Fertility Frustrations and Insecurities: A Tale of Two Sisters Different Paths
It was hot in the trailer. I could feel sweat running down my spine and from under my breasts. I was starting to think my half naked sister had the right idea.
I was making one of my obligatory visits that our mom insists on. My sister and I had never got along well together. She was the party girl; I was the brain, and the little sister to boot. I went on to marry a doctor, a good provider with a smart home and a new car every year. Yeah, and a low sperm count with no time for my conception schedule. We've missed my best time-of-the-month now six months in a row, all because of the job that made him attractive in the first place. I was pumped so full of hormones and fertility drugs I couldn't hardly think straight.
My sister on the other hand had married a man who fixed cars when he could find someone to hire him and pumped gas when he couldn't. A horrible provider with a trailer house they still owed money on and a eight year old econobox car that belched black smoke whenever it went over a speed bump.
And apparently, a sperm count as large as his checking account balance was small. I sat there sipping my coffee from a stained stolen Denny's mug while listening to my sister complains about puffy feet and her back pains. Then it suddenly hit me. I broke down and started crying at the injustice of it all. I was always the one who wanted children, and my sister was on her third. I won't bore you with our conversation, but we worked a lot of old stuff out and in THE END
I was making one of my obligatory visits that our mom insists on. My sister and I had never got along well together. She was the party girl; I was the brain, and the little sister to boot. I went on to marry a doctor, a good provider with a smart home and a new car every year. Yeah, and a low sperm count with no time for my conception schedule. We've missed my best time-of-the-month now six months in a row, all because of the job that made him attractive in the first place. I was pumped so full of hormones and fertility drugs I couldn't hardly think straight.
My sister on the other hand had married a man who fixed cars when he could find someone to hire him and pumped gas when he couldn't. A horrible provider with a trailer house they still owed money on and a eight year old econobox car that belched black smoke whenever it went over a speed bump.
And apparently, a sperm count as large as his checking account balance was small. I sat there sipping my coffee from a stained stolen Denny's mug while listening to my sister complains about puffy feet and her back pains. Then it suddenly hit me. I broke down and started crying at the injustice of it all. I was always the one who wanted children, and my sister was on her third. I won't bore you with our conversation, but we worked a lot of old stuff out and in THE END
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