“Maturing is realising how many things don’t require your comment” -Rachel Wolchin

I’ve seen my GP who has scheduled a dating scan and has written my referral to revisit the Genetic Counsellors at Liverpool Hospital. It’s all becoming very real now, but I’m still in complete denial, doing a good job at pretending that nothing has changed. The consistent nausea and daily vomiting, however, is hard to ignore. All of the ‘remedies’ I tried last time still don’t work; Ginger? Crackers? Please don’t get me started! The sick also makes me a little more paranoid this time due to the passing comments made a few months earlier by well-meaning, self-instated, non-doctor doctors; “Maybe the reason you were so sick before was because your body was trying to tell you something was wrong?” I know it’s nonsense, but that doesn’t stop me from freaking out. I feel exactly the same as last time and I’m convinced something must be wrong. What’s wrong with people? Haven’t you heard that if you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all? 

At the work front, my employment saga has continued. Of late, I have accepted the fact that my chances of gaining a permanent position have dwindled. Did someone say canned beans? This time, I don’t care that my future income prospects are hazy. ‘Life’ is so much more than ‘money’, so I say goodbye future house, goodbye stable career… disappointing, but accepted…

That was until a permanent position at my work was suddenly advertised. Great timing… *insert eye roll here*.

Over the past 3 years, I have applied for hundreds (ok, slight exaggeration) of permanent positions within the Department and have been invited to 6 interviews. No one can say I wasn’t ‘putting myself out there’. I so badly wanted… no… needed ‘security’. I disliked the idea that I could potentially be branded ‘dispensable’ and replaced at anytime on my current temporary contract. With each new rejection and each generic call;  “unfortunately you were not successful {as we have found that the teacher who has already been working collaboratively in our school for the last 8 year was better suited for the position}” … blah, blah, Duh! (I may have added that last bit in, but you get the idea)… I’ve become a little more defeated. I question whether to even go for this job. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do and I know I work hard, but I just don’t think I could endure anymore disappointment this year.

With a fair bit of encouragement, I apply and am invited to an interview. Wow, interview number 7! How can you not take it personally? I know everyone goes through stages of self doubt and inadequacy, but in my current vulnerable state, my self talk at this point is disgusting, thinking that I’ve only been given this opportunity out of ‘sympathy’. How everything I now do is ‘tarnished’. Feeling like I’m being ‘tricky’ or ‘deceitful’ by applying knowing that I’m pregnant. Wondering if others will think I’m worthy or deserving. All stupid talk, I know. Luckily, I’ve become overly distracted in being inconspicuous, trying not to vomit all the time or to wee my pants; another of those lovely pregnancy symptom I’ve been graced with. I nearly call in ‘sick’ the day of the interview as I curl up in a ball at home with my face in a spew bucket. But I see this as my ‘last chance’…. really, it is my last chance!

I give it everything I’ve got in the interview, holding nothing back. All things have led me to this point. All those applications, all those rejections, all my doubt… this whole year, has brought me here. While answering the panel’s questions, I experience an epiphanic moment (is that even a word?). I realise how invested I actually am as a teacher… how much I actually do care about what I do… How I really don’t want to give this away.

When it’s all over, I’m utterly spent. I take a few moments and cry in the bathroom knowing that this opportunity is only viable because of our ‘loss’. In this sliding doors moment, I conclude that I would give all this up in a second to not have gone through this year. Everything else now appears so insignificant. I imagine where I would be if things were different. I would be at home with a 2-month-old, probably kicking myself that I’ve missed this ‘job opportunity’, but instead, I’m here… pathetic… in a bathroom cubicle… questioning everything I am… perplexed at the ‘timing’ of this all… secretly harbouring a new Little One that I won’t even acknowledge.

I got the job.

As I celebrate with those who had been cheering me on this whole time… While others shed tears of joy… as I declare my utter relief at job security,  I actually feel nothing. No overwhelming sense of gladness… no uplighting sighs of relief … No internal sense of accomplishment. I feel absolutely nothing. I’m confused. I’m lucky. I’m grateful.

I quietly thank her, thinking maybe she’s not here so we could be blessed with so much more. This ‘more’ that I don’t think I want or need. With that thought, I curl back into my ball and reach again for the spew bucket. Here we go again…

“Sometimes memories sneak out of my eyes and roll down my cheeks.”