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Monday, July 12, 2010

Called to the Carpet

So, one of my top-five readers (I have five readers, total, by the way) called me to the carpet the other day with the briefest of emails.  It read, "What happens when a blog goes stale?"  OUCH!

Thanks, Gentle Reader, V.  Touche!

After three unsuccessful rounds of Clomid, I decided to go the alternative therapy route and do as my fellow Romans, er, San Franciscans do, and just do the hippy dippy thang and get acupuncture and energy work.  I mean, since the Clomid made me want to jump off a bridge, maybe needles and ancient rattles could do what modern science could not.

I promptly went about making expensive, out-of-pocket appointments with a really nice acupuncturist.  She's from France.  Having an accent gives a person about 75% more credibility, don't you think?  Which reminds me, I need to hire someone with a British accent to record my outgoing message. 

She went to town with the tiny needles, placing them on my meridians, and informing me that I should come back at least two more times before I ovulated.  Which I did.   Just after I took out a second line of credit on the house. 

Then I took up a close relative, B., on her offer to supplement my extertions with Energy Work.  In a nutshell, Bodywork, or Energy Work, involves checking your preconceptions at the door and jumping into what some might consider the "New Age" deep end of the pool.  B. and I spoke a little about my stress and fears surrounding pregnancy, the trauma of my miscarriages, and my expectations for the future.  Then I laid down on her cushion-y massage table, she wrapped me in a knitted blanket, and asked me to close my eyes. 

Soon, the smell of burning sage wafted gently into the room, and B. asked me to just sit with my intentions, to consider all the possibilities that the moment had to offer and to let them go.  Thus began our Guided Visualization. 

Let me interject here to mention that I'm not the meditating type.  I'm prone to opening my eyes during the relaxation portion of yoga classes, and I'm not the least bit susceptible to hypnotism (I tried getting hynotized once, to no avail-- that's another story for another day).  But something about having another body in the room, talking, and guiding me through the silence -- in other words, not silent at all -- made it possible for me to really truly relax and give it up. 

She lead me through this little trip by suggesting visuals for me to imagine in my mind's eye -- think a walk along the ocean, or by the side of a stream -- and then guided me to think about my pregnancy intention, if that's what came up.  I went on a really soothing, gentle journey in my mind -- and B. allowed me to speak and react whenever I felt the urge (sometimes, during yoga meditation, don't you just feel like letting out a scream? No?  Ok, it's just me then.).  All options were open, and OK.  Not having any rules made me feel assured that I couldn't mess this up. 

45 minutes went by like THAT.  Seriously, I was on that table for 3/4 of an hour, and it felt like a moment.  We talked about what I "saw"; it felt like when you describe a dream to friend and she tries to help you figure out what it's about.  Only this time, the person I was telling the dream to really gave a shit. 

I don't remember the drive home, except I think I clocked a maximum of 25 MPH.

1st millennium B.C., Near Eastern fertility goddess