With a semi-recessed concave holder where half of the roll is embedded within the wall, the size of the roll is a limiting factor. When you buy those double and triple size rolls, you have to mount them under. If you mount them over, pulling on the end exerts a downward and inward force at the bottom, adding to gravity and adding compression, which crams the roll into the back of the holder and you wind up with only one square that tears off because the roll cannot turn. Since I’m not Sheryl Crow, that doesn’t work for me. With the paper mounted under, pulling on it exerts an upward and outward force counteracting gravity and compression, allowing the paper to unroll freely so you can get the necessary amount.
Last year I went through infertility treatment. This included one egg retrieval, during which doctors took 21 eggs out of my ovaries, 19 of which fertilized, 12 of which made it to the fifth day, and four of which were determined to be chromosomally viable through preimplantation genetic screening. The first egg doctors implanted in me made it to 6 weeks gestational age, and then I started bleeding. When I went into the doctor to figure out what was going on, I saw the heartbeat. Two days later, the heartbeat was gone. A few months later I was implanted with another egg, and I’m now nearing the end of my third trimester. Throughout all this, my husband and I struggled to boil down the mix of emotions and science to something our toddler son could digest, a formulation that wouldn’t hide our desire for another child while still acknowledging the precariousness and liminality of the whole undertaking.