The Anchor
Jenny Cooke Malstrom
Poetry

Hope –

Like an anchor, they say.

Appointments. Blood tests. Ultrasounds.

Hope.

Steadfast.

Onward. Scheduling, timing, dosing.

Retrieve.

Retrieve,

Retrieve.

Transfer.

 

The anchor –

The symbol of hope.

How quickly the tides change.

Smooth seas begin to churn.

Rough, stormy red waters.

Saltwater tears; drowning.

This

anchor

feels

like

a

sinking

ship.

The waters darken, swirl, rage.

The waves crash, night after night.

Swells of tears.

 

A new day.

The sea calms.

Hope.

Still waters.

Steadfast.

Onward. Scheduling, timing, dosing, transferring, monitoring.

The anchor –

And still we hope.

A note from Jenny – We came through our diagnosis in an indirect manner, through learning about our family health history. Confirming a rare male-factor diagnosis of congenital absence of the vas deferens, we also learned of a female-factor uterine septum issue. It took over a year after our diagnosis to find providers we trusted and make a plan forward.

 

 

In the span of one calendar year, we endured:

• A hysteroscopic surgery
• Three rounds of IVF which included:
  • A failed IVF egg retrieval
  • A successful retrieval, using ICSI, freezing all
  • Another successful egg retrieval, using ICSI, culturing all
• Successful fresh transfer of one embryo
• Miscarriage at 6 weeks

 I love the symbol of the anchor, but have often thought about the paradoxical nature of it. How can something so heavy, so cumbersome, also signify something so light and enduring?

This work reflects my thoughts on our journey thus far.