Tag: dance in the rain

Through the fire and the rain

Well we survived.

Our first fertility appointment is done. There were some expected moments. Weight, BMI etc. Other unexpected moments, like the explaining of certain things with diagrams and having read my history which the last guy didn’t bother doing. I’m having a procedure which I was not expecting but am taking it as another ruling out of any unseen problems. There were two moments that upset me. Or maybe, angered me, I’m not sure.  The Doctor asked me a question and while I was talking his mobile phone rang and he answered it. I continued talking to the nurse and when the Doctor had told the person on the phone he would call back later, he asked me to repeat what I’d said. No! How about you not take a personal call while your patient is in the room, talking and answering your question. But no obviously I didn’t say that, I just repeated myself. All he had to do was say, sorry excuse me one moment, answer the phone, tell them he would call them back. But he said nothing of the sort. To be honest, it is things like that I don’t accept from anyone so me feeling anxious and nervous about the appointment didn’t add to it. It’s just plain rude. I’m a person. Not a number on a sheet. ANYWAY! The other was when I asked for weight loss advice and he said I don’t know. Nice and blunt. Thanks buddy. So I’ve taken to the internet again and will call my GP because trying for 20 years has got me nowhere. 

But ya know what, I’d fed up with having all the research in the world and it still does not get me anywhere with the NHS. They have their criteria and I can either like it or lump it. I’m not a naturally rebellious person but it does feel like the criteria is old and unbefitting of the fertility problems people face. Especially those with PCOS. The thing is, I can sit, stand, stomp my foot screaming and shouting the actual facts of PCOS and it won’t make a difference. I’m one voice. The government does not care. The top dogs in the NHS who govern fertility funding do not care. And I’ve reached the point that its time to jump through their hoops. I have no fight left in me. I have to prepare for the fight of losing a substantial amount of weight if I ever have a chance of getting help. It may happen naturally if I lose weight. Who knows. There’s a chance. But if I dont fall naturally I still fit their stupid criteria and have a chance of ovulation and hormone drugs. Some would liken it to blackmail. We’ll do ‘this’ if you do ‘that’. It’s sad when you really think about it. Because PCOS isn’t caused by weight. If they treated the causes, treated what I’m deficient in I could be a happy, healthy curvy mum. Rather than unhappy, unhealthy, skinny tick on the criteria. 

Jumping through the hoop is the only way. Time to bite the bullet and play their game. 

And I’m coming to peace with it. It was driving home today in the rain when I looked in the mirror and saw the most beautiful colours in the sun setting sky. On the mirror were droplets from the weather, but in the mirror were the reds and purples that glowed between the rain clouds. I often look to the sky for guidance and a sense of calming. It’s my place of perspective. 

The sky tonight was no different. It told me that though the rain may be hard and make you want to turn back, scream or shout, wondering if you can carry on, it can also mean that something beautiful is waiting on the other side. That giving it time, to be cold and rough and tough to face, rain can also be what’s needed to make a better tomorrow. So I’m taking solace in the rain and the sunset tonight. Sometimes the journey will experience hard times, rain does that. Sometimes it’ll make things blurry and shift the focus. But it’s not forever. The appointment was hard, the journey seems harder but at least I’m on my journey now, with Mr W, and it’s on the way to something beautiful.

Where did all the planes go?

We saw friends tonight. Ate beautifully home cooked food and laughed and talked for hours on end. Inevitably chatter turned to travel and we shared our plans for Scotland. When we mentioned that we’d be away for our 4th wedding anniversary, two jaws hit the floor. It is indeed shocking how fast time flies. Even though we accept it to a certain degree, I have to remind myself and others that we did lose two years due to covid. 

Two years in and out of lockdown, watching the world tears itself apart in worry and fearing lost time. The days turned into weeks which turned into months and people both stayed home and lost their way. Their routines changed. Their lives were static. Horizons unknown. We learned just how much we take for granted in this world. A cuppa at your grans. An impromptu road trip to the seaside. Walking into a shop without queuing or wearing a mask. And actually being able to buy what you need. Hello toilet paper! 

Christmas. 

Birthdays. 

Hugs. 

We are guests on this planet and this was not felt more than when the world fell silent.  Roads that were once so immense in their sound, fell silent and the skys were empty. But we heard the wind rush through the trees and the birds singing. The seas were without their splashing visitors. But dolphins were seen enjoying the waterways of Venice with nary a tourist boat in sight. We spent months in masks, scared to be closer than 2 metres, the very air felt dangerous. But the earth inhaled a deep fresh breath as emissions reached an all time low. Mother nature continued without us, making it seem all very trivial and humbling.  

Beautiful scenarios were shared throughout the world. A date between two neighbours on opposite rooftops in New York. Fathers and mothers on furlough watching their children grow without interruption. Enjoying our gardens and realising their worth. Balconies full of instruments raining down their tunes in Italy. Happy Birthdays sung over video calls. Families coming together with zoom quiz nights. Friends reaching out with a listening ear like never before. The roads of London were alive with singing and the UK were clapping for the heroes in blue. The sun shone for weeks on end and it felt, at first, like a giant bank holiday. Relationships were missed but stable in their state of hibernation. It forced us to stop and evaluate. 

Some of us could stay at home all day, working from home or being paid to stay still. We forgot what it was to be surrounded by people. We learnt the value of home. The value of everything. To pass the time people cultivated new hobbies. Learned a language. A new skill. Got crafty. Planted life into their gardens. We glued ourselves to the tv. Both for entertainment and escape and then updates on where we stood in an ever changing world. We appreciated the once mundane and lived for the silent security.

