I felt completely out of place as I sat in the fertility centre waiting for my appointment with the “obstetric gynecologist/reproductive endocrinologist”.
I looked around the room, observing the general demographic of those around me. I’m not judgmental by any means but a moderate level of curiosity is inevitable. You can’t help but ponder upon each individual situation; your imagination sometimes creating a dire and most likely false illusion of the reason for their presence in this sort of specialised facility.
A tattooed lesbian couple laughed quietly together in the corner. I briefly wondered which partner had chosen to go through IVF and childbirth. Perhaps one was more maternal than the other. Regardless, I understood why THEY were here.
An older couple, both overweight, sat silently and solemnly together. I wondered if their journey was just beginning or if they had been on a long arduous journey thus far. But once again, I could understand why THEY were here.
In the other corner was a tall grey-haired man (ancient is a harsh word, but he was somewhat of that realm) with a beautiful young asian wife. She seemed to be softly nagging him about something. I am not trying to stereotype, or even make assumptions, but it seemed quite obvious why THEY were here.
And then there was me.
I felt so out of place.
The other couples stole small glances at me from time to time but I’d catch them. I was there without my husband that day and I am sure they were drawing their own conclusions about my presence at the fertility centre. Like “I wonder what is wrong with her?”
Or “Maybe she’s single and has a sperm donor.”
Regardless of their thoughts, we each emitted an awkward bubble around us that ensured sufficient distance between our seating. I glanced over and saw another girl around my age and of course I thought “I wonder what’s wrong with her? Maybe she’s single and has a sperm donor.”
She was sitting on a bench near the sperm collection centre. A few minutes later her husband came around the corner to the front desk. His face was bright red and his hands were both tucked awkwardly into his pockets.
“I’m, um…. done” he stuttered nervously and cleared his throat.
The nurse nodded nonchalantly and stated that she would come pick up the sample in a minute. The girl on the bench gave him a reassuring smile as he plopped down next to her, obviously relieved that that was over.
Soon after the doctor called me in. It was time to discuss fertility treatments.
I sat on the pale purple bench and pressed my sweaty palms together. The options were overwhelming. The doctor waited patiently and recommended the standard treatment – to start with the least risky, least invasive option first – CLOMID.
Clomid is a cheap drug that tries to trick your brain into thinking that you are about to go into menopause.
In other words, it tells your brain “Hey, let’s get rid of these eggs before we get too old.”
It is mimicking what your body naturally does in your late 30’s and early 40’s before menopause hits. Why do you think so many older women have twins? Because their body says “Hey, let’s get rid of these eggs before we get too old.”
I agreed to the clomid with some hesitation. I had heard terrible things about this drug. Most of my friends did not tolerate it well, but there were a couple that had no problems with it. I wouldn’t know until I tried.
So I started taking Clomid
AND I was seeing the Naturopath
AND I was doing my detox
AND I was taking her considerably hefty and expensive herb concoction
I had no idea what I was in for…….