firm her doctor had hired to jump-start his infertility clinic—only added to her excitement.
“Every woman who gives birth should have her picture on the cover of People ,” she said to me with a grin. It was if she had truly accomplished the impossible, and Letty, tiny, perfect Letty was the proof of it.
Four years later we did it again. Only after the first unsuccessful cycle, Ali froze the rest of the embryos, and I don’t think she ever tried again.
The doctor who’d done the procedures opened IVF clinics around the nation, and I’m sure he is partly responsible for the egg donation ads I see on the backs of bathroom doors in ladies’ rooms everywhere now. It was all very impressive, and now thousands of women sell their eggs to infertile couples.
But it’s illegal to sell an organ to someone who will otherwise die.
Legal to create life and store it indefinitely in a freezer, illegal to save one that’s already here, warm, contributing to society, taking care of jobs and families.
I tried to not think of the ethics of it all, but it grew more difficult every day.
“So how long am I looking at before dialysis?” I asked Dr. MacKinnon.
He shrugged. “Based on Dr. Cho’s information, a couple of weeks, maybe a couple of months at the outside. We’re going to want to go ahead and get your vascular access.”
I nodded. I knew all about it.
“A fistula isn’t really an option for you with these narrow veins—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “We’ll have to do an arteriovenous graft.”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah. We’ll get you set up for it this week, and if we have to go to dialysis sooner, we can use a catheter. You’re going to do fine.”
“I know,” I said, sliding off the table.
Dr. MacKinnon stood and put his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll meet you out there,” he said, “and we’ll make an appointment for the graft and to set up a dialysis center orientation. You should at least start to get familiar with the process, even if you’ll be doing it in Seattle.”
I nodded, his hand still heavy on my shoulder. Did he think I would run?
As I pulled away from him and stepped into the hall, it took all I had to not do exactly that.
4
ALI
By the time I left for work in the morning, my anger had mellowed to a calm, determined patience. I reconciled myself to the fact that the baby discussion was going to go more slowly than I had anticipated. With Cora in town, I changed tactics. I would talk to her first.
Benny and I kissed good-bye after breakfast as if everything were fine. I managed to keep from driving by Cora’s and pounding on her door, and I spent the morning practicing deep breathing exercises whenever I thought of either of them.
I ate lunch at the counter, pricing boxes of guitar strings in between bites of salad and mulling over Cora’s undercover arrival. I clipped the phone to the pocket of my jeans and hooked the earpiece over my ear so I was ready for her call and wouldn’t have to dash across the store.
By midafternoon she still hadn’t called. I started going back over the last times we’d talked or e-mailed, looking for a reason, any reason, she might be angry with me. Had she e-mailed last? Or had I?
By four I was in the full throes of paranoia, and at ten minutes to closing I had made my plan to go straight to her house and ask her what her problem was and feeling quite righteous about the whole thing, when something slammed into the door hard enough to make my entire front window shake and my heart leap.
It was Cora, plastered against the glass like a bird, her face comically screwed up in surprise, her eyes crossed, a bottle of wine in one hand. I burst into laughter, completely forgetting everything but the joy I felt at seeing my friend. She stepped back and laughed, and then I saw what Benny had neglected to mention in his “looks like hell” assessment, as if she had merely looked a little tired.
She didn’t just look tired. She had dark
“Every woman who gives birth should have her picture on the cover of People ,” she said to me with a grin. It was if she had truly accomplished the impossible, and Letty, tiny, perfect Letty was the proof of it.
Four years later we did it again. Only after the first unsuccessful cycle, Ali froze the rest of the embryos, and I don’t think she ever tried again.
The doctor who’d done the procedures opened IVF clinics around the nation, and I’m sure he is partly responsible for the egg donation ads I see on the backs of bathroom doors in ladies’ rooms everywhere now. It was all very impressive, and now thousands of women sell their eggs to infertile couples.
But it’s illegal to sell an organ to someone who will otherwise die.
Legal to create life and store it indefinitely in a freezer, illegal to save one that’s already here, warm, contributing to society, taking care of jobs and families.
I tried to not think of the ethics of it all, but it grew more difficult every day.
“So how long am I looking at before dialysis?” I asked Dr. MacKinnon.
He shrugged. “Based on Dr. Cho’s information, a couple of weeks, maybe a couple of months at the outside. We’re going to want to go ahead and get your vascular access.”
I nodded. I knew all about it.
“A fistula isn’t really an option for you with these narrow veins—”
“I know,” I interrupted. “We’ll have to do an arteriovenous graft.”
He smiled slightly. “Yeah. We’ll get you set up for it this week, and if we have to go to dialysis sooner, we can use a catheter. You’re going to do fine.”
“I know,” I said, sliding off the table.
Dr. MacKinnon stood and put his hand on my shoulder.
“I’ll meet you out there,” he said, “and we’ll make an appointment for the graft and to set up a dialysis center orientation. You should at least start to get familiar with the process, even if you’ll be doing it in Seattle.”
I nodded, his hand still heavy on my shoulder. Did he think I would run?
As I pulled away from him and stepped into the hall, it took all I had to not do exactly that.
4
ALI
By the time I left for work in the morning, my anger had mellowed to a calm, determined patience. I reconciled myself to the fact that the baby discussion was going to go more slowly than I had anticipated. With Cora in town, I changed tactics. I would talk to her first.
Benny and I kissed good-bye after breakfast as if everything were fine. I managed to keep from driving by Cora’s and pounding on her door, and I spent the morning practicing deep breathing exercises whenever I thought of either of them.
I ate lunch at the counter, pricing boxes of guitar strings in between bites of salad and mulling over Cora’s undercover arrival. I clipped the phone to the pocket of my jeans and hooked the earpiece over my ear so I was ready for her call and wouldn’t have to dash across the store.
By midafternoon she still hadn’t called. I started going back over the last times we’d talked or e-mailed, looking for a reason, any reason, she might be angry with me. Had she e-mailed last? Or had I?
By four I was in the full throes of paranoia, and at ten minutes to closing I had made my plan to go straight to her house and ask her what her problem was and feeling quite righteous about the whole thing, when something slammed into the door hard enough to make my entire front window shake and my heart leap.
It was Cora, plastered against the glass like a bird, her face comically screwed up in surprise, her eyes crossed, a bottle of wine in one hand. I burst into laughter, completely forgetting everything but the joy I felt at seeing my friend. She stepped back and laughed, and then I saw what Benny had neglected to mention in his “looks like hell” assessment, as if she had merely looked a little tired.
She didn’t just look tired. She had dark
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