Shawnee Barton
2:3
2011
It is difficult to describe how thankful I am for the baseball field that I can see from the window of the exam room at the fertility clinic. The field calms me and watching a practice or game noticeably improves my mood. Today, while waiting for the doctor, I see a batter hit a bases-loaded triple down the third-base line. Three players score. The next batter pops a fly ball to right center. It should be an easy out, but multiple fielders run to the ball, and it drops between them. The runner on third gallops home, and his team tackles him at home plate.

There was more excitement in this game than I have seen in years of watching baseball on television. It feels serendipitous that all that action happens in the short time that I am watching. I’m not religious, but it makes me consider whether someone above is helping me cope.

Once I gave up on the idea that Mike and I could get pregnant on our own, our focus turned to creating the deepest baby-making bench possible. It helps me to imagine myself as the George Steinbrenner of infertility. I am willing to pay for impressive talent, and I am just as willing to fire anyone who isn’t performing up to my expectations. We flew across the country to scout the best clinic in the country, and we’ve already cut one doctor and one nurse from the roster. Now, we have two new doctors, a better team of nurses, an embryologist, a psychologist, a yoga instructor, multiple books, a new insurance company, a sweet mutt that snuggles with me when I cry alone, and an acupuncturist.

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