Before the conception I’ve been rambling on and on about was a bleak period of infertility. Within a year I had lost the cheery idea of conceiving on a whim, quickly, or before any deep thought about what I was actually doing. It is a dark, bizarre, and deeply painful period when one wonders if their supposedly God-given right to pro-create may be compromised. I spent many anguished nights writing in my journal questioning my purpose in life if I wasn’t able to conceive naturally. Sounds dramatic, I know, but infertility taps into a very primal and personal space inside a soul. Because, currently, I spent more time trying to conceive then actually pregnant and I still have a lot of insight about the topic of infertility. Insight and anecdotal input:

Written in January of 09:
Sitting in this rusty doctor’s office in a scrappy part of Renton. This is the clinic I go when I have to see someone the same day. It is a walk-in clinic with a kindly Indian doctor who is fast and efficient. His nurses tend to be round, homely, women in Disney print scrubs. This time around I’m there because I have horrible mouth sores due to (what is later diagnosed) as a bacterial infection in my throat. While the nurse takes my blood pressure she asks, “Are you on any medication?”
“No,” I say. “Oh, wait…I’m taking prenatal vitamins.”
“Are you PREGNANT?” the nurse is all bug-eyed.
“No,” I say, shortly. I pause, and if by explanation say, “It’s taking a long time.”
“Oh,” the nurse seems unsure of what to say. Then she bursts out: “Well…do you want one of mine? Heh, heh, I have two boys…”
Do I want one of hers? WTF?
“Ha heh,” I garble, awkwardly. My throat is killing me. The nurse trails off…first about her boys then about, what? I don’t know. Why does it offend me that she jokingly offered one of her offspring as a consolation for my infertility? I don’t know, but it does…