Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Chants, Charms, and Talismans

I'm carrying around a cobalt blue plastic Turkish God's Eye keychain in my purse right now. I'm not Turkish. Or Muslim. I'm a bit alarmed by the kitschy commodification of religion. Still, I keep the God's Eye in my change purse compartment. And I reach in and run my fingers over it every time I feel spooked by the looming specter of another miscarriage.

Modern medicine pretends to be rationally based, empirically sound, and scientifically certain. But the experience of undergoing unexplained recurrent miscarriage can easily lead to a crisis of doubt. When you’ve been through a fathomless series of blood-draws and surgical procedures, medical histories and physical examinations, to check out the possibility of hormonal imbalances, clotting disorders, autoimmune issues, infection factors, genetic abnormalities, and anatomical anomalies, come back negative for everything, and come up with nothing, you can reach a point where making wishes every time a clock shows quadruple digits seems like a sound treatment strategy.

People started offering me “lucky objects” as soon as they heard about my first miscarriage. One girlhood friend of mine packaged up a beaded amber bracelet said to promote fertility through the power of crystal healing. Someone had given it to her after she had a miscarriage; to send it to me she’d had to steal it out of her three-year old’s jewelry box. Clearly the bracelet conferred powerful properties.

I wore it for a single afternoon. Then I decided I couldn’t stand the way it marked me as an infertility convict, sentenced to walk the streets with my prisoner ID bracelet on prominent display. So I took it off and left it on my nightstand, where I could gaze at it respectfully, every now and then.

At the amber bracelet stage I still thought that a couple of quick medical tests would soon set me straight. In the early days of miscarriage your main focus is on solving the problem, moving forward, and forgetting the unfortunate incident as quickly as possible. And I had more than just M.D.s on my side. I had the amazing positive prophesies of everyone I met. Everyone who looked at me just “knew,” just “had a feeling,” that the next pregnancy was going to be a good one.

With the second miscarriage, the magic materials started pouring in. There was the amaryllis bulb my grandmother gave me to force into bloom on a sunny winter windowsill, sure symbol of renewal and the promise of spring. Lance Armstrong’s Tour de France victory loomed large in the popular mind at that time and everyone from my doctor to the guy at the deli counter was sporting those “Live Strong” bracelets. I received three from various well-wishers.

I have to say, though, that I couldn’t quite see the point. The babies were the ones that needed help living strong and frankly those yellow rubber rings were much too big for the average embryo. In fact, they were much too big for me to wear round my petite wrists. So the ‘Live Strong” bracelets (which really look like they could be put to better use binding together a bunch of broccoli) were left to languish beside the amber beads.

After the third miscarriage, most people just began to shake their heads. They seemed to be saying, “the dark death force of your womb is too much for our minor white magic. Go and seek your future elsewhere.”

It’s just at this point that I myself, having pretty well run through the available arsenal of academically approved medical options, began to understand just how hard it is to force a flower to bloom. It gradually began to seem to me that magic might be the best thing to add to my apothecary. Still, it wasn’t until I was out shopping and spied a tiny wooden pair of antique children’s shoe forms (suitable for a cobbler to use in draping leather to shape a miniature boot) that I just couldn’t put down, that it hit me. I realized I had made the leap into the realm of magical thinking. At the time I claimed I was purchasing the shoe forms as a gift for a friend who is a new mother—what a unique and special memento! But, in fact, I couldn’t stop caressing those wooden forms in my hand. I walked through the store rubbing the slightly rough surface of the raised old wood grain against the ticklish part of my palm. And I clutched them all the way home in the car. By then I knew that they were for me. I decided to display them high on a door frame over my head, the symbol of both a goal out reach and of a doorway I’m determined to pass through.

So, when a Turkish friend of my mother’s--master of the mysterious meanings to be found in the swirled dregs of coffee grounds, a woman who claims to have foretold the plane crash that would have killed her sister had she not missed the flight--pressed the keychain into my hand and said with a confident, conspiratorial nod, “take this,” I did. Now more than ever, I’m counting on its wonderous spiritual powers.

Let me hear your stories. What magic materials have people forced on you? What have you found for yourself? Do you discard these things as fast as you get them? Is there one that you'd swear, in spite of good sense, really does work?

10 comments:

Anonymous said...

Friends have sent me hideous fertility statues, which are thankfully unwearable, and of questionable efficacy.

Before this IVF cycle, I bought a silver wishbone necklace, which I decided I'd wear as a lucky talisman during the entire cycle. Because the cycle worked, I'm now wearing it every day, until (hopefully) the day of delivery. It's weird and superstitious, but I don't want to mess with it right now.

Hoping for you that this time, charms or no, it works out.

Lisa P. said...

After we announced our first pregnancy, my MIL gave me a St. Gerard medal and an angel keyring that she had previously given to my husband's cousin who had two miscarriages and eventually ended up delivering twins through IVF. Now, I'm not Catholic but my husband was raised Catholic, although my MIL is not the church-going type, at all, so I wasn't sure what to make of it. After the second loss I had my husband return both items to her. We never spoke of them.

