My seventh grade science teacher, Mr. Adair, would probably be disappointed with my fertility experiment due to the numerous variables I have introduced. In fact, I was starting to lose track of them myself, so I decided to take time tonight to recap our many efforts on this reproductive journey. I’ve linked them to my past posts, so if you need a recap, too, it’s only a click away!
1. Prayers
2. Semen Analysis
3. Fertility Diet
4. Prenatal Vitamins
5. Ov Watch
6. Charting Cycle
7. Cervical Mucus
8. Acupuncture
9. Herbs
10. Fertility Bracelet
11. Lunar Phase Fertility
12. Chiropractic
13. Robitussin
What’s next? Hopefully a hysterosalpingogram (HSG) to check my pipes. I have a consultation scheduled for Wednesday, and I’m hoping to get it in before school starts. I guess that will be a big middle finger to getting this thing done "without the help of modern medicine." Plus, I already took the Robitussin (Does that count?).
By the way, school starts on Friday the 13th... I think that says it all!
Showing posts with label acupuncture. Show all posts
Showing posts with label acupuncture. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Give Me a C-N-S!
Bright and early this morning I ventured out to a local chiropractor for an initial consultation that I scheduled after reading about the link between chiropractic and infertility. This particular clinic has designated the theme for July as “Reproductive Issues.” As I crossed the threshold I felt as though I had entered another world.
Cheerleaders greeted me (ok, they weren’t really cheerleaders, but they might as well have been with all of their perpetual peppiness) and Kool and the Gang belted out “Celebrate good times, Come on!” There was even a big sign with “Welcome Annie B,” plastered in neon green across it! I’m so not kidding here.
I flashed back to my senior year when I went to visit colleges, specifically Texas A&M, where they cheered, chanted, sang, howdy-ed and bubbled over with school spirit (If you know any Aggies, you know what I’m talking about, right?). It totally freaked me out (which could be why I eventually ended up at UT (hook ‘em))!
After the shock of the initial fanfare wore off, I was escorted to a small room where the doctor (aka head cheerleader) explained the function of the spinal cord and central nervous system and the effects associated with sublaxation (due to misalignment of the vertebrae). She suggested that this could contribute to my migraines, hormonal imbalances and possibly even our unexplained infertility.
She went on to proclaim that a well-known joke among chiropractors, are sitting around at chiropractic conferences, sipping white wine is to ask, “How many babies are named after you?” because of all the pregnancies that pop up after clients get properly adjusted (Hmm…who knew?). By the way, I’ve been craving white wine—or any wine, or a mimosa—all day now!
She then instructed me to stand on an “X” as she looked at me in a mirror that was cross-sectioned off and examined my posture. Ready? Okay! Slight left hip protrusion, head tilt to the right… until that moment I like, never realized that I like stand like a total valley girl. Gag a maggot (with a spoon)!
Following a brief interview about past accidents, my stress levels and our infertility issues, I was ushered into an x-ray room where a technician took several pictures of my vertebrae. Shortly thereafter I met with the cheerful receptionist again to schedule my next appointment, so the doctor can read my x-rays and possibly adjust me.
Around noon, Eric came home for lunch and got irritated with me because he thinks chiropractic is quackery. Of course they’ll adjust me, he suspiciously conjectured…and adjust me and adjust me and adjust me over and over again until all that’s left in my pockets is lint! I was irritated at this rejection of the notion that some inkling of a possibility might exist that this could work.
Though I, too, have wondered about the legitimacy of chiropractic, it doesn’t really seem any more absurd than acupuncture (and I do love acupuncture). In fact, it makes more sense to me. If I had to choose between chi and central nervous system, give me a C-N-S, any old day of the week!
Cheerleaders greeted me (ok, they weren’t really cheerleaders, but they might as well have been with all of their perpetual peppiness) and Kool and the Gang belted out “Celebrate good times, Come on!” There was even a big sign with “Welcome Annie B,” plastered in neon green across it! I’m so not kidding here.
I flashed back to my senior year when I went to visit colleges, specifically Texas A&M, where they cheered, chanted, sang, howdy-ed and bubbled over with school spirit (If you know any Aggies, you know what I’m talking about, right?). It totally freaked me out (which could be why I eventually ended up at UT (hook ‘em))!
After the shock of the initial fanfare wore off, I was escorted to a small room where the doctor (aka head cheerleader) explained the function of the spinal cord and central nervous system and the effects associated with sublaxation (due to misalignment of the vertebrae). She suggested that this could contribute to my migraines, hormonal imbalances and possibly even our unexplained infertility.
She went on to proclaim that a well-known joke among chiropractors, are sitting around at chiropractic conferences, sipping white wine is to ask, “How many babies are named after you?” because of all the pregnancies that pop up after clients get properly adjusted (Hmm…who knew?). By the way, I’ve been craving white wine—or any wine, or a mimosa—all day now!
She then instructed me to stand on an “X” as she looked at me in a mirror that was cross-sectioned off and examined my posture. Ready? Okay! Slight left hip protrusion, head tilt to the right… until that moment I like, never realized that I like stand like a total valley girl. Gag a maggot (with a spoon)!
