We were able to look forward to and enjoy another cosy Christmas with Dan’s family and then, in January, it was time for my first IVF treatment. Prior to the treatment it was suggested we see a counsellor who specialised in talking to couples undergoing IVF, apparently all part of the process. Initially neither Dan nor I saw the benefits in doing this, but we were keen to do the right thing and we were put in touch with someone. I wasn’t sure what we were expected to talk about but it didn’t matter since it was a thoroughly demoralising experience. In my view the counsellor was useless. Actually she was worse than useless: she totally lacked empathy and showed very little interest in how we were feeling. She seemed to have her own agenda, and her method of questioning (or what passed for counselling) was verging on adversarial.
Understandably, we were both anxious but we went into the session thinking that we would be in the care of someone who was accustomed to dealing with that. To this day I cannot understand what she was hoping to achieve when she asked me, ‘What is it about being over forty that bothers you?’ Dan and I just looked at each other and he held my hand, as if to reassure me. I told her that I didn’t have a problem at all. I just could not understand where that question had come from since nowhere along the line had I expressed any concerns about my age. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘it bothers most people so why wouldn’t it bother you?’ I told her it didn’t. By this time I was starting to feel upset but I remained calm. I told her that my age had never bothered me and that I felt good about being forty-two, not just emotionally but physically as well. She seemed to want to go on the attack and said, ‘You’re very intense aren’t you? I want you to know you don’t intimidate me, Jacqueline.’
I was shocked. I hadn’t tried to intimidate her. I had not brought up the subject of my age. When she had raised it, I had said clearly that it was not a problem. I took a deep breath and told her that she must find me intimidating, otherwise she wouldn’t have said that. I wondered whether she knew who I was and was behaving aggressively as a result of preconceived ideas she had about me. I also took the opportunity to remind her that she was supposed to be the expert. I was just a mere patient. She was really agitating me now but she seemed determined to persist in a condescending and unhelpful manner. Turning her attention to Dan, she asked, ‘How does it feel to be a failure?’ I was appalled and suddenly felt very protective of Dan. ‘How can you say that? He’s not a failure. What are you trying to do?’ The end of the appointment came and she actually had the nerve to try and book another one. We declined and walked out.
We were both very upset. Rightly or wrongly, people like doctors and counsellors occupy an elevated place in society. Their behaviour should be of the highest standard but sadly it often isn’t. Again I thought about all the other couples who had to go through this. For many this would be the first time they had really put themselves on the line in their lives, exposing their emotions to others. If they were going to meet with the response I’d had, I despaired. As I’ve said earlier, it’s my view there are many deficiencies in the way the whole IVF process is handled. The discussions rarely mention the pressure it can place on a couple’s relationship. It’s something that should be addressed. Couples need to know that they may end up questioning everything about their relationship, a relationship that was probably looking very solid before they started. They will dissect their reasons for having IVF and their reasons for being together. Both individually and together they will find that hope can quickly give way to despair. If they are lucky and can maintain their perspective, then they will survive, regardless of whether or not the IVF works. If not, well, they could end up in even greater despair.
While we were waiting for the results of the IVF treatment, I received a rare telephone call at home from John. He told me that Mum had been coughing up blood so he’d called an ambulance to take her to Bromley Hospital. He didn’t sound particularly concerned; in fact, he was very dismissive of her, saying that she was being silly since it was only a bit of blood. He wasn’t going to the hospital and would let the ambulance take her instead. I called Vanessa and we both rushed to the hospital. Mum was very quiet and nervous. She looked so scared and vulnerable.
Four years earlier, in 1999, we had gone through a similar scenario which also began with Mum coughing up blood. Then it had turned out she had a stomach ulcer. After giving birth to Vanessa, Mum contracted rheumatoid arthritis which had gradually caused her hands and feet to become deformed. The doctors had prescribed the drug Voltarol and it’s likely that her long-term use of this may in turn have caused the ulcer. While she was in hospital, the ulcer burst. Mum lost a lot of blood and nearly died. She was in intensive care for three days and I don’t think Vanessa and I realised how close we were to losing her. Mum was terrified of hospitals and needles, and you even had to coax her to visit a GP.
