Why?

Without a doubt, February is a very woeful month for me. 2 days from now, it will be exactly one year that I received the news. After 2 years of medical fertility intervention, my first pregnancy was not viable.The baby was growing in my right fallopian tube. I was responsible for creating a precious life and then I was responsible for sweeping it away to save my own. Sign here on the dotted line. I remember every detail as if it were only yesterday. I worry that it will happen again.

As I approach, what doctors consider "advanced maternal age”, I continually weigh my options. I’m faced with the ultimate decision – be happy with life as it is…childless…avoiding more invasive medical procedures and move on with my life. OR, I could start over and try every experimental gynecological procedure under the sun to assist in our child’s conception while I’m still young-ish.

I feel so desperate. I feel as though the rug has been pulled out from under me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m not eager to be sliced open like a grapefruit. I’m not prepared to put my body through even more medication distress. I’m not satisfied with living a childless life. I’m not ready to compromise.

I fucking hate (unexplained) infertility.

It wasn't my choice. I’m heartbroken.

To IVF or Not To IVF?

...that is the question. Indeed.

DH and I are scheduled to attend an IVF informational session this evening sponsored by the hospital. As it stands, DH and I agree that this is probably not for us. However, I don't want to dimiss something I'm not truly clear on. SO. We reserved our spot for the seminar. It is approx. 2.5 hours long and hopefully will answer most of our questions about the procedure.

I'm still on the fence concerning lap surgery. We recently switched insurance companies at work and found out that they will only pay after our $2500 deductible. Egads. I'm hesitant to have the surgery only to discover that RE can't find anything wrong...on the other hand, what if he does and it can be fixed. Back and forth. Back and forth.

In other news, my sister is coming to visit (YAY!) and we have plans to go to the tattoo shop. I need some touch-up work and my sister's girlfriend is getting something large and fabulous on her arm. I really love when they come to Connecticut! It's always a good time, no matter what we end up doing together. It'll surely be a nice diversion from our everyday worries. Have I mentioned that my sister offered to be a surrogate out-of-the-blue one particular phone conversation? I'll save that juicy bit for another day.

Fare thee well.
xxx

How Do You Put a Title on Profound Thought?

Name Field: Blank.

Current Status: Blank.

Mood: Blank.

Classification: Blank.

Date: Blank.

I lay on my back with my naked skin touching the crisp paper wrapper. It crinkles and sticks as I shift side-to-side for a more comfortable position. Looking up, I notice the abstract mobile floating aimlessly above my head. Twisting wire is attached to assorted geometric shapes in primary colors of red, blue, and yellow. My eyes focus on the powdery dust that speckles their tops like heather-gray woolen caps.

The white lab coats walk through the heavy wood door and as if by involuntary reflex, my legs automatically spring forth. I slide my ass to the front of the table, rest my navy blue stripe stocking feet into the stirrups, and take a deep breath. Their voices are calm. Their smooth latex hands are cold. A rough cotton sheet covers my knees and thighs. I refuse to look straight ahead. My mind goes completely blank.

My eyes are closed while my other senses amplify. A chilly metal cone-shape gadget is inserted carefully in my open vagina. The mechanism pokes and stretches wide like the skeletal veins of a shoddy umbrella. I clench my fists feeling every slight peck and scrape of the razor tool. Seconds seem like hours. A salty tear slides down my weary face and delicately touches my dry cracked lips.

A maternal voice speaks softly. I nod. It gradually comes out of me, rests on a metal tray, and is traded for another foreign medical object. I can feel the muscles in my abdomen clench as the lubricated condom-covered dildo-like device is inserted deep inside. I squirm. The device swirls within, moving back and forth scanning my innards with high frequency sound so as to detect abnormal growths, rips, blockages, and worse: cancer. I can't see the small screen that projects an image of my womb, but I hear a slight mumbling under faint breath in a language I can't seem to comprehend. I agonize.

