In Vitro Fertility Goddess

A Tale of Unexplained Infertility Part II

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Dejection hardly describes the state you're in when, after two rounds of fertility drugs that left you cranky, bloated and empty-armed, you get around to making an appointment with that naturopath.

Two years and five months of forced copulation and a diagnosis of ‘unexplained infertility' have played havoc with your well-being - if anything, right now you are an unwell being.

Along with unexplained infertility you've developed an unexplained reluctance to go back to your doctor. IVF is pending and this may have something to do with it though you can't be sure.

Every time you hear that combination of letters- I-V-F you go into a kind of dissociative fugue state. The best you can do is deal with it as an abstract theory, as something that happens to ‘other people'. Your partner thinks you suffer from ‘NIMO' or ‘Not in My Ovaries' syndrome and you suspect he may be right though it's not something you'd ever admit.

Before you can even get in to see the naturopath you have homework - called temperature charting. It is explained that this will give clues as to why you're failing to conceive.

"But I have unexplained infertility," you bleat. Regrettably, these days you often sound more like a sheep than a woman.

"Everything has an explanation," comes the measured human reply.

Well, charting a temperature can't be too painful, at least it involves sticking a thermometer in your mouth as opposed to unspeakable instruments of torture in your pelvic region.

After weeks of waking in the morning at the same time to take your temperature in a religious though not godly manner, it is time to meet your naturopath. You slip the temperature chart into a plastic sleeve and drive off.

The ‘clinic', whilst slightly alternative and rustic, manages to look professional and trustworthy. The naturopath, an unassuming gentle woman, ushers you in to her room.

It is very reassuring to note the absence of steel pointy objects and the smell you've come to think of as Eau d'Anaesthetique.

"Let's see what you have for me," she says, and you hand her the detailed history you've filled out, far more detailed than what you filled out at the doctor's, and the chart.

After a lengthy period of scrutiny, she beckons you to look at the chart.

"From the history you've given, you've suffered for years from dysmenhorrea and irregular menses and looking at your charts, ovulation's coming in too late."

"Late for what?" you ask stupidly whilst attempting to picture an irregular yet long-serving Prime Minister.

"Successful fertilization. What it means is that by the time your eggs come out of the follicle they're too old so they're not going to make a good embryo."

"That's it?"

"From what I can see, yes. And it's a common problem. Your irregularity and dysmenhorrea's never been treated."

"C-can you actually treat it?"

"Of course - there's a herbal formula for most things."

You can't believe it - suddenly you've gone from having unexplained infertility to having unpronounceable and unspellable infertility. You feel like rejoicing. You share this with the naturopath.

"Ahh, that's where we need to speak of diet…no alcohol is part of it. And no caffeine and you must have blahblahblah vegetable proteins blahblahblah fish oil blahblah.."

You're barely listening you're so happy. The whole things is like an epiphany and you find yourself humming Louis Armstrong's ‘What a Wonderful World.'

The naturopath interrupts the bit about ‘I see babies cry and watch them grow' to tell you that your partner must also follow the strict pre-conception diet. This will not go down well but at this point you're too joyful to care. Your partner's still in the middle stages of recovery from the stress of ejaculating into a small jar so to have to take on further challenges at this stage will be an enormous ask.

The naturopath takes leave to mix your batch of herbs - you are pleased to note they are individually tailored to your needs and not from a large imported vat that hails from a country where people are paid a dollar a day for their labour. Especially when you, the consumer, pay fifty dollars.

The herbs leave a bitter taste in your mouth but nothing that can't be eradicated with the insertion of a peppermint.

When all is said and done, the herbs, you find, are easy to swallow.

Jodi Panayotov author of In Vitro Fertility Goddess »