'You can't always get what you want...'

I don't know about you but, when I find myself in certain circumstances, a quote or a song will often pop into my mind. And, quite irritatingly, conduct a noisy, if bloodless, coup and occupy my head for an inordinate amount of time. Like a whole day.
Today, it is a song. A Stones song. And I'm not even into the Rolling Stones. Anymore. It's this: "You can't always get what you want..."
Because I haven't been given what I want. And nor has Caroline. The third AI (artificial insemination) didn't work. Caro sent me a message late last night to say that it seemed her period was starting. This morning, a message to say that a home pregnancy test had produced "another negative".
I am gutted. We are. "Project Egg" has not worked. It hasn't given us the child we have so desperately searched for. As Caroline said, "We have put so much loving energy into this." We have. Right now, in the travel bag I carried home from Durban last week, are two tiny white baby garments, "Babygros" I think they're called.
Unusually, and movingly, Caroline gave them to me as a gift on Mother's Day. I think it was her way of putting some positive energy out there. Some belief. I have occasionally picked them up and held them, admired them and got a warm and fuzzy feeling, wondering when I will get the chance to put them on to a diminutive, pink-skinned, squirming wee body of flesh. My flesh and blood.

Not to be, it would seem. I am spinning and reeling with emotion. In an earlier post, I wrote of how "my Spiritualist Woman" had told me that my mother was holding a child for me in spirit, waiting for the right time to send "him" down. (Sorry, I must walk outside for some fresh air at this point.)
OK, so I had a smoke. And felt dizzy. And if this all seems a tad melodramatic, then too bad. This is my blog, OK? And I'd insert a little yellow "smiley face" here but I don't feel like it.
I'm feeling sad. Because so much went into Project Egg. Including my putting a beautiful relationship on hold. And at risk. I'm still not sure how that is going to turn out. Caroline also feels drained. her life has gone on hold for the past six months. We have agreed that she must now go back to it, her life. And me to mine.
When I went outside just now, a saying popped into my head, threatening to shove the Stones' line to one side. "Mother knows best." She always did. I have grown to know that as I have got older. And I know it now. But, Mom, (deep breath) give me a bloody break, for God's sake!
I'm feeling sad that Mom didn't think Project Egg was right. And I'm just feeling sad. But I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I am blessed. I am blessed with the knowledge that there are higher powers at work here. That there is a grand scheme of things, much grander and far-reaching than my wants and desires. "Life is what happens when you're busy making other plans (thanks, John Lennon)."
And I have life. I don't have everything I want. But I am truly grateful for what I've got. I have life. And, in a strange and not completely understanding way, I love it. And every day, it begins anew. And so does hope.

(I wasn't planning to write so much. Or write it like I have. I probably should read and edit this blogpost, and change it into something less "melodramatic". But I won't. Publish and be Dad, I say!) Bye. For now.

So, will it be third time lucky?

The early-morning sun, a great big yellow African ball of fire, is bouncing off the Indian Ocean and into my eyes. I am blinded. A broken heart is blind. I am not broken. But I am blinded and can barely see the screen on which some words, seemingly random, are appearing.

And, as I sit here at Cafe Java in Umdloti and watch the surfer boys get as one with the waves that peel off in perpetuity, I don't really have the words to truly express my feelings. I got the call at 6.30am this morning from Caro to say that the pregnancy test had come up negative. For the second time. Her tears felt close to me. They dripped on to my heart and burned a wound in my hope.

But we pick ourselves up and look forward to a fortnight's time, when I will produce the sperm that will give us what we so desperately desire. Our child. I shall do everything in my power this time to make my swimmers Thorpedo-like, sleek and muscled, cutting vigorously and effortlessly through the fluids and tissue to find Caroline's eggs. This will happen.

And I will visualise and meditate and gaze up at the moon in all of its phases to ask my mother a million times to send our spirit baby down to fulfill his destiny. He shall come to pass.

And that, as I sit here, the sounds of young children chattering exuberantly as they head to the beach with their parents, their bubbling beach-burble rising tantalisingly around me, is all I have got.

