Bombshells and Solar Flares

Two days ago my best friend fought back tears as she told me she was pregnant.

Picture the scene; the sun was shining, there was literally not a cloud in the sky, it was going be a perfect romantic stroll at the beach. Effectively, she had tried to take me out on a date to break the news gently. Unfortunately for her, I am about as gentle as a hippo with a sledgehammer.

We parked in the not-so-glamorous multi-story car park and headed down the urine stained staircase and out into the fresh open air. We started heading down towards the beach, chatting about what we had been up to with work that week. Now, K, is my Ride Or Die and quite frankly with how much we have drunk together over the last few years, it's a miracle that our livers haven't died. She was talking about how she had been on a work social the night before and mentioned that she didn't drink. I was immediately suspicious. I asked her whether she was taking a break from alcohol, I knew that she wanted to ease off a bit as she was becoming more health conscious. K's reaction to this question was akin to every politician who has been caught in a lie. The stuttering, the shifty eyes, she had it all. So I threw the question at her, the smell of stale urine still in my nostrils.

"Are you pregnant?" I asked sweetly; although in hindsight it was probably more like a bark. I didn't hear a response, instead I noticed that she had stopped walking. As I twisted around we latched eyes and I truly was looking at a personification of the emoji with the huge wide eyes, you know the one right?! I knew immediately that I was staring at an admission. Whilst I very haphazardly wrestled her into a bear hug I heard the wracking sobs and small, sharp intakes of breath. "I didn't want to tell you here but I just can't lie to you." I carried on with the hug but at this point it looked like I had suddenly taken up Judo so I thought it best that I stopped. Unfortunately as soon as I let go, I felt myself imploding, I felt my bottom lip go, tears began streaming down my face.

Internally, I was repeating "Stop it" over and over in my head. The instruction to myself was not because they were happy tears for my friend who had been trying to conceive for 5+ months but for the overwhelming grief that I had been unable to conceive in 3+ years. I tried doing everything I could to bury the emotion, biting the inside of mouth, looking up and blinking rapidly directly at the sun (why the hell would that even work?!?!) looking down hoping that my sunglasses would collect the tears (again, why did I think that would work, my sunglasses are not tiny buckets.)

Everything was futile, I imagined that I looked like the hoover damn had burst behind my frontal lobe.

I tried to compose myself whilst maniacally shouting that I was so happy for her interspersed with many different variations of "Congratulations" - some high pitched, some quiet, some positively squawking. Now I was starting to feel embarrassed. Here I was, standing at the side of the road in the grips of mania, flitting between jubilation and genuine distress. I needed an out immediately. For some reason, that "out" came in the form of a Starbucks which I practically sprinted towards. As I imitated a person who actually runs for fun, I found myself shouting behind me to K "Oh, but you can't even have caffeine!" Why was I saying this? To be helpful, to try and point out that where I was going she couldn't come? At this point, not even I knew, I was a woman on a mission.

We entered Starbucks and I quickly realised I had made a poor decision. Not just because I think their coffee is unbearably bitter but because the whole population had decided that they too were going to enjoy a leisurely afternoon, spliced with a double-shot white chocolate mocha with whipped cream. How were there so many people in there? COVID-19 had meant that coffee shops previously had to remove all their seating, making them a nice almost desolate place. Now that the seats had been returned, I felt like I was standing in the middle of an amphitheatre. An amphitheatre where I was the star of the show, the villain, the hideous monster that could feel no happiness for my friend. I looked like a clown or at the very least a badly drawn caricature of a clown. My nose bright red and running, make-up stained cheeks and hair that was becoming wilder the more I desperately ran my fingers through it. I was in hell.

We ordered our drinks and waited. I could feel myself clamming up, I had nothing to say, what should I say? "Goddammit, think of something to say." I was pleading with myself.

It was at this point that the neighbourhood's friendly barista passed me my coffee. This was it, this was the chance I had been waiting for, where I could do something that meant that I didn't have to speak. I launched at that coffee like it was the last 75 inch TV that was left in a Black Friday sale in an American superstore. For all I know, I elbowed people out of the way to grab it...it all happened so fast. I felt the coffee cup leave the Barista's hand and enter mine. The next sensation I felt was the searing heat blasting over my gums, eradicating all the taste buds in my mouth. We've all read the warnings on the side of a Starbucks cup; "Careful the beverage you're about to enjoy is extremely hot" but two days ago, I found out two fundamental things about this statement.

1. There's no way you can enjoy a beverage when you are using it as a tool to keep your mouth shut and cover up your emotions.

2. The words "extremely hot" is an understatement. It's a miracle that my oesophagus survived, it was like drinking a solar flare direct from the sun.

We took our drinks and stepped outside. My run-in with the hot liquid had somehow managed to stem the tears, so I was finally able to focus on my dear friend. I felt so much love for her in that moment and the happiness that I had for her that she was to become a mother. I listened to her intently as she voiced her worries about how I would navigate the news and digest what this would mean to me. We walked the beach, we laughed, I cried (but blamed the wind in my eyes) and we spoke about what the future holds.

I left the beach, headed home and made a B-line for the edge of my bed. I sat for a while hunched over feeling very sorry for myself. The tears kept coming and I could finally let them. I cried for myself, for my husband, for a family that we were yet to have and I cried for the crushing realisation that the friendship I had enjoyed with K was about to be changed forever. Would wine nights ever be a thing again!? What happens when K has better things to think about than her childless 32 year old friend that still wants to learn how to rollerblade?

So here we are and here is my admission: after having unprotected sex for 3.5 years I have nothing to show for it, in fact I have not even come close. I have dabbled in ovulation predictors, charting, temperature tests, incessant sex... the list is endless.

In the depths of my grief two days ago, I vowed to myself that this is the year I really try to conceive. I am throwing everything and I mean everything at this; so much so, I have started this blog. To remind myself that speaking up, putting my thoughts and feelings to paper may be the manifestation I have been missing. To remind myself that burying my head in the sand will not help me, that things need to change, that I need to be the force behind the change. I am hoping that this will allow me to hold myself accountable whilst also finding the joy in what is an extra-ordinarily hard place to be in.

Above all, I want to enjoy coffee with my friends again.