Monday 16 September 2002

Choices? What choice

From the beginning, before we were engaged and I had moved to Belfast, Sam and I had always planned to move to Australia "one day" - say in five years time. Sam had offered, way back in the beginning, to move to Australia to be with me rather than vice versa, if I felt that leaving everybody and everything would be too much of a sacrifice. He's always wanted to live somewhere else, to get out of Northern Ireland. However, I always wanted to try living somewhere else, and I was totally committed to making a new life with Sam, in a new place. Certainly there was no way I thought of the move as "sacrifice" - and I have never ever ever used that as a tool of emotional blackmail.

We never expected it to be easy - neither of us have gone through life taking the easy path - and were not in dreamland as regards the difficulties we were facing. Financial, for the first six months and until we were married; emotional, as we developed our partnership and also until I found my own support group; and of course my health (although as far as that was concerned, we were pretty confident that the change of climate, specifically the lowering of average barometric pressure and humidity, would be favourable; also that I would find the medical professionals and support I required without too much difficulty).

So there you go. We didn't expect it to be easy. We sure as hell didn't expect it to be this hard, to be dicked around by the authorities (immigration and health) for months and months, for me to be to have little or no support from Sam's family and "friends" (98% of whom we have not seen since the wedding, in spite of all our efforts to plan get togethers and socialise). We didn't expect that all we would have would be each other - which, although such a state is supposed to be Love's Dream, and we sure don't have any objection whatsoever to being with each other (hee), co-dependency is not the healthiest of patterns to get into and we both prefer the interdependent model for relationships. Also, people simply have an inbuilt need to talk to other, different people, no matter how wonderful and exciting and challenging the couple's interaction is.

(Yes I'm getting to the point; this is the set-up)

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After much discussion (and a couple of bouts of weepiness) we had to face facts. This just wasn't working out - through no "fault" of our own, and due almost entirely to the incompetence of the Immigration Directorate - and it was obvious we had to work on a different strategy.

At Sam's suggestion (not mine) we made the decision to move our five year plan forward. To a one-year plan. We would move to Australia - initially Perth, perhaps later to Melbourne or elsewhere, perhaps not - in a year. (We had this set of discussions were in July/August, so we were aiming for relocation in August/September 2003.)

As is obvious from the last entries, my health is declining rapidly. Today I went to my local GP to ask, once again, for assistance. Well, when I say "to ask for assistance" it was more of a "for fuck's sake, HELP ME".

The response, after I'd gone over the explanations, and history and all that jazz (again, yeesh) was honest and direct. I appreciated that honesty and directness, even though it was difficult to accept, because at least it was a straight answer. Straight answers have been rare creatures during the last year.

Fact:  I will never, not ever, no matter how hard I try or who I see or what I do or what waiting lists I get on, receive the level of health care and support I received in Australia.

Ouch.

The doctor was sympathetic, and more empathic than I've ever seen her (well, I guess I haven't broken down into a soggy snotty mess before either) and suggested, tentatively, that we consider moving back to Australia. Sooner rather than later. Within months, not years.

Ouch again.

I can see I (we) have no choice, not really, but I feel desperately sad that I never got the chance to fully experience this new life. Well, I mean, Sam and I are like a house on fire (in more ways than one) which is a wondrous, precious gift that never ceases to amaze and astound me and leave me breathless with happiness. My relationship with Belfast however, never got off the ground.

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The only choice we have now is when. We're not even considering a year anymore; its doubtful if I'd last that long. I was totally incapable of making the "when" decision, so asked Sam to call it. Six months. We plan to move in six months. We have six months to sort out our visas and status (so I'd better make lots of really lovely helpful friends at the Australian High Commission in London now), to pack and ship everything, to sell the house, to find jobs...

Six months.

In many ways, this is an enormous relief; to have a straight answer, to know that we did our best but were simply failed by the system. Nevertheless I cannot stop the sneaky destructive Gollum-like whisperings, that it is I who failed. I know that isn't rational or accurate. I've succeeded, the evidence is there, in that Sam and I are a success, and that I did something a little bit brave and different. But all the same, those butsssssss .....

Ah, to hell with all that. But me no fucking buts.

Six months. .

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