The 5 Stages of Grief

Continued on from yesterday...

It's funny how your mind operates under stress.

There I was sitting in my car, imploding with grief. Instead of calling my husband (then boyfriend) or Mum for consolation, all I kept thinking was "Who can help me right now?"

My first thought was Kylie.

Not only is Kylie my gorgeous dear friend, confidante and soul-sister, she's also a nurse. Don't nurses know everything 'medical'?

Poor Kylie - I can't imagine what my call would've been like for her that day.

As soon as I heard her voice I began sobbing uncontrollably. I blurted out my diagnosis, my despair climaxing when I was hit with the most disturbing thought - that I may have lost all possibility of having children of my own.

Horrible.

I have images of Kylie skipping along merrily wearing her infectious smile only to have her long distance friend call and dump an emotional bomb on her. If you're reading this Special K, I'm sorry for the distress it must have caused you. I hope that was counteracted by the other shock news phone call three years later - you remember? - the one when I told you I'd won $15,000, had booked flights and you had 1 hour to get to the airport.

Sweet Kylie did her best to console me, but the only consolation I sought was for the clinic to phone back with news that I'd been given the wrong results. They didn't.

I can't remember much after that - only hours of crying, stinging eyes and an ache in my chest. It was excruciating.

At that point, I was in stage one of the Kübler-Ross five stages of grief

1. Denial
   "This is not possible, it can't be happening, they've made a mistake. There must be other answers". This led to frantic searching for solutions, seeking all kinds of alternative therapies; traditional Chinese medicine, acupuncture, homeopathy, naturopathy, hypnotherapy, Bach flower essences, Reiki, applied kinesiology, NET, CBT, yoga therapy, Ayurvedic medicine, psychic healing, aromatherapy, colon hydrotherapy, crystal healing, dietary healing therapy and meditation - most of which brought back menstruation, but nothing ever permanent or pregnant.
   
   
2. Anger
   "This is not fair, why me? There a so many people 'less healthy' or 'less deserving' than me - people who smoke, take drugs, are alcoholics. How can they get pregnant and become parents so easily? This is bull$hit!!!" I was completely angry and utterly furious with God, the universe, mother nature and anything else that I could put a label on. I questioned my faith in me, my beliefs, everything. I was bitter and unforgiving. I became intolerable of people asking me "When are you going to have kids?" - I either wanted to swear at them or hit them in the mouth with my shoe. I didn't x 2.
   
   
3. Bargaining
   I engaged in conversations with God "I'll pray every day, I'll fast, I'll eat well, exercise, do yoga, meditate, take my medicine, I'll stop drinking caffeine and wine, no more wheat, no more dairy, no more sugar, or salt, no more gluten, I'll only eat low GI foods, I'll juice every day, I'll even do a coffee enema every day - I WILL DO IT ALL (and I've done it all) if you could just please, please, PLEEEEEEAAAASE let my body work so I can have a baby!"
   
   
4. Depression
   Deep, dark and scary. To me this was a loss of lives, the lives of my beautiful yet-to-be-born children. The sons and daughters I had dreamed of, imagined and anticipated. I cried myself to sleep every night. I collapsed in the shower, sobbing on the ground till the water ran cold. I felt pain in my heart and sickness in my stomach every time I heard news of someone becoming pregnant. I could not look at pregnant bellies. I could not stand hearing women complain about being pregnant (I want to punch them in the nose - seriously). I could not hold babies without tears welling in my eyes and my lips quivering. I was in constant pain. It felt like an elephant sitting on my chest. I was aching all the time. I felt I was going insane. I was once so disturbed by my upset that I wished someone I disapproved of would miscarry - how horrible, judgmental and inhumane is that? (thankfully that wish was not granted).
   
   
5. Acceptance
   One day I decide I cannot go on living my life in chronic anguish and yearning. I choose to be okay. I am okay. I became an aunt. I realised I can still have children in my life, it's just going to be different to what I first imagined. I had a dream that dictated words for a manuscript. It was a blueprint for a children's book. I spent nine months and four days to create and deliver a book that (without my knowing) turned out to be the physical manifestation of all my maternal love for my unborn babies. Every time I hear news of a child loving my book I feel a connection. My maternal flame is lit. I feel I have made a difference. I am happy. I am a mother.

September marks 10 years since that fateful day. A decade.

This has been the most difficult thing for me to write and the most freeing. I am sobbing once more. I will sign off for now.

Until tomorrow, be brave and take all five steps when grieving. The fifth one is the best.

Grace xx

PS. At the time of my diagnosis I was told I had gone through premature menopause. The condition is now more commonly known as Premature Ovarian Failure (POF), though it is in transition to being known as Primary Ovarian Insufficiency (POI). It can affect women as young as 16. While many alternative modalities have theories about how this condition occurs, western orthodox medicine state that there are no known causes.

PPS. For avid followers of Weigh-In Wednesday, click here to see video

My Confession

Noticed how my posts over the last 10-days have been short, somewhat vague and even shallow?

It's time for my confession.

I've been trying to throw you off the scent by giving you crumbs, hoping it'll be enough to keep you at bay.

Occasionally I'd throw a longer post, but it was really just extra long babble to pass the time.

The decline in comments is also a clear indication of just how 'un' stimulating my blog has been. A lot like me really.

"Why?" I virtually hear you ask.

Truth is, I've been feeling unbelievably crap these last few weeks and I didn't want to be caught out. Sure, I gave you clues with the 'S.A.D.' story but I wasn't totally up front.

I entertained conversations in my head that went like, "If I just tell them a little bit, then it'll keep them off my back" (not that anyone's on my back). I've been keeping up appearances and instead of being authentically me - warts and all - I've refrained from writing the truth.

