Ever since I found out I had HPV and miscarried in 2018, I have been very concerned about my own fertility and whether or not I can even conceive and have a full term pregnancy in the future.

Although I already have an 11 year-old daughter, having two kids was always my dream when it came to thinking about motherhood growing up. When I lost my second child to miscarriage at 12/13 weeks, it broke my heart and entire spirit. Since then, the thought of being infertile has crossed my mind.

The other night my husband to-be was cutting and gutting fish for a friend of ours. By the second fish, my husband realized it was pregnant with thousands of eggs. It broke me. I felt super sad and depressed the whole night. He saved the eggs for caviare as he gutted the last fish.

The next day, I was cleaning the kitchen. All I did was cry silently. What if that mama fish was a fucked up metaphor for my own fertility? What if I have no more eligible eggs? What if I am unable to conceive? My husband tested his sperm count and he is good. So maybe it hasn't happened because my eggs are no good. Maybe my fertility is as dead as that pregnant fish and it's millions eggs. Life has a fucked up way of speaking to us.
© The Writings of Jeanne Carlson