The banality of suffering

I've always enjoyed the poem: "La Musee des Beaux Arts" by WH Auden. I generally like Auden's poetry, but there was something special about this one. Or perhaps it's because I had to do a lit crit on some poem sometime when I was about 14 and my father suggested this one so I learnt if off by heart and my father said lots of interesting things about it. Anyway, it's come to mind a lot over the last few days. Go and have a quick look before you go on. I think typepad will open a new page so you won't even navigate away from here.

Walking out of the clinic on Tuesday was a weird experience (I've realised after all that stuff about how I care about spelling and punctuation that there are some words I habitually spell wrong. Wierd/weird is one of them. I have to correct it every time). It's been a week of beautiful weather in the UK. So the front of the hospital was full of people having a nice day. Sunning themselves on benches, chatting with their friends, having a quiet sandwich break. As H and I clung together, he reluctant to get in the taxi that would carry him back to his training course, I reluctant to dive into the hospital to get my repeat prescription for progesterone and heparin, we both remarked that it felt all wrong. I suddenly understood why films do things the symbolic way. I always laugh when it happens, but it's so necessary, so right. That when the tragedy is occurring, that the external world recognises it and responds accordingly. An eclipse, thunder and lightening, pouring, torrential rain. That's what we felt and that's how the world should have responded to us. But instead, like the scene as Icarus crashes into the ocean, everyone gets on with their lives. They don't notice the pain, because it's not visible enough, we're trained to keep it in.

Monday night was even worse on that basis, the dinner with my entire family to celebrate my mother's 70th birthday. I had booked the restaurant, organised the cake, bought the present, made the card. Everyone knew about our situation. I knew that we would get bad news the following morning. I know you were still hoping for us at that point, and I know my family was, but I knew after that first ultrasound that things weren't going to go our way. So I barely held it together through dinner, as my brothers and SILs talked about their beautiful sons and the lovely things they've done recently. My father gave my mother a picture of her taken exactly 40 years ago at the Grand Canyon, when she would have been about 2 weeks pregnant with me. My mother talked about how much happier she was at this birthday than she was at her 60th. And I continued to barely hold it together - and smile - while my extraordinarily beautiful SIL got the waiter to take our picture around the table.

Once the meal was over I made sure that H and I paid first. As we got up to leave the others to finish their coffee, my SIL asked for another picture outside, as it would look better than one around the table. No, I said. No. I don't want there to be another picture taken of this evening. And then I lost it, and I left. I feel bad as my SIL is a lovely woman and she didn't mean to upset me. But I'm dreading anyone even showing us that first picture. And when I got home I broke down again and cried to H, shouldn't our pain infect the people around us? Shouldn't they feel it too? How can people who love us go on being so happy when our lives are falling apart? It doesn't feel right.

And then I feel horrible for wanting other people to feel miserable. I honestly don't want them to suffer, but I do want some acknowledgement that our lives suck right now. Just like I want the weather to reflect our pain. Our families all know, and told H when he called them how sorry they were. But no one has done anything other than send an email (my mother). No calls, no other emails, not even a text message. One of my college friends called Tuesday night, and another has texted me. One has emailed. Why doesn't my family get it? I don't really want to talk about it but I do want to know that they are thinking of us, however impotent they are to help.

But I guess the answer is that this doesn't really affect their lives. Of course they are sad for us, but then they have to get up to feed their baby in the middle of the night, or go to that important meeting, and that's their life and it takes over. And that's all fine and normal. But it's hard to take when it feels right now as if this sadness that I feel is never going to go away. Maybe that's right, maybe that's true. I know the sadness will get easier (much easier) to deal with and I know we will agitate for our next cycle and in time we will either have another baby or we will move on in other ways. But I think I know that there will always be a part of me that will mourn this loss. Our 22 January 2007 baby. The baby that never really existed. Certainly I will never look at a positive peestick with the same joy again.

This post hasn't really ended up where I thought it was going. It was going to be a musing on how suffering is so hard to understand, from an intellectual perspective. But I see that it's too raw, too present for me right now for me to be able to take that intellectual position.

I remain awed and cared for by all your comments over the last three days. Words can't thank you enough.

Comments

[AnnMarie@come undone]

I understand you completely, Thalia. Completely. I share you feelings and sentiments when others fail to recognize my pain...and we must sit and smile when they discuss their growing families while we die inside. I don't know when it gets easier. I still struggle through my loss last August. My husband still cries when driving past the hospital or at the idea of Father's Day. It seems like it never ends...All I know is that without blogging, I would die. Sounds extreme, but you have all given me so much support and strength I needed to get up the next morning. I can only hope we continue do the same for you at this time, and always.

