Do you know what the problem with infertility is? I mean besides the stress, the anxiety, the depression, the frustration, the roller coaster ride, the social stigma, the tests, the doctors' appointments, the drugs, the hormones, the needles, (big breath) the anger, the finger-pointing, hating yourself, hating your spouse, hating your spouse's family (nothing to do with infertility- just thought I'd throw it in), disrupting your work schedule, the financial devastation... Well this is the problem with infertility: It monopolizes your entire life. You can barely have one solid thought, idea or conversation that doesn't lead your mind back to the dreaded infertility problem. Every conversation, thought or idea we ever have ends up in a game of Word Association gone terribly wrong down a dark, lonely, alley... All roads (and dark alleys) lead to infertility. Tree: "Look at that beautiful tree. It's a pine tree." Do we think of Christmas trees? Don't be absurd.
"Pine tree. Pine trees have needles... Oh right. Time for another hormone injection."
Ballet: "Ballet... Dance. It's like yesterday when that woman I work with asked me why I came to work late and I danced around the issue. I couldn't possibly tell her that I had an appointment at my reproductive endocrinologist's."
Potato: "Potato...Idaho. I wonder if there are good fertility doctors there... No no, I was thinking about potatoes... Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head. They were married for years without children but now they have kids on a potato chip commercial. I wonder if Mr. or Mrs. had the fertility issue... and if those spuds are biologically theirs."
Table: "I guess that one over there would look good in the dining room. As long as I don't have to lie on it with my feet in the air, I really don't care."
Oranges: "Are those Navel? I hate when my gynecologist presses down on mine while she's 'exploring'. Or are they Bloods? That reminds me: I have to get mine drawn in the morning."
Pancakes: "Pancakes...Oh, have you ever had them with chocolate chips? I have a poly-cystic ovary. It kind of looks like that."
Toothpaste: "Toothpaste... Comes in a tube... Yeah, one of mine is blocked."
Whore: "Whore... I don't sleep around. So why is she allowed to have eight kids and I have none? Anyway, I'd rather call her a trollop. 'Whore' sounds like 'hormones'.
Jenga: "Jenga...Milton Bradley... MB...embies...embryos"
Grass: "Grass...grass grows. Apparently I can't grow anything. I'm infertile."
Job: "Job...Steve Jobs had kids. No fair."
Tourist: "Tourist...Tour bus... Sounds like 'Uterus' (obviously)."
Taco Bell: "Taco Bell... Incompetent, dumb kids working at the drive-thru. My cervix is incompetent. That's why I can't have dumb kids of my own working at Taco Bell."
Gold Fish: "Gold Fish... Fish...Sperm... My husband's are lazy.
Basketball: "Basketball...Nice shot!...Oh crap, time for the Follistim again."
Door Knob: "Door Knob... The door to my fertility doctor's office has one."
(If you can stand me a minute longer, take a look at my l'il humor ebook over there to the left... & consider subscribing to this here humor blog also.)