Avalanche by Julia Leigh Page B

plastic tube into my cervix but after a good ten minutes of prodding, failing, she gave up, apologized and left the room to find another nurse. Alone, alone . The second nurse had better luck. The thawed sperm—which had also been rinsed and concentrated—was injected directly into my uterus. It was uncomfortable, like having a bad period cramp. I asked if I could keep lying down for fifteen minutes. Quietly excited, I tried to visualize conception, the sperm and the egg. I placed my hands on my belly and sent loving energy to the womb. My doctor had said I could stand on my head and meditate if I wanted but that kind of thing wouldn’t make any difference. I paid no heed. After I left, in a lane off the main road, I found a paperbark tree and peeled away some bark, placed it under my T-shirt, gently rubbed my skin in a circular motion. Absurd—but who cares. It was soothing. I believe in ceremony. Anything to counter the unnatural situation.
    My friend in New York paid a surrogate. “She lives in a beautiful place, interstate, so much nature. The whole thing felt really natural.” Nature. Natural. She continued to repeat the word “natural” like a nervous tic or mantra.
    The day after the procedure I called my sister in an embarrassed small panic. I’d absentmindedly eaten some sushi, which was a no-no according to one of the books I’d read, What to Eat When You’re Expecting . “Oh my god, you’re fine,” she said. “You can snort heroin for breakfast at this stage and you’ll be fine. Don’t be insane. It’s not going to be like this the whole time, is it?”
    Good morning, darling . Every day I greeted my belly as if an embryo had implanted. Disregarding the odds of success I directed a loving monologue to what I hoped existed. I’d long harboured a platonic crush on my donor, considering him a trusted battle-worn compadre, and I believed the child of our friendship was also meant-to-be. (Did I still carry grief for the lost our child ? Yes, of course I did.) During that first two-week wait I had a heightened awareness of my whole body. Rarely did I ever stop to consider how my body was functioning, what my cells were doing. Typically I completely ignored the subtle movements that go on all the time: the inflating, deflating lung; the inch of chyme through the intestine; the tremors of the liverand the kidneys. Not that I actually felt these things, but I pictured them, sensed them. What is that way of knowing? Out on the street I noticed that all the babies, toddlers, and pregnant women had cloned themselves so now they were everywhere. I smiled at young mothers. I was soft and optimistic, the holder of a wonderful secret. It’s easy to do anything once.
    Blood. Bloody hell. Hopes raised, hopes dashed. But I wasn’t devastated: no need to take a fall straight out of the blocks. My mother was right when she said “It would have been an absolute miracle.” I opted to immediately do a second IUI, again supported with nightly injections of Gonal-f. It was impossible to gauge the quality of my eggs with only one try. I was monitored regularly—but not daily—and when the nurse called me with my scheduled time for the procedure I queried if the time wasn’t too late, if it were possible the LH surge could have begun on the day before when I wasn’t tested, if too many hours could have passed between an undetected surge and the procedure. She referred me to the doctor. He said: “I’ve seen the numbers a thousand times. This is how we do it. You have to trust me.” Iasked him to quickly explain how the time window worked. “If you don’t trust me,” he replied, “we can cancel.”
    The second IUI failed. As a next step Dr. Rogers recommended I use my frozen eggs and also do a fresh cycle at the same time. I took that to mean I’d do a new cycle, collect a new batch of fresh eggs,