Something magical happened at the beginning of 2017 – something that had been on my radar for a number of years. Not only had it been on my radar, but I often spent time visioning it.
I am a Licensed Professional Counselor by trade. In the past I worked with the general public on general life concerns; depression, anxiety, relationship issues, addiction, etc. I never specialized in anything, and this was acceptable at the time. When I had difficulty getting pregnant with my first child, and subsequent miscarriages and a diagnosis of secondary infertility, I knew without a doubt the community I longed to work with (after working on myself and healing).
I understood the havoc that infertility wreaks on millions of men, women, and couples, and I was not done after completing my family. I simply couldn’t walk away from the ability to support and empathize with those who continue to experience it.
I remember sitting in support group after support group at the reproductive endocrinology clinic we were utilizing, thinking that I wanted to be the leader some day. That I WOULD be the leader some day.
I’m grateful and sometimes amazed to say that today I am the leader of that same support group. Everything has come full circle, and I couldn’t be more excited about this opportunity.
The day I walked into the center to begin training as the newest support services counselor was surreal. The amount of times I had parked in the lot, walked through the front doors (often anxiously), sat in the waiting area, gotten my blood drawn, and talked to the doctors and nurses…it all came flooding back. I had to remind myself that I was here as an employee now, not as a patient.
I walked to the back of the building and through the doors to the wellness center. The last time I had been in the “treatment room” area was for a support group after a failed frozen embryo transfer. Again, I had to remind myself of the present moment.
The memory of my colleague greeting me as I walked toward her office will be engrained in my memory forever. It was like that scene at the end of Titanic when Leonardo DiCaprio is standing at the top of the staircase and turns around with a smile. My colleague welcomed me with a giant hug, and understood the wave of emotion that swept over me as I let the tears roll.
I was finally here.
Here to support others.
Working at the center with the people who had assisted in completing my family.
I was beyond grateful.
As I went on a formal tour of the center, my body couldn’t help slipping into the past. Walking through the surgery center triggered memories of sitting in a hospital bed after waking up from the anesthesia used for my egg retrieval. Visiting the consult rooms triggered memories of talking to my doctor about my miscarriages, and why my frozen embryo transfer had failed. Walking past a nurse consult room brought back memories of being told that I was pregnant, when I was certain that I was not. And I was right.
The body remembers. It always does. It is just a matter of how long you allow yourself to stay in it.
When we returned from the tour, I sat in my supervisor’s office, giddy with excitement about my new position. It didn’t take long before I glanced across the hall at the room where HSG’s (hysterosalpingogram’s) are performed.
My body remembered. It remembered sitting on the chair waiting for the technician to return with a second pregnancy test, because the first had come back positive. It was not possible I remember thinking. A third confirmed that I was pregnant. I was stunned. She disclosed that this was the first time in her many, many years of doing HSG’s that this had ever happened. Indeed, I was not pregnant, as a blood test would eventually confirm.
It only took a short time of being a new employee at my former Reproductive Endocrinologist’s office for my body to catch up to where I was.
I was starting a new chapter in a support role.
I was safe.
And most importantly, I was fulfilling my life’s purpose.
I now share an office with my former doctor. We are there on opposite days, but each time I see his white lab coat with his name etched in blue, I am forever grateful at how things played out. I think about all of those nights spent visioning what I wanted my future to look like, and realize with awe how things turned out, and then some.