through,” she said. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll catch a break.”
The light turned green and they both burst into cynical laughter.
Daisy made big calendars to hang on her office wall and started grooming an assistant ballet mistress who could cover classes and rehearsals when Daisy was at appointments. The first month was mostly reviewing IVF protocol at the clinic. Daisy went in for one procedure where a mock embryo transfer was done. A dress rehearsal to test the size and placement of the catheter which, hopefully, would eventually place a fertilized egg into her womb.
The second month kicked off with birth control pills to synchronize and monitor her cycle. This phase could last up to three months, depending on how her ovaries responded. She was at the clinic every morning for blood work and ultrasounds.
“Nothing like a needle and a trans-vaginal probe to start your day,” she said.
Over the next two weeks, the lab relayed good news on Daisy’s blood work. “Your levels are perfect,” the nurse said. “Right where we want them.”
“You have the ovaries of a twenty-eight-year-old,” the ultrasound technician said.
“Oh my God, are we actually catching a break?” Daisy asked Erik, who was watching the monitor.
“Let me check.” He moved to the window and peeked between two slats of the venetian blinds. “Just as I thought,” he said. “The harbor turned to blood, huge cracks in the Earth’s surface and big rocks falling out of the sky.”
Before Daisy’s cycle started again, they attended the injectables class and after a two-hour wait at the pharmacy, went home with a cooler of vials, a case of syringes and another sheaf of printed instructions. Daisy made another calendar to hang on the bathroom wall.
“I got this,” Erik said on the first scheduled night. “I used to do this to myself three times a week.”
“Yeah, little subcutaneous ones on your legs. Not intramuscular ones in your butt.”
“Same principle,” he said, flicking the syringe to get the air bubbles out. “And I’d take one in the ass every now and then.”
“I’m telling Will,” she said.
Erik pulled the cap off the needle. “All right, come on. The trick is to do it fast. The buildup is worse than the shot.”
His heart was thumping but he acted cool, remembering the nurse’s advice to keep it business the first few times. (“No jokes, no chatter, no ass patting,” she said. “Just do it.”)
He found the sweet spot (“Stay above the crack, outside half of the cheek”) and swabbed it with the alcohol. Spread the skin as taut as he could.
“Take a breath in, on three,” he said. “One, two, three.”
Like a dart he jabbed. Daisy gave a small grunt and blew her breath out. He pulled the plunger back a hair and then pressed it down.
“Jesus,” she said through her teeth.
“Sorry.”
“The push burns.”
“Done,” he said, tossing the syringe in the disposal container they were given and massaging the skin around the injection site.
“All right,” Daisy said, pulling her pants back in place. “Nice job, Fish.”
“Thanks, Marge.”
She crossed out the day on the calendar, kissed him and left the bathroom. Erik exhaled and looked at his shaking hands.
AS HE DID WITH Melanie, Erik had sperm surgically extracted. It couldn’t be cryogenically stored, so the procedure had to be done within a day of the egg harvesting. If Dr. LeBlanc couldn’t get any viable sperm, the cycle would be lost, but the retrieved eggs could be frozen to use with a later attempt. Or with a donor.
“Who’s second banana?” Will asked one night. “You still want your brother?”
“Well, I want you,” Erik said. “But your ship has sailed.”
“I can’t do anything to help?” Will said. “Come and jerk you off? Just once? Please?”
Erik threw a specimen cup at Will’s head. “Jerk that, asshole.”
Plans B, C and D had been sketched out. If they got both sperm and eggs, they’d proceed with IVF. If they got eggs but no sperm, they’d still proceed, but with Pete donating. If the IVF failed on either account, they’d take a huge vacation somewhere, regroup and look at adopting.
“Thus shall be the plan,” Erik said.
“Subject to sudden emotional change and-or life’s bullshit sense of humor,” Daisy said. “Without warning.”
Two weeks passed. Daisy spent her life on the phone. She was on a first-name basis with the pharmacist and already added five nurses to her Christmas card list. Her thighs and glutes were bruised and her breasts ached, which made finding a comfortable sleeping position nearly impossible. She went through her day tired, sore