In Pursuit of Fertile Ground: Continuing IVF When the Odds Are Against You
I am at the nether reaches of my fertility, curious as to what I can still grow. This remains a shock.
The New York Times
“I am okay, I knew this was a possibility.” My eggs are expired
What kind of a tree must be damaged to reproduce? What kind of tree relies on a moth for its seeds?
I regarded these trees as I would a physique, or a silhouette, or a solo dancer on a stage—as spare and expressive. The bent limbs, to me, seemed held in freeze frame while recoiling from an electric shock. On some, every limb angled toward the sun. The shared reach of the limbs cantilevered the trunk, and the entire tree leaned sideways.
Thanks, have a good rest of your day
Amy Beth is a freelance journalist and creative nonfiction writer based in Brooklyn. She teaches writing at Purchase College and with the Creators Collective, and edits Parks and Points, a website dedicated to public lands. Find her on Twitter @AmyBethWright and on Instagram @amyb1021. Read more of her work at amybethwrites.com.
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I felt a down spell in my persistent belief in possibility—a sense that something within me once felt unremitting, but had since been stretched to its limit.
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It felt as though I had been evicted from my own body, and it had been trashed in my absence. My resentment was as precise as any recipe.