“Anger and envy are okay,” Linda said.
“Let yourself feel them. Don’t try to bottle them up just because you feel they are inappropriate.”
Easier said than done, Marissa thought to herself.
“Before we break,” Linda continued, “there are a couple of important points I want to make. We’ll be going over all of this in more detail in future sessions, and I hope we can get Robert in here for one or two of them. But I want to warn you against letting this longed-for child become the embodiment of all your hope. Don’t persuade yourself everything will be different if only you have this baby, because it doesn’t work that way. What I want to suggest is that you set a realistic time frame for IVF attempts. As I understand it, you are on your fourth. Is that correct?”
“That’s right,” Marissa said.
“Tomorrow I’ll have the embryo transfer. ” “Statistically, four is probably not enough,” Linda said.
“Perhaps you should think of setting eight tries as a cutoff. Here at the Women’s Clinic we have a very high success rate around the eighth attempt. If after eight you haven’t achieved pregnancy, then you should stop and consider other options.”
“Robert is talking about other options now,” Marissa countered.
“He will be more willing to be cooperative if he knows you’ve established a cutoff point-that this ordeal won’t go on forever,” Linda said.
“That’s been our experience. In every couple there is one who is more committed to the process than the other. Give him a little time. Respect his limitations as well as your own.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Marissa said. Considering Robert’s latest words on the subject, she wasn’t optimistic.
“Are there any other issues you’d like us to concentrate on?”
Linda asked.
Marissa hesitated.
“Yes,” she said at last.
“We mentioned guilt briefly. That’s a big problem for me. Perhaps because I’m a doctor, it has bothered me that I haven’t been able to find out how I got the infection that blocked my fallopian tubes.”
“I can understand,” Linda said.
“It’s natural to think that way. But we’ll have to try to change your thinking. The chance that any past behavior was the cause is infinitesimally small. It’s not as if it were VD or anything.”
“How do I know?” Marissa asked.
“I feel as if I have to find out. It’s become an increasingly important issue for me.”
“All right, we’ll be sure to talk more about it.” Opening up the scheduling book on her desk, Linda made a second appointment for Marissa. Then she stood up. Marissa did the same.
“I’d like to make one more suggestion,” Linda said.
“I’ve got the distinct impression that you’ve been experiencing a good deal of isolation as a result of your infertility.”
Marissa nodded, this time in genuine agreement.
“I’d like to encourage you to give Resolve a call,” Linda continued. She handed a card with a telephone number to Marissa.
“You might have heard of the organization. It’s a self-help support group for people with infertility problems. I think you would benefit from the contact. They talk about the same issues you and I have been discussing. It will be reassuring to realize that you are not alone in all this,” Leaving the psychologist’s office, Marissa felt pleased that she’d made the effort. She felt a hundred times better about the session than she’d imagined she would. She looked at the card with the Resolve phone number on it. She even felt positive about calling the organization. She’d heard about it before, but had never seriously thought of calling, in part because she was a physician. She had always assumed that the main purpose of the group was to explain the scientific aspects of infertility to lay people. That Resolve dealt with emotional aspects of infertility was news.
Riding down in the elevator, Marissa realized she’d forgotten to ask Linda about Rebecca Ziegler. She made a mental note to do it at their next session.
From the Women’s Clinic, Marissa. went to her pediatric group. Robert had been right. Her practice was in disarray.
Given her frequent absences, her secretary, Mindy VaIdanus, was being used as a “float” to cover for other secretaries who were on vacation. Marissa wasn’t surprised to find Mindy’s desk empty when she passed by on her way to her office.
On her own desk, Marissa found a pile of unopened mail as well as a fine layer of dust. Hanging up her coat, Marissa called Dr. Frederick Houser, the senior partner of the group. He could see her, so she went directly up to his office.
“I have an embryo transfer scheduled for tomorrow,” Marissa told her mentor once they were seated in the conference room.
“It might be the last cycle if my husband has his way.”
Dr. Houser was an old-school physician. He was a large, portly man, mostly bald save for a ring of silver hair that ran around the back of his head. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and an everpresent bow tie. He had a warm, generous air about him that made everyone feel comfortable in his presence, from patients to colleagues.
“But if it is not successful,” Marissa continued, “and if I can smooth things out with Robert, we’ll try a few more. But no more than eight. So one way or another, I’ll be back to normal within half a year at most.”
“We wish you the best,” Dr. Houser said.
“But we will have to lower your salary again. Of course that will change as soon as you start contributing significantly to the group’s income.”
“I understand,” Marissa said.
“I appreciate your patience with me.”
Back in her office, Marissa took out the card Linda had given her and called the number. A friendly female voice answered.
“Is this Resolve?” Marissa asked.
“Sure is,” the woman answered.
“I’m Susan Walker. What can I do for you?”
“It was suggested I give you people a call,” Marissa said.
“I’m involved with the in-vitro fertilization unit at the Women’s clinic.”
“Staff or patient?” Susan asked.
“A patient,” Marissa said.
“I’m on my fourth cycle.”
“Would you and your husband like to come to our next meeting?”
Susan asked.
“My husband probably will refuse to come,” Marissa said, a bit embarrassed.
