Tomorrow is a big, big day for me.
For the past three years, I've dealt with a difficult and debilitating diagnosis. While I get that Unexplained Infertility should be the most minor of complaints - like going to Universal Studios and then learning that Harry Potter Land is closed for renovation - it's still disappointing. There are LOTS of other rides out there, people. Plenty of other adventures.
In the past several years I've tried on dozens of different healing modalities. Western Medicine says I'm "totally fine and ovulating like a rabbit," so I've tried fun list of things.
I've tried doing everything right. Then I tried doing everything wrong.
Through this, several things have bubbled up to the surface, including the idea that problem is not in my head. Whatever your frustration is, I promise you that it exists both in the real world and in your head. Maybe it started one place and migrated to the other. I'm not sure what the case is in my instance, just as I cannot tell you what it is in yours. What I can say is that you do not deserve whatever malady ails you. It isn't fair that Harry Potter was on vacation the one weekend you made it out to visit. You are as in charge of your own destiny as the universe is.... you are dealt cards and then you have to play with them. Or walk away from the table. The control you have in this life, at least, is in making those kinds of decisions. Riding the water ride or heading off to the beach.
(I always choose the beach).
I'm not able to fully support myself through this. I tried, for a long time, and I'm the stubborn girl who used to hold my breath until I passed out (and still didn't get my way). I've accepted the suggestions and tried everything on. I was a VEGAN, PEOPLE. And now I eat therapeutic meat.
I spent so much money on my health that I neglected my happiness.
This was my biggest mistake.
Rather than trusting my intuition and soaking in healing waters, gifting myself ample beach time and excessive massage, I ate seaweed and turned my life into a science experiment with an obsession not unlike Frankenstein, with equally monstrous results.
My biggest lesson? We make our own medicine. Everyone has an idea, a treatment, a solution. There is snake oil around every corner, and most of it works. Just not for you. For medicine to work, you have to believe in it. Which means that sometimes you have to make it for yourself. A few weeks ago I started binging on healing services, in preparation for The Big One. The anesthesia scares me the most, followed closely by the lack of control and my inability to take anything in with me. No friends, no tokens, no jewelry or images as I've done in times past. I can't even repeat a prayer or a mantra while I'm under. And while I understand that we're all on the same team, the surgeon, the anesthesiologist and I, it's a level of vulnerability I'm really not comfortable with.
A few weeks ago I spent time with a healer who mentioned something about eagle medicine - perspective, long view. It rolled around in my head with the kind of resonance that means something to me, and the next morning in my meditation I saw an image of a woman with an eagle tattooed on her chest, a seedling in one hand, ashes in the other. I wanted to draw her, except that I haven't drawn anything in a long time, so I just sketched her out in my journal. And later that week, when I had essentially decided I didn't want the surgery, my perspective shifted. I decided to allow this surgery to be more symbolic than practical. Sure, it's possible that Dear Polly is causing lots of my uncomfortable symptoms in addition to my "unexplained infertility," but what is more important to me is giving over control and allowing someone else to remove the psychic burdens that I've been carrying myself. Psychic surgery, where the thoughts are concentrated into their physical manifestations and removed.
This has given me a moment of peace (so has giving myself permission to back out at any moment). But I still needed to take something with me, something more than the good wishes and intentions that everyone is lopping my way.
And so I'm taking this eagle. My friend, a gifted artist, came and drew this totem on my chest as I had seen it in my vision, in henna, the only medium allowed into the operating room with me. This is my medicine. A shift in beliefs. Asking for help. Listening to what I really need.
What is yours?