister came to visit with her little daughter, despite her engagements, which I am thankful for. But she was soon again busy with her own world. My partner did not believe in the severity of the situation, denying what had happened to me and us. My parents told me that it was simply the stress of my life circumstances and the few friends I would tell of the change in my life mostly could not follow or did not understand. One of them had just lost a baby at 6 months and got pregnant again soon after. Most friends were also far away physically, it can be hard to impossible to talk on the phone. One friend could not handle what I told him – so I doubt he was a friend in the first place.
My self-worth and confidence plummeted. I told my partner to leave me so he could have kids with someone else. He did not leave. It took me years to feel desirable again. I felt that with my fertility I had lost being attractive, too.
Relationships can easily tilt and crack during times like that. My partner and I felt it, we had to find a way each time - patience helped. The „friendship“ with a long-time flatmate evaporated. I moved back to my parents place for a while where I could finally start to recover. Recovering meant finding a bit of pleasure, lots of yoga, meditation and I started working more again, slowly regaining momentum. Helping my parents out helped, making my mother walk every day helped, going to water gymnastics was a pleasure for both her and myself. She loved it. Discussing family history with my father and going for long walks with him gave us plenty of time to talk, spend time together. I think all of us three enjoyed the time tremendously and I started healing. While my partner visited regularly I went back to see him only twice during that time, it gave me such anxiety.
Well into my recovery Covid hit and just before the borders close I change country with one of the last flights. I move in with my partner into his new-found flat just with a bag of clothes, my laptop, mobile, wallet and watch. Covid life starts – we are going grocery shopping once per week queuing with cotton masks. For the first time my partner appreciates my Holland bicycle as it carries three times the load compared to his trekking rucksack racing bicycle combo. The first few months of Covid in this new apartment are nice and cosy in my memories. Only little traffic (despite its location on a main street leading towards the station and into the city) and lots to see and observe when one is stuck inside. My daily routine consists of yoga, journaling, I lead one of those one-month explorative healing journeys with quite a few friends and acquaintances following. It is daring and fun. I bury my wishes in the soil of my wine plant for them to flourish and become true. I yearn for a life post-PhD. My working routine has become strict and concentrated. I get up early, go for a walk, have breakfast, then my work day starts with two-hour concentration sessions. I am working through one chapter at a time.We buy gravel bicycles and equipment, some stuff takes ages to deliver since people have started going into the outdoors. I develop a gastritis, the flat is always hot, too hot to work in during afternoons. So I shut all the windows and shutters, unroll the awning and go to the park with some of my writing to correct. The old people in the park have started greeting me, since we see each other at least once per day on the turns we take through the park.
We go on our tour through the mountains. It is hard and I swear, but I cycle up the hills and the mountains. The trick is to do it slowly. The gastritis is still with me, maybe partly responsible for and due to the swearing?
Do I grieve during that time? I do, but I also have a PhD to finish which keeps me busy. My yoga practice and journaling keep me grounded.My partner and I only rarely speak of our sorrows, but then they feel like my sorrows. I am suffering, he seems to be only marginally touched by them. It is hard for me to relate to that. Years later he will ask: “Why is it so important to have a child? It surely cannot be the only meaning to life. Having a child in these days sometimes sounds like a commodity.”
Since then I have walked through valleys and ascended peaks. The grief is still with me, it will always be, but for weeks, sometimes months I do not feel it much. It does return. With a different quality – it is less raw. And every time I sit down to write my story its a slightly different story. Aspects come to light that I have not expected so I guess I am curious for what is to come, what I will observe in the past, present, future.
