In my childhood nobody came to me. I was sealed and signed. Dr. Brosh examines my breasts. “I see that you like to eat,” he says as I get dressed. Dr. Zilberstein cannot recall anyone but his children, his patients all a single body, a single heart, a single vulva open to shouting. Dr. Levine never lifts his head from the prescriptions, I am defeated by the roots of his words, my face tangled in his non-gaze. Dr. Yefet laughs, “These days even a wall can get pregnant.” Low branches break inside of me. Dr. Bauman prescribes Ikaclomin, three times a day, glucomine twice, one injection in the afternoon. My body’s baggage grows heavier and heavier. Dr. Gold is of the opinion that in matters such as these money has no role, scratching his forehead, his double chin trembling. I count the days until the big bang happens and then every other day, I open to actions and the hours scratching in me their time I wait and meanwhile I dress, I undress, I open wide. I enter and exit. My face grows round and the child is sealed and signed in the lower drawers, and in the upper ones another year have passed, soon I will be thirty-three.