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" If you&amp;#039;ve spent as much time on infertility-related message boards as I have, which is to say long enough to mutter crazily about the olden days when we had to type out every last letter in T-R-Y-I-N-G-T-O-C-O-N-C-E-I-V-E, unlike those undisciplined whippersnappers of today, with their fast food and their cellu-lo-pedic tel-e-o-phones and their newfangled TTC\u2026 Wait, I lost track of what I was saying there. Something about kids these days\u2026when I was a sprig\u2026uphill\u2026in the snow\u2026get off my lawn\u2026 Oh, yes. Message boards. Hang around them long enough and it is inevitable that you&amp;#039;ll stumble across a discussion of what to give your reproductive endocrinologist to show him your gratitude once you&amp;#039;re pregnant: &amp;quot;What do you think is appropriate? Fruit, brownies, wine?&amp;quot; And I always have to not only sit on my hands but kick the computer&amp;#039;s plug out of the wall and call the cable company to have them disconnect my Internet service, which is harder than you&amp;#039;d think with no hands, to keep myself from answering, &amp;quot;Jesus, after all the cycles we did, we already gave him a new car...&amp;quot; (And then someone always says, &amp;quot;Once I was out of the first trimester, I had lunch catered in for the staff.&amp;quot; Or, &amp;quot;Well, I didn&amp;#039;t give my doctor that diamond-studded Rolex until I&amp;#039;d gotten good results on my amnio\u2026&amp;quot; Or, &amp;quot;Only after the twins were born did I send that impossibly rare matched set of eighteenth Egyptian dynasty amphorae\u2026&amp;quot; and then I have to have my hands preemptively amputated, my computer smashed with a sledgehammer, and the entire Internet dismantled, wire by goddamned wire, to keep me from showing how incredulous I am at the naked hedging of bets. I mean, sheesh, he got you pregnant. Carrying to term is your job. But then that is another rant entirely.) I will allow that my attitude has been shaped by my experience. My history with my first RE was a long and friendly one, which might have inclined me to generosity, but it was also one riddled with errors and disappointments. My second RE spent all of half an hour on my case, and although it was clearly a productive half-hour as we were successful under his care, I&amp;#039;m pretty sure he would have wondered, &amp;quot;Julie who?&amp;quot; as he squinted at the card on any offering I&amp;#039;d sent. And as for my current medical team, I honestly would not recognize a single one of them if they sashayed right up to my cervix, snaked in a catheter, and said, &amp;quot;Hello! I&amp;#039;m Dr. Utterly Anonymous! Please enjoy this magnificent day 5 blastocyst with our great good wishes for your success. Also, here is a foot rub. And a pony waits outside.&amp;quot; (Hey, my rant, my fantasy.) I sometimes think that we infertiles are, as a group, entirely too inclined to think of our doctors as miracle workers. When they get us pregnant, especially after previous failures, it can certainly feel that way. And there is no question that the best of them are very skilled indeed. But over the course of the last several years, I&amp;#039;ve come to a keen appreciation of how much luck is involved, and how much educated guessing, and how much &amp;quot;Let&amp;#039;s throw this to the wall and see if it sticks.&amp;quot; When the wall in question is your uterus, it is easy to forget that. And to want to send them some small token for accomplishing nothing less than changing our lives forever. I understand it because I&amp;#039;ve felt it. Nevertheless, I&amp;#039;m still squarely in the no-gift camp. When they do get us pregnant, I think our doctors are doing their job \u2014 for some of us a very difficult job, and for all of us a job that fulfills our dreams, but still a job. And while everyone likes to be appreciated for the work we do, I feel that handsome financial compensation and some warm words of gratitude are compensation enough for any professional. But then we&amp;#039;ve already established that I&amp;#039;m crotchety. Although I am deeply grateful for the care I&amp;#039;ve received, I tend to feel that my sincere expressions of thanks, with perhaps a handwritten note because I&amp;#039;m old school like that, are sufficient. If I&amp;#039;m feeling especially extravagant, I might even throw in a hearty handshake. But any post-positive fruit and brownies are mine. (The wine? Don&amp;#039;t worry, that&amp;#039;ll keep.) "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/body/pregnancy-fertility/a2384/gift-not-giving/>