My heart beats wildly within the walls of my chest cavity as if it were about to feverishly burst. I wish my husband was holding my hand. I sink well-absorbed into the table's padding as if it were a rectangular pool of water. I am not there in the examination room. My mortal body is.

The tapping of leather soles on expensive footwear resounds throughout the space as if the procedure was occurring in an underground cave. It startles me to awareness. I'm empty and wet. Someone hands me a scratchy square napkin. I use it to blot my face.

It takes all of my strength to lift myself up. The ghostly figures move away and my gaze settles on my husband seated patiently in the corner. I yearn to sit on his lap and curl up into a little fetal ball. My internal clock resumes its instinctive ticking. I reach for the rumpled denim skirt hiding my blood-stained underwear and dress myself in anticipation of my next reproductive assignment. It hits me. Profoundly, we are already dutiful parents in a process of rebirth in our relationship where the initial creator key is due acceptance. What is done now is only the beginning.

"Sarah? This way, please."

Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette

Mental Gems, Diamond Mind

The weekend before Mother's day, our local tea shop hosted a Victorian tea. Being a small place as it was, I made reservations for my mother-in-law and me to ensure our spot. There would be a woman there, dressed in Edwardian garb, sharing Victorian tea etiquette whilst we ate cucumber finger sandwiches and biscuits and drank delicious teas.

mMmMmMm. Raspberry tea with fresh lemon:



I simply had to make something for the occasion...and in one day designed this necklace in pseudo-Victorian mechanical "steampunk" style. The collage pendant was given to me by an artist ~ I wired the rest of it and added the rusty keys amongst other bits:


I brought the necklace to my next jewelry class and my teacher was quite impressed. She took a photo of it for the student gallery section of her website. To be honest, I'm really happy with how it turned out. Dare I say, I love it! Can I say that?! Anyway, it came out pretty awesome...the little girl on the pendant looks a bit melancholy...I can certainly empathize.

Oh yes! I nearly forgot to mention...there just had to be earrings that matched.



What, oh what, will I do next?

Fragile. By Design

There they sat. A few were slightly slumped over while more of the same leaned against one another for gentle support. All aligned in pretty rows closely resembling 'Little Debbie' snack cakes haphazardly arranged on a party serving tray. Completely decorated from head to toe in attractive frill and flounce attire, evidently pristine from mushy food and playground romp deficiencies. Bodies full of pure fluff…their immaculate characteristics to match. Tiny dimpled hands grasped plastic teat decanters that delicately touched their pouty-lipped cherubic faces. Pairs of stubby chubby legs dangled freely from side to side. Bleached-white toothy smiles were fastened to artificial skin tones subtly colored in tan, brown, peach, and yellow blended hues. Blue and brown orbs reflected vacant stares seemingly resolute yet beseeching. Synthetic locks perfectly styled in braids, ringlets, or a straight-cut bob. Several had little silky strands scattered here and there on their roundish porcelain tops. A small number were as bald as the loss they dutifully personified...

Wide-eyed and hopeful, a desperate pair longingly gazed at each sugary delight, one by one. Their heavy thoughts pounded inside tight brain confines. Their hearts, suspended helplessly within frail bony frames, beat wildly like a dark cavity packed with rampant fluttering bat wings. Which one would they desire to hold close and dear? Expectant mother fingers reached out to make safe contact with the dainty display. And with that impulsive, well-meaning motion ~ a flash...

She will be present. and I don't want to deal. I have to. and plaster a smile. When all I feel is anger and hurt. and I'm supposed to be celebratory. with infant insanity all over the fucking place. people rubbing the spherical bulging tummy. telling the tired warm vessel how eager they are. Can't wait to meet the precious cargo. Can't help but mind. I was supposed to be first in line. and here I am. distraught.and jealous.and guilty. and last. there will be classic attempts to speak with me. in private. about matters which should not be any concern. Having been absent through the entire grueling fruitless process. one becomes bitter. yet there is still a certain affinity to talk.to a little girl with crushed hopes and dreams. Kindreds do not do what she does. especially to people they regard. I am alone.removed.detached. continually empty. Tomorrow is supposed to be fresh. Yet there is always the same grave misconception. buried deep. depths of despair. regularly arising. like a blazing phoenix. from grimy ashes of doubt.

