And then...

As storytelling goes, it's rather frowned upon in literary circles to start each paragraph with 'and then', but a week ago, when I finally went to talk to someone about all of the things that have happened over the last couple of years, that's pretty much how I told it.

Like an over excited (or in this case utterly broken) three year old who keeps remembering that there is more to add. And more.

As well as being a sad and poorly told tale, it was also a departure from the norm for me because I complained a lot. And not just in the usual way us Brits complain... that is, about the weather and the cost of things and the fact extended warranties exist when really companies should just stop making shit that breaks and lift their game; because you don't complain about real things that involve emotions and make people uncomfortable. Nope, I complained properly. Like an annoyed and petulant American. And I cried.

I complained about how life isn't fair. How I'm sick of trying to frame things positively and use reiki and meditation (or wine and threats of violence towards my squabbling children) to get through it all.

It was kind of interesting to hear it all laid out as one sorry tale, because, while I have lovely friends and lovely family who are there to listen, I do not, under usual circumstances, have an entire uninterrupted hour to talk only about myself and my own experiences with them.

Mostly, when I talk about myself to others, it is punctuated with requests for juice, arse wiping and the need to physically remove a child from imminent danger at least every 28 seconds. Or it's in an Elmo-esq third person kind of way when I declare 'Mummy doesn't really have time to pretend to be a mosquito just now sweetheart because mummy is trying to scrub hummus from the fridge... you know, that hummus you just wiped all over it...because mummy apparently didn't have enough to do with all the usual cleaning up after dinner before mummy was allowed to have herself a gin...' and the like. OK. It may be less Elmo and more Miss Haversham, but you get the idea.

So it was kind of a luxury to list all of the things and have the hump with them. Especially as it was for someone whom, for reasons of professionalism, isn't allowed to think I'm a whinging twat. Well, who isn't allowed to say so anyway. Or even to hint at it with a subtle eyebrow raise.

I started with my marker in the sand. The defining moment of when things got most shit. With mum's death. Even thought there had been 'stuff' before it. Stuff like a resuss baby with a heart murmur. Stuff like growing an entire human and her not being able to see it happening because she was too sick to travel here. Some annoying stuff. Some fixable stuff. And always survivable stuff. Stuff she helped me through, as she always did with any of the stuff life sent my way.

But then she was gone. And it wasn't just annoying, or fixable and the jury is out on survivable some days. And it seems like, without her there on the other side of my Skype screen, the other stuff got harder too.

Mum died. And then I had a miscarriage. And then we ended up embroiled in a court case suing a multi national company that had wronged us and it was rather stressful for the duration of my next pregnancy. And then my daughter was born early - my waters breaking while Sean was on the other side of the country a five hour flight away. And then her heart kept stopping and she had to be emergency suctioned out. And then resuscitated like her brother. And then she had a hearing issue. And then it was a special kind of hearing issue which might mean she had a brain tumour. And then we'd have to wait a year to have an MRI and rule it out. And then Sean was a student and we had no income. And then I had to stop buying nice things and drinking coffee-shop coffee. And then opening bills went from meaning 'buy no posh hand wash this Woolies shop' to 'buy no meat'. And then he started his medicine course and I had to pretty much single parent my way thought the week days because he had to leave at 6.30am and work until he was a pumpkin in the evenings. And then I had to take my son out of daycare rather than put my daughter in with him and I had no time at all ever without small people needing shit from me and smearing me with stickiness.

And then, this morning's finale - I took Betts for her 18 month vaccines and she's now got a heart murmur that wasn't there before.

Perhaps it's a blessing that thanks to the fact Sean's first year of Med school ends tomorrow we know more than we would previously about what that might mean from her and what might have caused it and that I know the cardiologist we have to see next week - because I saw him about Abe's. But, that's not how it feels. So I'm calling it. It's a(nother) crap thing to have happened and it's not bloody fair. And I'm hoping very much that from here on in my 'and thens' start to improve because this has to be enough of a run of things happening that I don't want to happen...

I'd be happy if they just become break even 'and thens', rather than anything more.

I don't need 'And then Pink was on the cover of Heat with her son in my swimmers and my business went nuts and I was rich beyond my wildest dreams'. I'd be delighted with 'And then it turned out to be nothing with Betts.'

Though obviously I'd take both. And then I wouldn't have to bother you all with 'whinging twat' blogs because I'd be on a cruise with my perfectly healthy children. And their Au Pair.

#Depression #Society #health #choices