Dear Fertility Doctor,

Here are some things I wish you knew, that I couldn't say when we met three years ago:

1. I do not actually want to be here, which is weird, because I just put $15,000 on my credit card to do so.

2. Any calm and charm I exude is a façade. My super-crazy side is reserved for my husband and anonymous infertility friends online. Anything casual you say about my chances of conception will be parsed for hours and days.

3. I respect you, but I also see an acupuncturist, a hypnotist and a psychic.

4. Though my FSH levels are "data" to you, that high number feels to me like it's a low SAT score, like I'm branded and doomed. No matter how much you explain it, I don't understand why you can't be happy if it goes down.

5. I look at the Internet. A LOT.

6. Infertility hurts so far beyond the baby. It's about my marriage, my friendships and my ability to picture a future. It's about my body, and whether everything I've been told about personal power is true.

7. My period feels like a miscarriage every month.

8. I want to feel important to you, even as I know you are successful no matter what happens in my case.

9. It's really weird that we have to do a rectal exam ten minutes after meeting, though I understand the social contract demands we both act cool about it. I never thought that district of my anatomy would be part of getting pregnant.

10. Part of me thinks I can solve this with wheatgrass.

11. I know you want me to grasp statistical reality, but I wouldn't be here if I didn't think I could beat the odds.

12. Probably you were that straight-A pre-med student while I leisurely pursued my English major. I'm intimidated by you, even though I used to pity you for having to toil in organic chemistry when literature seemed much more relevant.

13. I try to act cool about the ultrasound wand, but I'm pretty sure I have PTSD.

14. I don't understand why I have to wait for you without my underwear. I feel everything is skewed that I have to be half-naked while you get a crisp lab coat. OK, I understand, but I hate it.

15. The waiting room is a quiet, tense, darty-eyed purgatory where every minute feels like an hour.

16. It's not the shots that are hard. I would inject myself in the eyeball to get news two weeks earlier.

17. I appreciate when you quote that study saying infertility is as stressful as cancer. I've never had cancer, but I do sometimes feel like I'm dying.

18. Bless you for not telling me to "relax."

19. Despite all these things I just said, I entrust you with my hopes, dreams, ovaries, husband's sperm and maybe even our embryos. Please don't mess with any of these things.