The sake of his lover’s future child hung in the balance. If Vincent messed this up…
“You ready?” Alana asked. “If you’re not, no worries. I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have.”
“I’m ready,” Mal said. “Thank you for walking me through it.”
Mal had been through the IVF procedure three times prior—he knew the ins and outs from a patient perspective—but he treated Alana with kindness all the same. The corner of Vincent’s lips twitched. Mal’s gentle nature worked him down from his momentary ineptitude and steeled him for what was about to come.
He’d do Mal proud.
As Alana sedated Mal, Vincent walked by the operating table if only so Mal would know he was close by. As Mal’s eyelids drooped and Alana had him count down from ten, Vincent looked his way one last time and planted the hope in Mal’s eyes into his memory. This was Mal’s last shot. Vincent wouldn’t botch this.
Today, he’d retrieve Mal’s ova and fertilize them.
He’d help Mal start his family.
At the far end of the room, almost out of sight, Dr. Biernacki’s nose was buried in his tablet. Whether he was recording what happened at the time of surgery or occupying himself with Sudoku puzzles, Vincent didn’t know—nor did he care. In a few more days, the embryos would be implanted, and Mal’s daily visitations to the clinic would cease. Soon enough, Vincent wouldn’t be his doctor any longer.
One retrieval. One embryo transfer. One blood test. One ultrasound.
When Vincent looked at it that way, the wait didn’t seem so long at all.
* * *
“Thirteen mature follicles,”Vincent announced. He massaged the ultrasound wand across Mal’s belly, head lifted to observe the screen it projected its image to. “Impressive, considering the patient’s age. This is congruent with patients within prime reproductive age we’ve observed at lower dosages. The results are encouraging.”
Jeremy Lythe, who handled the CCO’s administrative tasks, jotted down notes on his tablet while Vincent spoke. A voice recorder captured Vincent’s observations as well, preserving them in case the notes were lost or inaccurate.
“The follicles are all of impressive size—approximately twenty millimeters each, although some seem a hair larger, I’d wager twenty-one. Compared to the patient files obtained from Dr. Keiko Kanna, it seems I-047231 has not only helped increase the number of mature follicles present upon retrieval, but also has improved their size and, potentially, their viability.”
Not all ova would be fertilized. Of the thirteen present, Vincent expected four or five to become zygotes. But thirteen was better than the eight or less he’d anticipate from a patient of Mal’s age—the number Dr. Kanna had been working with while she performed the procedure in her own clinic.
“Once the aspiration has been performed and the patient has been wheeled to recovery, I’ll conduct an examination to see how the ova look. Should they be anything like the others we saw in patient Zimmerman and patient Brown this morning, I have high hopes that they will all be fit to move on to fertilization.”
Lost in his professional headspace, the low-grade anxiety Vincent had struggled through minutes before was gone.
“With the preliminary examination complete, I’m ready to begin aspiration.”
Vincent’s skilled hands introduced the needle to where it needed to be, puncturing the first follicle thanks to guidance from the ultrasound. In the next second, he aspired the first ova into the modified barrel of the syringe, dislodged the attachment containing the egg and set it in its prescribed spot, then began the process again. Twelve more times he retrieved Mal’s ova, setting each in its place, until all of his follicles were depleted.
“Thirteen follicles have been successfully retrieved,” Vincent stated when he finished. “Patient will be wheeled to recovery for observation following his surgery, and as he does, phase two will begin. The ova that are deemed adequate for fertilization will undergo ICSI, and will be examined in twenty-four hours’ time for signs of cell division.”
Thirteen lucky chances. Thirteen new attempts to give Mal the family he wanted.
Vincent’s lips twitched. PG-13 indeed.
“Further observations will be recorded during the examination process. For now, I have nothing else to report.”
Nothing Synecta would be interested in hearing, anyway. The way his heart beat wildly in anticipation of the thought that he was about to make Mal a father wasn’t helpful for research purposes.
33
Mal
Aday after the retrieval process, Mal brought his silver Nissan to a stop by the curb next to Vincent’s house and glanced at the wrapped box on the passenger’s seat. White wrapping paper accented with bulky metallic sparkles of all colors glistened in the setting sun. Mal had adhered a golden bow to the top of the box. He didn’t claim to be the best at wrapping gifts, but he figured that even if Nikki didn’t like the presentation, she’d go nuts for what lay behind it.
Mal took the keys from the ignition, undid his seatbelt, and picked up the box. He’d barely had time to exit the vehicle when the front door of Vincent’s house was flung open and Nikki burst forth. She stretched her hands over her head and waved.
“Hi, Mal!” she called, then danced back and forth on her bare feet like the stone stoop was scorching hot. “Hi!”
