Joy

I transformed the clinic this morning, I'm sure of it.

Our clinic's waiting room is like most, I'd imagine. There can be 20 people sitting there, but nobody makes eye contact and nobody talks. Nevermind the fact that we're all thinking and feeling similar things - we'd rather pretend we're not there.

This morning when someone spoke to her partner and then apologized for being too loud, I said, "It's about time! Usually it's so quiet in here I feel like we're in a morgue. It's like we're all trying to pretend we're not here. Hellooo!" She laughed and then introduced herself.

Things got boring. This woman's child (probably about 8 or 9 years old) was restless. I looked around. "Anybody want to have a paper airplane contest?" The straitlaced man across from me smiled shyly and declined. Nobody looked interested but the kid. So I beckoned to her, we sat on the floor in front of a coffee table, and I taught her how to make paper airplanes, paper hats, and those paper fortune teller things. When I was called for my ultrasound, I took the paper hat with me and gave it to the doctor.

The doctor, nurse, and I chatted about the waiting room, Canadian politeness and distance, and the crazy weather. We giggled. Eventually we got down to business... here are the stats:

Lining: 4mm
Right ovary: polycystic. Largest is at 1.1
Left ovary: polycystic. Largest is at 0.9

The doctor decided to up my dose of Femara this time in the hope of getting more than one or two follicles. Sounds cool to me!

The receptionist handed me the prescription on my way out and asked, "do you need anything else?"

"Yes!" I responded, "I need some board games or books or a deck of cards in the waiting room. When you're here on a daily basis, the monthly change of magazines really doesn't cut it." She laughed and told me which manager to speak to about getting more distractions into the waiting room.

On my way out, there was just one woman sitting in the waiting room. She'd been there since I'd arrived at 8:30. I popped my head in and said, "last woman standing, huh? Good luck - I hope they take you soon!" She smiled.

I left the clinic in such a state of joy, it's unbelievable.

In my constant search for the meaning in all of this, I have a new theory:

Maybe I'm in this situation so that I can bring joy to an otherwise joyless place and time. Maybe God knew that once I got over the shock, anger, and breathlessness of being thrust into the world of infertility, I'd be the unique person for the unique task of infusing even this stressful process with joy. It's like jumping into freezing cold water - and I'm thinking of the Madawaska river in June 1993 - at first you can't breathe. Breathing is all you can think about and focus on. And then gradually you start breathing again, and you can swim, float, splash... and find the joy in the freezing cold water.

Wow, who'd'a thunk?