Not the television show, but the book (no relation): Inconceivable: A Woman's Triumph over Despair and Statistics by Julia Indichova. I read it in a day, and it was so inspiring, I'm reading it again. For those of you facing infertility, becoming disillusioned by, or wary of the slippery slope of medical intervention, this is the book for you. It's a memoir of a woman in search of an answer for her secondary infertility. She turns to the experts first, and is told again and again there is no hope. Unwilling to give up, she seeks out alternative experts, some of whom are useful, some not so much. In the end, she chooses her own gut as the ultimate authority. After years of trying, at 42-years-old, she conceives and gives birth (VBAC, by the way) to her second child.
Why do I bring it up? Because it inspired me to listen to my own gut, which tells me to eat well, meditate, exercise, dance and do yoga, and breathe as much fresh air as possible. It also says: keep taking folic acid, a little zinc, and vitamin C when under stress. Eat flax seed, dandelion greens, and burdock root, among other veggies, legumes, and whole grains, but take it easy on wheat and dairy. Drink teas like nettle, dandelion, licorice, and raspberry leaf, among others. Also, a neighbor recommended a Traditional Chinese Medicine herbalist and accuncturist a while ago, and though I liked the idea, I resisted her suggestion. (It's a bit of a trek to get to him, and there were others who sounded slightly less amazing, but at least they were more nearby). But suddenly the trip seems less daunting, in fact, I'm exited. Just tonight I left a note on my neighbor's door, requested more info. I plan on going as soon as possible.
My gut (or perhaps my lungs) also tells me to relocate. I think of the summer, when our dinner table (under a window that receives a regular breeze from the direction of the nearby highway) quickly accumulates a disconcerting layer of grime. Where else is that grime accumulating? I'm not sure I want to know! And also, our landlord is really pushing it lately with too many last minute excuses to enter our space. It's been time to move on for a while now. We need to figure out where we're going.
All of these changes, whether they bring us babies or not, are worth it. I'm thirty-five. I'm past the point when life seems like it's something I'm getting ready for. Life is now. It's time to build up my body, to get my menstruation back up to its former vibrant, 5-day bleed. I'm not too old, dammit. Even if there is a strike three on the way, I'm not giving up my turn at bat. Not yet anyway.