[Sarah]

It can be hard to see the world moving in it's normal chaotic paths when you feel like your heart is breaking and now permanently changed.

Your picture story breaks my heart. A friend gave us an anniversary present last year of a framed picture of steve and I from another friend's wedding. In the picture I'm eight weeks pregnant. I don't know if i'll ever actually have that picture out in our house. It is really hard to know the end of that story.

I hope you can find ways to do things for yourself this weekend.

[Mary Ellen]

Oh Thalia. I am so sorry that your family isn't being more supportive. My heart just aches for you. Take care of yourself, and please know that you are in my thoughts. Hugs!

[Sami]

I can definitely empathize with you on your feelings... others truly don't understand, and some just can't even begin to comprehend how you are feeling right now. I'm sorry... I am keeping you in my thoughts and know I'm screaming at the world for you guys...

[Kath]

Dear Thalia, that poem was magnificent. Thank you for that. And your observations about banal life going on all around you are so true. I will never, ever forget that walk that my mother and I took through Kensington, from the hospital back home, on that morning after my father died. It was a lovely, lovely day, the sunshine was gentle and joyous, and I couldn't fathom that the world was going on and producing beauty and happiness when my world had ended, was ending, would never be the same again. And every landing at Heathrow now makes me cry. Every single one.

This is a bumbling way of saying: I'm so sorry you're hurting like this. How I wish things were different, and how I hope you will have great happiness.

[Sandy]

It's like you're screaming so loudly it's gone silent ... and everyone continues on their way around you and through you. People just don't know what to do with those who are experiencing the kind of heartbreaking loss you are. Know that we are hearing your screams ... and know that they will continue to be heard here. I wish there was more I could do for you. I really do. I wish the world could stop - even if just for a few minutes - and just be present to and acknowledge this horrendous loss for you. I promise you that I acknowledge it. I'm so sorry.

[Serenity]

The poem was beautiful.

I am so fvcking sorry for the pain and suffering you and your husband are feeling right now.

I do not know why or how your family and friends cannot give you the support you deserve right now, but know that there is a community of women here whose collective heart aches for you.

I do hope you can find some healing soon.

[Jenn]

I know how you feel. How can the world be normal when your is crashing down? The thing that upset me the most about my losses is the worry that they will be forgotten. That they didn't exist to anyone but us. I'm thinking about you Thalia.

[Sunny Jenny]

I've never been where you are. I can only offer my condolences and empathy. I can't imagine your pain or the loss you are enduring. I only hope that time will bring you comfort and a way through your grief.

You and your husband are in my thoughts.

[Mary Scarlet]

I know, Thalia, what you mean. The first two weeks after this happened to me I could barely stand to be in my own presence, and couldn't speak to anyone about it without bawling. Your world has completely turned upside down and it doesn't seem possible that anything will ever be normal again. I'm so sorry, and thinking of you a lot.

[Pamplemousse]

I have always wanted to keep our treatments secret but when I got those + hpts, I knew that something might go wrong and I did not want it to be completely unacknowledged in the event.

Of course some people do not know how to react or say the right thing but the fact that it has really happened will never disappear. I am not sure if it is an entirely good thing as we are now having to tell people the sad news but I could not bear to have to pretend to people that I am OK when I am not.

And we are having the same fucking glorious weather here too.

[Flicka]

Yes, it ought to rain during a time like this. And not just rain but storm loudly, with all sorts of thunder and lightning and flash floods. It should storm like the world is coming to an end, which it is. I'm so, so sorry that you and H. are alone in the storm (with the exception of your college friends.) If it helps, we are all here, too.

[ninaB]

I've been through so many years of dealing with stuff now that I automatically assume that people won't get it. I don't expect sympathy or kind words anymore because they are almost always not forthcoming. I'm the same way as you about dates and pictures. Every month there seems to be an 'anniversay' that brings back bad memories. I've taken down all the pictures in our house and put them away becuase they all show us or others in a state of happiness that seems so discordant with how I'm feeling. Sorry to have made this all about me. I didn't mean it to be.
You have a right to your anger and your sadness and there are lots of out here who do understand.

[Robber Barren]

You're right. It's amazing how the world just keeps on turning.

[Louise]

I agree- why isn't there thunder and lightning when these terrible things happen?

Your story reminds me of the day we buried one of my dearest friends. The sun was shining so hot, not a cloud in the sky. It made my heart ache even more.

I hope your family will soon be able to express how they feel for you. Best wishes,

[fertilityfauxpas]

A pat on the hand, a small smile, or an "I'm thinking about you" can go so much farther than people think. You don't expect them to be miserable too, you just expect them to acknowledge your loss. Like the poster above said, I acknowledge that this happened to you. And so does everyone else here. We hear you, and we will be here for you in any way we can. Feel better soon...

