I think anyone who goes through an IVF cycle deserves an honorary medical degree.

Am I right?  I’ve become a pro at administering (and receiving) shots—in my thigh, in my belly, in my rear.  I can use terms like “protocol,” “10 cc syringe” and “sharps container” and actually know what I’m talking about.  With the help of my colleague, Dr. Google, I know how to interpret the results of my blood work and ultrasounds.  My living room is a makeshift exam room, equipped with syringes, vials, alcohol swabs, and sterile gauze pads.  I can tell you which veins in my arms are the best for blood work.  I even know the side driveway into the hospital so that I don’t have to wait at the light at the main entrance.  Someone get me that degree for my wall!

I don't think I'm qualified to unpack this box of meds...

I don’t think I’m qualified to unpack this box of meds…

Okay, so I’m only kidding, and I can’t diminish the incredible work of all of our actual doctors, nurses and medical professionals who have helped us along the way.  I’ll think of our IVF cycle as training to be Dr. Mom; for how to kiss a boo-boo to make it better, how to pull off a bandage so it doesn’t sting as much, how to measure a temperature with the palm of my hand on a forehead, and of course how to wipe plenty of snotty noses and dirty bums.  Training that will come in handy because, when you’re a mom, the doctor is always in.