2. Any calm and charm I exude is a façade. My super-crazy side is reserved for my husband and anonymous infertility friends online. Anything casual you say about my chances of conception will be parsed for hours and days.
|Interwebs, Am I right?|
3. I respect you, but I also see an acupuncturist, a hypnotist and a psychic.
5. I look at the Internet. A LOT.
6. Infertility hurts so far beyond the baby. It's about my marriage, my friendships and my ability to picture a future. It's about my body, and whether everything I've been told about personal power is true.
8. I want to feel important to you, even as I know you are successful no matter what happens in my case.
10. Part of me thinks I can solve this with wheatgrass.
13. I try to act cool about the ultrasound wand, but I'm pretty sure I have PTSD.
14. I don't understand why I have to wait for you without my underwear. I feel everything is skewed that I have to be half-naked while you get a crisp lab coat. OK, I understand, but I hate it.
15. The waiting room is a quiet, tense, darty-eyed purgatory where every minute feels like an hour.
16. It's not the shots that are hard. I would inject myself in the eyeball to get news two weeks earlier.