“Sounds familiar,” Susan said.
“It happens with most couples.
Husbands are reluctant until they come for one session. After that, most of them love it. That’s what happened with my own husband. He’ll be happy to call your husband to talk to him. He’s fairly persuasive.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Marissa said quickly. She could just imagine Robert’s response if a stranger called up about a self-help infertility group.
“I’ll speak with him myself. But if he doesn’t come, would it be awkward if I came by myself?”
“Heavens, no!” Susan said.
“We’d love to have you. You’ll have plenty of company. There are a number of women currently going through lVF. Several of them will be solo as well.” Shethen gave Marissa the date and the directions.
Hanging up the phone, Marissa hoped the experience would be as rewarding as the session with Linda Moore. Although she had her doubts, she was willing to give it a try, mainly because of
Linda’s recommendation. Donning a short white coat, Marissa went down to the main walk-in clinic area to try to cam some of the small salary she was still receiving.
After seeing a handful of children with runny noses, middle ear infections, and sore throats, Marissa found herself in an examination cubicle with an eight-month-old infant and a disinterested teenage mother.
“What’s the problem?” Marissa asked, even though she could see well enough herself. The child had a number of suppurating sores on his back and arms. In addition, he was filthy dirty.
“I dunno,” the mother said as she cracked her gum and stared around the room.
“The kid cries all day long. He never shuts up.”
“When was the last time you bathed this infant?” Marissa demanded as she looked at the pustules. She guessed it was staph.
“Yesterday,” the mother said.
“Don’t give me that,” Marissa snapped.
“This child hasn’t been bathed in a week, if then.”
“Maybe it was a few days ago,” the mother admitted.
Marissa was livid. She was tempted to tell the girl she wasn’t fit to be a mother. Resisting the impulse, she buzzed one of the nurses and asked her to come to the examination room.
“What’s up?” Amy Perkins asked.
Marissa could not bring herself to look at the mother. She only gestured in her direction.
“This child needs to be bathed,” she told Amy.
“Also, these open sores need to be cultured. I’ll be back.”
Stepping from the examination room, Marissa went into the deserted supplies closet. She put her face in her hands, fighting back tears. She was disgusted with her lack of control. It was scary to be this close to the edge. She could have hit that girl. It made the discussion she’d just had with Linda Moore seem a lot less academic.
For the first time she wondered if she should continue seeing patients in this hyper emotional state.
“Why don’t we go out for dinner?” Robert suggested after coming home late as usual from his office.
“Let’s go to that Chinese restaurant. We haven’t been there for months.”
Marissa thought it was a fine idea to get out of the house. She wanted to talk to Robert, particularly after he’d slept in the guest room the night before. That had been a disturbing first. Besides, she was starved and Chinese food sounded particularly appetizing to her.
After he’d taken a quick shower, they climbed into Robert’s car and headed into town. Robert seemed in good spirits, which Marissa thought was a good sign. He was pleased about a deal that he’d struck that day with European investors concerning building and managing retirement-nursing homes in Florida.
Marissa listened with half an ear.
“I went to see the counselor at the Women’s Clinic today,” Marissa said when Robert’s story came to an end.
“She was even more helpful than I’d anticipated.”
Robert didn’t respond. Nor did he look at her. Marissa could sense immediate resistance to her turning the subject of their conversation to their infertility problems.
“Her name is Linda Moore,” Marissa persisted, “and she’s very good. She’s hopeful that you will come in for at least one session.”
Robert glanced at Marissa, then back at the road.
“I told you yesterday, I’m not interested,” he said.
“It might be helpful for us,” Marissa added.
“One thing that she suggested was deciding in advance how many cycles we are willing to try before giving up. She says it is less stressful knowing that the process is not open-ended.”
“How many did she suggest?” Robert asked.
“Eight,” Marissa answered.
“Four isn’t enough to take advantage of the statistics.”
“That’s eighty thousand dollars,” Robert said.
Marissa couldn’t answer. Was money always on his mind?
How could he reduce a child to a simple dollar value?
They traveled in silence for a while. Marissa’s interest in talking with Robert cooled, yet she still wanted to bring up the issue of his sleeping in the guest room. She had to say something.
Nearing the restaurant, Robert had no trouble finding a parking place. As Marissa opened her door, she found the courage to ask him about it. She discovered Robert wasn’t in the mood to discuss it.
“I need a vacation from all this,” he said irritably.
“I’ve been telling you that this in-vitro stuff is driving me crazy. If it’s not one thing, then it’s something else. Now it’s this counseling garbage!”
“It is not garbage!” Marissa snapped “There you go again,” Robert said.
“Lately I can’t talk to you without you flying off the handle.”
They stared at each other over the top of Robert’s car. After a moment of silence, Robert changed the subject again by saying, “Let’s eat.”
Disgusted, Marissa followed him into the restaurant.
The China Pearl was run by a family who had recently moved from Chinatown to Boston’s suburbs. The restaurant’s decor was typical: simple Formica-topped tables and a couple of ceramic red dragons. By that late hour only four or five of the twenty or so tables were still occupied.
Marissa sat down in a chair facing the street. She felt horrible.
