Uncertain about my uterus
The life of Tess Hoens is wonderful, but even she has things that don't quite go as she had hoped. And she wants to write about that. Because there is already enough of a facade and because honesty helps. Tess has a desire for children, but getting pregnant is still not working. This week she reflects on the man who told her that she has a cold uterus.
He puts glasses on my face that give everything a green glow. I feel like a strange project, lying here on a table in my underwear, under the stickers where wires are attached that connect to devices. The man in the doctor's coat says something to me, but I can't understand it due to his heavy accent. He walks out of the room, his coat fluttering behind him like a wizard's robe, and comes back with needles. Oh! I thought laser therapy was without needles. I'm not usually scared of doctors and such, but this immediately makes me think of the ‘just call Apeldoorn’ commercial from back in the day, where a man is under the needles when a fire breaks out in the building and he has to jump out the window. I chuckle to myself. Some places where he sticks the needles I don't feel, other places hurt quite a bit.
I lie here as a follow-up program on my hospital journey. If it doesn't help, it doesn't hurt. So many people have already told me that I should try acupuncture, but I was skeptical and didn't want more weekly scenes. It has now been half a year since the miscarriage and I have already tried all sorts of medications, different pills in different dosages. Nothing has worked and I am starting to open myself up to alternative medicine. I have to. Before my first treatment begins, the acupuncturist wants to discuss in his office what kind of journey I am going through and why I am not getting pregnant. I actually found that more of a question from me to him. He starts feeling my wrists and other places, and when he gets to my belly, he starts nodding vigorously. ‘Too cold,’ he says. He sits back down at his desk and tells me that the word for uterus in Chinese literally means ‘child palace.’ That sounds nice, but then he continues to say that it is ice cold in my palace and starts making strange, hunched movements. ‘Baby cannot grow in your palace, baby is way too cold. Brrrrr,’ and he rubs his arms as if he is the baby in my uterus. You might think this scene could be quite laughable, but tears well up in my eyes and for the first time it feels like I am doing something wrong and that I am not or would not be a good mother. My own mother, who is present at this conversation and tipped me off about this nice man, looks at me surprised. She sees that I don't like it.
Later he proves to be a very kind man, with all the best intentions. I can tell that he really wants to help me, but the idea of my cold uterus keeps me uncertain from then on.
