Stacey Smith
The fluorescent lights hum a sterile tune,
In this waiting room of doom,
Endometriosis patients and maternity patients will collide soon,
And it happens regardless which phase of the moon.
A cruel juxtaposition, a stark disparity,
We sit together, yet worlds apart,
Infertility’s shadow upon my heart.
Each rounded belly I see entering , a painful sight of pregnancy,
This belly of mine swells too, but not with life,
Its repeatedly stabbed with knifes.
“When are you due?” they ask with cheer,
Not knowing why I secretly shed a tear.
It’s a future I have constantly been denied,
Why must we share this space, this air,
A constant reminder of what isn’t fair?
For now I am in my own head, laying it all bare:
Endo’s grip, it deeply penetrates and grows,
A story only my body knows.
Infertile, diseased and inflamed,
A complicated pain,
With a sense of shame,
That even I cannot properly explain.
This hearts closed off to friendship,
Walls built high and strong,
Never quite belonging,
Forever feeling gone.
Not every prayer breaks through the night,
Not every tear births a shining light.
Sometimes bodies betray, dreams decay,
Hope withers slow, then slips away.
Doctors speak in cold, clinical tones,
Promises broken, then left to cope alone.
IVF’s not a miracle spun,
It’s waiting rooms, injections, egg retrievals, and battles never won.
Not every story ends with a miracle IVF baby,
Failures shadow dreams and hopes grow shaky.
Adoption’s doors aren’t always open wide,
Rigid rules close paths and hearts collide.
When a child’s not born of your own,
You’d love to give a child in need a home and love,
But sometimes the heart struggles to find its own.
Love doesn’t fix what time won’t heal,
Some wounds stay raw, too sharp to feel.
No magic cures, no perfect plan,
Just fractured hearts in a broken land.
This isn’t a fairy tale, a movie, or a soap opera’s scene,
No fantasy here, just life’s dark night of the soul.
Not every storyline gets a happy ending,
Not every story ends with a child or baby’s blessing.
Life’s truths are raw, filled with hurt, insensitivity and pain,
No easy endings, no perfect gain.
A journey marked by struggle, loss, and uneasy peace,
For a couple of decades, I just want it to stop please.
Its real hearts learning to live through grief and pain.
Surrounded by pregnant bellies, pregnancy and parenting announcements,
Baby strollers, baby showers, milestones, and joyful cries,
Constant reminders of loss that never dies.
A life on pause, no end in sight.
In limbo,
Trapped between hope and quiet despair,
Holding on tight to a future going nowhere.
Out of my head now and back in the room:
This waiting rooms haze feels kind of spacey,
And now the consultant calls out to me, Susan instead of Stacey,
In this moment of pain they’ve even stolen my name,
A final twist of the knife what a shame,
As if this nightmare couldn’t get any worse!
The final insult,
A mispronounced curse!
But even here, my spirit won’t break,
I’ll find my strength,
I’ll leave the ugly crying, till I get home for goodness sake.
I seek dignity not just care,
And I refuse to be defined by insensitivity and despair,
But here: it’s like you have to leave your dignity at the door!
It’s like they forget you are a human being!
This endometriosis clinic is meant to heal but instead inflicts pain,
Mixes hope with despair, a twisted game.
They do not care to see the wounds they re-open,
Instead they offer countless hysterectomy’s (which is not a cure)
or have you referred for another failed round of ivf,
Against your will, concerns and consent,
The Endometriosis Specialist Centre,
Has been nothing sure of frustrating, undignified and a bad omen,
Leaving me feeling like a broken and abandoned woman.
