notes all the time in deft, neat handwriting. 'There is nothing wrong with you or your husband, Mrs Raikes. I am quite certain that you will conceive in no time. Take exercise, get some fresh air.' He also gave her a prescription.
In the chemist's on the High Street, Elspeth scrutinized the prescription, holding it close to her face. 'What are these?' she asked the pharmacist.
'They're just pills,' he said cheerfully, but Elspeth was not to be put off.
'I know that, sonny, but what are they for? What do they do?'
The man consulted the piece of paper again, 'They're tranquillizers.'
Elspeth's mouth thinned. 'In that case, we won't be needing them. Come along, Ann. Good day to you.'
Through Kenneth's medical contacts and Elspeth's deter mination, Ann and Ben got an appointment to see Scotland 's leading gynaecologist, Douglas Fraser. For five months, she travelled to Edinburgh once a week and was punctured for blood, probed with cold, slim metal instruments and inter rogated on her diet, medical history, menstrual cycle and sexual habits. She and Ben had tussled and fumbled like teenagers behind impervious white screens to produce a sperm sample, while Elspeth sat a few metres away reading maga zines. Then, almost two years after they had first married he called them for a final diagnosis. They sat on red leather chairs and watched while Dr Fraser shuffled papers on his desk. He was a large, kindly man with watery eyes. As he
faced them, he was struck by how young they looked, and felt it almost indecent that he was discussing their having children.
'There is nothing wrong with either of you. Both of you are normally functioning, fertile human beings.'
Ann sighed tearfully and Ben asked, 'Then why is it we've been unable to conceive?'
'The problem lies in the combination of the two of you. The fact of the matter is that you, Mrs Raikes, are rejecting your husband's spermatozoa.'
Ann tossed her head. 'What do you mean "rejecting"?' . 'You are - if you like - allergic to Ben's sperm. Your body has an allergic reaction and gathers all its immunity against it and - rejects it.'
Ann looked at the doctor. 'So you are saying if I had, say, married another man, there would be no problem?'
'Well, you could put it like that. What's happened to the two of you is a one in a million occurrence. And, yes, if you'd married a different man there probably wouldn't have been a problem. It is just an incompatibility of yours and Ben's individual antibodies. '
'But what can we do about it?' asked Ben, reaching for Ann's hand.
'At the moment, there is no proven treatment,' Dr Fraser said carefully, 'but there is something that I would like to try on you both. I can't see why it won't work.'
'What is it?'
'What I propose to do - and this is something that has been researched for some time now - is take a section of your skin from here,' and he indicated Ben's upper arm, 'and graft it on to here,' and he indicated Ann's upper arm. 'Ann's antibodies will assimilate themselves to the new graft and stop rejecting your sperm. It's as simple as that.'
Their faces reflected, just as he'd expected, a mixture of astonishment and hope.
'It will be a very straightforward operation. You won't even have to stay in overnight.'
'But it sounds so . . . so . . ' Ann groped for the right word.
'Medieval? Yes, I know. But a basic physical problem requires a basic physical solution. Saying that, I'm not promising anything.'
'Is this . . . is this the onlv solution?' Ben asked.
J
'Yes,' Dr Fraser said gently, 'it's your only hope.'
Elspeth picks them up in the car from Edinburgh General Infirmary. They are holding hands as they cross the car-park and have matching bandages on their left arms. Ben is left with a puckered, translucent scar and Ann, a two-by-two-inch square of slightly darker skin that soon grows and breathes as if it has always been a part of her. She also becomes pregnant within a month.
Ann's first was a long and difficult birth. She began to
In the chemist's on the High Street, Elspeth scrutinized the prescription, holding it close to her face. 'What are these?' she asked the pharmacist.
'They're just pills,' he said cheerfully, but Elspeth was not to be put off.
'I know that, sonny, but what are they for? What do they do?'
The man consulted the piece of paper again, 'They're tranquillizers.'
Elspeth's mouth thinned. 'In that case, we won't be needing them. Come along, Ann. Good day to you.'
Through Kenneth's medical contacts and Elspeth's deter mination, Ann and Ben got an appointment to see Scotland 's leading gynaecologist, Douglas Fraser. For five months, she travelled to Edinburgh once a week and was punctured for blood, probed with cold, slim metal instruments and inter rogated on her diet, medical history, menstrual cycle and sexual habits. She and Ben had tussled and fumbled like teenagers behind impervious white screens to produce a sperm sample, while Elspeth sat a few metres away reading maga zines. Then, almost two years after they had first married he called them for a final diagnosis. They sat on red leather chairs and watched while Dr Fraser shuffled papers on his desk. He was a large, kindly man with watery eyes. As he
faced them, he was struck by how young they looked, and felt it almost indecent that he was discussing their having children.
'There is nothing wrong with either of you. Both of you are normally functioning, fertile human beings.'
Ann sighed tearfully and Ben asked, 'Then why is it we've been unable to conceive?'
'The problem lies in the combination of the two of you. The fact of the matter is that you, Mrs Raikes, are rejecting your husband's spermatozoa.'
Ann tossed her head. 'What do you mean "rejecting"?' . 'You are - if you like - allergic to Ben's sperm. Your body has an allergic reaction and gathers all its immunity against it and - rejects it.'
Ann looked at the doctor. 'So you are saying if I had, say, married another man, there would be no problem?'
'Well, you could put it like that. What's happened to the two of you is a one in a million occurrence. And, yes, if you'd married a different man there probably wouldn't have been a problem. It is just an incompatibility of yours and Ben's individual antibodies. '
'But what can we do about it?' asked Ben, reaching for Ann's hand.
'At the moment, there is no proven treatment,' Dr Fraser said carefully, 'but there is something that I would like to try on you both. I can't see why it won't work.'
'What is it?'
'What I propose to do - and this is something that has been researched for some time now - is take a section of your skin from here,' and he indicated Ben's upper arm, 'and graft it on to here,' and he indicated Ann's upper arm. 'Ann's antibodies will assimilate themselves to the new graft and stop rejecting your sperm. It's as simple as that.'
Their faces reflected, just as he'd expected, a mixture of astonishment and hope.
'It will be a very straightforward operation. You won't even have to stay in overnight.'
'But it sounds so . . . so . . ' Ann groped for the right word.
'Medieval? Yes, I know. But a basic physical problem requires a basic physical solution. Saying that, I'm not promising anything.'
'Is this . . . is this the onlv solution?' Ben asked.
J
'Yes,' Dr Fraser said gently, 'it's your only hope.'
Elspeth picks them up in the car from Edinburgh General Infirmary. They are holding hands as they cross the car-park and have matching bandages on their left arms. Ben is left with a puckered, translucent scar and Ann, a two-by-two-inch square of slightly darker skin that soon grows and breathes as if it has always been a part of her. She also becomes pregnant within a month.
Ann's first was a long and difficult birth. She began to
Similar Books
