Chapter 12
Bea
To: apnielsen@
CC: fmozzeley@
From: beamarshall@
Subject: Cycle
Dear God (Dr. Nielsen) and Francine,
It’s me, Bea Marshall. I’m writing to you, as instructed, to let you know that I am nearing the end of my birth control cycle, and I plan to move forward with injections next week. With this in mind, could you please send the following breakdown of information for me?
?Target transfer date.
?Medications calendar. I know we discussed there being a week of overlap when I start my shots. I also know that there are other medications that I’m supposed to start at different points, as well. A calendar and list of these would be helpful.
?When I should expect updates and on what.
?Perhaps any recommended spellcasters?
Thank you in advance,
Bea Marshall
Date: May 3, 2026
To: beamarshall@
CC: apnielsen@
From: fmozzeley@
Subject: Re: Cycle
Ms. Marshall,
Thank you for letting us know. Neither Dr. Nielsen nor I are aware of any spellcasters that we can recommend.
I believe this, as well as your greeting, were attempts at humor, which I admit went over my head.
I also understand people are prone to do this in high-stress situations in which they feel a lack of control, but I can assure you, you are in good hands with us.
As we discussed, I will give you the after-hours phone number.
You are welcome to text anytime with any questions.
Considering your contraceptives schedule, as well as your estrogen levels being on the low side, you should begin estradiol injections on 5/12.
Those injections will go for two weeks, after which you will begin Lupron injections.
These will continue until around one week before your target transfer date.
Therefore, you will stop estradiol on 5/26, start Lupron on 6/5, stop on 6/19, and your transfer date is tentatively scheduled for 6/26.
I have attached a calendar with all of this information plugged in for your convenience, including the additional oral medications you will begin and when.
Should your transfer be successful, you’ll begin progesterone injections for one month after a positive pregnancy test result. You may test ten days post embryo transfer.
Barring any changes to this plan moving forward, I will be charging the card we have on file on 6/15, as that will be the week we thaw your eggs. Shortly thereafter, I will be in constant communication to keep you up to date on the fertilization process and success rate.
Thank you,
Francine Mozzeley
CLINICAL COORDINATOR, PNW REPRODUCTIVE AND CRYOPRESERVATION
I let myself feel mortified for about thirty seconds. Who could blame me for trying to bring some personal flair into the most personal experience of my life? That I did so by trying to make a joke—well. Maybe Silas is rubbing off on me already.
IVF is also the most clinical and scientific experience of my life, in addition to being complicated on every physical and emotional level, so of course I’m feeling a little all over the place.
In the days after our dinner at Starhopper and establishing our rules and a list, Silas and I settle into a pattern of unconventional domesticity.
We’re both off on Monday, so, over an impromptu shared breakfast, he offers to swing by my house with me to check on things and replenish supplies for the cleaning service while there’s a gap in the renters.
On Tuesday, he gets Fisher wrangled onto a FaceTime call to educate us on making our own sourdough starter.
We agree on Jane Dough for a name since we can’t come up with anything better.
On Wednesday, I get home to him blasting something from the nineties, head bobbing while he sautés a skirt steak for tacos.
“You good with spice?” he calls out when I walk through the door.
He keeps moving to the music with his spatula pointed at me.
The sheer, unabashed silliness of it makes my cheeks ache.
On Friday, he asks me what I want for dinner, and I know that I probably shouldn’t like that he’s assumed we’ll eat together, but I do. When I promptly answer, “I want pad thai,” the look he gives me can only be described as heated. Tension-stacked jaw, hard-focused eyes.
“What?!”
“Sorry,” he says. “That was just . . . one of the sexiest things I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Me knowing what I wanted to eat?” I laugh, warmth popping like popcorn in the pit of my stomach.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
I step over to him and pat his shoulder. “I’ll give you a minute, and then we can run to the store.” I need the minute to myself now, anyway.
By the time my next days off roll around, Silas is headed back to work for three shifts in a row.
Therefore, I spend every free moment setting myself up for injections to the best of my ability.
I carry my phone with me throughout the house when I’m home, watching every video Francine sent over, overwhelming myself when I tiptoe into all the IVF Reddit threads.
I set up a calendar on the bathroom mirror and input alarms for every medication over the next month.
I think I must see all the IVF videos on all the YouTubes, thousands and thousands of needles piercing flesh.
I cry with crestfallen strangers as they stare at test strips, and cry again with happy ones holding up their positive tests.
After what I estimate is forty seconds of sleep the night before, I awake on the twelfth as prepared as I possibly can be.
And I immediately fall to pieces.
I don’t have a phobia of needles that I know of.
I felt fine watching all the videos, other than mild alarm over the size.
I’ve got ten piercings between my two ears, had my nipples pierced years ago, plus one tattoo, and I don’t recall feeling anything other than the standard nerves when I had them done.
But I am now more than thirty minutes into trying to administer this shot to myself, alternatively staring at the bathroom mirror and pacing back and forth, and every time I pick up the syringe, my hands shake so badly I worry I’ll somehow break this needle off in my ass cheek.
I take a few quick breaths and pick it up again. The vial next.
“Don’t be a bitch, bitch,” I say to my reflection.
I want this. I can do this. This is the next step.
This is how I get closer to meeting my person, that person I know exists even if I can’t picture a damn thing about them.
It’s like I’ve been moving blindly through dense fog and now I know someone is waiting for me on the other side.
This is the next step toward bringing the best kind of love into my life. A little family I get to make.
And if I can’t do this one small thing, this one tiny shot . . . do I even deserve that? When a million other more difficult things will surely come after?
When nausea rolls again and a metallic taste fills my mouth, I get angry. Like hell am I giving up.
I find myself in the hallway outside Silas’s bedroom. My fist hovers in front of his door—damp, clammy, still trembling.
Just knock, Bea. You’re already living with the man. He’ll give you what you need. Now it’s Merritt’s voice ringing through my brain.
And how do you propose I open this conversation, exactly?
I ask her specter. “Good morning, Silas. I know you’re likely physically and mentally exhausted after saving infrastructure and life for the last seventy-two hours but, super quick, would you mind helping me get pregnant?
In and out and on with our lives.” At least I know he’d appreciate my irreverence.
God. How did it come to this? How did I get here?