Dr. Kanna frowned. “There have been no changes in your hormones. I’m sorry, Mr. Collins—the procedure didn’t take.”
That couldn’t be right. Any second now, Dr. Kanna was going to burst out laughing and pat his arm and tell him that it was all a joke. But the stern, almost apologetic look on Dr. Kanna’s face didn’t give way. It remained flat and stagnant, and Mal was forced to confront it.
The IVF had failed again.
“Then we’ll start another round of stimulants, right?” Mal sat a little straighter in his chair, as if proper posture might help him figure out the best course of action. “I’m a pro at the injections by now. I can start them again, and then you can retrieve the eggs that develop, and…”
Dr. Kanna shook her head. The stern look on her face degenerated into sympathy. “At this point, I can’t recommend that you go forward with another treatment, Mr. Collins. I’m sorry. The more stimulants you receive, the higher your risk for adverse effects. The pseudo-heats you experience from the injections will only strengthen over time, and your quality of life will degrade the worse they get. At your age—”
“At my age, I need to go forward with this!” Mal stressed. His heart had taken off at a sprint and left his body behind—a strange, chilling numbness spread through his chest in its absence. “I can’t stop now. Ican’t.”
“And at this point, I can’t continue.” Dr. Kanna’s frown was apologetic, but it did little to soothe the anguish and panic building inside Mal. “I can’t continue to treat you knowing what effects it will have on your general health. I’m sorry, Mr. Collins.”
It was a no.
After all the treatments he’d been through—the public humiliation, the anxiety, the fear—nothing more could be done. Mal parted his lips to speak, but there were no words. No syllable could encapsulate the heartache of being told the family he wanted was out of his reach. What did his health matter if he had no one to share his future with?
A lump rose in Mal’s throat. Tears dotted his eyes, and he blinked them away.
People made babies accidentally all the time, but here he was, still barren, despite medical intervention and ideal conditions.
What was wrong with him? What part of him made him so hostile to life that he couldn’t conceive under perfect circumstances?
A single tear rolled down Mal’s cheek. He hurriedly brushed it away with his hand. There had to be another way—a way that Mal couldn’t see through his distress. If he could calm himself down, he could have an honest conversation with Dr. Kanna and figure out the best way forward. All he had to do was think.
Mal let his shoulders slump. He took a slow but steady breath in an attempt to refresh his body and mind.
“Are there other fertility clinics you could recommend?” Mal asked at last. He kept his voice as even as he could, refusing to let his emotions get the best of him. “I know that at my age, there may be some practices unwilling to treat me, but… but there has to be someone else, right? Another option?”
Dr. Kanna’s gaze was set on the succulent, as if she found comfort in its symmetry, too. “I’m sorry.” Her tone was laced with finality.
“Is this really it?” Mal bit the inside of his lip, trying to keep himself in check. “There’snothingyou can do to help?”
Dr. Kanna sighed. She looked off to the side, then ran a hand nervously up her arm. When she met his gaze again, Mal saw the hesitance in her expression. “There is one last option.”
“Tell me.”
Dr. Kanna traced her hand back down her arm until it came to rest at her wrist. “One of Aurora’s pharmaceutical companies is holding a clinical trial for a new fertility medication. Allegedly, the stimulant they’ve developed doesn’t only encourage the body to produce viable ova, but augments the chance that the embryos produced by those ova will attach and result in pregnancy.” Her dark eyes turned obsidian. “The drug is in phase one testing, and the trial is looking for suitable patients of all ages and genetic varieties. Those selected will be the first human patients to receive treatment.”
“The first?” Mal studied her face in an attempt to parse her reactions. Did she look so stern because she was fearful of the risk the trial posed, or was it because she didn’t think he could be part of it? Mal didn’t know.
“There’s no telling what could happen,” Dr. Kanna admitted. “The literature that was sent with the invitation for referral was solid, but there is always a risk when human lives are drawn into the equation.”
“But it might work?” Whatever problems he’d encounter would be worth the risk. “What about the baby? Are there any side effects for the baby?”
“None that have arisen pre-human trials,” Dr. Kanna said. “But, as I said, there haven’t been any studies done on human patients. It’s impossible to say for sure. If you choose to participate and are selected as a candidate, the doctors who are working on the clinical trial can tell you more—I only received their reports and findings, enough that I feel comfortable recommending the process to child-bearers who are struggling to conceive.”
“How soon does the trial begin?” A rush of fear swept through Mal, stirring the hairs on the back of his neck and tightening his muscles. It was followed closely by adrenaline. If traditional IVF wasn’t going to work for him, this was his last chance to conceive. The dream that had crashed and burned today had one last chance to rise from its ashes.
She studied him, meeting his gaze fearlessly, but Mal would not be discouraged. He matched her intensity and returned it until, at last, she spoke. “The trial will begin in mid-March, approximately two weeks from now. Candidates are being selected from a pool by referral only. If you’d like, I could submit your name for consideration.”
Two weeks had stretched into forever after each embryo transfer, but objectively, Mal knew it wasn’t a long time. In two weeks, he’d find out if he was selected, and from there, the process would begin again.
New doctors. New medication. New hopes…
“Yes, please.” Mal didn’t hesitate. “I’ll sign whatever papers you need me to.”
“I will be upfront with you about the process.” As Dr. Kanna spoke, she opened one of her desk drawers and withdrew a packet printed on crisp white paper. It was stapled together on the top left corner. “When the application is submitted, it will include your full medical history, including the treatments that you’ve received here in the clinic. You may not be selected. The first pool of candidates is generally small in a clinic trial. The odds are stacked against you.”
