Don't get me wrong. I love fertility doctors. I mean, so many have been so generous to me and my writing I want to give them all hickeys. Although...........I've always pictured patients in an insane asylum walking around wearing paper hats and matching booties: Exactly the wardrobe my doctors insisted I wear to attend my egg retrieval.
Last week I lovingly paid tribute (in my own way anyway) to online infertility support forums. When you read the posts on online infertility support groups, there are a lot of people crying, hugging, on their very last nerve, beating the hell out of each other with baby dust and forever on the verge of completely flipping out. What a pretty group we are.
Sometimes I think we should be required to wear bumper stickers on our backs like people taking driving lessons. Instead of it saying "Student Driver" it might say: "IVF Patient".
They both provide those in close proximity with the same warning. "Stay back. Stay way way back. This person is not responsible for her actions. This person could lose total control at any moment."
When you see that "Student Driver" bumper sticker what do you do? Switch lanes. Get away as fast as you can.
The same could apply to the "IVF Patient" in the supermarket. People would hurry to switch aisles and check-out lines. You'd see shopping cart skid marks all over the place.
"No, that's okay. I know I'm only buying a bar of soap but I think I'll just go over to line #8 behind the woman with the six screaming kids, two jam packed shopping carts, and an accordion file-ful of coupons.
Yeah, the one with the cashier who's name, according to her name tag is 'Trainee', (I think that's French). Yes, her: The one who can't seem to master the art of finding the end on a roll of receipt tape and who is waiting for 'the key'. Don't worry. Yeah, yeah, I'll be fine."
But the beautiful thing is that our insanity, our nuttiness, is never our fault. Or, at least, most of our actions have a good explanation behind them.
I look at infertility treatments as a door. We're pushing, with all of our might, on that door: The door perhaps to our future.
Well, now our screws are loose and we're becoming unhinged. And somebody is responsible!
This week, let's explore exactly who or what is indeed responsible. I mean it's not us. No, of course it's not us. What a silly notion.
(Check back over the next few days. There will be updated posts about who's at fault. I must get to the bottom of this. And please read more about my ebook if you're interested over there at the top right. It was written while I was in the midst of my fertility treatments.)
(This week's posts have been re-edited from posts I wrote and published way back in June of 2010.)