The Broccoli Project

When I was in college, I was part of an acting troupe in Austin called The Broccoli Project. I did one play with them. It was The Marriage of Bette and Boo, by Christopher Durang. It's really an amazing piece. Very dark humor, every laugh wrapped around intense pain. The play is autobiographical, dealing with Durang's childhood and his alcoholic father and his mother who lost at least two babies to stillbirth due to (I think) Rh negative blood. The play also deals with in-laws, the Catholic church, and a young man's refusal to deal with his horrific life and his retreat into the comparably more cheerful world of very dark literature.

But what struck me then and what I have always remembered were the stillbirths. The most poignant monologue to me was Bette's when she calls her old schoolmate Bonnie (who barely remembers her) in the middle of the night, just to have someone to talk to about the babies she has lost. That, and when Bette recites the names and the birthdates of her children who have died.

It's running in New York City right now. Ross remembered that I had done the play years ago and, not knowing the subject matter, asked if I would like to see it. I don't know. Yes and no.

My acupuncturist thinks that I have lost another baby. She says it's possible. My luteal phase (the second half of a woman's cycle) was unusually long this last time. I had a lot of pregnancy symptoms. She looked at my chart and immediately said, "Chemical." I told her that I had gotten no positive pregnancy tests. She said that sometimes they can be wrong.

I left my appointment to go to Whole Foods to buy very expensive organic fruits, vegetables, meat and milk. No more questionable things are going into my body. As I walked through the Time Warner Center towards the mecca of treating your body right, I got a call from my parents. They wanted to talk about my request to get a referral to an RE from one of the medical superstars my dad knows. It's not a good time to ask, apparently. He's in the middle of a major career transition and it's not a good time to impose. This is not an emergency.

Except, to me, it is. I turn 36 in three days. I've already had at least one pregnancy with a bad chromosomal outcome. Bad eggs. Maybe. I feel like every day that ticks away is bringing me closer to the day that someone in a white coat tells me that I will never have a child of my own. That my husband will never be able to have a child with me.

I said that I had to go because Whole Foods is in the basement and I would lose my cellphone signal. My dad wished me a nice evening with my "wine and fancy cheese". I said thanks. It would take too long to explain that it will be a long time before I have wine and fancy cheese again because from now on I have to eat like I'm pregnant, whether I am or not. I was on my way to buy broccoli. Broccoli which makes me wretch. Broccoli which I will choke down because I do not want to kill anymore of my babies.

It's my broccoli project.