What's Going On Up in There?

It's so mysterious, this female reproductive system of mine. As prescribed, D and I made love this morning and I stayed still for 30 minutes after as I imagined the journey of the millions of little spermatazoa, excited by their sense of the egg(s)--their destination. All day long, I've been walking around thinking: Did they make it? Did more than one make it to more than one egg? If three made it, will all three attach to the lining of the uterus? What's going on in there? I want to go to a lab, hop on a table, and have them look inside and show me what's happening. It's hard to believe that such life-altering, momentus things might be happening (or not) inside my body while I walk through the mundanities of my life--doing dishes, feeding the cats, sitting in meetings . . .

Ovarian Amphetamines

A doctor friend of mind coined this euphemism for the drug "Clomid" or "Clomiphene Citrate," the drug I'm now taking to spark egg production. I like to call it my "twin pills," because I'm convinced that now that I'm taking it, I'm going to conceive, carry, and bear twins--or worse. I remember thinking, not so long ago, that I would never do this. And I remember darker thoughts: that women who did were selfish, foolish, and over-consumers of health care resources. In presentations that I would give to audiences about moms who were struggling with drug addiction, I asked folks to consider the moral, economic, and legal issues raised by moms who used illicit drugs, compared to moms who used fertility drugs. Didn't it cost society more to care for multiples than to care for an infant with drugs in its system at birth? Wasn't the harm greater?

But here I am. Taking one of these little pills twice a day for ten days. And hoping for many things at once. Including grace.