[Angela]

I agree with Sandy in that I believe that those who have not experienced this kind of heart breaking loss don't know what to say or how to act. I know my family was reluctant to reach out to me because they were afraid that they would call at a time when I wasn't thinking about it and that their call would "remind" me of my loss. I guess what they don't realize it that we're ALWAYS thinking about it. It's always there. They don't realize that their silence hurts more than any reminder ever could.
Please know that you and H are in my thoughts. I am so sorry you have to be going through this. It really really sucks donkey lips.

[stephanie]

Thalia-I am so sorry that you are going through this. during each of my miscarriages I always wondered how the world could keep moving. Why was this happening to me and folks still be laughing and smiling? didn't they realize how much I hurt? and those days spent waiting for the procedure to medically resolve the pregnancy. So strange and sureal. I wish no one ever had to go through this. I continue to think of you and wish you only the best as you move through this pain.

[Juliet]

My experience is that people aren’t mean they just DON’T GET IT. So many times when I’ve talked about my IF problems, friends respond by telling me how hard it is juggling kids, and how tired they are, and the weird thing is, they actually seem to think they are being sympathetic. It’s bizarre. As if telling me it’s hard when you have children, will make my pain at not being able to conceive any easier! I’ve tried to think of times when I’ve been equally obtuse, and I can’t. And that makes me realise that when you are being obtuse to someone else’s pain, you never know, you never have a chance to put it right unless they tell you. I’m not saying you should try and explain to your family (you probably already have). All I’m trying to say is that we here understood because we’re going through the same or similar. Your family just have no experience by which to measure the depth of your pain.

[Sarah]

There are tears in my eyes as I feel your pain. I've been there and when I think about how isolating and entirely consuming it feels, it makes me so sad. People don't know what to say or how to act unless they've gone through it, and even then, it is different for everyone. It is awkward and like so many situations in life, we shy away from the confrontation of emotion. There is nothing that I can say to make the pain go away. Only time can heal your broken heart, but just know that I am thinking of you, as are all your friends here, and hoping that you will find the strength to make it through. There is life on the other side, but for now take your time in the fog to grieve. Take care.

[Louise]

My colleague has just asked me if I have hayfever - I was sitting here in tears reading your post because it resonated with me so much, not least because I am an Auden fan too and that poem couldn't have put it better.
I was looking at some pictures yesterday taken at my friend's wedding three weeks ago. My husband and I look happy and smiley in all of them but I'd spent most of the previous evening crying and freaking out about our latest infertility woes.
One of the most exhausting things about all this is the constant acting, and pretending to be ok all for the benefit of other people so that they can remain blissfully oblivious to our inconveniently difficult situations. It seems like when you're pregnant it's all about you, but when you're never pregnant it's never about you.
It's so hard and I like to think that those who are unsupportive behave that way because they don't know any better.
I was so gutted when I heard your bad news. You are in my thoughts.

[mm]

How anyone could be so brilliantly eloquent while going through so much pain is beyond me. You are such a fabulous writer, Thalia. Your post captured so much of what we'e all felt at point or another. I'm so sorry that you aren't getting the support you need from those around you. But we're here.

[Leggy]

I can relate to this on so many levels. Christmas was a few weeks after my first m/c and there was no recognition of how hard it was for me.
As for the weather and how it should reflect our moods- my brother's funeral was in the midst of a blizzard and my dad's was on a beautiful fall day. Somehow the weather at my brother's funeral, even though it was awful getting back and forth, made more sense. It just seemed right the world should match our mood for that day.
I'm sorry you have to go through this.

[elecriclady]

I wish we could each take a little piece of your pain to help make the burden lighter for you, Thalia.

I was clinically depressed my senior year in college, and I remember thinking, how could the world possibly be going on? How could people laugh and go to parties and enjoy themselves when I was in so much pain?

And thank you for coming to my blog and commenting even in the middle of everything you're going through. You are truly amazing.

[Kris]

I'm so sorry, dear. And your story highlights how differently we, who deal with the same tragedies, deal with them. I like my family to know so they won't say anything bone-headed, but I don't want them to act like anything is wrong with us. I don't want to see sad looks or hear catches in their voices. I can (sort of) deal with my sadness and how it affects my life- but I can not deal with how my sadness affects theirs. So I've had to shut them off while I deal. It seems my family is acting how you wish yours would, and yours is acting as I wish mine would. I'm sorry things aren't reversed.

But I very much agree about the weather. I would have loved to be able to force great claps of thunder and bolts of lightening at the height of my anger.

