Recipe for Conception

three donors four midwives
seven IUIs with frozen sperm
three tries with fresh samples
one apartment
one Brooklyn Airbnb without a kitchen
we boil water on a hot plate
submerge glass syringe
in coffee mug

before pandemic our friend drives
from New York
stays in our spare bedroom
we walk local woods
in constant embrace
laugh and snap photos
in marshy dusk

one lawyer
one social worker
two legal documents
piles of paperwork
our friend as donor
not parent

seven doctors
four anesthesiologists
a coven of nurses
one with a bright
pink uterus
embroidered on her scrubs
one who holds my hand
as I lose
consciousness

twelve phlebotomists
seven ultrasound technicians
only Deb tells us anything
we ask for her by name
soon after sunrise
she holds the wand inside me
counts my follicles aloud

two hysteroscopies
one successful
two polyps
one fibroid
culled from inside

four hospitals
three acupuncturists
two insurance plans
three pharmacies
twelve prescriptions
two refills

calculated deliveries of HCG
two days before my cycle
nine days before expiration
two refrigerated cartons
Gonal F & Ovidrel

twelve pre-filled syringes of Ganirelix
eight boxes of Endometrin
100 milligrams three times daily
thirty plastic applicators
100 liners to keep my underwear clean
two red plastic sharps containers
overflowing with spent needles

seven doses of Ativan
two boxes of alcohol swabs
three qt. bags of subdermal needles
one October afternoon
sobbing in the bath
until the tepid water chills

months pass before
we begin again

January signals yes
six weeks become twelve

and somehow

a second heartbeat
lodges inside me
hummingbird flicker
tiny ocean in a shell