A single alabaster figurine suddenly fell from the rigid dusty shelf and shattered. The ground collision, as ephemeral as a longing dream, shaped the illusive irreparable damage. Pieces of ceramic humanoid components, broken beyond recognition, scattered across the checkered linoleum floor leaving a permanent cracked expression on her disfigured face. She vanished. He calmly pulled a straw broom from the shadowy closet and silently wept, sweeping her fragmented bits into a waste pile destined for an empty bin.

Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette

Baby Train

As a self-proclaimed writer, it is not easy to admit the following information. I am all out of words these days. Nothing a thesaurus or incessant contemplation can fix, I'm afraid.

Mother's day came and went. I spent it with DH at the flea market and picked up a few trinkets. There were small children and mothers EVERYWHERE.

With that being my current state, there still is this...this feeling inside that I'm dying to express. I found a short poem that seems to fit the circumstance. It helped to read it. a little. But the pain is still there and hopefully tomorrow will be fresh...with more captivating vocabulary.

The journey from infertility to family,
someone once said,
is like taking a train ride;
Never knowing whether
you'll reach your desired destination.

There are plenty of stops along the ride.
And each of the passengers
makes it's own decision
when its time to get off.

Some never need to take the train.
Others ride it for a lifetime.
But whether you reach your destination or not,
pay attention to the journey.
If you will,
as painful as it is,
it may reward you in unexpected ways.

New York, December 2000

(c) 2000 Ronen Divon, All Rights Reserved.

Hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive my lax posting.

The Egg Dance

Left foot in, right foot out, 1, 2,3. 1, 2, 3. Round and round. Now twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll. Skip and hop. Skip and hop. Now twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll. Chins up, girls! 1, 2,3. 1,2,3. Right, left, right.

I have been diligently performing an egg dance for a few years now. It seems utterly ridiculous and complicated. It is. I hop, and skip, and jump. Twirling around and around. Always with a smile on my face despite inner turmoil that swirls within. I never wanted to be a subserviant chorus girl, yet I am one of sorts.

OK. So why the hell am I going on a dissertation about egg dancing? I can't really answer that. An ovum epiphany popped into my head late last night (after a few congratulatory/mourning drinks) and it stuck there ~ lodged somewhere between brain matter and a matter of fact. Ugh. Lucid clarity at the bottom of the crystal glass. Hate that.

I had my "final" b/w appointment yesterday. RE's nurse let out an obnoxious whoop for my -0- results. She told me I should feel quite relieved and in fact, have DH and I considered our IVF option while pondering what my hCG count was to be each looming week? I stammered. I could practically hear her ballpoint pen clicking against her desk while she waited for me to spit out my decision. I twirled. Should I be expected to jump at the chance of IVF? Instant baby, right? I should just skip right over to RE's office, plunk my naked ass down on the scratchy paper covered table, and be ready and willing to conceive my dream child ~ from warm petri dish to cold uterus. Voila! While I scrambled for words, she then suggested that perhaps I should have a consultation with RE. YES! Why I didn't suggest that idea first leaves me completely dumbfounded. I knew that I wanted a consult. I wanted to ask if I could now ingest prenatal vitamins? I prefer to have another HSG to determine whether my right tube is clogged or not ~ can I make that appointment now? Work is switching insurance companies so is it possible that I'm covered for another (3) IUI treatments?

Oh balls. All of my questions, prepared and unprepared, simply dissipated into thin air. Not only am I a dancer, but also a friggin' magician. Fantastic.

