“You need to do more.” He said. His eyes were dispassionate and looking at the tablet in his hand.
I wondered if it was the contraption that told him what he just told me.
“How much more is more?” I asked.
My tone of voice was dry and it said I was not impressed with his, and the contraption’s, recommendation.
“Minimum three times a week. Four times would be better.” He gave me a quick glance, dropped his head before our eyes could make contact. “Better yet, don’t count, just get at it every other day.”
“Every other day.” I weighed on the possibility. Such a time consuming effort. “Is it success guaranteed, this tactic?”
He looked at me fully then. “It is not a tactic, madam. It is a way of life. And most successful people are faithful followers of this method of progression.”
“But I hear stories of those who applied the method once, some even by a stumbling chance, and yet they came out with a positive.” There were plenty of those.
“They were not special cases, madam.” His eyes was back on the contraption and his voice once again bored.
“So, I am a special case?”
I think it is the amusement in my voice that brought his gaze momentarily on me.
“This is a special situation.” The emphasis was on this.
“So, it’s a situation now, not a case?”
“Every other day, madam.” His tone said he was dismissing me. Or my case that was now a situation.
“Standard position highly recommended. Oral administrations not viable. Artificial moisturizers prohibited. Moistness must be achieved by natural applications.”
“Would there be anything else?” There seemed a lot already.
“Timing, madam. Timing is key.”
“Timing.” I nodded. “What is the time now?”
He looked at me, with eyes that questioned the sturdiness of the nuts that held my faculty in place.
“It is midday, madam. The morning hours are gone.”
“That they are.” I nodded, stood up. “Then it must be time.”
*** ~~~ ***
Going through the rigors of trying to conceive is really trying.