That Time I Went to a Healer

It had been ten long months. Whoever said trying to get pregnant was fun must have been as fertile as manure, twenty-five, and very energetic. I, however, was none of those things. Though I knew I wasn’t supposed to worry until a full year had gone by, I just felt that something was wrong. My first child was such a one-and-done situation, we barely meant to start a family by the time she was on her way. Secondly, I had already done three rounds of Clomid, and was told by my less-than-sympathetic gynecologist that if it was going to work, it would have already.

So, looking to point a finger like any good wife, I sent my husband to the lab for a semen analysis. He came back in the 90th percentile. Great. This was clearly on me. But what could be wrong? I was very healthy, fit, and only thirty-five - which, I know medically is a “geriatric pregnancy”, but it’s not that old. Surely this should not be such a problem. The last thing I wanted was a long, expensive fertility struggle; pumping my body full of synthetic hormones that may or may not work either, but that decision was made for me when I discovered my insurance didn’t cover infertility.

I was angry and frustrated, but at least I wasn’t alone. My husband and daughter - who consistently reminded me that if things didn’t work out, I always had her - were tremendous sources of support, and so was my aesthetician. This might sound strange, but if you knew Mouna Laini of The Moroccan Spa, you wouldn’t think this was weird at all. It’s actually really hard to be a client of Mouna’s and not make fast friends. She’s open, honest, extremely caring, and within a few months of knowing her I found myself laying under the steamer, sharing the most personal details of my life - namely, my conception issues.

As time went by, Mouna and I focused on other things, one of which was the kombucha I started brewing for her. Well connected in L.A.’s holistic healing scene, Mouna was sharing some of my kombucha with a healer friend of hers, and mentioned her friend, Olivia had brewed it.

“Yes, I can feel her.” The healer said, “She’s having trouble with her reproductive system. As soon as she gets that worked out, she’ll be good to go.”

Chills ran down Mouna’s spine. She hadn’t said a word to the healer about my infertility issues, and without so much as my physical presence in the room, she was able to read me. I guess my incessant complaining had so disrupted the universe that it was finally sending help my way. Mouna called me immediately, and despite my hectic, pre-holiday schedule, Shira (the healer) and I made a time to meet.

There are two things worth noting here: At this point, my husband and I had more or less given up on the whole pregnancy thing. We weren’t having protected sex or anything, but we weren’t planning our lives around ovulations, or hovering breathlessly over pregnancy tests either. In fact, I was pretty sure we only had sex two or three random times somewhere in the past four weeks, and as I neared Shira’s apartment building, I was reminded I was due to get my period any minute.

The second thing, was that in the four months leading up to that day, my cycles had gotten longer and longer, once by up to six days. Now, this might not sound out of the ordinary for some, but you could set a clock by my period. It always came at the exact same time, with a variance of no more than 18 hours. Though I had no medical evidence to back it up, I had a nagging sensation that I was conceiving, but that, for whatever reason, my body was rejecting the tiny pack of cells I had worked so hard to create. Like I said, I have no medical evidence with which to support this claim, only my intuition, which I trust, but take that as you will.

I had a hard time finding Shira’s apartment, and, as I said, I was busy and premenstrual, so by the time Shira welcomed me into her home, I wasn’t exactly in the best mood. I had also never been to a healer before, and the uncertainty of what I was about to experience put me on edge. Would I have to lay down while being poked and prodded? Would a ceremonial dance ensue? I really had no idea, but finding out what was going on with my lady parts would be worth whatever I would have to endure, right?

To my surprise, Shira simply sat across from me on her couch and started to chat, explaining her process. Her method of healing involved an active meditation where she focuses on her subject - in this case, me - and receives images. She then translates those images in order to help her clients discover the source of the problem, and gives them the tools to overcome it. Shira is not a psychic, she made this quite clear, but what unfolded on our one-hour session was definitely evidence of some sort of clairvoyant gift.

Shira began by telling me bluntly that my fertility issues were not the result of any physical issue. I was experiencing a block, and Shira was going to work with me to remove it. Now, I am not a skeptic. I believe strongly in the power of the mind over the inner workings of the body, I do. However, I wanted this baby. In addition to fertility apps, ovulation strips, hormone receptor blockers, and and a strict health regimen, I had also spent hours upon hours meditating, trying to reinvigorate my lazy reproductive system after four long years of inactivity. So, to be told now that I had some sort of self-imposed, emotional contraceptive lodged up there was not what I was expecting to hear. But, Shira was seeing something, and, as it turns out, she wasn’t wrong.

“Your father worried about money a lot.” She said matter-of-factly, her eyes closed as she focused.

“Uh, yeah.” I said immediately. For much of my life it seemed money, or our lack there of, was all my father talked about. We were never poor, but being safely middle class in an expensive city like New York came with its challenges. Amazing man that my father was - and still is - he always managed to make those challenges seem much more challenging.

“Are finances a concern for you with having another child?” Shira asked. I shrugged. I’m a TV writer, and while the show I was on had been cancelled the previous spring, I had - and have - a lot of faith in myself. Plus, we had my daughter at Harlem Hospital when my husband and I were basically penniless, and we made it through. So, while we certainly thought about our financial future, it was by no means going to keep us from having another child.

