Lucy Joy Russell

Do all women secretly fear they're
infertile?
I did and I guess I am.
Primary, secondary, unexplained.
It’s all the same to me.
Yet, I've been there too.
The promised land.
Felt the joy, and fear,
of two pink lines.
Finally joining the sacred club.
I've felt the making of life but
also felt like dying, bit by bit.
The months of grinding nausea,
too weak to put the kettle on,
unable to eat - morning sickness
lasts all day, everyone gets it,
right?

The awkward scans,
when they come, go, come, pause,
go and stay gone,
you suspect not entirely telling you everything.
Then the relief.
Everything's fine.
The first meeting with a midwife,
another step to baby.
Until one day
everything's not fine.
A gut wrenching scream from deep
inside.
Not ushered out.
Given a seat at the side.

Led into a room with chairs
stacked high,
a stand up meeting.
No smiles, just sighs.
The full attention of a doctor,
a lot to take in.
Nature's decision already made,
'for life' as the doctor says.
'Only tell the people you love.'
For what happened next,
no words to share.
A tiny white casket,
white flowers on its top.
Carrying on.

Trying again.
Month after month, year after year,
the nausea doesn’t come.
I now miss its sticky rhythm.
I think I feel it.
Just imagination. Nothing on the
screen.
None the wiser after a burst
ectopic.
Beats of monthly blood punctuate
tears of hope and loss.
Different doctors, different plans.
IUI, IVF,
experimental trials. My trials.
Our trials. Sisyphean trials.
All the same.
Then never mind,
always room for endless
tweaks.

Till lying spread-eagled
one more time, I stop pushing.
It’s going to be fine.
I’m more than this.
I am just a woman.
I am a woman.
I know I have reached
the end of my line.