I've been thinking of you often. Take care.

[Krista]

Oh Thalia. It seems just when I think no one in my world understands, someone in the blog world encapsulates my feelings exactly. How I wish we could all be surrounded by our blog friends or their empathy could be imparted to our family in times of need.

I am thinking of you.

[MichelleL]

What a wonderful entry, Thalia. The poem was perfect. If it is any consulation, I am sad with you.

I am hoping that your life will go on with sunnier personal times for you and your DH.

[DinoD]

I am so sorry that you are going through all this Thalia.
At my in-laws 45 anniversary I told people that I didn't want to appear in any pictures (I didn't give them any reason but one of my cousins made the same stipulation so I didn't stand out as the only weird (wierd) one.) Anyway, of course someone went ahead and took a picture of me anyway. I have it in a photo album and everytime I see it, it still hurts (even though it is from about 4 years ago). At the time, I was about 11 weeks pregnant with the first miscarriage and we had no idea there was anything wrong. When I see that picture, I'm not even sure what I feel but sadness and anger are right up there.
I wish there was something I could say to help. Any miscarriage is difficult but a miscarriage for someone who suffers from infertility is a whole different beast.

DinoD

[Kay]

Delurking to add my voice to those wishing that you didn't have to know this pain, too. I remember so well feeling betrayed by the sun and the moon, not to mention all of my family and friends, for not coming to a grinding halt with me.

Sending you lots of healing thoughts. Take care.

[Jenny]

You are so emapthetic to consider how your family feels and why your loss isn't a big event in there lives. It is so difficult to understand why our families can't step outside themselves and show us the same empathy.
I am sorry about your SIL and the picture, the entire thing sounds upsetting (the diner, the conversation, the picture).

[UtRus]

Ah yes, pathetic fallacy. The famous literary device. And when the weather does NOT reflect how we're feeling it is completely disconcerting. Try living here in southern California where it's (usually) bright and sunny and beautiful. When I'm feeling doomed it's an awful combination. How I have wished for London rain.

I am sorry that Mom's Bday dinner was so hard on you. I have been thinking about you, wondering how you are. Yes, the sadness WILL get easier - your track record shows that you have an incredible propensity for resiliance (I think I wrote that to you before, but it's important). But it's not always so easy to see when you're in the depths. Hang in there, Thalia. hugs

[Tiffanni]

I am so sorry. I know exactly what you are talking about. It's the lack of acknowledgement...that part killed me too.
I wish there was something I could do to make things right.
**Thinking of you**

[Meredith]

That was one of the most profoundly true posts that I have ever read. And it was really well-written to boot. And now, as I type that, I realize that I am having a sip of water, enjoying a poem that I had not read before, and enjoying your writing at the same time that your life is so dark. But I do feel it for you too. In our internet world, there is a tempest of epic proportions outside because this is simply not fair and not right and I hate it for you.

[Jan]

I understand - both the pain of miscarriage and the need for the recognition of that pain. My first miscarriage happened while my husband and I were on holiday abroad in a hotel that didn't serve food. We had to go out to eat and it was a surreal experience - as if we were in a dream - had it happened at home I doubt I'd have left the house for a couple of weeks!

And friends and family just don't get it - mostly because they haven't been there. And I read about your photos situation and remember, in my pre-miscarriage days, giving several of our wedding photos to my best friend who was in them - despite the fact that she'd been in a failing pregnancy at the time. If I'd known then what I know now . . . But I love her and I loved her then, and I certainly cared that she had lost her baby, so in some ways the memory comforts me: it's not that they don't care, they just don't get it - or maybe, don't know how to express support.

Out here in the ethernet - we undertand, we get it all to well. Be kind to yourself - it *does* get easier.

[Summer]

It feels like some kind of surreal play you’re in, doesn’t it? When you do the things that are normal and expected of you yet you are dying inside and screaming for others to recognize that a part of you has died, not just your hopes and dreams of having a baby at the end of this pregnancy, but a part of you is gone and your life has now completely changed and it will never be the same again. There will be dates and places and events that are now forever associated with a pain that may subside, but never completely disappear.

It’s a pain you would never wish on anyone, but unless you have gone through it there is no way to understand. After my miscarriage I thought about a friend of mine who had one two years before and my “sympathetic” response to say I how sorry I was to hear her news. I only realized then that what I said was more for me than for her and what she needed was to have some recognition of what she was going through and for others to recognize that pain.

So, try to take all these comments you’ve had and take it as a symbol of all of us sitting around you. Bearing witness to your pain. Our tears drowning the landscape, forever changing it, like the sky had opened up and swallowed the sun.

