Murphy's Law of Infertility

Trying to be discreet about IF at work is an exercise in futility. The RE hardly ever calls me back, and my boss is hardly ever in my office. However, these two universes are *guaranteed* to collide the moment the boss pays me a visit about something urgent.

I had to excuse myself today, grab the cell phone, and head outside, because where else can you say things like, "sp.erm aspiration," "transvagi.nal ultrasound" and read a list of VDs you tested negative for aloud, and still act natural?

Then there's technology. Try staying calm while you order *all* of your medical records to be faxed to you, stat. First, the nurse has me on the cell because of the obvious privacy concern. Instead of dialing the fax, she attempts to fax it to my cell. I should have just quit right there.

Me: "Uhm, I hear a call coming in, and the ID is blocked. Is that you calling me?"
Nurse: "No, I'm dialing your *fax*. Oh, wait. I can hear your voicemail.... That's strange."

Duh!

She tries again and one page comes through on the fax.

Me: "Good, you got it. That's the right fax number."
Nurse: "Okay, I'm sending the rest now. Stay close to the fax. Let me dial again."

Then my cell rings AGAIN. "Wait. Hang on. Are you dialing my cell again?"

Nurse: "No, I dialed your fax number! This is really strange." (She's starting to sound perplexed.)

She tries again, and the fax machine begins spewing out 30+ pages of my not-so-sacred medical history. Of course, there's a hiccup. It runs out of ink in the middle of it all. I mean, why on earth would I have anticipated this to be quick and easy?

I quietly replace the ink so as not to draw attention to the lengthy illegitimate fax, only to have the fax machine's alignment function go belly-up. One co-worker lurks, trying to see what I'm up to, while another leans over and catches a glimpse of my sad ovaries as she tries to help fix the issue.

Throughout this ordeal, I'm still on the cell trying to get the doctor's office to resend the fax. Another colleague has now entered the office and is looking at me pitifully and puppy-faced, non-verbally asking my help with the copier that is busy eating multiple pages of her project. I lean over and unjam the thing, while talking to the nurse, and then proceed with my stealth faxing maneuver.

Next time I'm trying to do anything personal during my lunch break, I'll be sure to send out a memo. It may contain words like, "scro.tum" and "test.icle." In fact, you can bet on it.