• thefruitfulhollow

Through the Eyes of Infertility: A collection of insights

The Cycle

by Brittany Calavitta

Some days are harder than others – the days when the hope in your heart sinks to a whisper in quiet hushed tones. Those are the days when you wonder and plead and ache. They are the days you douse your cramps with painkillers and medicate your sorrows with pintsized cartons of ice cream. They are the days you feel foolish for having given yourself so freely to the one thing that seems to keep letting you down: hope.

But then, there it is again and you can’t help but give in to it. Because as the days tick on and the possibilities loom near, the hopeful whispers in your heart give rise to shouts. “Maybe!” they scream with optimistic fervor. “Maybe,” you say with enthusiastic hope.


And just as soon as you’ve allowed yourself to succumb to that hope-filled desire – the moment you’ve purchased the tests and dreamt up the names - fear begins to shield your heart with a pessimistic quarrel. “But probably not,” it says as the pills resurface from the depth of your purse. “Probably not,” you say as the negative test results cling to the inside of the palm of your hand.

Probably not.

And that’s when you restock your freezer with the very best chocolate chip ice cream and go to work on finding that hope again.

Because maybe.



The Appointment

By Lauren Allen

“We are in this together” my husband whispers as he reaches for my hand. We must have arrived before everyone came back from lunch because the waiting room is empty, but I know this isn’t typical. The countless forms have been filled out, the small talk with the receptionist has taken place, and now we wait.

I can feel my palms getting sweaty as I try to calm my breathing. Soon. Soon a nurse will say “Mrs Allen?” and we’ll make our way to the exam room.

I lost track of the number of appointments we’ve had by now, but each of them elicits the same reaction. Heart racing. Sweaty palms. Muffled hope. Anticipated diagnosis. Anxiety.

We wait, listening to the world’s loudest clock ticking away in the cold waiting room.

The door behind us opens and a woman with a lovely baby bump enters. Hope. Immediately I feel the spark of hope. We must be in the right place.