Friday, May 23, 2003
In the park around sunset (5pm as we approach the solstice), a group of dog owners often gather.
Tonight, a tall, handsome 40ish woman was complaining that David Williamson had stolen her idea.
I asked if she'd seen his play on infertility. I said the whole thing sounded very contrived (a woman who carried a baby for her sister years before is now infertile, etc). She had seen it. She knew it was no good from the first scene, where the woman stands and says "I'm barren."
No one talks like that anymore, she said. I said "no, they say 'I'm infertile". She said "or I can't have a baby". I was going to ask if she was a writer, but her phone rang.
But before she went home, another woman asked her what the news was on her baby.
She said the terrorism travel advisories against going to Ethiopia meant their file was still in Australia. She's been waiting 20 months now.
The other woman said she seemed very patient. She said she had her meltdowns and, trying to sympathise, I said she wouldn't be normal if she didn't. She said I should tell her partner that. It was like glimpsing the tip of an emotional and dramatic iceberg. I told her she should do her play about that now. Then she had to go.
I know it's wrong - indecent is how it feels - but i was overcome with a desire to know her story. Did she do IVF? When did she start trying? How did she decide to adopt? Will she get her little Ethiopian AIDS orphan baby (because those are the ones up for adoption - babies with no parents who need a woman like her, who are languishing in poverty while bureacracy grinds on).
But what could I say? I'm pregnant. I've crossed over to the other side.
I know my curiosity is a mix of train-crash rubbernecking ("that nearly happened to ME") and wondering what I'd have done if it hadn't worked.
I'll be 17 weeks on Monday. I'm not there yet. I haven't crossed over - just been allowed onto the bridge.
Tonight, a tall, handsome 40ish woman was complaining that David Williamson had stolen her idea.
I asked if she'd seen his play on infertility. I said the whole thing sounded very contrived (a woman who carried a baby for her sister years before is now infertile, etc). She had seen it. She knew it was no good from the first scene, where the woman stands and says "I'm barren."
No one talks like that anymore, she said. I said "no, they say 'I'm infertile". She said "or I can't have a baby". I was going to ask if she was a writer, but her phone rang.
But before she went home, another woman asked her what the news was on her baby.
She said the terrorism travel advisories against going to Ethiopia meant their file was still in Australia. She's been waiting 20 months now.
The other woman said she seemed very patient. She said she had her meltdowns and, trying to sympathise, I said she wouldn't be normal if she didn't. She said I should tell her partner that. It was like glimpsing the tip of an emotional and dramatic iceberg. I told her she should do her play about that now. Then she had to go.
I know it's wrong - indecent is how it feels - but i was overcome with a desire to know her story. Did she do IVF? When did she start trying? How did she decide to adopt? Will she get her little Ethiopian AIDS orphan baby (because those are the ones up for adoption - babies with no parents who need a woman like her, who are languishing in poverty while bureacracy grinds on).
But what could I say? I'm pregnant. I've crossed over to the other side.
I know my curiosity is a mix of train-crash rubbernecking ("that nearly happened to ME") and wondering what I'd have done if it hadn't worked.
I'll be 17 weeks on Monday. I'm not there yet. I haven't crossed over - just been allowed onto the bridge.
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