Dr. N sent me to Gilli for 2-3 months before we were to attempt an IVF cycle. I don’t know if it was because he could see I was completely freaked out that in the time span of two months we’d gone from “don’t worry, let’s just do some little tests” to “welcome to the world of IVF,” or if he had confidence that Gilli would whip me into mental, physical and emotional shape.
Gilli is an Israeli acupuncture doctor and herbalist who specializes in fertility and women’s health issues. I had seen several acupuncturists before her, but none of them remotely compared. Gilli is a thin, curly-haired mother of three (boys!) with a calming presence and a direct approach. She tells it like it is and doesn’t really see the point in complaining.
Noah and I arrived at her office bright and early on a Monday morning. She gave me all kinds of forms to fill out, checked my tongue and my pulse and diagnosed me with a variety of imbalances including a kidney yang deficiency, a cold uterus, and some blood flow blockage. In Chinese medicine, the kidney system is connected to the reproductive system and it is affected by anxiety and stress. The remedy was to eat only warm foods (no salads, sushi or frozen yogurt), cut out sugar, caffeine, dairy, refined carbs and anything else delicious. And to drink Gilli’s special fertility tea three times a day, which tasted like there should be an earthworm at the bottom of each cup. And to take specific vitamins including coenzyme Q10, fish oil, vitamin C, and a prenatal. And to rub a burning incense stick that contained an herb called moxa over my lower tummy for twenty minutes a day. I was prescribed a meditation CD and instructions to chill out.
Taking care of my imbalanced kidneys and cold uterus became a full time job, and eventually a total obsession. I channeled all my energies into being well, which was perhaps better than Googling “common causes of cancelled IVF rounds.” But being obsessed still meant being unbalanced. Being resentful that I had to do all these things still meant I had not fully accepted that this is our path. Being doubtful still meant I didn’t believe this all was going to work.
But how could I completely believe? Having six follicles essentially meant by the time they take them all out and see which ones are of decent size, maybe there are four to work with. Then your mix those four with sperm and maybe two or three take. Then you wait until they start splitting and are lucky to get one Junior Mint to put back in. All that effort, the hormone shots, the thousands of dollars for being lucky to get one? Yeah. I had doubt, resentment, and fear.
Gilli agreed that six follicles was not a good number.
“We want to go ten-seven-three,” she said, while putting needles in my stomach and hooking the few over my ovaries to what looked like a small car battery to provide electro-stimulation.
“Ten-seven-three? OK.” That sounded better than six-three-one.
Gilli seemed confident. That’s why I was there. To stimulate my ovaries and get more follicles. So I would do my part and she would do hers. If she told me to eat rat poop I probably would have done it. At that point, I needed a team of believers and doers.
The first week with Gilli went great! My mom and my aunt Mari came over to cook all kinds of Japanese veggies—kabotcha (pumpkin), seaweed, burdock roots and carrots—it was delish and I felt healthy. I ate whole organic cooked food only and only had a mild sugar/caffeine withdrawl headache.
Week two was fine. I stopped craving sweets and ate lots of farmer’s market veggies. The tea was more bearable and I committed to reading a book called “Way of the Fertile Soul” without cynicism. I spent half my days cooking and taking yoga class and felt grateful that I had this time to focus on myself. I lost a few pounds and was sleeping better.
By week three I lost it. I was so bored with my diet, so angry that I had to do this, so fed up with the meditation CD. PEOPLE ON CRACK GET PREGNANT! This seemed insane. I was deprived and obsessive and so resentful that this is how I spent my days, cooking azuki beans and brussel sprouts. I wanted to contribute to the world in a more meaningful way. I wanted to feel like it was okay to go out to dinner with other people without being one of those, “is there cheese on that?” people. I wanted a fucking cupcake!
Luckily we were headed North to Seattle for the weekend for my brother-in-laws wedding where there were ample cupcakes, of which I had my fair share. It felt so freeing to splurge on scones and, dare I admit, a cup of coffee! The caffeinated kind! Four days of non-restricted eating was the most thrilling thing to happen to me for months. But when I got home, Gilli knew.
She read my pulse, hesitated, and looked me in the eye.
“What?” I asked. “Can you…tell something?”
She exhaled loudly and said, “Your pulse is faint. You haven’t been eating quality food.”
How did she know!! Are a half a dozen cupcakes standing in the way between me and my Petri-dish baby? I guess I have to get back on the wagon, just for a little while.
PEOPLE ON CRACK GET PREGNANT! lol... ive said this a million times..
Posted by: Karen | February 28, 2019 at 11:25 AM