My lower abdomen, proud host to Follistim, Gonal-F and Repronex, has begun to take the form of a three-dimensional Seurat painting. Get the right perspective on it and the dots form a pretty pointillist scene--maybe a park and some women with parasols? The work may not yet be complete, but it's already so colorful.
My be-Luproned inner thighs--well, now, they're more of a traditioinal impressionist collection of dark-dappled smudges with flecks of blue and yellow. No waterlillies or cornfields here, but perhaps a starry, starry sky?
And today, to further decorate my person, I have commissioned this lovely abstract blue-green piece on my left-inner elbow, entitled "E2: Day 6 of Stims." Not, perhaps, something the SF MOMA would be bidding for just yet, but give it a few years to appreciate: they probably didn't want the all-black painting or the bowl-of-hard-candy-as-sculpture number right off the bat, either.
Though being the canvas for these potential masterworks can be painful, and I sometimes resort to visualizing my happy place...
...as the needles go in, I try to remind myself: One must suffer for her ART.