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I struggled with infertility for a long while, then went to a reproductive endocrinologist who spelled it out in mathematical terms: “Your chances of conceiving, in an assisted capacity, are 1 in 300,000.” When discussing assistance with a physician who specializes in reproduction, that usually translates as in vitro fertilization, intrauterine insemination, lots of prescriptions, etc. I went through a few rounds of assistance, and emerged saddled with artificial hormones, sans bambino and $25,000 poorer.

I began attending a support group, started checking out domestic adoption and even began the paperwork to pursue a local network that places babies of drug-addicted mothers. I began making peace with the fact that an assisted conception was about as realistic for me as an unassisted one and stopped calling the endocrinologist. I began making plans to raise a child that was not of my own blood.

I never knew my father. He elected to rescind his rights. I was raised by a man who was not my blood. My natural mother was in the picture. They did their best, in retrospect, but part of my journey into prospective motherhood involved facing down the past and healing from it. I wanted a child more than anything. I felt myself capable of raising one who was not my own because I myself had lived that experience and felt prepared to tap into this wisdom.

Adoption is an arduous process for anyone, especially a single mother like me. In initiating it, I had to begin to deal with some of my less desirable attributes as they had to be spelled out in the documentation. I had abused my body for a long time. I had let others do the same. I lacked a stable income. I was not in a stable relationship. I would go on alternating health kicks, a new psychotropic med of the week and make lots of promises. I’ve heard it said that there are either reasons or results. I was full of reasons.

I didn’t know my center, truly, and was about to bring someone into my life who would be witness to and at the mercy of that. I needed to learn how to stand on my own. I needed to become fit in mind, body and soul. I didn’t want to pass onto another generation either regrets or brokenness. I needed to figure out a means of loving myself so that I might translate that love to another human being, my child.

In the process of learning to stand on my own, I found a means of dealing with my pain that was realistic. I vowed not to put anything into my system that did not nurture or protect me. I did away with the Ben & Jerry’s, the microwaveable dinners and discovered a fetish for organic cooking. I began hitting our local farmers market on Saturday mornings, started a supplement regimen, and discovered the vegan and raw-foods library available at my local health-food store.

I drank green juice in the morning. I warmed up my body with jogging. I joined a group of yoga practitioners and began breathing for the first time in my life. I got regular colonics, started up a probiotic, began flushing out toxins in my system that had been keeping me sick and in the pursuit of more sickness. It was important for me not to take anything in that would cause me more pain; I had enough residual stuff to deal with. I hearkened after fresh, clean products and gave thanks for being able to incorporate them as healing elements. I began tending my own garden (literally) and, in doing so, began tending my own soul.

I began to approach eating in a present, soulful way. I was able to start dealing with the residual anger and sorrow that kept me reaching for dairy, processed sugar, refined starches, over-boiled vegetables by ceasing to put them in my body. Food was no longer a thing to hide behind in the effort to avoid life and my own healing. Through the adoption of a vegan lifestyle that was predominately raw and living food, I began to embrace life in general and my life specifically.

I conceived, unassisted, after this eight-month cleanse. I carried that child to term, for the first time in my life. Having a child turned out to be a process of rebirth for me and one that could not be rushed by the medical community. My body has its own biological clock that should be respected. How amazing that something as seemingly basic as food could be such powerful medicine.

Further recommended reading:
Sunfood Cuisine by Frederic Patenaude
Living on Live Food by Alissa Cohen
Jivamukti Yoga by Sharon Gannon and David Life

Updated 9/5/10; originally posted 7/13/09.

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