Once restrictions were lifted there was a picture circulated online of a large, healthy, glossy stem of bamboo, left to grow without human interference. It grew next to neighbouring stems that had felt the destructive power of the human hand. Words, letters and symbols had been scratched onto their surfaces. The glossy surfaces were gone, left tired and victimised. 

If we learn anything from this image it’s that mother nature not only survives without us it flourishes. 

Still waters became crowded again as noisy roads drowned out the bird song and slowly the skies welcomed the planes among the clouds. The world stepped into a new era. Fears of leaving lockdown were shared. How do we return to normal when normal no longer exists? We cried. Those of us who felt that lockdown had forced us into a much needed rest period wondered if we could or indeed wanted to return to our busy pre-lockdown lives. 

We questioned whether there was more to be found in life than the rat race and the constant to and fro nature of socialising and ‘living’. We had become comfortable prisoners in our homes. So what new world was outside? Could we nurture a new world? A world built in lessons learnt and a new appreciation.

Ultimately the world changed. It changed because we had changed. Priorities switched. Countless conversations took place about never ever taking anything for granted again. 

Three examples stick in my mind of moments I felt an almost alert presence of living in the moment. 

Dancing without the help of alcohol at family celebrations, once shy feet were running to sway, shimmy and swing. Fear no longer ruled this person. The fear slept in the past where feet were still and music was quiet. 

Travelling to Italy on a postponed trip. The city of Florence was quiet. Winding streets were ours for the taking. We were smugglers of dreams. Relishers of hope. Venice was sleepy. St Mark’s square was oh so alluring in its empty splendour. The Grand Canal was the main character and shone its shimmer proudly in between the few boats dancing along its waters. We were humbled by the circumstances and grateful for the opportunity. I wonder if we return to Venice, whether it’ll be the city we know or whether the returned crowds will have changed its face to something unrecognisable from our 2020 trip. Appreciation lived in this new world, where greed and entitlement once reigned. 

Drinks with friends in the garden. Restrictions meant only garden visits were allowed. Blankets, chairs and hot water bottles were packed. Umbrellas taken just in case. Gin was drunk in favour of food. By the bottle. Laughter ruled the day. And the rain came. On and off. And on again. It did not matter. The umbrellas covered us. The water would evaporate. We’d lost enough time. The dodging of raindrops did not matter, we learned to laugh and dance in its reality.

My only hope is that as the planes return, our eyes are not lost among the clouds. That our feet will dance without hesitation. Our loud laughter is heard again. That life is grasped and treasured and we remind ourselves that perhaps it wasn’t two years lost, but two years of learning and change. That the scars left by the world healing are a map of where we’ve been and where we find ourselves now. New paths built out of what once was. That in our learnings we have become kinder to ourselves. Not rushing ahead but taking the time we need to adjust. Taking as long as we need to navigate out of the old and into the new. The very personal, nurtured worlds we have created to protect the self and soul. 

Small but mighty

There is a man somewhere in the world today who once stopped by a window to look at my face. In my mouth was an orange segment. It had come with a dessert and as I had always done, I placed the segment between my teeth to get all the juicy flesh out. Whilst doing so I had glanced out of the window and two or three business men had walked past. They kept on their way until I realised they had reversed their path to check what they had seen. That snapshot moment made them laugh and me too. I was in New York for the first time celebrating my 18th birthday and  was having a luxury meal with a friend and some family. On an 18 year olds budget this meant it was more than a hot dog and can of cola. Luxury!

Later that night, we walked to Rockefeller centre to watch the ice skaters. I took the segment with me. Not long after arriving other tourists asked me to take a photo of them. Armed with my orange I readied the shot and said cheese. As they smiled, I smiled fully revealing the bright orange hidden mouthful. From memory I know that they displayed shock and laughter on their faces as I clicked the cameras button. I’d like to think I took another picture, a more normal one, so they ended up with the shot they asked for. And just like that, I gave them back the camera and they disappeared into the crowd. I spent the rest of the night watching the skaters.

Not too long after on the same trip the heavens opened and there was a huge downpour in the city. We were stuck in our hotel. At 18 years old, my friend and I felt an injustice at being kept from the city we had dreamed of visiting. So with little to no sense we jumped into a yellow taxi outside our hotel and went back to Rockefeller centre. The roads were slick with water and Rockefeller centre itself was flooded. The puddles were inches deep and we had on relatively thin clothing with no umbrellas. We spent the best part of 30 minutes jumping in puddles. The puddles aren’t any different in New York to London but it was freeing just to be doing something. There was a doorman outside one of the buildings, sheltered from the rain, watching us. I remember his black hat and formal clothing . The rain picked up and we squeezed into the doorway with him. His face told us we were crazy and I remember exactly how he looked at us.

Those three moments, however small and however fast they sped by, jump into my memories now and again. However insignificant they may seem, they remind me how those people affected my day and perhaps how in turn I affected theirs.

Occasionally, more often than I care to admit, I wonder what effect I have on this earth. Whether my life is passing by without anything I do making a difference. I wonder at the age of 33 whether I’ll ever do anything important.

Memories like those hold me together and remind me that if they are important to me maybe they are important to others. Are there three men out there that remember the girl with the orange smile? Is there a family that look through their holiday snaps and remember why the first photo at the Ice rink was not posed? Is there a doorman, now retired, that every time it rains thinks of the two crazy Essex girls with no coats, no umbrellas, running around in puddles?

We don’t know the impact we have on other people but we know how the small memories impact us, which may mean other people feel the same as well. It is all these memories that make up the bigger picture. The stitches of one big beautiful canvas. The canvas of your own life with an interwoven pattern of people that you meet daily, once, twice or fleetingly around the world.

Not every stitch will be beautiful. Not every pattern will stand out. However at the end when everything comes together it will make up one beautiful life. All those moments will have made something spectacular.