I listen as the midwife speaks to me. The results show this and this and this; everything's OK for now, we'll look again in 2 months. She speaks about how low my chances are of conceiving naturally, asks again about a fertility endocrinologist. I let her words sink in. I didn't think I was in denial before, but I must have been; because these words I'm hearing and I can feel my heart sink. The fertility doctor is an option I always shoved quickly to the side, because our insurance won't cover any of it, so I fear it's not an option. Her words are saying, make it an option. Because it may be your only chance of knowing life growing inside of you. The words are countered with optimism, the don't-give-ups and you-could-still-conceive-next-month-on-your-owns...but today, for some reason, the message sinks in.

I can't bemoan my fate. I'm a shark, always moving forward...OK, this won't work, what about this? I'm 42 years old and I have things growing inside of me that could significantly impede my ability to make a small human. SFW. What's that fertility doc's number?

There was good news. My BP was delightfully normal, and I've already lost 5 pounds on my new regimen. This morning's yoga felt a little half-hearted, but it's because that workout in particular isn't my favorite, and I've been at this for 6 days straight. The body's adapting. I'm a little tired, but still incredibly strong.

Image from here.