Ultrasound gel stuck to my sock
Cold feet in mesh booties
A needle in my fridge
Tim Hortons after a morning appointments.
So many numbers.
Uterine lining numbers.
Sperm wash numbers.
Statistical chance numbers.
Numbers we don’t understand. Numbers we do.
Good numbers. Bad numbers.
Numbers as explanations to questions.
Phone calls that say “no caller ID”.
Calls to the urologist.
Calls to the endocrinologist.
Calls to the fertility clinic.
Giving your boss vague sick notes.
Crying after office baby showers.
Using incognito browsers at work.
Feeling bad for feeling jealous.
Giving pregnant women the stink eye anyways.
Getting sperm inseminated in you in the morning and going to a concert that evening.
Looking around the concert and wondering if anyone else got turkey-bastered that morning.
People putting things up your vagina. A lot.
Not calling your best friend because you don’t want to talk about her kids
Feeling guilty because when you do talk she always asks how you’re doing.
Hiding the blood requisitions on the fridge when company comes over.
Saying “nothing” when you dad asks what you’ve been up to this week.
Following Instagram feeds with infertility memes.