The night before last, I had a drinking dream. I dreamt it was the morning after, and I found an almost empty bottle of some weird kind of wine. I was hungover, and couldn’t get on with my day because I felt ill. As usual, I was so relieved it was a dream when I woke up.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t paying enough attention yesterday, and I had a waking slip up. I hadn’t been paying attention, because I’ve been thinking about other things. On Wednesday, I will have the surgery to remove my fallopian tubes and hopefully the fibroid. It feels a lot different than when my previous surgery was imminent. Firstly, I am well. I’m not desperate to get into theatre and have cysts removed, which had become extremely uncomfortable, and very painful a week or two before the operation. Secondly, I, essentially, am choosing to do this. I’m choosing to have the surgery with all that entails, for example the recovery, time off work etc. And lastly, like every phase of this journey, there will be an outcome, of sorts, which could be good news, might be something bad. For example, there could be another cyst, I don’t know, anything. I’m trying not to think too much about that aspect of it.
So here I was, with all of that on my mind. My husband had told me the other day about one of the Ice Road Truckers who had died at 53. My husband is 53. He said it had made him think briefly about age and mortality, but that he decided he had too many model boats to build and too much travelling to do before his time is up. As usual, I started thinking about his seeming lack of interest in talking about our fertility treatment as if it could actually be a success; about his preoccupation with his own dreams. I wondered if this is all just me on my own, I wonder if I can cope with doing this without his support. Although now I do admit that I was being a tiny bit melodramatic.
At work yesterday everyone was wishing me good luck – I won’t see them again until afterwards because its’ now half term. After work, I had my second pre-op assessment, because the first was back in April. When that was over, my husband and I drove round looking for somewhere to have a meal out. We must have gone to about four pubs, which were all heaving – car parks full etc – before we ended up at The Beehive not far from home. On the journey I had been thinking about having a glass of wine – see, not paying attention to sobriety allows these thoughts in. I didn’t even remember my dream from the night before!
I even ordered a soda water at the bar and we went to sit down. I had already discussed with Mr W in the car that I wanted to feel he is supporting me in our goal to have a baby. I asked him not to talk so much about his dreams exclusively, as it makes me feel as though we want totally different things. Which isn’t true – he does want this, he’s just afraid all the treatments will lead to nothing.
Anyway, we got to the table and looked the menu. He asked me if he could go to some sort of model exhibition in Germany in 2019 as a retirement present. I immediately said yes. I don’t mind him doing that. But then I started to think about everything I’d explained above, and I just thought ‘why is he doing this again? why is he asking me stuff like this when I have other things to be worrying about’. I needed support from him – a lot of it – for the coming week. Why, again, do I have to think about our future in terms of him sat in his shed building model boats, and planning where we’re going on our next round the world trip? I don’t want to go round the world, I want to finish working on our home and enjoy my life here!!
So the waitress came to take our order and I asked for a large Sauvignon Blanc. I had already been talking about having wine and Mr W had already said one glass wont hurt. At this point I was just annoyed and wanted to act out. So I had the wine. Mr W apologised and said he hadn’t wanted to upset me.
I realise now that my husband isn’t ignoring the issue. He’s just dealing with it in his own way. He does talk about what we’re going though with other people (sometimes with his customers, and I joke that the world and his dog will know our story soon!). I think that’s his way of dealing with it. Maybe he doesn’t know what to say to me as he can’t tell me that we will be successful, because no one knows that.
As for my slip with the wine… I didn’t enjoy it very much. I felt woozy afterwards, and would much rather have gone to be stone cold sober to be honest. I felt like there wasn’t much point to it. And the worst thing, if I was in a different state of mind, it would probably pave the way for more drinking, say, tonight, as it’s Saturday.
But I’m not going to let any of it bother me. I don’t feel guilty. I just made a wrong decision yesterday, and I can choose again today. I have mentally connected sobriety to my health during this stretch of 40 days, and it doesn’t feel as though one glass of wine makes me a failure. I’m not going to reset my day counter. I will just add a ‘-1’ to the total. That might seem wrong to some people, but I feel that re-setting and starting with day 1 would be more difficult, make me feel more guilty, and make me more likely to lapse again. And I can’t get into any of that when I have surgery less than a week away.