Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

Meg had about a months reprieve from her headaches when she first had her shunt… then they slowly crept back, like poison ivy, spreading itself throughout her body, only there was no handsome prince to come and chop it down, and our time since has been primarily been spent on Ward 10, at Birmingham Childrens Hospital.

Men seem to take on a completely different approach to life than woman (thank god…), and for a while I almost resented Craigs ability to not be consumed in grief and worry for our daughter.  It took me some time to realise that Men really are from Mars and Women from Venus. 

Idiopathic intracranial hypertension, scoliosis, loss of hearing, severely under active thyroid (which warranted a call from the Registrar to see how she wasn't in a coma), lymphedema,  bicuspid aortic valve, postural orthostatic tachycardia are just some of the issues Meg is blessed with because of her Turner Syndrome, but for me, my main heartache was spent on her infertility.

There I was completely engrossed in the possibility of being able to harvest my own eggs and freeze them for Meg, IF and when she needed them, it wasn't that Craig wasn't interested in the process, he just didn't need to understand it.  And whilst I was swotting up on ethical issues surrounding our dilemma, his main concern was which washing machine and tumble driers we should get for the apartments….

It took me a good year to be able to ring Birmingham Womens Hospital and speak to PALS about our 'experience' within the infertility sector. The magnitude of the whole 'cock up' (excuse my language), made it impossible for me to address it in person to anybody.

Now I know that many of you will have your own views regarding this very sensitive subject. What I would like you to take into account, is it was my choice, and I chose to take that route.  I didn't force it on anybody, nor have I ever given my opinionated views on your 'dilemmas'.  If you are offended by what I tried to do, please press X.  We all try to do the very best for our children, and what I was trying to do was keep another door open on a rapidly closing long corridor.

Are you ready?  Then I'll begin.

Our Endocrinologist from Birmingham Childrens wrote a letter to the Consultant Gynaecologist at Birmingham Womens,  asking "if there was anyone within Birmingham who might be able to discuss this further with mum?'  A long letter was finally written (after many months of chasing) and an appointment came through.

I already had tears in my eyes before we left the car park and walked into the hospital.  We were shown to a seating area and I was called in to a side room by a nurse.

"Can I take your weight please?"

I stood on the scales.

"Did you bring a sample with you?"

"What type of sample?"

"A Sperm sample!"

"No!  I wasn't told to?"

At this point my eyebrows which had nearly met in the middle with confusion obviously scared her into saying, "Not to worry, the Dr will discuss everything with you when you go in."

And we were left for a further hour, me stewing on what was requested, and Craig bored senseless.

We were finally called through to a room - picture the scene.  The nurse opens the door to a foreign Doctor sitting behind a desk reading what was obviously the referral letter about Meg and her infertility, without acknowledgement he waived his hand towards the chairs sitting opposite him.  Both Craig and I sat down and waited patiently for a good five minutes whilst he read the letter (bearing in mind, I had already read it 4 times by then - upside-down!).  Now, I have the patience of Jobe, but seriously, I thought I was going to lose it on his ignorance…… and he launched straight into his questions which were directed at me:

"How many sexual partners have you had?"

I answered, slightly shocked, but as I was only the mum and not a consultant what did I know?

"Any sexually transmitted diseases?"

shocked again, I answered.

"Right, so you have had no live births?

"I beg your pardon?" I retorted.

He looked up and sighed (like he was missing his lunch break for this….) "I said, YOU HAVE HAD NO LIVE BIRTHS RIGHT?'

I looked at the nurse, I looked at Craig and stood up.

"Can I ask what it is you THINK we are here for?"

His eyes searching the referal letter looking for a clue….

Fury took over..."I asked you a question.  WHY do you think we are here?"

Indignantly he looked up and said, "For assisted conception, you want children and can't have them naturally!"

"Show me where on that piece of paper that you obviously haven't read, nor can understand, that I am looking for assisted conception"

"Oh, I am sorry, this is quiet confusing."

"Is it?"

"How can it be that I have read that letter four times now - upside down, word for word, and can understand completely what has been asked.  I am furious.  For a start even if was about me, the D.O.B and name on the top would make me 11 years of age!"

I turned to the nurse, and said, "I am absolutely disgusted and appalled at this.  That letter clearly explains that my 11 year old daughter has Turner Syndrome and I am enquiring about having my eggs harvested for her use in the future."

She was so brilliant, and took me into another room, where I promptly burst into tears through pure anger and frustration.  The Consultant came through with some tissues and apologies.  He promised he would have a meeting with the rest of the consultants on Thursday and could I ring back to see what had been discussed.  I rang on Thursday and he said he didn't have time, but could I ring next Thursday morning to remind him to discuss it at the meeting, and then call back after the meeting (did you get that?!)  and so I did.

"Oh yes, Mrs Cubitt, I'm afraid you are too old now, and with your history of familial disease I'm afraid we cannot offer anything and that is the end of the matter.

And so I put the phone down and cried (again) - I did a lot of crying then.

The helplessness that I felt then was about as high as it could possibly get.  Nobody knew how I felt, wretched and grief-stricken.  All I wanted to do was to give her a choice.  It would be her decision to be made and not anybody else's to take away.

Sometimes life sucks.