I shall join them soon, the grains of golden sands sliding between my toes, the waves crashing with eternal promise in my ears... as I go in search of that great fertility symbol of yesteryear, the elusive cowrie shell.

My true path to happiness lies in runes...

It has been five days since Caroline and I attempted the second insemination. I just called her to ask how she is.

"I've had no symptoms," she told me, "but, earlier this morning, while I was teaching and writing on the blackboard, I felt some twinges. Will, I'm trying not to get too carried away with every little thing that I might feel."

Understood. Expectations are being held down. We have felt disappointment. This is so big for both of us.

This morning, while Caroline was feeling twinges that may or may not mean anything, I did a runecast.

I have been using runes for a few months now. A wise woman said a long time ago that they would work for me. I now know that they do. I've felt an increasing connection with - and confidence about using - my 25 little sawn-off pieces of milkwood branch (one I found that had broken from my special tree).

I share here with you the results of my runecast...

"Thursday, 19/4/2012

Runecast: My Query... where to goes my heart now... my true path.... where is my home?

1. The problem... DAEG: Pos - Increase and growth... slow and steady... much to do with attitude... a major change... something so radical that you will never live your life in the same way again... a new start... make best of situation over which you have no control. Things will get better, perhaps through an outside agency. Could also mean being exposed to a new way of life or of thinking.... even a religious enlightenment.

2. The course of action... BEORC: Pos - Fertility rune, birth and of the family. Represents your mother or your children, an event which brings joy to the family, such as a birth or wedding. Beorc represents your true home, the "home where your heart is" as opposed to where you are living now. Beorc always presages a birth, whether it is an actual birth or the formation of an idea. Go with care and awareness. Any plans should be implemented now. When positive, a fortunate outcome to any question asked; surrounded by positive runes, Beorc shows a favourable outcome. For people who wish to have children but have had no luck, this rune signifies eventual success, especially when paired with ING.

3. What is likely to come about... WUNJO: Pos - Represents joy and happiness coming into your life. Excellent omen and indicates a positive outcome of whatever is troubling you at this time. The shift that was due has arrived, the Wheel of Karma has turned in your favour and you are about to "come to yourself" in some way. Be happy! In combination with other runes, it indicates success in whatever areas they rule (DAEG - growth, change, new life, new thinking; BEORC - birth, family, my true home, children). Wunjo will signify the object of the inquirer's affections, shows some activity undertaken with this person ending in a happy result. Signifies joy in one's work, especially if creative or artistic. Shows that this creative element is very important to personal happiness and wellbeing."

I have been living in limbo, not at all sure about where I should be, who I should be with... and what on earth I am actually playing at! But I am being constantly reminded that I am presently operating out of a higher purpose. and that, in the fullness of time, what I am going through will become clearly understood.

This runecast goes a very long way to reassuring me that I am, indeed, on my true path.

Mom, it is time for you to send my child to me...

Tomorrow morning Caroline and I will make our second attempt at artificial insemination. This time my sperm will be filtered and processed, the most vigorous swimmers among my spermatozoa selected, and an intrauterine insertion performed on Caroline.

This the most targeted insemination that can be done. Hope springs internal.

Please, those few of you who will read this, hold thumbs for us. Project Egg, while feeling like the completely correct thing to do, has taken its toll on my relationship with Susan. My solo search for a child is, understandably, hugely difficult for her. I accept without reservation that it has asked far too much of her to embrace my collaboration with another woman to create a child. 

I know that it can be viewed as an act of extreme disloyalty. To me, it isn't. But this is how it feels to Susan. It has hurt her deeply. As deeply as the place in which her own children were conceived. In her uterus. Pain. Hers and mine.

Everything seems to be in limbo. I live in limbo, holding on. Holding on to a dream. Holding on to the "Sandcastle Scenario" I have described in previous blogposts. My golden vision.

But artificially inseminating somebody outside of a loving relationship, while trying to maintain my loving relationship, is not at all the conventional way to go about bringing a much-wanted child into this world. It is unusual, strange to some. Even unpalatable to others. That is why I want to thank my friends and the good people in the circle around Project Egg for their support and words of reassurance and kindness. You know who you are. I can't thank you enough. It is your belief in me and my dream that continues to sustain me.

