Chapter 11 Lucy #2
She dug out her ‘save pile’ wicker basket from the coat closet and set the note on top of the stack.
A few more cards and notes and she’d have to buy a bigger basket.
She never considered herself a hoarder, but since she was younger, she couldn’t bear to throw away any handwritten notes from anyone.
After taking Chucky for a walk, she snuggled on the couch with him at her feet and reread the instructions for the progesterone shot.
Gnawing on her cheek, she read again. She sniffed her fingertips.
Was she dirty? Probably. Dealing with cash that had changed a million people’s hands by the time it reached her bank might carry some sort of funky embryo-stalling germs. Even with the alcohol wipes the doctor gave her, she definitely shouldn’t take that chance. She needed a shower.
The heated water beat down on her back and shoulders, and she kept peeking at her butt cheek.
Whew. Still there. Every shower since the doctor’s office visit, she was convinced that the injection spot circle the nurse drew last week would slide right off her skin and swirl down the drain, but that baby had barely faded in seven days.
Finished with her shower, Lucy towelled off and grabbed the supplies.
Twenty minutes to go before injection time, but a little practice stab wouldn’t hurt.
She propped herself up on the bathroom counter and twisted.
Jesus, this was an awkward-as-heck angle.
She fisted her hand and pretended to poke herself.
Her belly gurgled and her mouth grew hot. She threw on her bathrobe and moved to the kitchen, shaking out her tingling arms. Bouncing on her feet for a few moments seemed to calm her limbs. After guzzling soda water, her belly soothed.
The minutes ticked by as she paced the apartment. Come on, come on. Game time.
She returned to the bathroom with a trotting Chucky following at her heels.
A vision of golden dog hair floating off Chucky and burrowing into her injection site filled her mind.
Nope, no way. She was not adding golden Shar Pei DNA to her body.
She guided Chucky outside the room. ‘Sorry, boy. This is a solo act, my friend.’
After singing the national anthem a full three times while washing her hands, she hopped on the counter, cleaned her skin with the prep wipe, and twisted like a contortionist. Good grief. She really needed to consider taking up Pilates.
‘Come on, Green. You got this.’ Shoot like a dart, break the skin, do not angle, do not hit the nerve …
Sweat beaded on her upper lip. The syringe in her palm was just so big. Sweat now popped on her forehead. I got this, I got this. The belly shots she’d been doing these past few weeks were a piece of cake. But this baby-arm-sized syringe pulsating in her palm was a beast.
She swallowed sticky saliva and swiped the sweat on her lip with her hand. Dammit! She rewashed her hands, Cirque du Soleil’ed herself into position, re-wiped the alcohol, and poised her fingers.
One, two, three. She jabbed, and her arm froze. What in the hell? She lifted and jabbed again. Her arm apparently had a mind of its own. It had stopped an inch before it broke the skin. She squinted. ‘Come on!’ Lift, freeze, lift, freeze.
Her stomach turned. Forty shot attempts passed. She blinked away the black spots filling her vision and opened the door. Chucky lifted himself. ‘Ruuu?’ he asked.
‘I had the same thought.’ She paced the hall, the kitchen, and back.
Her doctor had warned her about this, but she had thought it was funny – at the time.
A drawn-out speech about the mind-body connection, and how the brain sometimes halted the body when trying to inflict pain upon itself.
The concept sounded so alien – that her brain could stop her from injecting.
But she had just experienced this phenomenon, and now she felt completely out of control. Like a sports player psyching themselves up before a big play, she jumped up and down. She kicked the air conditioning on two degrees lower and rolled her neck.
She could do this. Had to do this.
Hands washed, skin wiped, awkward position resumed. And her arm stopped. Every damn time. Lucy checked her watch. She was already nearly an hour past when she was supposed to take the shot. And even though the doctor said she had a window of time, she wanted to do everything perfectly.
And this was absolutely not perfect.
Her lip trembled. Sweat trickled down her spine. She could not get sweat into the syringe. Who knows if sweat mixed with progesterone would screw something up and stall the meds getting into her body? She tried one last time.
Shit.
‘Think, think …’ What were her options?
The dads. Drew was gone, and Mason was just arriving from his Phoenix flight. The soonest he’d even get home was still a few hours away.
Her dad. No. Her pops loved her, but she didn’t think he could stomach shooting her in the ass.
Erica. She wasn’t the best option as Erica didn’t know she was a surrogate, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Lucy grabbed her cell and dialled.
‘Lucy Lu Lu Luuuuu.’ Erica’s muffled voice was hard to hear over the thumping music.
‘You still at happy hour?’ Please say you’re just driving with the music blaring.
‘You won’t believe this. The veep showed up, bought everyone shots, and is paying for all of our Ubers.
Even Linda is drunk! Ha. Good thing tomorrow is Saturday.
Wish you were here … Wait, one sec.’ The sound of a phone shuffling echoed through the receiver.
‘Sounds like we’re heading downtown to the Irish pub.
Most epic happy hour ever! You sure you can’t come out? ’
Lucy grinned through her words to keep from crying. ‘Nope, sorry. Next time though.’ And by next time, I mean in about twelve months from now.
After ending the call, she leaned against the wall and squeezed her eyes tight.
One option remained, but she did not want to do it.
No, that was an understatement. To the depths of her core, she absolutely did not want to do it.
She looked at her unstabbed hip, her belly that carried the hopes and dreams of her best friend, and the cell phone in her hand.
She had no other choice. Her fingers shook as she scrolled through her contact list.
‘Hey. Sorry to bother you,’ she said and sucked in a deep breath. ‘I really need some help.’