The Pagan Heart
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March 2005 Issue
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The Joys of TTC
By Catherine M.
There is a certain oddness to hearing you are considered infertile - when you've had five miscarriages. "Habitual Aborter" they call it. As if the miscarriage is a choice, a deliberate termination. Habitual Aborter - that is me. Like so many other infertile women I experienced the joys of endometriosis - to the extent that my lower bowel became so wrapped up in scar tissue I needed surgery to release the constriction. For a couple of months I was on a liquid diet as they tried to discover what was wrong - turned out the endo had wrapped so tightly about my gut that there was less room for my food to travel through than a straw could provide. Joy. And then this wonderful disease left my fallopian tubes too badly scarred to enable me to conceive naturally - or so they said. But somehow I did. And then lost those potential children, one after the other. Turns out there was also a progesterone production problem... My husband and I eventually decided to seek medical assistance. We had no idea what that would entail, and it's possible we might not have ventured forth if we had. But then we'd never have experienced the utter joy and bittersweetness of being parents. This column is about the peculiar nature of parenthood. For us, it began before our children were born. Everything about our girls ultimately relates back to the fact we are so lucky to have them - and thus to how we got them. So, there I sat in the doctor's office hearing this remarkably cheerful birdwoman describe me as an Aborter. The antithesis of what I desired. From that prognosis we embarked upon the wonderful experience known as "Infertility Treatment" - in our case, invitro fertilisation. Which, to my shuddering, shrinking flesh, boiled down to one thing. Needles. Lots and lots of sharp, pointed needles. I fainted in the movie theatre watching The Matrix. You know that part where all those needles come into play while poor Neo is still coming to terms with his changed life? Yeah - right there. Passed out cold. The man directly in front thought I was throwing up down the back of his chair, while my then-boyfriend thought I was having a fit. And here I was forking out great wads of cash to start some months long procedure whereby my beloved husband would get to stick me with multiple needles on a daily basis - make that twice daily. I prepared to face this nightmare by taking a trip to Greece with my mother. Off to lose myself in the wonders of the Pagan world. We took a side trip to the Kaisariani Monastery outside of Athens. There a small spring trickles out of the side of the church - legend states it was once considered sacred to Aphrodite. Under my mother's encouragement, I washed my face in the water and offered up a prayer. Everywhere we went thereafter we found springs or shrines dedicated to the old gods and at each one I made my offerings and offered up my prayers. Somewhere in that voyage I found the courage to face the needles. And the faith that it would be worth it. |
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