Just the other day, though, I bought a small -- not sure what to call it, metal disc perhaps? -- with the word "HOPE" imprinted on the back. I'm trying to use it to bring back mine, which has disappeared this past year. Still don't know yet if it will work.

Anonymous said...

Hi Anne -- I don't have anything talisman-like, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because it would be nice, on some level, to think "Well, you know, it can't hurt..." But there is nothing that has grabbed me like those shoe forms did you, and nothing that has been given to me...

I hope you're hanging in there, girl. This is such an emotionally draining time to go through -- the hope and the fear and the love and the keeping-emotions-on-hold, all while trying to carry on as normal. I think about you and Bigelow a lot, and hope hope hope...

Anonymous said...

I don't think I have been given any talismans. I have gone through phases though were I purge all the materials I have...the booklets on miscarriage and coping and depression. After the first miscarriage I was sure I'd never want to try again so I donated all of my pregnancy books to the library--haven't ever gotten far enough to feel like replacing them. Sorry, this sounds bleak. But that was then. This time around I'm just trying to be more trusting--to have faith in myself and my RE. I'm taking each hopeful sign as it comes--first the resumption of my cycles after going off the pill, next at least ovulating this cycle... I also smile beatifically at all pregnant women and hope that some of their glow will rub off on me.

Anonymous said...

Throughout my miscarriage years, no one has given me any sort of lucky charm or talisman. I don't have anything like that myself, except that I do often read a particular Bible verse that I keep in my day planner. It's Psalm 113:9--"He places the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." I don't interpret that verse as a promise that God necessarily is going to give me a biological child, but rather as a reminder that I shouldn't give up hope because God is good and can do miracles. When I feel anxious and hopeless, the verse reminds me that it IS possible that I will be a happy mother of children, even if for me it ends up being through adoption.
(I hope that didn't sound preachy, but I thought I would share it, since you asked.)

Anne said...

These are amazing wonderful comments. It's making me tear up to read them. I want a wishbone necklace, a magic button from Grandma, a restoration of hope. Like Kath and Sonya, I'm not especially religious. Still, I ran to my King James Bible and found Jill's psalm. How amazing, really, that there's an entire psalm dedicated to barren women! It does comfort me, regardless of the literal truth of the Bible as the word of God, to realize that the problems and pain of infertility go back thousands of years. It makes me feel somehow less alone and aberrant to be reminded that women have been dealing with this for millennia.

Nudge, nudge, hint, hint. I would love to hear more stories. It creates such a rich record of our experiences when we gather together our thoughts on a common theme. According to my stat counter, I’m getting about 90 hits a day right now. It would be great if a few more people chose to chime in.

Anonymous said...

Way back in 1998 I spent a semester in Ireland and my parents were scared to death for me to go....so my Mom tucked a cheap little Virgin Mary medal into my hand and said, "Don't lose her, she was handed to me by Mother Teresa herself, and she will keep you safe wherever you are." So I did, I held on to it for the 6 months I was abroad.

Two years later, my Dad was diagnosed with colon cancer, and as we pulled out all of the Catholic tricks, prayers, saints, novenas, etc., I gave him the medal Mom had given me....he lost it shortly after and never could find it. He always felt badly for losing something like that, and last December 31 on my birthday, my Mom gave me a crucifix on a necklace....my Dad had died on Dec 3, and she told me that he wanted me to have something to remember him with and that he was sorry it couldn't be that Mother Teresa medal.

Though it isn't necessarily a lucky charm, especially considering I've had 4 miscarriages, I wear that crucifix to each and every blood draw, ultrasound, and dr's appt., and I find great comfort in knowing my Dad is there with me....I guess it helps me to have faith and hope and to keep moving forward.

Anonymous said...

As I walked into the u/s appointment that confirmed my third loss, I stopped to pick up a heads-up penny. I think that's the only time I ever put some hope into an inanimate object. And though, it didn't work out for me, I can still see the benefit of having something to look at or touch - a place to focus one's energy and emotions. I'm not a particularly spiritual person, but hey, maybe magic can happen. Who am I to say it can't? I don't pretend to know anything anymore!

I got the shivers when I read this post. It's such a beautiful piece of writing. You should find an additional place to publish it. Really.

Anonymous said...

Gosh - I thought it was just me with the 'magical thinking.' After my second miscarriage, a friend gave me a tiny wooden elephant, hollow inside and the sides carved like lattice, with an even tinyer, roughly carved elephant inside. Somebody must have poked away between the lattice with a tiny little chisel for a long time to make that baby elephant. It doesn't travel with me though - it sits on my computer at work. After #3, still waiting for the magic to kick in, but ever hopeful.

Anonymous said...

Just checking in, my dear. I'm thinking of you.