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That is the confession. There. I said it.
I am fertile. Probably extremely so. I menstruate every 32 days. My Fertility Friend charts would be the envy of most women, complete with fiery temperature surge that occurs mid-cycle, preceded, of course, by 4 days of textbook spinbarkeit. I experience mittleshmertz for 3 days preceding ovulation—my very own personal internal OPK. I get a positive surge of luteinizing hormone on cycle day 15 of every.single.month. It’s disgusting, really.
But don’t be fooled by the facts. In a few short months I will purchase pills, suppositories, and massive doses of hormone injections. I’ll stab myself bruised for a few weeks and then undergo procedural sedation for egg retrieval. Each of my eggs will be injected with a single sperm and then observed in a laboratory for a three to five-day period. If we are blessed by the fertility gods (which by now we have obviously not been), two of the hopefully developing embryos will be transferred back into my uterus hopefully leading to my holy grail known in most circles as . . . pregnancy.
See. Totally fertile. All of those aforementioned fertility signs drove me to immense self-chastisement over the previous year. We aren’t getting pregnant therefore I must be doing something wrong. If I could just figure out what that one thing wrong is…I could turn this whole thing around. It must be the wrong combination of intercourse days. It must be my attitude (my inner child must not feel ‘ready’ for this). I must not be lying with my legs at the precisely right angle for the full twenty minutes after sex. It.must.be.me.
Imagine my horror and relief when the results came rolling in. Sperm. Not nearly enough. Some. But never enough. Wrong shape. Deformed. Slow. Sad. Male Factor Infertility.
In an instant the birds and the bees stop flying.
The face of reproduction changes. The image carved into my mind when my mother sat me down to have ‘the talk’ takes on a new form. Sex doesn’t make babies. Doctors make babies. Scientists make babies. Babies are made in the spotlight of a large microscope in a pleasantly warmed plastic dish.
And thus. I am. We are. Also. Infertile.
I am. Infertile.
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