It is 04.30 and I woke up in pain. My horrible dream leaves me as I forget it instantly which is perfectly ok with me. They are mostly horrible dreams these days now anyway. It got so bad last month that I began crying every night before bed. Imagine! Me, the daughter of Somnus and lover of dreams; protestor of sleepless nights, journalist of fantastical sleeping phenomenon and pseudo dream psychoanalyst, how could I be fearful of my favourite activity?
As sleep eludes me for the second time in my life and dreams darkly transform, my head pounds as I work without relief. I am easily confused and erratic. Fear creeps in. Michelangelo shouts at me for being forgetful and I shout back because I am weak and vulnerable. Sometimes I am awake more than twenty hours a day and I start to wonder why I am alive. I find little joy in anything I do. The pain from my uterus, the pain in my head, the pain of being awake.
It has been six months now since I called my GP and I am still yet to see a gynaecologist. I do all I can. I move and change my doctors, I find out about private health care, I try ancient healing techniques. Still, I feel depressed and all alone with my problems. The lack of care and interest from my medical team now I do not have cancer is shocking. I continue with Helen. I only see her once a month which I think is fine. I look forward to talking to her, the support I feel is often the only real support I get. Helen listens without judging me or trying to ‘fix’ me.
Michelangelo makes inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood but what is funny about infertility and a lifetime of misery? What is funny about complex post traumatic stress disorder, pain, loneliness or suicidal thoughts? He hasn’t known me long enough to see the complete devastating impact it has my on life. How a few hormones who refuse to do their job result in this, an invisible illness no one knows what to do with.
It is 05.30 and the birds are beginning to sing, I am beginning to sink as the pain has been getting worse and I need to lie down.