Dear Doc,

I'm so glad to see that you are putting all of my hard earned money to use at the driving range. I think your game is improving. Really I do. I feel bad taking you away from your Ma.xim magazine for even the briefest of moments but I had a few things I wanted to discuss. I hope you can humor me and at least skim over this letter's contents with the same skimming nonchalance you give my chart at each visit.

First off, I would like to apologize for my inability to produce a healthy screaming specimen and make you look good. I know that having me hang around the office seems bad for business and all but I think I have managed to come up with a solution. Perhaps on the days of my visits you could leave the back door unlocked. I could sneak in with the stealth of a cat and sit quietly unnoticed in some unoccupied corner of the building until it is time for my appointment. You could tell people I was a celebrity or the newspaper girl or even a distasteful moving sculpture. It wouldn't bother me either way. It would be nice if you could put a chair there for me while I wait, but I'm not too picky.

This would actually be a good thing for me. It would mean coming to the doctor's office without facing the "Stare of a thousand bellies." Seriously, can't you like put some weird mind numbing television show in there or something for them to stare at? It is rather unnerving to be faced at the door with all those bellies. I know they are wondering what I must be doing there wasting your time when it is obvious I'm not doing my part to enhance the world's population with my offspring. I mean honestly! Who comes for a yearly pap anymore? What else could you possibly need a doctor for?


So to recap, back door, chair, television....check.

This brings us to the white door. You know the one the nurse stands at ushering me through and shutting the door quickly to save the poor pregnant people from having to sit one more second with someone like me?

You know I just love forking out my entire life savings to the pretty little receptionist behind the counter only to have her ask me why I'm really there. I get all giddy when the nurse tells me as she takes my blood pressure that I need to have a true reason to come to the doctor these days and that she must mark down that I'm there for my yearly. I didn't once wince when she told me that with the insurance the way it is, I can't just come in to "discuss" things or follow up on my test results without a huge problem. I even bit my tongue and passed up the chance to tell her that I considered not ovulating for the past six years and wearing my hoo ha out with night after night of conceptual sex a problem! I never once whispered in a slightly agitated tone that in my opinion having a four week period that left your bathroom looking like a murder scene at least four times a day was anything to be concerned about. And let's just forget the sobbing terrified mess I was as I lay lifeless and unable to move in the bedroom floor whilst hubby called my family doc for an emergency rx of Provera. You would have been proud had you not been "taking five" to oogle at that chick sitting on the car in the magazine I saw (You know, the one you accidentally dropped off your clipboard and hastily stooped to pick up and rearrange in the office magazine basket? Because, you know all us women love reading those articles about how to arrange ourselves just right on the hood of a car to maximize the amount of sperm reaching the cervix...).

This brings me on to the office visit. Honestly! Do you consider that a service? Let me give you a run down... I go sit in said office waiting nervously as I go over in my head the top one hundred questions hubby and I have come up with since my last office visit (The one in November...seven months ago. You sent someone else in to do the job and never even called! Jerk!). You come waltzing in with your laptop and fancy clipboard (Which we now know is only a place to keep your dirty pictures) and you scan my folder in under three seconds flat and say "So what are we here for?" Well, if you would read the chart you would see, but what do I know eh? It amazed me though - that suave way you convinced me that I was here for my pap, tossed me a gown and a sheet and left the room so that I could "assume the position." I was sadly disappointed with your stirrup side manner as you lubed, swabbed, and degloved without so much as a smile or look in my direction. You didn't even comment on the Christmas lights I had worked so hard the night before to arrange down there just to make it a more pleasant experience. Hmph! No fruitcakes for you bub!

After the exam I do apologize. I realize now that it was drawing near to eleven o'clock and that my questions in regards to the logistics of our next fertility med seemed trifle and silly compared to your meeting at the country club. I understand now that it is my personal responsibility to Goo.gle my information and scour the brains of all my infertile friends on the best way to take said medications. How silly and inconsiderate of me.

I will say all in all though. The whole visit wasn't a total loss. I did rather appreciate the fatherly pat on the shoulder you gave me as you hurried out the front door in your all too white tennis shorts and tied around the neck argyle. It made it much easier for me to hand that perky receptionist my check knowing that I have single handedly funded your visit to the courts that day with enough left over to perhaps make a payment on that pretty little mercedes convertible you raced down the drive in. I feel good knowing that you will be able to comfortably retire at the ripe old age of 40 whilst I sweat and slave over every penny until I'm 85. What a good person I am huh?

Thanks doc for such a great visit. This is exactly the reason I come back time after time! I just can't wait for the chance to feel like a good person again! How's next Friday?

Arian