She asked me about my symptoms, my menstrual history, and my attempts to become pregnant.
When I told her I had been married for eighteen years without conceiving, she looked at me carefully.
“Have you ever undergone fertility testing?”
“No.”
“Neither you nor your husband?”
I lowered my eyes.
“My husband says my body is the problem.”
“Did a doctor tell him that?”
“No.”
She put down her pen.
“Sarah, I want you to understand something. Without proper testing, nobody can conclude that you are responsible for your difficulty conceiving.”
I felt tears gathering in my eyes.
“But what if something is wrong with me?”
“Then we investigate it and discuss your options. That’s what medicine is for.”
She asked me about the nightly ritual.
At first, I was embarrassed to describe it. It sounded strange when spoken aloud.
But Dr. Wilson listened without laughing or interrupting.
When I explained that Michael insisted I repeat the same sentence every evening, even when I begged him to stop, her expression became serious.