RE's nurse briskly brushed me off. I was transferred to the receptionist who pleasantly assisted me in scheduling another appointment with RE to discuss our options. Apparently, I should be able to move forward with IF treatments as soon as next month. Perfect. I practically started menstruating after I hung up the phone. No, really. AF reared her ugly head the same day I was told -0-. Coincidence? I think not. At least I feel skinnier today! It's a good day when I can comfortably fit into my favorite pair of jeans. I struggle with the extra weight from the IF meds. I hesitate to start over again. 1,2,3. 1,2,3. Hop and twwwwiiiirrrrllllllll.

*******

I graduated from my wire jewelry techniques class on Monday night. Although her next class was deemed full, my teacher fit me into her wire sculpted cabochon class starting next week. I'm absolutely thrilled! I have pics of my latest wire pieces ~ a spiral link necklace and bracelet set with red Chinese cinnabar beads. I made the design up myself. It took me about 3 hours from start to completion....we had dinner plans and I was rushed towards the end, but I think it turned out OK. :)

My teacher asked if she could post photos of them on the student gallery section of her website. Of course, while blushing, I exclaimed YES!

'Ere 'Tis:

A Moment to Myself

This was the very first art card I ever made. At the time, I was going through relentless mental anxiety ~ IF related, of course. Not sure if it was the clomid or doubts. Indubitably, I needed a way to expel what was seething inside. Collage art paved the way to alleviation. I've been skipping down its creative path ever since.

OnE mOnTH SuPpLy

EAST MEETS WEST: THE INFERTILITY CURE?

CHINESE PREPARED HERBS - TO NOURISH BI & YIN

TAO HONG SI WU TANG WAN (24 PILLS 2X DAY) UNTIL DAY 11

ESSENTIAL YANG (3 PILLS 2X DAY) - DAYS 12-17

FREE & EASY WANDERER PLUS (3 PILLS 2X DAY) - DAY 18 TO PERIOD OR POSITIVE PREGNANCY

SUPPLEMENTS

MULTI VITAMIN WITH IRON AND CALCIUM (1 PILL 1X DAY) - ONE TABLET DAILY WITH A MEAL

FOLIC ACID 800 MCG - (1 PILL 1X DAY) - ONE TABLET DAILY WITH FOOD

SELECTIVE ESTROGEN RECEPTOR MODULATORS

CLOMIPHENE CITRATE (2 PILLS 1X DAY) - TAKE 2 TABLETS BY MOUTH ON DAYS 5-9 OF CYCLE

NOVAREL INJECTION - MUST BE ADMINISTERED BY PHYSICIAN - INJECT SOLUTION (DO NOT SHAKE) IN UPPER THIGH/BUTTOCKS ON DAY 12 OF CYCLE

*******

The photograph illustrated above (of my typical daily IF prescription amount) was taken shortly after I swallowed my 2nd dose of Chinese Herbs suggested by my acupuncturist. At that time, I had been seeking medicated fertility treatment for 6 months ~ going to acupuncture 1x week for 3 of those months. My herbal concoction changed twice... each prescribed amount involved more herbs and less hope.

Before I decided to take the photograph, I stood in the kitchen, hovered over the counter, meticulously counting 24 tiny round black beads that were strangely attracted to each other due to the static electricity produced by my fleshy finger on the crisp paper towel, and an obscure gauzy veil lifted from sight. It all became quite clear...

HOW MUCH I cherish my baby even before he/she is born.

Woah.

Egg Epistle

6/25/08

Dear Egg,

The doctor says that you are a delicious size comparable to a grape. What wonderful news to hear! I've been doing everything expected of me, you know. Steering away from my dark java morning addiction, practicing yoga at least once a week, meditating often, swallowing hormone pills on time, taking my temperature when I first awake from a sound sleep, resisting alcoholic beverages when I want them most, remembering to take Chinese herbal supplements twice per day, spending quality time with couples who have small children, eating wholesome foods and drinking room temperature water, as well as progressively reading the natural fertility guide books I was recommended by an expert.

