So, we go up to the fancy specialist doctors. "Ma'am? We're sorry, but you're never going to have a child. You're just too old, and it's not possible."
"But, but, you're the best doctors for miles around."
"The problem is the new regulations, see. We're not allowed to help women who were born before 1980 get pregnant. You don't even have the right body parts for the new standards."
"What about adoption?"
"Weeee-eell, we can probably get you a two-year exemption to cover that possibility. But the state is gonna want a receipt demonstrating that you've had at least $12,000 worth of work on your reproductive organs."
"Do we really need to do that? I mean, you can't get me pregnant, you said."
"All true, and, lady, I think thse are dumb rules too. But we can't just give you a receipt. There was a big expose article just a few weeks ago, and this practice can't afford to get into trouble. Are there any repairs you've been putting off?"
"How about some liposuction? Or taking off the bumps on my head?"
"Nope, it's gotta be your reproductive system. We're an honest practice here."
"Maybe an investigative laparoscopy— plus a breast lift, just for kicks?"
"Sounds good. I know these rules are a big pain, ma'am, and thank you for working with us."
I call up Beaker on my cell phone, right from the office. He is mightily angry. I put the doctor on the phone with him; by the end of the call, they're both laughing and have agreed on the lap and the lift—heck, why not an enlargement, too? They can operate right away.
Several hours later, I wake up. Everything seems fine; if anything, I feel a bit more energetic. I make sure to get the receipt, which, oddly, seems to be for $23,000 dollars. But that's more than $12,000, so I guess it's okay.
"Is there any point to our continuing to try on our own?"
"Why not? Maybe we've cleared something out. Keep taking your vitamins. But, I hafta say, it's probably not gonna work."
As soon as I get home, Beaker admires the profile changes, but notices that they've taken both my ears off and replaced them, backwards. Plus my left eye is blinking rapidly, all the time. After he performs a bit of emergency surgery to clean up those little issues, we carefully file the precious receipt and start in on the paperwork.
ADDENDUM (to be filed under, you just never know for sure, god damn it): As I was typing, I got a phone call from A, who is deliriously miraculously pregnant—without further treatment. Through most of her first trimester, too. She wanted to be sure I heard it straight from her. Couldn't have happened to a more deserving couple, I have to say.