Yet even that did not account for her strange behaviour while she was recovering from the ulcer. She would suddenly start talking nonsense, saying things like, ‘I went down the river today and had a picnic.’ Another time she looked around the ward and asked, ‘Who are those strange men over there?’ ‘They’re not men, Mum, they’re female patients.’ Back then she would become very agitated and confused. I had to spend time talking to her and calming her down so they could give her injections. One night she completely lost control and ripped out all her tubes and her catheter. It was horrible. I asked the doctor why she was behaving so strangely and he said it might be a consequence of the blood transfusion. I didn’t buy that. There was much more going on. Looking back, what we were witnessing was the beginnings of senile dementia. It’s not something you immediately think of, especially as she was only in her early sixties. It is, however, common in people who drink a great deal. What we didn’t know at the time was that Mum had been drinking up to three-quarters of a bottle of gin a day, which over time would have contributed to her early dementia. We didn’t realise she had been drinking so much until the doctor asked if she was a heavy drinker as she had the shakes. After that period in hospital for the sake of her health, Mum’s doctor advised her to stop drinking. Mum immediately gave up, which shocked us but we were also very proud of her.
Now we were here again, waiting to find out what was wrong with our mother. I’d been waiting for what seemed like hours with Mum while she was initially being examined, when Vanessa suddenly rushed in to warn me that John was at the hospital and was on his way up in the lift. I immediately panicked and ran out of the room in the opposite direction to where we came in. I managed to find another way out. I would go to any lengths to avoid my abuser. Meanwhile, Mum would be having more tests. It looked like it might be something more than a stomach ulcer this time.
Not long after we received the news of Mum’s illness, we found out that our first IVF attempt had failed. Dan became very down about it. It was awful hearing the news but I remained positive about our future chances. He was taking it very hard and I remember him saying to me one day, ‘If it wasn’t for your age we would be fine.’ I was very hurt by his remark. I said it wasn’t about my age, reminding him that the doctor had pronounced my eggs in excellent condition. I told him that was just the way it was. Life cannot always be explained and trying to create a new life even less so.
Dan’s inability to cope with adversity was possibly a result of him having led a reasonably charmed life. He was lucky enough to be born with good looks, he was part of a loving, secure family who had always paid him lots of attention and his dad was the sort of person who sorted things out and smoothed the way. He had a good job, he’d had no problem with meeting attractive women and, up till now, life had been good to him. He didn’t know what it was like to fight or struggle for anything and he was finding it hard to cope with this challenge. It may sound like a cliché but it is also true that when you have been through adversity, it helps you appreciate the good things in life. Even with all the success I had, I would still wake up and look around my bedroom and think, ‘I’m so lucky being in this beautifu
l house.’ Dan found it frustrating that he could not be the same way and would simply say, ‘I can’t feel what you feel about life. I wish I could but I don’t know how to.’ Dan’s comment about my age severely knocked my confidence yet I was still making allowances for him. In effect, I was making excuses for him and trying to protect him. I knew I was naturally more positive so I tried to compensate for him not being the same way. It wasn’t as if I wasn’t hurting too and he was the only one going through it but I suppose it’s the way with women – we continue to give support even when we’re crying out for it ourselves.