“Then, what happened when you were four?” Shira asked.

“Four?” I said, racking my brain.

“Yes. Something with your mother.”

I searched back through the pages of my memory. My parents had split up when I was two, so that wasn’t it. Four was a good time for my mother and I, as I remembered. We were living in a small, railroad apartment in Chelsea, she was in school at F.I.T., she had a boyfriend I adored, and… wait a minute…

“She had an unsuccessful pregnancy.” I said, suddenly remembering. “But I didn’t know that at the time. She told me years later.”

“You did know, though.” Shira said, eyes still closed. I wondered if I should close mine too, but this was getting way too interesting. “You may not remember it, but you knew something was wrong. You idolized your mother. Her life was very influential to you, right?” She then asked, but like most of what Shira said, she already seemed to know the answer.

My mother, fierce disciplinarian that she could sometimes be, was like a god to me growing up, and I romanticized every bit of her early life. She was drop-dead gorgeous, and left her home in Ry, New York at eighteen, just as soon as she could. So, I did the same, going to college out of state and moving to L.A. from there. She was an actress who waited tables to pay the bills, and so as I. In her late twenties, she went back to school to follow a passion that would become her career, and, low and behold, I did as well. She was also a single mother of a single child, and for as long as I can remember, I envisioned I would raise my one and only daughter the exact same way. And though my husband and I faced tremendous challenges after our daughter was born, my path diverted from my mother’s when we pushed through, finding one another again and healing our broken relationship. I had already stepped into my imagination’s unknown by being in a six-year marriage, but as Shira explained, a second child would shatter the illusion forever.

Now the chill my aesthetician had was running down my spine. I had, for my entire life up until deciding to try for a second child, always quoted my mother’s mantra, “One child’s a tote bag, two is luggage.” I had never, ever seen myself as being the mother to more than one kid. And if I was being honest - really honest - I was apprehensive. Not about the child, I knew I wanted that, but about myself. Who would I be with two kids? I’ve always been a busy, buzzing bee, a dedicated and hard worker moving from one project to the next, and hitting the road on a moment’s notice for impromptu vacations whenever the time arose. I could maintain that freedom with one child, my perfect tote, but what would become of me with two? I had no idea. And now that the question was right in front of me, I had to admit, the uncertainty was scary.

“Okay… You’re opening up to me now.” Shira said.

Right again. The tension I had brought into the session with me had now completely melted away. Shira then made a few hiccup-type sounds, which she explained was part of her process, and simply stated that she had removed that block for me. Just like that. No strange dances or poking and prodding. The only question was, would it work?

Then, with a mysterious, sly smile, Shira told me to relax, to stop trying so hard to get pregnant, and that everything would work out. Lost in the experience and Shira’s confidence, I had neglected to check the time. Once I did, I was alarmed to discover that my next meeting was in less than half an hour. Between L.A. traffic and L.A. parking, it seemed unfathomable that I could possibly arrive on time. With that same self-assured smile, Shira told me again not to worry. I’d make it to my meeting with time to spare. I couldn’t help but smirk at this as I left. This lady might know an uncanny amount about my past, but she clearly doesn’t know anything about driving in L.A..

Wouldn’t you know it, though, she was right again. Not only was I miraculously five minutes early, the executives I was meeting with were running behind. I couldn’t have been late if I’d tried. But Shira’s ability to predict the timeliness of my arrival that day wasn’t nearly as astounding as the news that was to come.

Two weeks later I discovered I was pregnant. My husband and I were astounded. We’d barely even tried! I was immediately reminded of that sly smile of Shira’s when she told me to relax. Could she have known I was pregnant then? Well before any test could have confirmed it? I was also reminded of the fear I had that my body was, for some reason, rejecting potentially fertilized embryos. Could it be that recognizing the fear I had of stepping out of my mother’s shadow had given my body permission to hang onto this one? The very real truth about this type of work is that there’s no way to know with one-hundred percent certainty. What I do know, however, is that I’m currently sixteen weeks pregnant with what is, by all tests and accounts, a healthy, little girl. I told Shira this when we met again for coffee a few weeks back.

“This one is going to be different.” She said, “She’s fiery, and she’s definitely going to shake things up for all of you.”

I couldn’t help but smile. That was the exact same feeling I had been getting about the little life inside me. And, truth be told, as scary as change can be, I now welcome a little feather rustling. My first was - and has been - the perfect daughter I always dreamed I’d have. This next one, however, represents the claiming of an identity that is wholly mine, and as with her creation, I hope her existence continues to push me out of my comfort zone.

**Shira Rosenfeld is a healer, naturopath, clinical herbalist and numerologist. Since earning her degree from The Merav School of the

Open University of Israel, a prominent institution of alternative medical training, Shira has spent the past eighteen years working as a healer through reiki, bio energy, kabbalistic healing, and theta healing. For more information on Shira, follow her on Instagram, or shoot her an e-mail at ShiraHealing@gmail.com. You’ll be glad you did.**