I can’t really give you an accurate review of Waiting for Daisy: a tale of two continents, three religions, five infertility doctors, and Oscar, an atomic bomb, a romantic night, and one woman’s quest to become a mother by Peggy Orenstein. (How’s that for a title?) She didn’t even include her brush with cancer! I can’t review it, because I haven’t finished it yet. But I did start reading it last night, and it has kept my attention through today. I’m almost half way through and it is so familiar.
I am not a crier by nature. It takes a lot for me to cry or to even tear up a bit. But reading the introduction of Orenstein’s book I was crying. The familiarity of it all and the emotions that she portrayed just in the first four pages hit straight to the heart. There is no way that I would have been able to read something like this within my recovery times of my miscarriages. It is too close to home.
On the opposite side though, she writes about procedures and processes that I never encountered. Doctors and clinics that she has attended and paid for. Yet the emotions are the same. I’m also enjoying these differences as I am learning a lot to research for this blog.
For example, here are some of her thoughts as she is observing Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement.
I have been obsessive.
I have been impaient.
I have humiliated myself.
I have been wicked.
I have made mistakes.
I have been disappointed.
I have allowed myself to be led astray.
Pardon me, forgive me, allow me to atone.
As I’m reading these quotes, I think, I hear you lady. I’m so sorry. And I also think, I wouldn’t wish this on any woman. Infertility sucks.
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