The ugly truth bit…
My dad never ever remembers his dreams so you can imagine
our delight when, sat together one evening last week, my dad confessed to
having had a dream the other night. It
was a momentous occasion and one for us all to practice our pop psych learned
in the pages of “Psychologies” magazine, Derren Brown etc. By the end of the
evening Dad had been diagnosed with pretty much every mental affliction known to
man!
Of course we all went ‘round the table asking what each
other’s last dream was. The truth is I lied because mine was downright
depressing. My last dream (that I remember)
about 5 days ago featured my older brother asking how I was coping “you know…
with the erm… the infertility side of things”.
In my dream I wasn’t able to reply I just started to cry. In real life now the instant I woke up I started
to cry for real. Not a great start to
the day, and certainly not the kind of comical dream the family was looking to
hear!
The light relief bit…
There is a point to this woeful tale of pity!
Bear with me and read on!!
I can tell you about some things I like:
I like to surf, I used to love Rugby especially tackling
until it screwed up my shoulder, I love beer my favourite is “Butcombe Blonde” (and
not just because it contains the words But and Blonde). I like being my own
boss, I really like to play tennis Singles not Doubles. I like to watch the tv
lying on the floor. I love peanut
butter. My favourite coffee is an Americano, hot milk and a bit of sugar.
You get the idea, I know what I like and it mostly evolves around
food and sport. I know equal ops would insist
I say that a love of food and sport is not exclusive to men but stereotypically
it just is! I am therefore a stereotypical male!
The “I’m about to make my point” bit…
When I told my DW about my dream in the quiet and privacy of
our own home, three days later she hugged me tight and said “I’m so sorry. Sometimes when you plough on and take care of
me so well it’s easy to forget how you feel”.
Ask a man what he likes to do/eat/play etc and he can tell
you straight away. I am not saying it is
right or helpful (I have learned it is not) but ask a guy how he is feeling
about his ‘n’ years long infertility
and he probably won’t say much there and then.
But he does feel SOMETHING and maybe, three, four, five days (weeks
even!) he might finally talk about it.
To my DW and on behalf of fellow menkind sorry for putting our
other halves through this emotional constipation. If it helps those other
halves out there living with a caveman I don’t think WE always know even know we are doing it.
No comments:
Post a Comment