Chapter 14 #2
I ground my teeth in irritation and stepped through the door.
Hilary eyed me warily as she released the door.
It closed with a whoosh as we started walking, her in the lead and me a few steps behind.
My body was leaden, my mind weighed down with worry, and I was torn between the desire to scream and the urge to run.
None of this felt real, and yet it was. Very, very real.
Hilary stopped outside an open door and gestured for me to enter. I did, freezing when I spotted the exam table. The stirrups were already out.
“Here’s our patient!” a much too chipper voice said,
I spun to face the door just as a nurse stepped into the room, at first taken aback by the fact that I didn’t recognize her, but then grateful it wasn’t the woman who despised me. Maybe that would make this process easier.
The new nurse, who looked to be in her fifties, barely glanced at me before she began pulling things from the cabinets on the other side of the room.
“Once I step out, I’m going to need you to undress from the waist down.
There’s a hook behind the door for your clothes or you can fold them and put them on a chair.
Whichever you prefer. I need you to clean yourself from front to back with two of these wipes, and you can cover yourself with this.
” She set a folded paper sheet on the bed, two small square packets on top. “Any questions?”
“No.”
“Do you have anything you’d like to talk about before we call the doctor in?” Hilary asked, drawing my attention to her.
She stared at me expectantly, a smile plastered on her face.
“No,” I repeated.
The nurse, who hadn’t introduced herself, and Hilary exchanged a look I couldn’t read.
“I think we should step out, then,” the nurse said.
Hilary moved toward the door. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”
The nurse followed, giving me a reassuring smile before stepping out.
The door clicked shut and just like that, I was alone with the ominous table and the too-thin paper sheet that was supposed to make me feel less vulnerable.
The scene wasn’t an unfamiliar one since I’d been going to the gynecologist for nearly a decade, but never before had I felt so helpless.
Uncomfortable, yes. No one loved getting a pelvic exam. But lost? No. Never. Only now, I did.
Knowing I couldn’t avoid it forever, I forced myself to undo my shorts.
The air was cold, and I was instantly chilled when I’d slipped them off even though only a little more of my flesh was exposed.
Goose bumps popped up on my legs, seeming to intensify when I removed my underwear.
I looped them over the hook on the back of the door, my shorts on top, then moved to the table.
Ripping into one packet, I followed the instructions I’d been given, tossing it into a nearby trashcan before repeating the process with the second.
Then I climbed onto the table, unfolded the thin paper sheet, and waited.
There was no clock in the room, but for some reason, I imagined I could hear the seconds ticking away.
Voices were audible from somewhere in the hall, then there were footsteps.
I tensed as they drew near, but relaxed when they passed.
More time slipped by, and the voices outside the room were joined by another, deeper one.
I stiffened again, knowing the time had come, then grimaced when one of the women laughed.
The voices grew closer, the excitement in them clearly audible, then the knob rattled, and the door was pushed open, and the same white-haired doctor I’d seen on my last visit stepped into the room.
“Miss Murphy!” he exclaimed in a jubilant voice, his focus on the tablet in his hands. “What a blessed day.”
I said nothing.
He lifted his head, looked me over, and gave a small frown. “I do realize this can be hard, so don’t think I don’t.” He waved to the nurse, who’d stepped in behind him with Hilary. “Shut the door, please, Tasha.”
Tasha, who didn’t look at all like a Tasha, eased the door shut without a word.
The doctor focused his serious gaze on me.
“As I was saying, I understand not all women dream of motherhood, and even some of those who do find this process difficult. I hope you can comfort yourself in the knowledge that since passing The Fertility Act, we’ve made great strides toward preserving the human race.
You and all the other fertile ones are part of that. ”
Fertile ones. I hated the term. It made us sound like numbers, statistics, instead of human beings. Which, I supposed, was the point since it allowed people to forget they were forcing actual women to procreate against their will.
When I didn’t reply, the doctor cleared his throat. “Okay, well, I suppose we should get down to business.” He took a seat on the wheeled stool, then scooted toward the exam table. “Mrs. Tantor already went over the details with you, and you’ve read and signed the contract. Is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Do you have any questions about the procedure, concerns about what follows, or other issues to discuss before we proceed?” the doctor continued.
I shook my head.
He frowned. “I need a verbal response, Miss Murphy.”
I had to swallow to find my voice. “No. I don’t.”
“Good.” He cleared his throat again, which after only two visits, I’d learned was a habit of his.
