Here’s what everyone says to you when you are trying to get pregnant:
“Just relax and try to stop thinking about it.”
Here’s what I want to say to those people: “Why don’t YOU relax while I PUNCH YOU AND YOUR GOOD INTENTIONS IN THE FACE!”
Here’s the thing. I know stress is bad for you. It makes you get a flabby stomach and brings on insomnia and makes you get wrinkles in your face. Or whatever. But the problem is, when you’re going through infertility there will ALWAYS be something that is an issue or… you would be pregnant, non?! When you have unexplained infertility, it basically means that ALL of the advice, (medical or not), may or may not pertain to you. Which is awesome. (Do you hear me laughing maniacally at my sarcasm?) Take herbs. Eat more fatty foods. Drink more milk. Drink LESS milk. In all honesty, I prefer those kind of suggestions to the stress relinquishment one because when you are going through the process of trying to get preggo, you are pretty much forced to think about it all the time which is… stressful. You have to chart everything and pee on sticks and go to doctor’s appointments that you have to use sick days for; thinking about what else you could possibly be doing to make this process easier is inevitable because you just WANT things to be easy so you don’t have to have a part time job as a repairman to a machine that is inexplicably broken. It sucks.
Here, then, is how I ended up dealing with a lot of needles in the last few weeks. The first were at the acupuncturist’s. I was primarily trying accupuncture because of its accolades in relation to curing infertility, but I also just honestly wanted to try it. It involved a lot of holding onto different vials of liquid elements contained in an empty baby food jar in one hand while the acupuncturist attempted to pull apart my touching thumb and ring finger on my other hand. It was pretty bizarre, paticularly because in constantly swapping out the vials he was only able to pull them apart a few times, after which I spent a considerable amount of time trying to figure out how he parlor tricked me into releasing my grip. When I couldn’t find any explanation, I became a reluctant believer in accupuncture and when he popped a bunch of needles in my extremities and forehead and asked me to hold aforementioned baby food jar containing the vials of the elements I was deficient in, I didn’t argue. Ten (?) minutes after laying there with baby food jar and needles, he came back in, removed my props, sold me two expensive jars of horrific tasting supplements (which I take 3 times a day by plugging my nose like a child and chasing it with loads of water), and sent me on my way with a scheduled appointment for two weeks later.
In the eloquent words of my husband, it was time to “*Crap* or get off the pot,” in relation to wanting more kids and so there, then, is the advice I am leaning toward while drinking liquified False Unicorn Root at breakfast, lunch, and dinner and laying on a cot in the dark with a needle stuck between my eyes. (It makes for good blogging regardless of outcome, so I’ve got that going for me at any rate.)