A New Kind of Pill

In my first month on hormone stimulating medication, I became a wild woman. There were hot sweats, cold sweats and a ferocious need to cry. I stayed in a darkened room for three whole days. It was impossible to raise my head from my pillow, to look into the light, to speak to my daughter.

My husband filled my void with a giant fort in the basement and freezer pizza. He laid icepacks on my forehead that brought only temporary relief. He kept the lights off when he checked on me. He brought me Tylenol and cold water in a giant mason jar.

There should be metals to reward men like him who tirelessly row the lifeboat to shore without struggle or guilt, despite the impact of the bleating waves.

I fall into the category of women who suffer from infertility with no known reason. Unlike the miniature round pills I must take five days every month, this diagnosis is not easy to swallow. I’m the kind of person who likes answers; to live in the unknown is its own version of Hell for me. I tell my doctor I want to know why. Why can I not get pregnant when I have been before? Why can I not carry the child I so badly desire? Why me? Why now? But, he cannot answer these questions. He only shrugs his shoulders and smiles the kind of sympathetic smile that years in his field has taught him. He ends our conversation with a clear warning for the possible hurricane ahead, “You may notice some side effects and you may not. We’ll figure it out as we go along.”

When I enter his office on Day 13, he asks me about my experience. “I became a wild woman,” I tell him candidly. “Completely mad- out of my mind.” I say this with a sense of dark humor that connects with him. He smiles and promises to change my prescription, if necessary. Based on the size of the follicles he can see in the ultrasound, he hopes there will be no need next month. I walk away from his office feeling heard. Every symptom is justified, every hour I missed in that darkened room seems for naught. I dare to give myself Hope.

But so, I find myself this month, standing on the shore again, looking out at the brewing storm. I wash down the promised, new pill each morning for five days. I swallow hard with my daily mantra, “I am capable of getting pregnant,” then take the herbs my naturopath recommends. Perhaps the combination of both will do what the past two years of trying has not. There seem to be no side effects from this new pill and for that I am beyond grateful. It’s important to find even the smallest of thanks in these trials.

This month I will clear my mind and find peace, let my body relax, forget about what has not been and focus on what could be. I feel peace encircling me like gulls above the frigid waters, hungry for what the storm will blow ashore.