You help me to believe in my "Leap of Faith". Right now, faith is all I have. Tomorrow, the birth of a microcosmic organism might be possible. Like the tiniest green shoot in a desert. 

Is it time for my mother in the spiritual realm to release to me the child spirit that she is holding for me?

Please will it to happen. I want this so much that it hurts.

Her words are keeping me going...

It didn't work. The first insemination did not "take".

"Egg" continues to wait patiently in spirit.

Caroline was very disappointed. In tears. I soothed. I sounded like my mother. "He will come when the time is right. There's a right time for everything." And then, sounding more like myself: "Keep the faith."

I'm trying desperately hard to keep the faith. "Egg" hasn't come. And Susan feels further away than ever.

I am hanging on to these words. They are the words of my wondrous "spiritualist woman", Verna, who I went to see on Friday last week:

"... I think this is a spiritual soul thing you're feeling... I don't think it's an earthly thought or decision that you're making... your wish to be a father... because your mother is holding a baby... in the world of spirit... and that's why you are prepared to put all your money on red... or black... on this roulette wheel... um, I've got your mother holding a baby... and this baby is connected to you... so... even if mentally you worked out that this is not right, this is not going to work... you know, Susan comes first... you would have resented her... for the rest of your life...

"This is a soul choice... your whole being wants this child... there was no question of an adopted baby... because it's as if this child belongs to you... this child wants your genes... this child needs you in it... for some spiritual reason... the child your mother is holding is very gentle, very caring... very spiritual, very aware... and very important. And you already have had a past life together... um, only now do I understand this strong pull in you to go through with this... with the sacrifices you are probably going to have to make... but I'll have a look at that just now...

"Um, this child shows me... digging with a spade, planting trees... fixing Mother Earth... um, smelling the flowers... uh, digging a trench along... joining... uh, all to do with Nature... and the peace... and the freedom! This child... doesn't even need two parents... doesn't need... it's just a matter of getting to Earth... just a matter of getting to Earth... um, very independent later on.., ja, nice to have parents, great, love you, thanks... but I've got work to do... later on, OK? Very musical, very creative, but very earthy... earthy, earthy, earthy! 

"Um, I think they [Mom & child?] tried to get you involved earlier on with a lady that... who could have a child, but it didn't quite work... did they? [Me: "There have been a couple... actually, four or five... but, for one or another reason, it didn't work out..."]... Aaah! They tried... they got these women who could have babies to cross your path... in case it kinda worked, y'know? So... um, please let me know what happens tomorrow [Caroline to do pregnancy test]... but, um, you often have to make love more than once to have a baby... so you often have to inseminate more than once... [Verna knew that it wasn't going to work first time!]... but they're not telling me... they won't tell me. But another baby's meant to be born... so, if it doesn't work out... this kid's got to come down... there's a higher purpose... a spiritual soul purpose for this kid...

And I'm not sure why there's this connection to you... but there is... uh, you're going to be like a guardian for this child... a guardian... you will set him down a certain path... that is creative thinking... um, so I can actually understand your point when you say you don't have to be there 24/7... but you're going to be more meaningful to the child than you realise... so, um, your Mom just put the little boy down to rest, I think it's a little boy... I can't be 100% sure but I think it's a boy... I think I think that because of all the things I saw... it's not to say a girl can't do all of that... but there's a very strong male energy... can't be sure... and they won't tell me 100%... in case you guys choose not to know... the sex."

Yes, these are the words that keep me believing. And I do believe. I know all of this to be true. In the meantime, as a mere earthling, I am in some weird sort of limbo, a place where I have cast my love - even my life - aside to walk the path that is before me. I am simply trying not to feel every bump on this journey... while I wait for my mother to find the right way - and right time - to deliver our boy to Caroline and I. And, hopefully, to Susan too.

I have asked for too much...

As emotionally taxing as my life is right now, today is especially so. Six years ago, on this day, my mother died. Or "gave up the ghost" — as one of her quaint northern English sayings would have had it.

