I thought about the whole situation and felt brave. My younger, idealistic hippy self from college would have been proud to see how calm and grownup I was being in the face of awkwardness and discomfort. She would have been appalled at the number of pills I was taking though.
I always thought of fertility as holy. The process of bringing a life into the world is so miraculous, so completely divine, that there was no other way to describe it.
I thought everything was holy when I was younger. Random mishaps were fortuitous, and serendipity was everywhere. Everywhere I looked was living proof of Gd: everything happened for a reason, the universe was sentient, birds were trying to tell me things, dogs seemed to smile.
Walking with friends under a starry night sky, the world felt holy and fertile with infinite possibility.
Then I started trying to have a baby, and everything changed.
While medically suggested, orgasms were irrelevant. Doctor visits were mandatory.
I took pills to trigger hyper ovulation, and I took pills to minimize my prolactin levels. I took vitamins and allergy medication and tylenol and whatever else they told me to. So many pills!
They did tests and more tests. There were needles and blood and kind phlebotomy techs who had me sit in bland colored rooms full of plastic and linoleum.
There was even a test that involved looking at my fallopian tubes on a screen while they pumped water with bubbles through them to check for blockages. (Apparently I have lovely fallopian tubes.) Unfortunately, the seltzer in my womb didn’t seem to clear up the fertility issues.
And the tests continued. There was a brain scan, to see if a small tumor in my brain was the source of all my troubles. (It’s not.)
As it turns out, fertility has been the least holy experience of my entire life thus far. I keep trying to read my old idealistic hippy holiness into this situation, and it just doesn’t work! I have no sense of what Gd wants for me.
There may yet be fertility in my stars–I’m only 32 years old, and I really don’t know. It’s also possible that Gd just doesn’t want me to bear a child. Genetically, I might be the last Russian doll in the set. I don’t know! And Gd’s not telling either.
In my struggles with fertility it feels like Gd is an old friend, and we’re sitting down for coffee. Whenever the subject I want to talk about comes up, She changes the subject. She’ll talk to me about anything else in the world, but when I bring up fertility, She just smiles, with closed lips, looks down into Her mug, and stirs Her cup of coffee.
There comes a time in the conversation when I just might want to let the subject drop. Maybe I’ll be quiet a while and see what She has to say.