I’ve started seeing a psychotherapist. How American is that? It came about after I suffered an epic meltdown on holiday. I thought I’d been coping well, but I fell apart on holiday. When we got back to Athens, I decided to get some help. I want to move forward with my life and be strong for my son, so I thought the quickest way to do this was to get professional help. And so I ran straight into the arms of the only psychotherapist I ever met, a wonderful woman who used to give seminars at Eutokia where I attended pre-natal classes. Hers is a touchy feely approach which works for me. I’m just one of those people that needs to be held when I cry.
Along with psychotherapy, she also does energy work. In our first session, we talked a lot, I cried a lot and she listened, hugged and did various energy cleansing exercises. Her conclusion made me wonder whether to laugh or cry. “Bollybutton, you are very very angry with your ovaries”.
Say whaaaaa??? But then I had to admit that she was right. I had given my body a job to do, to create a child and keep it safe, and it had failed me epically. So my first step was to reconcile myself with my body and for us to be friends again. The second was to deal with my anger. I’m apparently bubbling away like a slow-cooker of venom because I don’t lash out when I should lash out. She has a point on this. I have a habit of swallowing my first reaction rather than letting it out. Her opinion is that it will be healthier for me to express it. Better out than in. I’ve been working on that.
If Chrisi Avgi start ranting about bloody immigrants having meltdowns in supermarket lines, you’ll know that yours truly is to blame. Strangely, I do feel much better once I have reacted in the way I should rather than slinking away and thinking “Never mind”. Because it does mind. I have enough to deal with without some idiot deciding it’s her job to teach me manners while waiting at the checkout. I hope the therapy works. Therapy is frickin’ expensive, and there’s a recession going on!
As it turns out, I may well have been trolled by my ovaries. We recently visited the same geneticist who diagnosed our son to find out what we should do when it comes to baby number two. Now, I’m putting this information out here because it amazed me, and I had a sneaky suspicion most mothers tested as non-carriers of Duchenne are simply told it’s safe to go forth and multiply.
In case you’re wondering, it’s not that simple. I was tested via a blood test. In non-genetic cases of DMD, there is a very small chance that the mother could be a mosaic carrier (germline mosaic or gonadal mosaic), which basically means you have been trolled by your ovaries and your eggs are a random mix of fresh and rotten. This leads to the horrific scenario of mothers given the all-clear ending up with a second afflicted child. All I could think was ‘THANK GOD WE ASKED!” The chance is small, but seeing as I already beat some shitty odds, I ain’t taking it. It was generally a much jollier meeting with the old doc than any of the previous ones we’ve had. I also noticed he had lovely blue eyes. I’d never noticed that before. We won’t ever again have the luxury of waiting for the surprise of finding out the sex of our unborn children, but I’m sort of all surprised out anyway so I don’t mind.
Anyway, since I don’t want this blog to turn into a sob story, let’s have a song, shall we?