I don't know, Egg. I'm not feeling so great today. The cramping becomes unbearable; the persistent anxiety gets to be too much. I blame myself. Perhaps I should have sought treatment a long time ago. Maybe it's too late - things can't be remedied. Times like these, I feel like a empty vessel becoming chilled to the core when determined attempts to house and nourish something as warm and tender as you go unnoticed and ignored. Who would want to snuggle inside an icy igloo when the alternative is affectionate bliss? Life's hands can be so cold. Mine are no exception. My attitude turns frosty while my heart radiates motherly warmth.

I know you're there, Egg. You are forever in my thoughts and silent prayers. I'm making changes, keeping positive, although some days are better than others. Can you sense when I stretch my tired limbs in quiet isolation? Are you satisfied that I am going to great efforts to ensure your protected survival?

Can you hear me, Egg? I want you to feel cherished. I am grateful for your existence. Are you thankful for mine? This ovulation process has been so grueling, Egg. There are days I don't think I'm strong enough to endure. I tense up at the slightest pang of discomfort. I cry alone. Do you experience my inner pain as well?

Why are some selected to bear ripe human fruit without their knowledge or consent whilst others contemplate and manipulate their delicate production and still remain solitary? Why does something seemingly so easy have to be so difficult? You appear to be a figment of my vivid imagination only to disappear when your presence is revealed to others. Everyone I know goes away in the end. Why should you be any different?

Dear Egg. I will continue to do what I'm supposed to do. Set my troubled mind at ease as the internal anguish is intolerable. Release. Find what you seek. Endure.

Please don't grieve for me, Egg. This too shall pass.

Dutifully Yours,

Mom?

To Tell or Not To Tell

When DH and I decided to seek professional help with TTC, I was at odds with myself as to whether I should tell my family about our situation. My parents and I are estranged, so I didn't feel the need to spread the word to them; however, I'm close to my Middle Sister/FIL/MIL/SIL and wanted them to know 'we're working on it.' (MIL keeps asking when she'll have a grandchild...)

I went months before I mentioned anything to ANYONE (including friends) about my treatments. For one, I felt 'broken' ...like there was something wrong with me and it was embarrassing and hurtful. Secondly, I feared that if TTC didn't work out for us, I'd have to explain each and every month what happened. Again, embarrassing and VERY hurtful.

We've been TTC for 2 years ~ only 1 year using meds. Feeling isolated and alone, I finally broke down and had a heart-to-heart with my sister, MIL, and SIL a few months ago. I must admit, I felt SO MUCH better after I explained what was going on. It's still hurtful to keep them posted on negative outcomes (wish things were different 'tis all!), but overall, I feel really blessed to have these people in my life...by chance. Afterall, there have been MANY times through all of this, I really wanted my mother there.

IUI #1 was in Dec. 2008 and the people I told rooted for me. I got a text msg the day of IUI from MIL saying ' Swim, Boys Swim!!!!!!!!' LOL!! Then at X-mas time, my SIL wanted me to open a present a little early. I opened the burgandy velvet pouch and a Goddess of Abundance Pendant with a Moonstone belly (illustrated above) was inside. I cried. again. This time, tears of joy. I never take it off.

Now there is the tragedy of IUI#2. As my hCG levels were steadily rising and we were only privy to the news for a few short days, I was obligated to become a godparent to my newborn niece. We were travelling out-of-state to become a part of her big day, coping with what was happening, while trying to remain calm around family who had no clue. I broke down and told my middle sister, who is becoming a registered nurse, what was going on. I hesitated telling anyone else simply out of fear. Fear that this moment was too good to be true. Fear that this pregnancy would not work out.

I work for FIL so eventually I was under obligation to let him know what was happening to me. There were (2) evil methotrexate injections to be had and aside from wretching my guts out...mentally, I was ashamed and deeply saddened by the choice I had to make. I needed time away...from everything and everyone.

Only this past weekend did I tell my mother and other sibling the news. I do not want people to feel sorry for me and especially say the wrong things (which most people have the uncanny knack of doing, unbeknownest to themselves). I admit. I took the cowardly route and sent each of them a brief email. I simply cannot bear explaining what happened over and over again. It's like reliving the incredibly hurtful moment repeatedly to people who barely know anything about my life in the first place.