“Your temperature, as recorded by your government issued wristband, has indicated you are currently ovulating, which coincides with your last menstrual cycle. To verify that, I will do a quick pelvic ultrasound. If I determine you are ovulating, we will proceed with the insemination. A specimen has been chosen based on your blood type, medical history, as well as a few other factors to ensure the best chance of a healthy fetus, but you should be advised that in no way is conception guaranteed. After insemination, you may experience some spotting or cramping. This is normal, but you should report back here if it becomes extreme. You should inform us if you get your cycle, but if you do not, you will return to the clinic in two weeks, at which time you’ll receive a blood test to determine if you’re pregnant.
If the test is negative and you still do not get your cycle, another test will be performed a week later. Do you understand all of that?”
I nodded and said, “yes,” when he paused.
“If you do not conceive this month, we will try again in three months’ time. Do you understand?”
Unable to form words, I nodded.
“I need a verbal response,” the doctor said, sounding more exasperated this time.
“I understand.”
“Good.” He twisted on the stool, so he was facing the nurse. “Gloves.”
Tasha hurried to retrieve a pair from the box mounted beside the sink, and I watched as the doctor pulled on first one then the other. The latex snapped into place, and he turned so he was once again facing me, what I was sure he meant to be a comforting smile on his lined face.
“If you’ll lie back, I can get started.”
I did as I was told, then scooted lower, knowing it would be his next request. A poster of a fuzzy orange kitten was taped to the ceiling, one paw clinging to a rope as it dangled in midair, the words hang in there printed beneath. It was ridiculous. Stupid. Juvenile. But I still stared at it.
“Now, feet in the stirrups,” the doctor said, his tone gentle.
Again, I obeyed, but kept my knees together. My legs were trembling. My heart was racing. I kept my focus on the kitten.
“Legs apart,” the doctor said as he moved the thin paper higher.
I did as I was told.
“Scoot down a little more.”
I scooted.
“Just a bit more.”
I shifted again, staring at the kitten. Thinking about it. Not about where I was or what the doctor was about to do.
“Good.” He touched the inside of my thighs. “A little wider, please.”
I spread my legs. Stared at the kitten. Thought about only it. Not about what was going on between my legs. There was nothing happening there. It was just me and the kitten.
The illusion was shattered the second the doctor slid the wand inside me, and I squeezed my eyes shut.
Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there. Mentally, I repeated the words like a mantra.
For a few seconds, he moved the wand around, then paused and said, “There’s your uterus.
” He moved the wand again. “And ovary number one. Ah, yes. Very nice. I see the corpus luteum and there are the follicles. I count four on this side. Very good.” He shifted the wand, and I squirmed as he searched for my other ovary.
“Looks like five on this side. Very nice.”
He slid the wand out of me, and I was able to take a breath.
“Good news!” he exclaimed, but since my eyes were still closed, I wasn’t sure if he was talking to me or Hilary and the nurse. Maybe he was just talking to himself since as far as I could tell, my part in this was little more than that of a human incubator.
“Shall we proceed?” Tasha asked.
“Yes.”
I put my knees together as they moved about the room, preparing things.
Metal clanked and cabinet doors opened, and hushed conversations followed, but I kept my eyes closed.
I didn’t want to see what they were doing, didn’t want to even think about it.
I kept my eyes squeezed shut, kept repeating the same three words over and over.
Hang in there. Hang in there. Hang in there.
A hand touched my arm, but I still didn’t open my eyes.
“Are you okay?” Hilary asked in a soft voice.
I managed to get out, “I just want to get this over with.”
She gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It will be over soon enough.”
Soon? I wanted to laugh. Since when did nine months to three years count as soon?
“We’re ready to proceed,” the doctor said, and I once again felt his presence between my legs. “This might be a bit uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt. The best thing you can do is take deep breaths and relax. Okay?”
I nodded, then, not wanting to get chastised again for not giving a verbal response, squeaked out, “Okay.”
A hand tapped my leg. “Spread for me.” I did, then the doctor said, “Catheter.”
Despite his recommendation to relax, my entire body tensed.
I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to ignore the sensations between my legs. I was sweating, my legs trembling, and my hands were balled into fists, my nails digging into my palms.
Overall, the process didn’t feel much different from the pelvic exams I’d had in the past, but the fact that this was totally against my will made it seem so much more sinister. I felt like I was being used, violated. Like my body wasn’t my own. And I hated every person in the room because of it.
It was over faster than I’d thought possible, and then the doctor slid the catheter from me and pushed his chair back. “All done.”
I put my knees together as, around me, the others moved. My eyes were still shut, and I stayed where I was, the knowledge that the doctor was so very wrong cementing me in place. It wasn’t all done, it was just beginning.