Oh my!
This peace loving Lifeslurper has been sidetracked by clinic and health issues for the last few weeks, while ART has made its way into our national headlines.
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Lately I have spent far too much time contemplating the ART scrapheap.
Another predictably downbeat appointment with the fertility specialist, more delays and a 45th birthday end date looming large has brought Lifeslurper to even more reflection. I suspect that this time even Wobbles’ unfailing optimism has been brought to heel.
Our baby is floating further out of reach.
Tori Amos once sang; “You think there’s heaven where some screams have gone?” I now wonder if there is a place for all those who have valiantly tried (and failed) IVF. Perhaps What Becomes of the Broken Hearted is a more appropriate lyric? On the face of things, my fertility specialist and hairdresser have very little in common. Their work involves distinctly different regions of the body. Their skills potentially contribute to vastly different outcomes.
Heartbreak on admittedly varying scales can often be the most obvious result of their desire to experiment or use creativity.
At this stage of my life, I need my hairdresser almost as much as I need my fertility specialist. |
  
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