I think Dan was doing his best – in the only way he knew how – to cope with things, and in the middle of what had been a hellish start to the year, he decided to take me away for Valentine’s weekend. We were awaiting the results of the tests being done on Mum so things were very tense indeed. Perhaps a weekend away was just the tonic we needed. Dan did things properly and he took me to Bath, where we stayed at The Royal Crescent Hotel. The hotel was luxurious, but in an elegant, understated way, and it had everything you could possibly want for a romantic weekend. At one point several months earlier he’d asked me if I wanted to get married or go for IVF treatment first. I said we should do the IVF first. I don’t know why but for some reason I had this thought that Dan was taking me away to propose to me – which he didn’t. When we got home I was very disappointed and inwardly upset that he hadn’t proposed. Reflecting on it now, I think that one of the reasons was that I was going through such a stressful time, and I just wanted something nice to happen. In the space of a few short months I’d had to endure the hell of seeing John twice, undergone an unsuccessful IVF attempt and some rather indifferent counselling that left me feeling drained and had to deal with Dan’s negativity.
And now Mum was dying. We found out she had unspecified cancer and it was raging all through her body. When we first heard the news, Vanessa and I immediately went to see Mum. I remember standing in her kitchen and seeing this terrified look on her face. It was heartbreaking as she looked at me as if to say, ‘You have always fixed things in the past, please fix this for me.’ I knew for the first time ever I couldn’t. There was absolutely nothing I could do.
Vanessa and I decided to take it in turns to go to the house and be with her. We would arrive around nine in the morning, just after John had left for golf, and stay until late afternoon, just before he returned. She needed constant care but John was unhelpful and uncooperative. He resisted having a carer in the house. He was even reluctant to let us put a gate at the top of the stairs to stop her falling. In fact, it was always a battle every time we suggested something that might make her life more comfortable. He would frequently ring Vanessa, ranting and shouting that she was our mother and we weren’t doing enough, to which Vanessa replied, ‘Yes, she is, but she’s also your wife and you’re doing nothing.’ John’s attitude was incredible, considering we had our work commitments and he had recently taken early retirement. He moaned because she was incontinent. He would ring us and say, ‘She’s starting to smell.’ Vanessa and I were beside ourselves trying to work out what to do. We would try to bathe our mum but it was very hard since as she was unable to help herself and she was heavy, like a dead weight. We both had to get in the bath to lift her. John just didn’t seem to care about her at all. While he was in the house there were times she would get confused, and managed to wander off down the road on her own, wearing just her nightie, and knock on people’s doors. She had no idea where she was and she would say things like, ‘Help, I’m being attacked by strange men.’ It was terrible hearing all this. One day when Vanessa was at the house she found a bottle of chloroform in the pantry! Not surprisingly, she was worried and rang me immediately. We were both beside ourselves with worry about why this was there, so I rang Mum’s sister, Auntie Heather. She told me that when John caught mice he would take them alive from the mousetrap and then snuff them out with chloroform. There was no end to his cruelty. He had to inflict it everywhere.
Despite our persistence, the doctors would not give Vanessa and me the time of day. They only wanted to talk to John, who clearly did not give a damn about Mum. I remember ringing the doctor, feeling anxious and wanting to talk to him. The nurse said he was too busy. ‘Can you tell me when he’s not busy? I want to talk about Beryl Gold.’ I persisted but they didn’t want to know. The nurse refused to listen to anything Vanessa and I said about Mum’s lack of care at home and actually lectured me, saying, ‘You should all pull together in times like this.’ I recall the nurse asking me one day, ‘Are you talking about your stepfather, John?’ I said, no, I was talking about my mum’s husband. She kept asking if he was my stepfather. That was how she saw the relationship, but he was not and never will be related to me. I cannot use that word to describe him and I never will.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Nowhere left to turn
We were only a few months into 2003 and already it was shaping up to be the year from hell. This is the part that they don’t prepare you for when they tell you about IVF – the fallout. The emotional roller coaster of IVF treatment can be a traumatic experience for any couple. With Dan, the IVF appeared to have had a devastating effect on him, even though we’d only been through one attempt. I felt he was becoming detached from me, which also meant that he was unable to see the extent of my feelings. With my mother’s illness on top of the IVF result, my anxiety was now constant and it was starting to affect my ability to function. At times the sheer effort of getting up each morning was too much. I could not even be bothered feeding the cats. Getting dressed and brushing my hair seemed to require all the energy I had for the day. I didn’t know what was wrong with me but I realised that I had to protect my business, so it was then that I took the step of promoting Julie Harris to Managing Director. Julie had been with me for nineteen years and she is absolutely brilliant. Naturally, she grasped the opportunity with both hands.
