I broke down in the shower.
Not because anything was wrong.
Not because I was in pain.
Just because I was tired.
Tired of the injections.
Tired of my body not feeling like mine.
I sat on the shower floor with the water beating down on my back and cried until the water ran cold.
When I got out, Mama was sitting on my bed.
“You need to tell me what’s going on,” she said quietly.
“I already told you.”
“I know what you told me.” Her voice was firm. “But I’m your mama. And I know when something’s wrong.”
I sat down next to her, wrapped in my towel, water dripping onto the floor.
“It’s just hard,” I said finally. “Harder than I thought it would be.”
She nodded.
“Most things worth doing are.”
She didn’t ask for details.
Didn’t push.
Just sat with me until I stopped shaking.
Day Fourteen
The morning of the egg retrieval, I woke up before my alarm.
My stomach was in knots.
I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink anything—doctor’s orders—so I just sat at the kitchen table, staring at the clock.
Mama made herself coffee but didn’t offer me any.
“You ready?” she asked.
“No.”
“You gon’ do it anyway?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded. “That’s my girl.”
The clinic was cold.
Sterile.
