Issue 45: The Anxiety Equation

Saturday April 20 2019

There are many joys that writing my story here afford me. The catharsis obviously; it’s amazing how some bad news is somehow softened by the journalist in me thinking “at least this is something to write about”. Poor Mr B doesn’t have that, so he just has to deal with pure emotional fallout.

Then there is the parental pride. My mum and dad call me most Saturdays to give me a debrief. This can range from, “Just wonderful, darling, we’ve sent it to every living relative on the planet,” to, “We hate having to re-experience the bad times, but great column.”

They are obviously heavily invested in our surrogacy process anyway, but it’s not often a parent can share the experience by reading every step, thought and struggle, so they fully understand and therefore fully support. (Dear Mum and Dad, I love you very much. This is one of the good weeks, right?!).

Then there is the inconspicuous group therapy. I am so grateful for every comment, here or on Instagram, that tells me that I am in a sort of invisible community. I always thought I wasn’t into a “sisterhood”. I actively avoided cancer groups and group therapy because I can’t see the appeal in belonging to an Unfortunates Club where we share sad stories of scariness. But I get it now. Being infertile sucks, but being assured that I’m not alone, and sharing experiences with others in my position, is pretty therapeutic. Getting a boost from endlessly positive strangers is like running the last mile of a marathon when you’re ready to lie down, but then someone on the sidelines offers you water and a rousing cheer and so you keep going.

The only thing, though — and I hate to look a gift horse in the mouth — is that I’m starting to get severe jealousy side-effects. I’ve said before that I never met anyone who had done surrogacy as a straight married female. That is still the case, but I’ve now engaged with many kind people sliding into my DMs to tell me their encouraging tales of success. It’s a conflict. I need to hear success stories, I need to know this thing will work because there is evidence that it does! I love the encouragement and the opportunity for comparison. BUT it makes it all the more clear that my experience isn’t typical. Not a single person seems to have lost a single surrogate, let alone three. Everyone seems to have found a calm surrogacy happy ending to their IVF nightmare, their babies coming to them like a sigh of relief.

And so then, since mine is not like any of that, I feel as though I made a mistake somewhere along the way. Would this have gone better if I’d chosen the place this person chose? Would we have saved all this time and money and heartache if I’d been more like Susan from Hampshire or Amanda from Australia? And then I get regretful, and then I get guilty, and then I get the blues. I’m so sorry to all you wonderful people who come from the very best place to tell me how well your journey went. It’s not you, it’s me; I’m a Scorpio, I’m prone to jealousy. I think I need to hear from Emma from Sussex who also had a nightmare, remortgaged twice, went through four surrogates, but it all worked out in the end. Emma? Are you there?

Were you also terribly stressed at this point, Emma? A bit worried that when you do get your baby it might all catch up with you? That you might have a debilitating panic attack in the middle of soft play? I don’t think this is something I’ve ever wanted to mention before, for fear of looking weak or incapable. (Which I reckon is the stance of most people who suffer anxiety.) But with the addition of regret and “what if” to the surrogacy stress cauldron, I’m not quite able to hide it any more.

These days it looks like blinding (sometimes literally) panic attacks that have, on one occasion, had the NHS hotline send me an ambulance (“Terribly sorry to bother you, I’m not sure if I’m having the worst panic attack of my life or if I’m dying?”). They thought the latter, which definitely didn’t help the situation, but gives you an idea of how scary an anxiety attack can be.

Mine hit me at night, which — lightbulb! — might suggest I need to be unconscious to deal with my real feelings.

I honestly surprise myself with how fine I am, and then it all comes out when I’m asleep. Like cat burglars or vampires or other equivalent nocturnal horrors.

My efforts to give myself an effing break over the years have ranged from magnesium supplements to prescription medication (don’t like it, makes me feel worse) to cognitive behavioral therapy, and now back to my GP to try to get to the bottom of why I find myself floundering.

He looked at me as if I had asked him how to calculate the two-times table. It probably is about that basic to be honest.

In summary, cancer + mastectomy + recurrence + relearning to trust my body + infertility + IVF failure + relearning to trust my body, again + miscarriages + medical mistreatment + what-ifs = duh! It would be weird if I weren’t suffering from anxiety apparently, but my difference is that I pretend I’m not, and that, my friends, does not a healthy mind make.

I am fully aware that, when it is my time, I need to be the most complete, stable, wonderful parent I can possibly be, and that means controlling my anxiety now. It means embracing counselling and cuddling and consuming moderate amounts of pasta and wine, which I firmly believe is on a par with La La Land for its mood-boosting properties. I’m on a side mission to investigate all the anti-stress options open to me, and I think this is something that should be compulsory for anyone undergoing egg-donor IVF or surrogacy, in any country. It isn’t, so I’ll take it upon myself to report back.

Mostly I need to see positive stories of successful surrogacy as just that: something positive. One day I’ll tell mine to someone who is struggling, and I’ll probably feel jealous of them still having sleep, or just the one load of laundry a day. Cos I’m a Scorpio and that’s how we roll. I can’t fix everything!