Featured Review on this writing by Sue Harris

Childless Mother

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic


A very personal poem. One I wrote years before my husband and I were miraculously blessed with a baby.

Submitted: September 01, 2018

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Submitted: September 01, 2018

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They say I'm infertile.

Call it my curse.

Me, a broken vessel.

With less than a five percent chance of conception.

I’m devastated by my defective ovaries.

Defeated by my loss of control.

Betrayed by my own body.

Ashamed to call myself a woman.

A woman who can't conceive is no woman at all.

Worthless, that's how I feel.

How everyday another woman gets pregnant.

I watch their bellies grow

Hear their morning sickness complaints. 

Wish for vomiting spells

For those tiny feet to press against my ribs For a precious baby to fill my childless womb. 

Instead I pee on sticks

Month after month

I wait

Pray for that second line to appear. 

Deny myself of dairy and gluten,

Eat nothing but organic poultry, nuts, fruits and rice.

Gulp down loads of herbal supplements,

Command my few remaining eggs to cooperate, Beg God to intervene after my husband and I make love.

Nothing.

No conception, no baby, no family, no future joy.

I cry for misfortune

For my Diminished Ovarian Reserve

IVF or IVF with egg donor, my only options.

Too many risks. 

Too much money.

Too low success rate

Time's running out.

They say I'm infertile.

Call it my curse.

 


© Copyright 2018 Joy Shaw. All rights reserved.

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