[Betty]

Auden often has the right poem for the moment. Thank you for reminding me of this one. As with most devastating experiences unless someone has been through it themselves they rarely understand how it feels and what could help take the pain away however well they know you. I know that I find it hard to judge how often to call/text/email when a friend has had a loss or a devastating life event even though I have had my share of those experiences myself and I am sure I get it wrong more often than not. Grief can scare people. Thinking of you at this horrible time. Your strength shines through your writing.

[Alli]

Tears in my eyes you and your husband, Thalia. I feel your pain. It isn't fair - not one bit of it, and those close to you SHOULD acknowledge it.

[ms pickled eggs]

I'm so, so sorry.

[S]

Oh, Thalia, I am so sorry that you have to go through all of this. It certainly sucks that your family doesn't get it (and they should get on their knees and thank God every day that they don't "get it"). I remember when I miscarried that everyone was so awkward around me, as if they didn't know what to say, and I hated that so much-I hated people not knowing what was "appropriate" behavior. How can a kind word, or a sympathetic ear be so awkward? It's a sad state of affairs when we've lost the ability to listen and empathize.

I think of you and H every day, and I'm sending you love and hugs-stay strong and know that we're here for you, always.

[Anna]

I'm so sorry Thalia: that you have to experience any of this, and that your family isn't more supportive. I'm hoping that your baby stops to ask for directions so they find you, and soon! You and H are in my thoughts. I wish I could do more.

[Ornery]

Everything you say resonantes so deeply in me. You and H are constantly in my thoughts.

[Alchemilla]

Oh hon.

I have a photo sitting in a drawer, somewhere, that I can't bear to look at. It was after our first transfer, we went to see a stupid Harry Potter film and in the Odeon they'd got a falconer with live birds. I love birds, so in front of the queuing (now that's the one I never know how to spell) crowds I had my picture taken with an owl on my wrist. I'm looking at the camera and I'm so damn hopeful - i'm thinking : I've just had two embryos transfered and I might be pregnant. I even thought how great it would be to have this polaroid of me with my mona lisa smile to show my kid, years down the line.

It changes us so much, this IF. I am now much better at acknowledging other people's pain without feeling the need to minimise it to make me feel comfortable with my own powerlessness to heal it.

Doesn't stop me wanting desperately to make it better for you and H though.

[Lut C.]

You're very considerate towards your family, perhaps too much? Don't worry too much about making them feel bad by showing your emotions.
It wouldn't hurt them to be confronted with your pain once in a while. As you said, no matter what, they will return to business as usual. This is natural.

Of course you don't want to put your grief center stage at your mother's celebration. You succeeded in doing this, regardless of what happened at the end of the evening.

Take care.

[waiting line]

suffering is a (significant) part of the human condition. why "we" seem to get more than our fair share when it comes to fertility issues, hell if I know. it just sucks.

sorry your family isn't relating to you (more directly).

thinking of you.

[Linda]

It is unfortunate that you had to undergo a family event of the proportion at this crossroads in your life. It is odd to be surrounded by people that love you and should care about you, but at the same time to feel so utterly alone in the midst of it all. I don't think they mean to be heartless in their comments about their own sons, but they are unaware, totally unaware of how this affects you and H. I am sorry you had to endure this. I hope that you can surround yourself with some small comfort your kindred spirits out in IF blogland can give to you in word and thought. I am thinking of you throughout this.

[heleen]

It is very sad to read what you are going through. But also great to see how much support you get here in blogsphere.

Don't underestimate the influence on your state of mind of all the hormone treatment and other chemicals you've had recently. Try to eat as healthy as possible and take a lot of rest.

[KIMMER]

Thaila,
I just think it's hard for people to understand how it feels to be in the trenches of IVF hell, if they have never been in the trenches, so to speak.
And sometimes they are just scared to bring things up, yes, it's extremely frustrating. Just a little compassion would be nice, huh?
I don't even see how you managed to attend...
I hate this for you and H, just fucking hate it.

[KIMMER]

Plese forgive me for the spelling also...
Hello, Thalia, not Thaila! Opps!

[Truly Tested]

I know exactly of what you speak. You just can't believe that the world goes on, that the sun is shining, that there is laughter and mirth around you, that your searing pain doesn't spread like wildfire and infect those around you.

In my case, even thinking these thoughts is preposterous since I am not at all "out" about our situation and thus can't possibly expect anyone to cater to us or treat us kindly or be super sensitive to us.

What an apropos poem. Thank you for sharing it (I remember it but haven't read it for some time.)

I hope that you are hanging in there

[Crystal]

Utterly, completely thinking of you...everyday.