Today, Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya shares her poetry and story with us. Thank you, Yevgeniya!
1 in 8
by Yevgeniya Przhebelskaya
“1 in 8”
(previously published at Anti-Heroin Chick)
I’m 1 in 8 –
appreciate the irony,
was afraid of babies
in my teens timidly dating,
in my twenties finally married and getting a Masters
in Elementary Education.
Now I’m over thirty, husband is over forty,
where is our child: our precious daughter, our son?
Our frozen chosen – in the fertility lab,
30% chance of success
– each time they tear out my body and soul?
In our unfinished adoption paperwork?
“Sorry to disappoint, but
as caregivers for a live in adult
you need a 3 bedroom house and 300% consent”.
I’m 1 in 8
The other seven couples on the block
are having their first, second and third.
Should I get a dog? Or a bird?
Are my poems my children, a consolation prize from the Lord?
When I married my best friend Jerry back in 2007, we never expected infertility and fertility treatments to be part of the happy ever after. At the time of the wedding, I was pursuing a part time Master’s Degree in Elementary Education with a full time internship at the end and working as a part time education assistant to get free graduate tuition. I was under a threat of losing my credits if I took a school break to build a family. Jerry was also not ready to take on responsibility of a father. So in blissful ignorance we waited until my Master’s program was over, and a grueling teaching internship was successfully completed. The internship indeed turned out to be a test for our family in its own right, with a long commute, a demanding schedule, and a very critical supervisor.
In 2011, with four years of married life behind our belt, and work-leisure-chores routine squared away, Jerry and I were ready to become parents. Two more years later it became obvious that we would not be able to make a child simply by being passionate in the bedroom. After another two years of inconclusive tests from my OBGYN, we sought a help of a reproductive endocrinologist in NYC.
I sought out a female doctor with a gentle manner, and Cary Dicken from Sher Institute fit the bill. However, the final diagnosis and prescription in 2013 was firm: male factor infertility with a recommendation for IVF. At that point, Jerry and I took a one and a half year break to attend to my dental issues, and also to look into adoption.
There are a lot of choices and pathways regarding adoption; domestic, international, infant or older child. I joined support groups on Facebook, read books from the library and spoke with adoption professionals. Jerry was open to the idea of adoption and was supporting my research. Unfortunately, his father Vincent was not. And because Vincent had moved in with us a few years earlier, he was considered a member of the household for the adoption process. Additionally, there were housing requirements for a multiple adult household that made adoption a more complicated choice at the time. At this stage, adoption was not to be.
Jerry and I went back to Dr. Dicken for infertility treatment. First we did an IUI, which was negative and then we proceeded to Micro IVF (IVF with a low dose of injectable hormones).
After several delays, Micro IVF was in May of 2017. Five eggs were retrieved, with the help of ICSI three fertilized, one was transferred at three days, and two frozen for follow up FET. I was cautiously optimistic at that point. Unfortunately, two weeks later, the dreams of easy IVF were dashed with a negative result. Moreover, I had a flare up of an autoimmune digestive disease which was subsequently diagnosed as ulcerative colitis. While colitis was successfully taken under control with prescription medicine, my mind though plunged into a deep depression out of which I did not see an easy escape.
My life went back to pre-IVF days, but I was no longer content. My friends were getting married and, soon after, pregnant. I was no longer a stable happy person, but rather a hurt and hopeless one. I even joined a Facebook group for Bipolar Depression, even though I have not been officially diagnosed with that diagnosis. Over there, I sheepishly asked if there were any advantages of being overwhelmed and depressed as I was. The answer to that question has changed my life.
A fellow Facebook acquaintance, Kap Zan shared that he wrote poetry during periods of depression, and then after a prompting, shared several of his poems. It was as if a Universe exploded in my head. I remembered the times I wrote poetry while feeling isolated in high school, and the times I wrote about my love life in shambles in college, and my poem The Song of Extraterrestrial which Jerry set to music, foreshadowing our own love story. The next day (Sunday) I wrote a simple short poem at the end of church service, barely waiting for the closing hymn to end. That same week I wrote seven more, staying up late, or pausing in the middle of conversations.
I have found an outlet for suffering and a new strength by writing poetry. I write poems regularly, and now am looking for creative ways to share them. I started Art Page on the website of the Leonia United Methodist church where I work as administrative assistant. I founded and facilitate monthly Bergen Poetry Workshop in my hometown. I send out my poetry to literary magazines and websites. My poems have appeared in Ancient Paths, Time of Singing, Anti Heroin Chick and The Penwood Review. My poem “Supergirl” will be a part of the exhibition called Poetry Leaves in Waterford Township Public Library in May 2018. The topics of my poems extend beyond infertility treatment into issues of faith, political awareness, healthy living and self analysis. I still suffer (first FET was BFN!), but I am glad that people are responding to ups and downs of my life journey, and I am able to encourage some of them even if they are not planning to have kids! I also started working out, and I find it helpful to build up my strength.
On the baby front Jerry and I are getting ready for the second and final FET in August and are once again talking about adoption. The father in law requires more and more care and is beginning to resemble a baby himself. Caring for him is both frustrating and rewarding. And Jerry and I are still passionate about each other – and will continue to be!
Ocean
Ducking
under waves of depression,
Or gliding
on the waves of inspiration,
Embracing Divine Navigation,
A poet
is surfing
in the Ocean…