4. Ellie
My fingers strum across the armrest of the chair. I look around at the waiting room of the clinic. It’s fuller than I would have thought. A heavily pregnant woman reads a magazine, and another woman is fidgeting and checking her phone.
Three patients have already been seen, and my name should be called up soon. I can’t quite pinpoint the feelings I’m experiencing right now. Excitement, nervousness, happiness? Everything is all mixed together, so I don’t even know what I feel.
“Dr. Eleanora Lawson?” Hearing the ‘doctor’ in my title snaps my attention. I whip my head to face the nurse, who smiles.
I grab my purse and jog over to her. “Good morning, Dr. Lawson, it’s so nice to have you here. I’ve read some of your work.”
The nurse holds the door open for me and gestures inside.
“I’m not used to meeting fans,” I say with an embarrassed smile. “And please, call me Ellie.”
My whole body is tingling, and it’s only getting more intense as we move through the clinic. Light shines through the frosted glass windows, bathing the hallways and work stations in warm glow. It’s almost blinding.
“Okay, Ellie. I’m Donita, and don’t worry, I’m not going to ask for an autograph.” She laughs. I chuckle, too, but I’m just so nervous that I feel like my body is going to seize up any minute.
We move into an exam room so she can check my vitals. Why am I so nervous? I’ve been planning for this day for months, if not years. Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s finally happening after so many years of thinking about it?
I clear my throat and look upward as the nurse puts my arm in a blood pressure cuff.
As the cuff tightens, the pain feels a bit sharper than normal. Suddenly, I start thinking about the pain of childbirth. I know I’ll be drugged up with medications and pain relievers, but still. I’ll be pushing a baby out of my body. That has to be intense, no matter what.
“Okay, you’re looking good. All vitals are normal,” she remarks. The cuff loosens, and I can feel myself calming down as it does. She helps me pull my arm out and leads me out of the room.
“You’re seeing Dr. Cavanaugh today. He’s probably the most experienced doctor we have on staff. I’ll take you to his office.” She writes my vitals in my folder as we walk.
The clinic is something of a maze. We make several turns, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to find my way back. It’s modern with top-of-the-line equipment more often found in a hospital than an outpatient facility. It’s impressive.
Dr. Cavanaugh is sitting at his desk, working on his computer. He’s an older man, slightly balding on top and wearing horn-rimmed glasses. As we walk in, he beams and stands up immediately.
“Dr. Lawson, how good to see you. I’ve been looking forward to this all morning.” He walks around his desk and shakes my hand vigorously. I’m not used to this level of enthusiasm, but I oblige and shake his hand back.
“Thank you, Donita,” he remarks to the nurse, who backs out of the room and closes the door. Dr. Cavanaugh moves back to his seat and motions for me to sit across from him.
“So, you’re trying to have a baby, huh? Ironic, isn’t it?” As he speaks, he fiddles with the computer, presumably trying to pull up my medical file.
“I guess you can say that. But most people have children, even fertility doctors. And after all, shouldn’t the fertility expert take part in some of the procedures she studies?”
He chuckles. “I guess you’re right. But it feels odd discussing procedures with someone so knowledgeable in the field. I feel like you should tell me about the various options.”
I shake my head, lowering my eyes to disguise my embarrassed smile. “Well, I’m assuming intrauterine implantation is the ideal solution, at least initially, so that it’s the least invasive.”
“Artificial insemination, closest thing to the old-fashioned way. No need to reinvent the wheel. Although we haven’t tested you using the Lawson Protocol indicators, have we?”
I’m taken aback by his comment. While I’ve been advocating for such tests since I published a paper on the subject, it’s still wild to hear that other people are implementing my work.
“No, not here, but I’m quite familiar with the process.” I give a self-effacing smile. “As far as I can tell, I’m as fertile as possible.”
It feels weird discussing my fertility like I’m a farm animal or something. It’s humbling to know this is how patients must feel.
