I have PCOS.

No, it's not a portable computer operating system. It's not Pretty Cookies On Sale.

It is: Poly Cystic Ovarian Syndrome

I have a SYNDROME!! (sounds like a stadium where you go to have pre-marital sex! "I am going to the SIN Drome! Oh wait, I think the Jets are playing there tonight.")

So, what this means is that my ovaries don't like to release an egg every month. Heck, mine don't release an egg....EVER. Seriously. I have this image of something that looks like the unemployment line inside my ovaries. Little eggs lined up. Trying to look forward and see the front of the line. One little egg asks the one in front of it, "Hey, how long you been waiting here?" An egg with reading glasses and a cane answers in a shakey old person voice, "When I started waiting on line, Michael Jackson was still black, and Duran Duran was at the top of the charts!"

So I take medicine to entice the eggs to leave the shelter of the ovary, and venture out into the "Fimbrigia" (sounds like a fast Italian sports car!) I have an image of bugs bunny dressed as a girl trying to get the eggs out, "OOhh, it's so nice here in the Fimbriggia! You should see this place! All these little fingers waving at me! Hello little fingers! Ooh! That tickles! hehehehee!"

So if the egg falls for the rouse, it needs to get into the Falopian Tube. Again, this sounds like a tunnel to get from Little Itlay into Queens. "There seems to be a backup in the Falopian, you might want to try taking the Verazzano Bridge...."

So, if my little egg makes it into the Tube, this is where the REAL magic is supposed to take place. You know what I mean. She has to hook up with Mr. Sperm. Call him what you will, 'lil swimmer', "Tom's rampaging army", "The Minions of Fertilization"...

One of these little tail wagging swimmers has to somehow charm my egg into letting him in. Oohh no no.
You see, I, like my eggs, am a Catholic Italian. We don't let ANYONE in on the first date. So this lil guy has to be one smooth talker. I picture him wearing a little hat, with a drink in his hand, "Is this seat taken?"

My egg looks at him and says, "Oh please."

He persists. "Hey, I traveled a long time to get here. Good thing I turned left at the split, or God knows where I would be!"

My egg rolls her eyes.

Yet, he persists, "So, uuhh, come here often?

My egg says, "I left the ovary for THIS?"

He becomes desperate, "Hey, you like U2? Because I sure do!"

My egg raises her perfectly arched eyebrows, "Ohh?"

And, HE IS IN! She lets down her guard for one milisecond, and that little guy is pecking away, and before you know it.....

Well...you know that rest of the story.

So, here I am...getting ready to start a new "cycle" (that is the politicaly correct way to say PERIOD!) in the hopes that my one little egg, will meet up with the one little sperm wearing the U2 t-shirt, and the next U2 fan will be created...