I’m on a new medication, the main side effect of which is nausea. So of course I’m really happy about this. I was actually being very cocksure, telling myself “I take chemo every week! This is not going to be a problem!”
HAHAHAHA! It is a problem. I do not handle nausea well.
Last night as we were watching Northern Exposure* we were on the episode where Shelly finds out she’s pregnant and I looked at Husband and said “Maybe I’m just pregnant.” It was a joke, but I think the sheer terror on his face was beyond healing with humour.
When I was a little kid, all my stories featured “having a baby” as the happy ending for my characters. I was so enamoured with the drama of babies that my poor characters got families of eight and nine children as a matter of course. When we were cleaning out the basement of the house on Bluffside where I lived for the first 15 years I found long lists of names tucked in the unused pockets of the pool table and on various shelves of the bookcase. They were lists of all the babies, in order, for each of my stories. One family had sixteen girls with names like Beatrice, Eunice and Enid. (I really love “Enid” as a name to this day. I have NO IDEA why.) They were the missionaries who lived in a terraced cave behind a waterfall. Judging by the number of children I gave them it can only have been Niagra or that super-long waterfall in Africa or South America.
I think one of the reasons infertility hit me so hard was that I HAD been so long a believer in the idea of babies being the happy ending. After all, that was a pretty common story trope for my generation. (Remember Friends? These Happy Golden Years? The list goes on.) It became much easier to wrap my mind around not having my own babies when I saw that, like a wedding, they weren’t a trophy but a gateway to a new path and a new journey. Here is where I’d insert some reference to that Robert Frost poem except that, really, I’m so sick of that poem being drug up every time someone talks about taking a path. Especially when the path, like this one, wasn’t chosen by the person but by the forces surrounding the person. And now I can’t stop talking about the poem that I didn’t want to talk about. How irritating.
So no, I am not pregnant. Nor do I wish to be. And lucky, lucky **Merloneanna only has two children. She’s quite blessed to be written by me at this later stage of my life. Of course her two children are…well…difficult, to say the least. Especially since the elder one, the son, is rather legendary in his own right.
*Let’s talk about Northern Exposure. I didn’t watch it when it first aired because I was busy getting sick, getting well, leaving university, getting married, moving to Nashville. In other words, in the middle of my own upheavals and not at all interested in the upheavals of some guy. I keep trying to see the genius in the show, but I’m four episodes in and the lead character is GRATING, the sexual tension is neither sexually appealing nor tension. I LOVE the townspeople and their stories though. I don’t know if I’ll love them enough to sit through the Joel Fleischmann schtick.
**In case you missed it, this name was courtesy of Facebook. A Page Suggestion was for one that was dedicated to a family’s tragically killed four year old daughter. They said “This page is dedicated to Mariana (Pronounced Mar-long-e-anna). I looked at the name for a good 25-30 seconds trying to figure out how they got that pronunciation before I realised that they meant the “i is pronounced like eeeee”. I was tired. And I felt stupid. But I loved the name my head misread and it creepily, eerily fits the world of my story. So I went with it.