Dr. Simone Beaumont walked in—late forties, dark skin, natural hair pulled back in a low bun, wearing scrubs and a white coat. She had kind eyes. The kind that made you want to trust her even when you didn’t trust anyone.
“Truth,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Dr. Beaumont. It’s nice to meet you.”
I shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you too.”
She sat on the stool and pulled up my chart on her tablet.
“So,” she said, scrolling through. “You’re here for gestational surrogacy. Is that correct?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’ve already signed the contract with the intended parent?”
“Yeah.”
She nodded, still reading.
She knew damn well I signed that contract with Amai because he was footing the bill for all this. I appreciated her being professional, though.
“Good. Today, we’re going to do some baseline testing—bloodwork, ultrasound, make sure everything looks healthy before we start the hormone protocol. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” She looked up at me. “How are you feeling? Nervous?”
I hesitated.
“A little.”
“That’s completely normal.” Her voice was calm. Reassuring. “This process can feel overwhelming, especially at the beginning. But I’m going to walk you through every step, okay? If you have questions, ask. If something doesn’t feel right, tell me. This is your body. You’re in control.”
I nodded.
But I didn’t feel in control.
I felt like I was signing my body over to science and hoping it didn’t break me.
The bloodwork came first.
The nurse came back in with a tray of vials and a tourniquet.
“Just a few tubes,” she said cheerfully, wrapping the band around my arm. “You’ll feel a pinch.”
The needle slid in.
I looked away.
Watched the vials fill one by one—dark red blood disappearing into plastic tubes labeled with my name and a barcode.
“All done,” the nurse said, pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site. “Hold that for a minute.”
I held it.
She labeled the vials, packed them into a bag, and left.
Dr. Beaumont came back in.
