Shawnee Barton
I never imagined I’d have to have an ultrasound if there wasn’t a fetus to see, but in a cruel twist, the ultrasound used to show women their soon-to-be-born babies is also used to illuminate infertility problems.

In the last four months, this wand has been inside of me more than my husband. Each time the nurse squirts lubricant on the gigantic, phallic ultrasound device, I instinctually look for a baby on the screen, even though I know there isn’t one there to see, and I feel numb.

Our new doctor is the Director of Fertility Services at the teaching hospital where he works. He has degrees from three prestigious universities and reading the list of articles he has published requires me to scroll down my computer screen for what feels like forever. These facts, along with the long string of letters following his name, make me feel confident in his abilities. Dr. Sanjay Agarwal, M.D., F.A.C.O.G. has a gentle demeanor. He, unlike our previous doctor, is optimistic about our chances of conceiving. He also doesn’t own a white board. I like that.

Earlier this morning, Dr. Agarwal, who was born in India, stood in front of a judge with a room full of other immigrants and took an oath that officially made him a U.S. citizen. This afternoon, I stare blankly at his blinking “Go USA!” lapel pin while he probes my uterus and calmly notifies us that our fourth and final IUI attempt has failed.
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