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Infertility and the Psychic

By Tracey Minella

June 23rd, 2011 at 12:00 am

Desperate times called for desperate measures. And infertile women can be desperate.

How else would you describe trekking into a creepy, pitch-black, off-the-beaten-path, woodsy area and going into a dilapidated house that looked like every good haunted house should…complete with candelabra? All for the purpose of having a psychic reading done by this recluse and her wild-eyed side-kick sister, who doubled as her creepy butler.

I got her name…first name only…from my cousin’s wife, who swore by her. In fact, she was such a believer in this woman’s psychic abilities that she pretty much ran her life by her predictions. Guess she didn’t see the divorce coming… or maybe she did.

So when you call to make the appointment, she only takes your first name (this was before caller ID) and the name of the person who gave you her number. You have to sit quietly in the darkened sunken converted garage under the watchful eye of the mean sister and await your turn. My friend went first, leaving me plenty of time to reflect on how they’d never find my body out here in the boondocks. “Stink-Eye” takes my cash and leads me in and seats me at a dining room table.

While waiting for the gypsy, I spy among the web-fest a grade school wallet-sized picture taped to a dingy china cabinet. The kid looked familiar. Then I realized why. She was the abducted girl from the newspaper who was locked in an underground dungeon…and freed with a psychic’s help.

Holy mother of pearl!

It doesn’t take a body language expert to pick up on my crossed arms. “So you’re suspicious?”

 I quickly unfold my arms and start to fidget. “No,” I lied, wondering where my friend disappeared to. Then I handed over my wedding ring and something that belonged to my departed mom.

She started to tell me all sorts of personal things she could never have known, real specific things that no one else knew. Ambitions…specific ones. Names of people. The hair was standing up on the back of my freakin neck. She saw the twins I lost. Lots of stuff about my mom. I wanted to run away, and yet I couldn’t get enough. It felt like she opened a portal.

Then, she took my hands in hers and warned me not to open my eyes. So I’m thinking of the Wizard of Oz scene where the traveling con man who becomes the Wizard later is rifling through Dorothy’s basket for clues. But she had my hands and Stink-Eye no doubt had my friend captive someplace.

 Now, I’m going to go inside your body.”

“WTF?!” my mind screams. But I’m too scared to move. Or to peek.

This woman’s voice changes as she begins to tell me specifics about my organs. It was winter so no skin or scars were showing. She told me of broken toes, gall stones, a benign pituitary tumor, and knee problems. Then she told me my left ovary was missing. How the hell could she know?!

Once she “exited”, the session was over since it’s apparently very draining for her as she takes on the pains of my ailments temporarily. She told me as I left that I’d have twins again.

We welcomed our daughter three years later. She’d had a “vanishing” twin.

You decide.

[Special greetings to those stopping by through ICLW…Please enter our contest to win a free Micro-IVF cycle. Go to the June 6th Make Us Gasp Post and enter there!]

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Have you ever visited a psychic about your infertility? Please share your story.

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