In search of the anatomy of an emotional wound

In a strange way I’d rather be here. Done with fertility treatments that is. I’m no longer rendered a shadow of myself by slews of mentally and emotionally debilitating meds. I’m no longer the future’s bitch, living in an impotent present where all of my actions and energies are given to something over which I have no control, something that “might” happen in the future. I’m no longer dissolving in the barren sea of ART, no longer treading water in the finite shades of gray and maybe/maybe nots that are human reproduction, amidst the attempt of the ego inflated medical profession and delusional patients desperately trying to make it the black and white subject matter that it isn’t.

When pursuing assisted reproductive technology, life for the most part takes place behind the gates. A significant part of my nature happens to be that I don’t like gates. Like a hungry writhing race horse I felt myself, toward the end of baby making, twitching and thrashing around, ready to lurch at any chance of a way out. It wasn’t only that I couldn’t stand it, it was also that I was going after something that in my heart of hearts I knew was never going to work. (more…)