Mom did write back. She never calls or visits me. I don't really know why I thought this time would be any different. She said she is going to pray for me and I suppose I should be happy she communicated with me at all. I don't have the heart to remind her I'm an atheist ~ especially now.

*******************************************

I went for b/w and an u/s yesterday and am hopeful that this ectopic experience is over. RE did not see a change in the cyst; however, the fluid that surrounded the tube is gone. My hCG levels declined from the 750s to somewhere around 659 ~ an approx. 11% drop. RE is almost positive, I will not need surgery to remove my tube. I have another appt on Friday to ensure that the levels steadily decrease.

Personally I think he is doing everything he can to keep my inner body intact. I forgot to mention that while we were having a discussion about possible surgery, I asked Dr. B if there was any chance that I could keep my tube after it was removed. After all, it IS mine. He looked surprised ~ and then laughed...and said, "I'll have to ask, but I don't see why not."

Hey. Ya wanna piece of me? ;)

Magic Beans

Sometimes I’ve believed as many as six impossible
things before breakfast.
::: Lewis Carroll :::

He bestowed upon me (5) magical circles of hope and softly spoke "Take these and your wish will come true." With that being said, the tiny items fell into the creased palm of my open hand. I closed my eyes and allowed my thoughts to delicately pluck wispy silver lining strands off the thick fluffy cloud of the unknown. It was there, in my mind, that I wove a sturdy blanket of trust with every sacred thread.

Arriving home, I carefully arranged each sphere side-by-side on the counter. I planned to care for them and keep them safe until it was their moment to perform. It was difficult to comprehend how the power within them would set me free from the restrictive binding that held me down for so long. One by one, they don’t seem like much. Collectively as a whole, they are capable of great things. My head swirled with anticipation. These (5) round miniscule objects would furnish what I desired most in the world.

I found inner strength in their presence. Each would dissolve in my system and disperse their charm. My assisted body would react. Nature would then take its course. No time left to wait for a miracle to occur.

I popped the first one in my eager mouth and swallowed hard. My teeth clinked against the glass rim. Cool water carried it way down deep. It was inside.

The magic was now within me. I glowed.

Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette **************************************************

I wrote the piece above last year when I began medicated fertility treatments. The emotions are still just as tender.

Did you know that methotrexate, the injection given to dissolve ectopic pregnancies, is actually a mild form of chemotherapy? Egads! I wretched my slimy innards out on Thursday night into Friday morning and felt like a dirty dish rag for most of the weekend. I did manage to enjoy Valentine's Day with DH and was able to withstand my nausea long enough to watch Coraline in 3-D. Quite enjoyable! When we got home, DH presented me with petite diamond stud earrings. They are my very first pair and I love them...not as much as him though. ;)

I'm back to work today after a 3 day hiatus and feeling a bit overwhelmed...but it's good to be back and I think I'm ready to start fresh.

Special thanks to everyone who expressed their support. I sincerely appreciate it and look forward to getting to know each of you more. Until next time.................

The Flood

The flood. The flood.

The flood of blood forming a radiant halo of red that surrounds my little angel encased in swollen fleshy pipe. Heaven is right where we are standing and is all you will ever know.

The flood. The flood.

The flood of clear liquid pouring over my puffy pincushion organ, with petite fingers waving and bleeding as if pricked by those needles of sharp steel, comparable to the dagger of his blank stare that pierced my pleading gaze forever implanted in time.

The flood. The flood.

The flood of emotion ~ an outpour of despair, frustration, anger, anguish and regret. Why us? Why now? Why ever? Why me?

The flood. The flood.

The flood of sterile medicine water coursing its way through my bluish veins destined to kill what pulses and grows inside me. I was responsible for creating it and then sweeping it all away.

The flood. The flood.

The flood of tears uncontrollably streaming down my tired face, leaving crusty steaks of sticky salt, forming a death mask, filling my heart with grief as tiny images of what could have been inundate my woeful mind.