Partly because I don't want to 'burden' anybody on days I'm feeling flat. Who'd want to read something from someone who's having a bad day? I can't bring myself to write anything of any substance until I'm over the hump and back on the rise again (which I'm guessing you've already guessed has just happened).

Why do we do this?

I'm sure I represent an entire population of people who only want to share ourselves when we're upbeat. We love to inspire, charm, motivate and lift the spirits of those around us. But when the shoe's on the other foot, we turn in on ourselves. Surely this is not healthy.

I have no intention of turning into someone who's always complaining (that wouldn't be any fun - or maybe it would...? - either way, it's not cool) - but isn't it time we can be frank that not everyday is a sunny day? We all have rainy days, don't we? Isn't that NORMAL?

While I continue to avoid putting dampeners on those around me, I am essentially censoring myself - my true, normal, up and down self. The happy-go-lucky exterior becomes a facade and if I'm not careful I could have an enormous divide between what the world sees and what's really going on behind the walls.

Until tomorrow, remember what confessionals are for - to speak unspoken words, thus penetrating the barrier that separates perception from what is.

Grace xx

PS. Just for the record, the last 10-days have been physically, mentally and emotionally scheit (a slightly more polite spelling of what I really want to type). My anxiety levels have been through the roof. I have struggled to get out of bed most days, have not been able to face basic daily activities and as much as I've dressed myself in gym gear on a few occasions, I did not step foot in it once last week.

Today I experienced something that was like a panic attack, heart racing, tightness around my chest and found it difficult to breathe. I went to my healthcare practitioner and my insulin levels were through the roof again. This frustrates, scares and baffles me as I have been super conscious of low GI foods. We're now investigating other possible causes i.e. stimulants like caffeine.

Wednesday Weigh-In

If life begins at 40, then I guess you can say that this is my first ultrasound!

I'm starting something new...

I am venturing into the land of YouTube, and posting a video every Wednesday to track my progress.

The video says it all, so I'll stop typing now.

Until tomorrow... the video says it all (is there an echo in here... here... ere... ere...ere... )

Grace xx

Please note: No radio stars were killed during the making of this video ;-)

Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself

After yesterday's post I trotted off to meet my friend whom I referred to as a "professional opera singer".

Truth is, I really don't know his actual title... like, what does he write down on immigration and customs forms when he's asked for 'occupation?'

Somehow I don't think 'professional opera singer' would be his answer - that's something a 7 year old might call their uncle.

So that's when I had a chuckle at myself.

You see, I've known Stephen since I was I was an awkward, pimple-faced teenager. He's the big brother of my then boyfriend and I was utterly intimidated by him.

Whenever Stephen was a passenger in my car (which was RARE as I avoided this situation at all costs) I would grind the gears, make sudden jerking moves and often stall. I could feel my face burning with utter shame as the sweat beads trickled down my forehead (the persperation may have been due to lack of air conditioning). I desperately wanted the seat to suddenly eject me out of the car so I could disappear.

On Christmas night(s), we would gather around the piano singing carols. Actually, they were singing, I was miming. The fear of the great Steve hearing my less-than-impressive voice was mortifying. I didn't think that being caught out miming might have been worse!

Stephen moved to Europe when I was 21 and I did not see him till I was just days from turning 35. At the time, my husband Patrick and I were travelling south from Switzerland to my parent's hometown in Italy. Stephen was working in Milan and we were literally 'in the neighbourhood', so we thought we'd ought to do the Australian thing and 'pop in'.

I learned that Stephen had risen to the top of his game and had become an internationally renown Tenor. I also learnt that he changed his name to Steve.

We met Steve just as he was finishing his rehearsals - he had the title role of Idomeneo at the season opening of La Scala (Teatro alla Scala is Milan's famous opera house). I believe that in the world of opera, this is considered to be a pinnacle of one's career.

I remember telling Patrick that meeting with Stephen after all these years would be a breakthrough for me. I was sick with nerves and fumbling over the phone as we organised a rendezvous.

Steve looked dashingly sophisticated as he came to greet us in his black leather coat (more like a Georgio Armani male model than Keanu 'The Matrix' Reeves). We gave each other a big hug and he ushered us to his favourite local eatery.

Within minutes of sitting down, I had to come clean. I had to declare to Stephen (in front of Pat) that I was always so nervous around him. I felt intimidated not because he made me... but because I put him up on a pedestal and related to him in a way that only brought shame to myself. He was stunned... and I was free.

We recounted numerous funny stories that evening over a bottle of delicious Italian vino rosso. As we laughed, I gently kissed that awkward, pimple-faced teenager farewell. With her out of the way, I was able to connect with my friend in a way that I never thought possible.

Four and a half years later and I have the most honest and open friendship with Stephen. I realised that being able to laugh at myself has given me the space and freedom to cultivate a very real and treasured relationship.

I wonder if failing to laugh at critical times in my life has contributed to getting lost and if so, will laughing more get me closer to the happy me I want to be?

If Dr. Patch Adams is right and laughter really is medicine, what is the recommended daily dose?

Love, hugs and laughter,

Grace xx

PS. In the spirit of laughing at oneself, I found it mandatory to include a photo of me that does just that.

PPS. Off to review my gym program with Vince in 1 hour and not sure how much laughter will be in that. Tonight, I'll be seeing Stephen (uhem, Steve) perform live at Hamer Hall, Melbourne Arts Centre - can't wait!

PPPS. Why stop at a photo? Why don't we all have a laugh over my YouTube response to the famous Natalie Tyler Tran (Community Channel)'s "Your Soap Sucks" video. Yes, I know, I look ridiculous. That's my point.