I read that taking EPO could help produce an excess of cervical mucus, ideal for conception.
I struggled into the office with last night’s mascara clinging to my eyelashes and a stomach heavy with nausea and hungover shame.
The ancient Greeks ate sheep lungs, while Sicilians choked down dried bull penis. I tried the newest miracle fix: a medical-grade IV drip.
On one arm he was balancing the cash drawer, but in his other hand, held high like a flag on a flagpole, were my reindeer undies.
I recently gave birth, and I wasn't prepared for the startling, completely unforeseen aftermath of misadventure that my body has become.