Shawnee Barton
I am lucky. We have money to spend on trying to make a baby. I have time to navigate the bureaucracy of this process, and we are blessed to have each other. I am deeply appreciative of those advantages and regularly think of the women who don’t have those things and want a baby as bad as I do.

But still, I am so fucking tired of needles. My arms look like a heroin addict’s. I drive to my doctor’s office everyday now. Each time, I pay $3 to park, ride an elevator up eight floors, and let a nurse extract blood from my arm. The next morning, I wake up and do it all over again. The more bruised my arms get, the harder it is for the nurse to hit her target. Today, when she missed a fifth time, I started weeping. Not because it hurt, but because I am exhausted. I am fed up with being a pincushion.
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