I picked it up.
Another text from Amai.I mean it. Anything you need. Day or night.
I stared at those words.
Day or night.
Like he was thinking about me.
Like he cared.
I typed back:Thank you. I appreciate it.
Professional. Distant.
Safe.
I hit send and set the phone down.
Raven was watching me.
“You in trouble, girl,” she said quietly.
I didn’t argue.
Because she was right.
I was in trouble.
And I had no idea how to get out.
I kept a journal for the next couple of weeks of my IVF process. Just in case anything went wrong, I wanted to have some sort of documentation for my peace of mind. I read through it because shit was getting real. The egg retrieval was next, and I was losing my shit.
Day One
The first injection wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.
I did it in the bahtroom at the clinic with the needle kit spread out on the counter—alcohol swabs, pre-filled syringe, gauze pads, instructions printed on clinic letterhead. Dr. Beaumont’s nurse had walked me through it twice, but my hands still shook as I uncapped the needle.
The pinch was sharp but quick.
I pressed the plunger slowly, watching the clear liquid disappear into my thigh.
When it was done, I sat there for a long moment, staring at the tiny bead of blood on my skin.
This is really happening.
I cleaned up, threw everything in the sharps container Dr. Beaumont had in the bathroom, and went home.
Day Three
The second injection was easier.
The third one hurt more than the first two combined.
I sat on the bathroom floor afterward, pressing a cold washcloth against the injection site. The skin was red and tender, a dull ache radiating down my thigh.
Mama knocked on the door.
