On the table in the waiting room of the women’s clinic are gifts for new or pregnant moms labeled “Welcome to the Sisterhood of Motherhood.” The bulletin board in the exam room is covered in photos of babies that I’m assuming this doctor helped bring into the world. This is all ironic since I am here to ask the doctor, among other things, if she thinks my body will be able to bear children one day, or if the chemo has damaged it beyond repair. I rotate my head toward the opposite wall so I that I don’t have to stare at the baby pictures anymore. But the artwork is…