This morning I went down to the garden at the bowling club, where my parents had so much fun — and where I scattered their ashes — and spent some quiet time, remembering, giving thanks... and generally having a natter with Mom and Dad.

When I turned away from my reverie to look at the bowling green where my Dad and I once played a few ends — "Just so you can get a feel for it, Sport" my bowls-mad father had said — I could see him, white teeth flashing in his brown-as-an-oak grizzled face, dancing with joy as his "wood kissed the kitty".

I remembered his flowing banter with his bowls mates, the flirtatious humour directed at the ladies in whites, while my Mom sat quietly at the side of the green, lost in her thoughts and looking forward to tea-time. And how could I forget how their bowls colleagues stood back at post-tournament dances and applauded as my dad, so nimble and dexterous, swept Mom around the dancefloor in one beautifully gracious and seamless movement. Aye, they could dance, those two.

On Saturday, I might get the news that I am, finally, to give them a grand-child they will never see in the physical realm. it will have been two weeks since the first attempt at artificial insemination and Caroline will do a pregnancy test to see if it has "taken".

Ever since I have been in Durban for "The Insemination", I have had children around me, connecting with me, my inner child, the father I want to become. I see the children of others everywhere I go, I have had teddy-bears given to me to hold. I never knew there were so many creches, kindergartens, pre-schools in Glenwood. It is as if I am being prepared for my new role.

When I last had a reading done with "my Spiritualist Woman", she saw a woman, probably my Mom, holding a child spirit, a child which was "waiting for the right time, for me to find 'the how' to enable him or her to come into my life".

That time may be close. Tomorrow I will drive with a very good friend north from Durban to see Verna again, to once again receive spiritual guidance and possibly reassurance that I am doing the "right thing". Afterwards, we will walk the beach where I spent just about every sun-rising morning searching for cowrie shells, once used both as currency and as symbols of fertility in Africa and Asia. I hope to stumble across a special cowrie shell tomorrow, a sign that my dream is to come true.

But, it would seem, as one dream might be born, another shall die. As I have written here before, Susan, the woman I love, cannot handle the magnitude of what it is I am trying to do. It is two weeks since I left her to pursue "Project Egg". We have spoken regularly. It is both warm and strange. Estranged. Much continues to happen in her life. It is, as we exclaim with forced bonhomie, a month of "March Madness". I saw this month coming last year. I foresaw much change to happen in March, 2012. It is happening. It cannot be avoided. As I have said to Susan, I "just could not step around the opportunity to become the father I am destined to be". And, as she has replied, she simply cannot do anything but step away from it all.

"It is too big for me to handle, I cannot join you on this part of your journey. You are beautiful. We are beautiful together. But I must leave you now to follow your chosen path alone."

I wrote a few blogposts ago that, in Susan, I had been given a beautiful gift. I asked if I could dare hope that I be given another wondrous gift, the gift of fatherhood. I wanted both. The love of a special woman, my soulmate, and the love for — and of — my very own child.

It would appear that I have asked for too much. I have gone too far. I'm too far gone.

‎"Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go." ~ T.S. Eliot.

I hand over my sperm

It's 2.50am. I'm staring at a white page, this screen. Yes, one of those. I'm heavy-eyed, listening to Radio Paradise (Mumford & Sons' Awake My Soul currently playing) and going outside every 10 minutes to drink tea and smoke under the palm tree, the flickering panorama of Durban's city and harbour winking at me up on the ridge. An owl is wheezing in the trees that surround me in night-green. But I'm not really taking it in. I'm staring into my future and, as usual, not a lot of it looks familiar. "You were made to meet your maker" is what Mumford & Sons sing. Yesterday I made an investment for my future.

I gave a doctor a small plastic bottle with a whitish-grey viscous gloop in it. My semen. It crossed my mind to walk out of the room, throw the bottle into the bank of sub-tropical greenery and return to what is familiar. Susan. Back in my home village in the Western Cape where she waits, wondering whether I will go ahead with this. Project Egg.

I am. It is on my life path. And I simply cannot step around it. I give the bottle to the doctor and, while her mother prepares to lie back, have her legs locked high in stirrups for the "insertion", to have her follicles fed with the future, I take Keira to the hospital restaurant for croissants and coffee.