The flood. The flood.

The flood is wreaking havoc along its disastrous path, bursting its way through my sacred temple, eliminating any evidence of life within, yet I continually inhabit areas threatened by flood damage since repeated periodic flooding brings me even closer to you.

Copyright ©2009 Sarah B. Paquette


*****************************************************

2/4 - Beta = 112 hCG, 11 P4
2/6 - Beta = 284 hCG
2/10 - Beta = 275 hCG - ectopic pregnancy
2/11 - Beta = 386 hCG - Methotrexate shot

I bent over a cold examining chair yesterday to be injected twice in my upper ass with methotrexate…10 days ago I was told I was pregnant. 2 days ago I was told it was ectopic ~ the baby is growing in my right tube. 2 years of trying…and it finally happens. The wrong way. I was responsible for creating this life and then I was responsible for killing it. Sign here on the dotted line. omyfuckinggod.

I cried heavily throughout the entire process. I tightly grasped my husband's hand. The nurse hugged us afterward. It was over. I went home. The end. Or is it?

I fucking hate infertility. I’m sick and tired of people telling me to relax, that god will answer our prayers, or that maybe if we took a vacation, it will just happen…PLAH! I feel like utter shit and look like utter shit. I missed work this week. I need time to grieve.

Eventually, the sun shining through my window will be welcome. Afterall, we only get this one life to live. And I’ll be damned if I let infertility take over mine completely. Until then...I'm pulling down the blinds.

sus huevos aquí

"The female body is a very complex organism", said the man in the white coat as he haphazardly pointed to the anatomically-correct diagram of the female reproductive system. "It is a well-known fact that only a small percentage of women can actually get pregnant, contrary to the popular belief that they are as fruitful as rabbits. You see, the process of ovulation is controlled by the brain and through the release of hormones from the pituitary gland. Not everyone can ovulate for one reason or another. We cannot determine why that happens, although we can hypothesize. Fertiliziliation of an egg is an exact science. If something is not functioning precisely, just at the right moment, pregnancy will not occur."

*******

When I was a little girl, perhaps 5 or 6, Nana and Pop-Pop took me to the grocery store during a weekend visit. I skipped along the food aisles while my grandparents made their distinctive selections. The goose pimples prickled the tiny hairs on my arms as we got closer to the refrigerated section. I watched with wide eyes as Nana opened several pink cartons so as to determine which container would hold (12) satisfactory unbroken shells. While seated in the car, Nana placed the rigid styrofoam carton of eggs in my lap. "You're in charge of these," she hissed. "We don't want any of them broken on the ride home."

I cradled the delicate commodities the entire way, watching them intently while Pop-Pop's ol' jalopy sputtered its way to our destination. I could feel their movement as they jostled back and forth. My lips moistened as my tongue moved across them in hunger. I clearly imagined early breakfast the next morning after church...Nana tossing the fluffy yellow yolks in the sizzling buttery bottom of her cast-iron pan. "Sunny-side up or scambled?", she'd gruffly ask. Perhaps MY chosen hen fruit will reveal a double sunny center! Oh, how my tummy growled with anticipation...

As Pop-Pop pulled into the driveway, I smiled. Nana would be so proud of how I sheltered the fragile cargo. With each sudden stop and winding turn, the eggs were always nestled comfortably, free from harm. Nana suddenly opened the passenger door and snatched the package from my hands. I grinned as she carefully opened the lid to double-check their condition. "3 broken!", she snarled as the carton dripped gelatinous goo. "How disappointed I am in you, Sarah. It was such a simple request."

To this day, I honestly do not know how those god-damned eggs got broken. It is an utter mystery to me. I did all the right things and still, my tenacious efforts proved futile. How could this have happened? Was it really meant to be?

*******

Now. 25 years later, seated patiently in a physician's office, I find myself asking the very same questions related to the very same principle objects...eggs.

Illusive ethereal eggs.

Copyright ©2008 Sarah B. Paquette