Was she required to fit that into conversation as many times as she could? Probably.
She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm and, an instant later, it started to expand and tighten. While that happened, the nurse put a small clip on my finger and practically forced a thermometer into my mouth. Between her cold, irritated demeanor, the lack of conversation, and that I still didn’t even know her name, it all made me feel like a turkey being prepared for Thanksgiving dinner. Did she treat everyone like this, or was it just because I’d pissed her off? Probably the latter.
She didn’t bother telling me what my temperature or blood pressure were before making a note in the tablet, and she didn’t even glance my way as she readied the vials.
“Arm out,” she said, her gaze not once straying to my face.
I complied, and she tied a tourniquet around my forearm. She tapped the flesh on the inside of my elbow, then probed it until she located a good vein. The alcohol swab was cold against my skin, and the needle biting when she slid it in. Thankfully, she got the vein on the first try.
The nurse allowed one vial to fill, then another and another, setting each one on the tray. Then the tourniquet was gone, and the needle pulled out, and she was applying the cotton ball and Band-Aid to my arm.
I sat in silence as she scribbled a couple things on the vials.
“Now we just need a urine sample, and we can get you to the fertility counselor.”
“Fertility counselor?” I questioned.
I’d been expecting to see a doctor next, so this part caught me off guard.
“Of course.” She let out an annoyed huff. “We need to go over what’s expected of you, what your options are, the procedures, and have you sign papers saying you understand, and that the government isn’t liable if things don’t go the way you want them to.”
Things already weren’t going the way I wanted them to, but I kept that to myself. No need to piss this chick off any more than I already had.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Most people don’t,” she said, the statement making it seem like it should have been obvious. Which was insane.
Everyone knew about The Fertility Act, but women didn’t talk about what happened in the program. Yes, there were stories of married women who’d been deemed fertile but hadn’t been able to conceive without the help of the Department of Fertility, and stories of women who’d volunteered their wombs over and over, but they were all sweet and uplifting. Propaganda. No one mentioned that the women who’d gone back two, three, and four times had been compensated, the sum they received in exchange for offering up their uterus growing bigger each time, or that there were women who hadn’t wanted a baby at all who’d been forced to give birth. No one talked about the prison hospitals, or the toll having a baby took on a body. No one talked about the women who didn’t make it through, because, I wasn’t a fool, I knew that happened. Nothing was foolproof.
I was so lost in thought that I jumped whenthe nurse slammed a plastic cup onto the metal table. “The bathroom is to the right and two doors down. Make sure you wipe front to back twice before urinating.” She tapped the two small, square packages on top of the cup that I assumed were some kind of sanitizing wipe, then in a forceful tone said, “Twice.”
Wordlessly, I stood, taking the cup and wipes as I did. They felt as heavy as a bomb.
Five
After delivering the warm cup of urine to the nurse, she’d escorted me to what could only be described as a consultation room. It was a mini version of the waiting room, complete with a small fish tank that’s filter filled the space with a quiet bubbling, and two oversized, plush chairs. Magazines about pregnancy were fanned out on the coffee table, and plants with large green leaves sat on the side tables and adorned the corners. The same classical music flowed from the speakers, too, only it was lower. It was soothing, but I wasn’t sure if it was meant to calm me or disarm me so I would be caught off guard by whatever happened next.
“Hilary will be in soon,” the nurse, who still hadn’t told me her name, said, then left me to wait alone, pulling the door shut behind her.
I looked around the small room, hoping to get an idea of what to expect, but my surroundings gave away nothing. Time ticked by, and I began to bounce my leg as my nerves amped up. I’d expected the fertility counselor to be as punctual as the nurse, but she wasn’t.
After five minutes of doing nothing, I finally got up and started exploring the room. I studied the fish, taking in their orange and blue bodies and the way their fins fluttered through the water, then moved to the picture on the wall. Rather than the medical posters and motivational sayings from the hallway, it wasan ocean scene. It meshed with the blue and green décor and was probably meant to put the patient at ease. It only succeeded in reminding me of all the places I hadn’t been allowed to go during my twenty-six years on this planet. Even so, I was glad it wasn’t yet another cutaway image of a baby growing inside a woman.
I was still staring at the picture when the door clicked open behind me, and I spun around as a fortyish woman with long red hair stepped into the room.
“I’m so sorry for the delay,” she said in a soft voice that was almost musical. “I got a call from my son’s school.”
Her son. Had she gone through this program herself, or had she fulfilled her duty to the government the old-fashioned way and gotten pregnant on her own? Either was possible, but the most likely scenario was that she’d had to adopt after years on a waiting list. That was how most people became parents these days.
“It’s fine,” I forced myself to say as I returned to my chair.
The woman’s smile widened, deepening the lines at the corners of her brown eyes. They were as fine as you would expect of a woman in her early forties, but her laugh lines were more pronounced and stood out on her freckled face. Other than that, though, she had clear, smooth skin that radiated health.
“You must be Arabella Murphy,” she said as she crossed to me.
“Ara, please,” I corrected just like I always did when meeting someone for the first time.
“Ara,” the woman replied with a smile. “I’m Hilary Tantor.” She extended her hand as she took the chair across from me. “And I’ll be your Fertility Counselor for the duration of your time in the program. No matter how long that turns out to be.”
