I found an open bottle of castor oil in the medicine cabinet recently. I googled “homemade eye makeup remover” to see if I could make use of its remains without blinding myself.
In the midst of my research I remembered why I had that oil in the first place: I had an ovarian cyst and reduced it with castor oil packs. The cyst that came out of nowhere. The cyst that delayed an IVF cycle until it just “went away” – which could have taken months. I was already 41. Ain’t no one got time for that.
I slathered castor oil on my abdomen every day and the cyst went away by my next period. Or did it? Or did it shrink just enough to convince my doctor to go ahead, that I would assume all the risk, so here’smycreditcardgetonwithitalready?
For a month that cyst consumed my left ovary and my future. Today I can’t even remember the nickname I gave it. Six miscarriages, six cycles of IVF, years of pain, and every day I walk further away from that darkness. I started and led a Fertility Support Group but I barely know the difference between a HSG, HCG, AFC and FSH anymore. My mind is now busy with teething signals and diffusing tantrums. Thank you Mind.
And so Black Panty Salvation has changed. As my “Nap” tag blooms, my “Advanced Maternal Age” tag shrinks, no oil required. I feel compelled to acknowledge this on the About page but why do I also feel the need to apologize? I lured you in with the provocative title but all you find are posts about harmonicas and soap dispensers. You came here for BLACK PANTIES. And SALVATION. Am I ready to archive my past? Will I ever be the woman who isn’t trying to have a baby?
I move forward and capture what I can about who I am today. The Tag Cloud billows with my about-ness, come rain or come shine. Some days I am about harmonicas and soap dispensers and some days I find Salvation.
Thank you, thank you for reading.