“Excellent, excellent. So, we’ll just start the first round of medication, then bring you in for harvesting. Do you have a donor in mind?” Dr. Cavanaugh clicks to bring up a new page on his computer.
I pause. I’ve made lists of qualities but never really thought about the actual person who might embody them. They’re just items on a checklist, not a person with a face.
“I know the type of person I want to fertilize my egg. But I haven’t looked at specific donors.” As I speak, I imagine skimming through page after page of donors. Choosing a donor based on appearance and vital signs. It seems so bizarre, so sterile.
I have the mental image of an accomplished, good-hearted doctor, one who’s devoted to his work but also devoted to people he cares about. Someone who’s so kind that he’s practically a prince.
Or just a prince.
I laugh to myself. I’ve just left the royal palace, and my mother always joked that Ricky and I played so well. If he weren’t a royal, and I weren’t a commoner…
The doctor snaps me out of my reverie. “Well, we have a pretty good roundup of eligible donors. You will have to pick one before the fertilization date, so I can send you our complete list.” Cavanaugh types something on the keyboard.
“You mean I can’t just let you guys choose for me? Like a lottery system?” I laugh, and I see him crack a smile.
“You could, if you wanted. That’s for you to decide. But I recommend looking first, and if it comes to that, having us choose out of a selection. It’s best if you decide.” He pushes a few more buttons, then turns to me.
“Also, you’re not using a surrogate? I would have imagined a working professional like you would outsource the pregnancy. Less disruptive that way.”
“No, I really want to go through the whole process. I think it’ll help connect me to my child. And I want to know what it’s like firsthand.”
I flash back to the woman in the waiting room. Morning sickness, intense cravings, back pain, hot flashes, uncontrollable bladder. Am I ready for all of that?
“Have you thought about whether you want a boy or girl?”
I pause for a moment, debating whether to give my true answer. “Honestly, I haven’t. I’m sure I’ll love my child no matter what.”
My reply sounds like a stock response, but the truth is I have thought about it extensively. I’ve always imagined that I would have a daughter, like my mother and me.
I imagined taking her to school, to museums, and to toy stores. We would bond while brushing her hair and we’d make sure to eat at least one meal together every day. The more I’ve thought about it, the more eager I am for motherhood.
But what if I have a boy? I haven’t prepared myself mentally for that. I try to imagine the same scenarios, but it feels different when it’s a little boy and not a little girl. I know what it’s like to grow up as a girl, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin with a boy.
At this moment, I wish my mother were here with me. I imagine her sitting next to me, smiling at me and holding my hand. I know she would have preferred for me to have a baby ‘the old-fashioned way,’ but I don’t need or want the drama of being with someone else.
“Who’s going to help you with the baby?” I can imagine her asking, but only after she tells me to have children no matter what.
The realization then hits me like a ton of bricks. I don’t have many friends, and I’m not sure who I can lean on to take care of my newborn. I don’t want her being raised by nannies, but what other choice do I have?
“You know, you don’t have to make a final decision today. Having a baby is a life-changing event. It’s okay to take your time. You’re not exactly in a rush, are you?” Dr. Cavanaugh looks me in the eye.
Suddenly, it feels like it’s all happening so fast. If I go through with this, I’ll have a deadline. Nine months can go by like that. Am I really ready for this?
I turn to face the empty chair next to me. I imagine my mother sitting there, trying to talk me down from getting too nervous.
“You’re going to be a great mom. No matter what happens, you’ll figure it out. You always do.” I imagine her caressing my cheek like she used to. I feel calm and collected.
“No, I’m ready. Let’s get the ball rolling,” I reply.
“Okay, I’ll find a date for your next appointment. It takes a couple weeks for the medication to do its thing, and after that, we can harvest your eggs.” Dr. Cavanaugh types on the computer.
It’s finally happening.
I’m going to be a mother. And I’m scared out of my mind and thrilled beyond my wildest imagination.