She selects cheese with her croissant, I jam. I look into her child-wise grey-blue eyes and ask her: "Keira, when my sister was born I was three and my mom tells me I was really unhappy that this baby came along and took away all the attention I had been getting. Do you think you might feel like that when Egg arrives?"

The nine-year-old looked at me, smiled and answered: "Yes. Because when mom or dad take me shopping or whatever, people say 'wow, your daughter is so pretty' and I think when the new baby is here, people will say things about it and forget to say that I'm pretty."

"I understand. It will probably be like that." I don't know what else to say. I am smiling at her. She looks up at me and smiles. She understands. And she looks so pretty. And her eyes speak of wisdom.

She shows me the book she is reading. One of three books she is currently reading. I want to read it. To better understand the mind of a child I once was. It feels like time to go back. To the doctor's rooms. Perfect timing. Keira's mother is coming out of the doctor's office. Beaming. "The doctor said he got me at just the right time. We don't need to do another insertion on Monday. The second follicle was open and receptive."

It takes me a while to absorb this. A girl? The talk at the previous night's birthday dinner was about a daughter invariably being the result of a first, shallow, insertion using unfiltered semen and a second, deeper, insertion using cleaned and carefully selected sperm more likely to produce a son.

What, we're not going to bother trying for a boy? Caroline says, "How about a coffee at The Corner?" Fantastic idea.

We bump into friends. Old Durban friends of mine, friends of Caroline's. A unicyclist and tree feller. A vintage clothing shop owner. A fellow journalist with a razor-sharp sense of the absurd. He makes me laugh. And he has his two-year-old daughter playing on the ground at his feet. I feel paternity. My phone rings. It's Susan.

I had said to her that Caroline would be at the peak of her ovulating powers this weekend. Susan has sensed that the job has been done. I haven't been completely open. Or communicative. Protecting. No, deceiving. I confirm this. I feel selfish. I tell her. She soothes instead of seethes. "You're not being selfish. You have done what you needed to do." So rational. I think I would understand anger better. I deserve her anger.

Susan is sorry. Sorry that she can't share my excitement. "I'm not big enough to deal with this," she says. My head is spinning, swimming. Words are hard to find. The noise of plates clattering in the sink of the nearby kitchen has become deafening. I'm not hearing Susan. We agree to talk later. I go back to another coffee in the bright sunshine. Bright faces. My cloudy mind.

I feel an overwhelming tiredness. The tree feller gives me a lift home. I am toppled. I can't breathe. I can't sleep. I watch rugby. It hurts. Susan phones again. We talk. and talk. And talk. but the pain doesn't go away. She wants me to be excited about the new life I am creating. She just can't feel the same. "I don't want to spoil your excitement," she says. Nor do I. But I am holding back any elation. It doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel right to celebrate the possible birth of something beautiful at the expense of the possible end of something that is beautiful.

After we have finished, I think of the analogy I didn't think of while we were talking. I feel like a man who has parachuted from a plane for the first time. He should feel excited after the jump. But the broken legs he sustained upon landing means that pain is all that he is feeling.

My head swims again when I try to catch up on sleep in the late afternoon. Before I can sink into oblivion, Susan phones again. She wants to know how I am feeling. I say the same things. I am wondering how she is feeling. "You don't know how I felt physically when you told me Caroline and you had gone to the hospital to do the insemination." "Stomach?" I say. "I felt an intense pain in my uterus." Wow. I thought, "Wow." That's the best I could come up with. I think I might have said it. But both of us heard silence. Felt the chasm yawn between us. How else could it be?

I smoke and drink tea. And I cannot sleep. 3.57am. And this, right now, is just as it is. It is as it is. Lay Me Down, by The Audreys, is playing on Radio Paradise. "Just lay me down, lay me down, lay me down, lay me down... down... down..."

I go outside for one last smoke. The owl is still calling out to the darkness. I'm not breathing in. I stretch to get a lungful of fresh, cool night air. My shoulders slump. I am so, so tired. It feels like I don't belong in my body. It's been emptied.