It takes a village...

It takes a whole village to create a baby from where I sit.

In the good ol' fashion world of Fertileland, two people do the deed, then the doctor looks after the pregnancy and delivers the baby, usually with a nurse involved, and thats about it.  Not so much when it comes to yours truly.

First, we need a whole fertility clinic to get us pregnant.  Before that, however, let's not forget the monthly IUI's which involve my obs-gyn, the ultrasound techs, and the lab techs.  Oh, I forgot the pharmacist, sorry man, I didn't do it on purpose.  Then, once we get to the IVF clinic, we can easily lose track:  the fertility specialist who is my main doctor, the other four fertility specialists who take turns rummaging my insides with the dildocam (whoever doesn't know what the dildocam is, you have lost on a lot of fun in life), the associated assorted nurses, clerks and financial advisors (yep, IVF costs alottamullah), counsellors and embryologists (the embryo nannies).

Then, assuming that I do get pregnant, I need my regular obs-gyn, my usual GP (for the mental illness that usually ensues, and I might actually even need a psychiatrist once my regular GP figures that he is in over his head), a whole crew of maternal-fetal medicine experts with their dildocams, the nurses at my local hospital, the nurses in Vancouver at the high risk centre, the neonatologists and the NICU nurses (maybe I can skip the actual NICU altogether, but probably not the neonatology sermon since I am at high risk of preterm delivery).  Oh, I forgot all the good people who have to bring me water, food and a bedpan when I am on bedrest (aka MrH).

The point being, we are all interconnected.  Some discover this later in life, when old age and ailments bring about dependence.  Some, like myself, discover that without a village you can't even begin a life, let alone live one.