Following a brief interview about past accidents, my stress levels and our infertility issues, I was ushered into an x-ray room where a technician took several pictures of my vertebrae. Shortly thereafter I met with the cheerful receptionist again to schedule my next appointment, so the doctor can read my x-rays and possibly adjust me.
Around noon, Eric came home for lunch and got irritated with me because he thinks chiropractic is quackery. Of course they’ll adjust me, he suspiciously conjectured…and adjust me and adjust me and adjust me over and over again until all that’s left in my pockets is lint! I was irritated at this rejection of the notion that some inkling of a possibility might exist that this could work.
Though I, too, have wondered about the legitimacy of chiropractic, it doesn’t really seem any more absurd than acupuncture (and I do love acupuncture). In fact, it makes more sense to me. If I had to choose between chi and central nervous system, give me a C-N-S, any old day of the week!
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
There Is No Try
As I was walked through the mall last week an aggressive Israeli kiosk vendor selling Dead Sea skin care products practically bowled me over in an attempt to slather me with her moisturizing youth creams. Obviously unaware of a little concept known as “cultural sensitivity”, this audacious woman had the nerve to inquire about my age as she grabbed my hand and began to massage my fingers with her mineral-rich salve.
“Thirty-four,” I whispered discretely. She stared back, mouth agape. Seeing this as a prime opportunity to withdraw my hand from her clutches, I began to retract, but she clamped down firmly and continued massaging, working her way up my fingers to my wedding ring. “Married?” she queried. “Yes,” I retorted, dumbfounded. “Children?” she continued.
“Who the hell do you think you are—my new bestie?” I wondered. “No.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really in a hurry,” I lied. She quickly began spewing off product information about the mystical healing properties of the ointment that now enveloped my forearm all the way up to my elbow. “No, thanks!” I asserted, yanking my arm away and scurrying off towards Dillard’s shoe department in astonishment.
It isn’t every day that I encounter strangers who so abruptly pry into my personal life. But I have to admit the overarching themes of this tête-à-tête are typical of those in conversations with just about everyone I encounter in my daily life.
When people find out that I am thirty-four, married and childless, they want to know why. The rest of the dialogue goes something like this…
“Well, my husband and I have been trying to have kids for a while now.”
“Stop trying. All you have to do is relax.”
“We haven’t been trying, trying. We just haven’t been not trying—if you know what I mean.” (insert blush)
Quite frankly, I’m exhausted by this c’est la vie attitude toward reproduction. Tomorrow begins the 90 day countdown to my 35th birthday, and my clock is ticking. I want a baby. Let me rephrase that-- we (my adoring husband, Eric, and I) want a baby!
Yoda, in his infinite wisdom, said, “Do or do not…there is no try.” Since we’ve been trying for two years to no avail, one might conclude that we are reproductively challenged, but we refuse to buy into that theory. So, for the next ninety days we intend to do (it). We will make a baby, and we’ll do it without the assistance of modern medicine.
We’ll do everything, from acupuncture to zinc and you’re invited to come along on this miraculous carpet ride (pun intended). Join us as we explore fertility and chronicle our adventures in baby making.
“Thirty-four,” I whispered discretely. She stared back, mouth agape. Seeing this as a prime opportunity to withdraw my hand from her clutches, I began to retract, but she clamped down firmly and continued massaging, working her way up my fingers to my wedding ring. “Married?” she queried. “Yes,” I retorted, dumbfounded. “Children?” she continued.
“Who the hell do you think you are—my new bestie?” I wondered. “No.”
“Look, I don’t mean to be rude, but I’m really in a hurry,” I lied. She quickly began spewing off product information about the mystical healing properties of the ointment that now enveloped my forearm all the way up to my elbow. “No, thanks!” I asserted, yanking my arm away and scurrying off towards Dillard’s shoe department in astonishment.
It isn’t every day that I encounter strangers who so abruptly pry into my personal life. But I have to admit the overarching themes of this tête-à-tête are typical of those in conversations with just about everyone I encounter in my daily life.
When people find out that I am thirty-four, married and childless, they want to know why. The rest of the dialogue goes something like this…
“Well, my husband and I have been trying to have kids for a while now.”
“Stop trying. All you have to do is relax.”
“We haven’t been trying, trying. We just haven’t been not trying—if you know what I mean.” (insert blush)
Quite frankly, I’m exhausted by this c’est la vie attitude toward reproduction. Tomorrow begins the 90 day countdown to my 35th birthday, and my clock is ticking. I want a baby. Let me rephrase that-- we (my adoring husband, Eric, and I) want a baby!
Yoda, in his infinite wisdom, said, “Do or do not…there is no try.” Since we’ve been trying for two years to no avail, one might conclude that we are reproductively challenged, but we refuse to buy into that theory. So, for the next ninety days we intend to do (it). We will make a baby, and we’ll do it without the assistance of modern medicine.
We’ll do everything, from acupuncture to zinc and you’re invited to come along on this miraculous carpet ride (pun intended). Join us as we explore fertility and chronicle our adventures in baby making.
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