Fertility Treatment Thoughts from the Heart
There are all kinds of ways to express the feelings that we have that are sometimes overwhelming. I write. I draw. I paint. I practice yoga. I read. I pray and meditate. I cry. I laugh.
One of our own, a patient here at RMACT, shared a beautiful piece of writing with me. With her permission, I am printing it here, unedited and signed with her initials only. Thoughts on fertility treatment. ~Lisa
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By choice, I haven’t had alcohol in over six months. I thought it would help my fertility. Despite my unfortunate excitement to drink away my sorrow, I lost the taste for my once-cherished Chianti.
Even in the luxurious Waterford crystal glass, allowing the wine to breathe, my taste buds revolted with each smothering sip. I persevered, and finished the glass, never receiving the numbness of intoxication that could have compensated for my newly unearthed distaste of red wine.
I wanted to sleep, but the sugar of the wine and my screaming cat, caused a seven a.m. rise and shine. So I headed to fertility-unfriendly, hot yoga to sweat out the toxins.
The class was so crowded, I had to squeeze myself into the front corner - between the person behind me, the left wall, the front window display and the yoga instructor.
Each of the thirty-or-so times I inverted into downward facing dog, my necklace dangled, and its circle charm inscribed “believe” and the baby’s feet inside it kicked my face.
In the exact moment that I noticed the smell of rotting flowers, the instructor said “I’m so sorry that you’re almost doing your yoga into dead flowers. They lasted over a week. I guess it’s time to throw them out.”
Two frozen embryos were transferred. In a little over a week, the good news of my doubling beta subsided, only to learn the progression of my pregnancy had ceased.
In my meditative state, I pondered how Sheryl Crow might write this verse into her hit song “Isn’t it Ironic.” According to my body, I guess it’s time to throw them out.