Something is wrong with me, that’s apparent. I start
with tracking Basal Body Temperature, hoping that I will remotely match some
of the prettier charts I’ve seen as examples, but my own cycles stretch out,
ricochet between peaks and valleys, and have no definitive pattern to them. I
try all the fertility tools out there: Wondfo Ovulation Predictor Kits (OPKs)
and Home Pregnancy Tests (HPTs), First Response and ClearBlue Digital OPKs, and
the expensive ClearBlue Fertility Monitor that ends up being a waste of money
for me. I add to my arsenal the obligatory prenatal pills, which you’re
supposed to start 3 months before Trying to Conceive (TTC)—first Rainbow Lites
and then the Costco-available Nature Made prenatals with DHA. I even throw in
some Vitamin C and Vitamin D supplements after testing deficient in the latter.
It takes a while to be seen at a clinic for
infertility issues; most specialists won’t see you if you’ve been trying for a
child for less than a year. A year of being broken and no one offering to help
me fix it. My General Practitioner prescribes some blood tests and
trans-vaginal and trans-abdominal ultrasounds, which must be done on a full
bladder. I lay there, wanting to burst after being instructed to drink 64
ounces of water within an hour, after driving past the speed bumps at the
clinic, waddling to the front desk to check in, and having the ultrasound wand
press agonizingly against my lower belly. For my reward, I get a diagnosis for
my condition: Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS). The wait to see an OB/GYN
would be a while yet.
I decide to turn to Eastern medicine and look up
acupuncture. A few won’t even pick up the phone. It’s not a commonly covered
practice under some insurance plans, so I’d have to pay out-of-pocket. I settle
on a practice near my house for $60 weekly treatments. At first, I am prescribed
these Er Xian Wan herbal pills that come in rabbit-poop-like round black balls,
a general vitamin for women’s reproductive health. I ingest Royal Jelly for egg
health, found at Vitamin World and other health food stores: first the raw,
honey-like form, and then the oil-coated soft gels.
Eventually, my acupuncturist has me on self-brewed
herbal teas. I am aware of the disgusting smell of these from growing up and
seeing my mom cook and drink this for various health reasons, but to have your
own house imbued by this smell and then having to choke down two cups a day,
that is an experience. I get to know all the herbalists around my area: Mei Hua
near Lion Supermarket in Milpitas, Tak Yan near Ranch 99 in North San Jose,
Chung Hsin Herbs in Cupertino, Dana Oriental Market in Mountain View, Acupuncture
Fu Herbs in Fremont. Dedicated to regulating my cycle and not missing a dose, I
work my automatic brewing pot, which would have fits and sometimes not cook the
medicine correctly, resulting in overcooked sludge or over-diluted, watery
doses exceeding the one-cup measurement. I’d pre-brew doses for days to
refrigerate and tote along on road trips away from home. After being on this
prescription for 3-4 months and dealing with the stomach issues that it causes (the
$700, 4-month weight loss program with less exercise required), with
only shortened cycles and few ovulatory ones, I free myself by quitting the
herbal teas, one of the most liberating choices of my life.
 |
| Mom's traditional herbal tea pot. I have since upgraded to an automatic pot. |
Takeaways:
Many insurance plans won’t cover acupuncture, but there is an organization
called POCA (People’s Organization of Community Acupuncture) that allows you to
receive acupuncture treatment on a sliding scale of affordability. As I want
privacy for my treatment and this sort of acupuncture is done in a “community”
environment where I'd be in a room with other people being treated, I pay
regularly for private treatment. The POCA website lets you search for
acupuncturists near your area who are also licensed for fertility acupuncture:
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