In the meantime I had been looking for ways to allay my anxiety and had spent some time doing yoga to calm me down, but the truth was that I was too far gone for that. I didn’t realise it then but I’d already crossed over into a place from where, often, the only way is down. I suppose my natural philosophy in life is to just get on with things no matter what, but the downside is that you ignore what your body is telling you. I saw my doctor and told her that the anxiety and panic had become overwhelming and all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn’t tell her the full story about John and my abuse so I don’t think she really understood what was happening. After a couple of visits she recommended I go and see a woman called Helen, who was a therapist.
After an initial discussion, Helen felt that I was struggling to express anger at the time; both at Dan and also at my abuser, whom I managed to tell her a little about. She decided the best thing was to regress me and, being totally desperate for anything that might help, I agreed. But it was definitely the wrong thing to do at the wrong time. Suddenly it was like being back in the house with John all over again. She took me back to one of the nights my mum went to my grandmother’s and my abuser climbed into bed with me. I have since described it to friends as like watching a horror film with me in it. While I was lying there, Helen kept asking me, ‘How does that feel?’ She actually made me feel much worse. I came out and got into the car but I could not drive for quite a while. I felt shell-shocked. I had palpitations and chronic pins and needles all over my body: I was in a state of panic. It was a living hell and on reflection I imagine an experience like this could be quite dangerous to some people.
In April 2003 Dan and I had our second IVF attempt, which also failed. The distance that was coming between us was now even more pronounced and Dan seemed to be retreating into himself. While I knew Dan adored me, he was so focused on having a baby he couldn’t see anything else in his life – despite the fact he had everything. His friends told him how lucky he was to have his job, his lifestyle and me, but that didn’t seem to be enough for him any more. I could only conclude that his lov
e for me was conditional: if there was not going to be a baby, there would be no us. From the moment he got the news that we needed to have IVF, he wasn’t the same person. We still did things together and we were still having sex but we were no longer close like we’d been at the beginning. It was so sad as we were drifting apart. It made me feel like it was my fault and my emotions were running wild, all over the place.
Looking back at the emails we sent to each other during the day at work, you can see just how much it dominated our lives – the mere fact that we were sending emails about it was bad enough. In one of them I wrote to him, ‘Knowing how much you want a family, I am also a realist. I feel that our relationship will go AWOL if things don’t happen.’ That is exactly what was starting to happen.
On reflection, I think Dan was emotionally immature. His unrealistic expectations of life demonstrated that to me. I used to say to him, ‘I wish I could sprinkle some positive fairy dust in your tea.’ He would reply that he wished I could, too, yet despite wanting to be positive (or saying he did) he did nothing to help himself. Try as I might I could not turn his negativity into optimism. He had lost his perspective on life. He wanted everything, so he decided he had nothing. It’s a destructive path that we can sometimes take, turning our backs on what we already have because we are so focused on what we don’t have. I take the attitude that now is what matters and I try to make the most of every day. That doesn’t just mean work, it means enjoying the company of friends and family and other things that are really important in our lives. You really have to immerse yourself in what you are doing, whether it’s trying to finish a task, playing with children or having a drink with a friend. There is absolutely no point thinking about what has gone before – if I had spent time dwelling on events in my past I would not be where I am today. I believe my ability to put things behind me and to extract the most from each day has helped me become successful. I once read a saying – ‘The past is history, the future is a mystery and the present is a gift’ – and, to an extent, I think that is true. You can only direct life so much. Pinning your hopes on the future to the exclusion of all things, as Dan did, is not healthy. If you are waiting for happiness to find you, you might be waiting a very long time.
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