as she drew up medication in two syringes. "Here comes the fun part. But, just to be one-hundred-percent sure: You have no allergies to any medication, isn't that right?"
"That's right," Joanna said.
Cynthia bent over the IV port and took the cap off the first syringe.
"What am I getting?" Joanna asked.
"You really want to know?" Cynthia asked. She finished with the first and started with the second.
"Yes!"
"Diazepam and fentanyl."
"How about in English?"
"Valium and an opioid analgesic."
"I've heard of Valium. What's the other stuff?"
"It's in the morphine family," Cynthia said. The nurse quickly cleaned up the wrappers and other debris and threw it all into a special receptacle. While she made an entry onto the clipboard that she'd pulled from beneath the gurney's pad, the door opened to the hallway and another patient walked in. She smiled at the women, went to the clothes rack for a set of the hospital patient clothes, then disappeared into one of the changing rooms.
"Do you think she's another donor?" Joanna asked.
"I've no idea," Deborah said.
"That's Dorothy Stevens," Cynthia said in a hushed voice as she went around to the head of the gurney and unlocked the wheels. "She's a Wingate client who's here for yet another embryo transfer. The poor dear has suffered a lot of disappointment."
"Am I going already?" Joanna asked as the gurney began to move.
"Yes, indeed," Cynthia said. "I was told they were eagerly awaiting your arrival when I went out to get the IV material."
"Can I go along?" Deborah asked. She'd taken hold of Joanna's hand.
"I'm afraid not," Cynthia said. "You stay and relax. You'll be going up yourself before you know it."
"I'll be all right," Joanna said with a smile to Deborah. "I already feel that opioid stuff. It's not half bad, either."
Deborah gave Joanna's hand a final squeeze. Before the doors swung shut Deborah caught a glimpse of Joanna merrily waving to her over her shoulder.
Deborah turned back to the room. She walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. She was hungry from not having eaten anything since before going to bed the night before. She picked up several magazines but found she could not concentrate, not with her stomach growling. Instead she tried to picture where they were taking Joanna in the huge, old, white elephant of a building. Tossing the magazines aside, she glanced around the room. There was the same jarring disjuncture between the elaborate crown molding and trim and the furniture as there had been out in the main waiting room. Joanna had been right: The Wingate was a place filled with contrasts that were vaguely unsettling. As much as Joanna, Deborah was looking forward to having the egg retrieval procedures behind them.
One of the changing room doors opened and Dorothy Wash-burn emerged clutching her clothes. She smiled at Deborah before heading over to the lockers to store them. Deborah watched her and wondered what it was like to contend with continued infertility treatment and continual disappointment.
Dorothy locked the locker, then came over to the sitting area while pinning the locker key to her johnny en route. She picked up a magazine, sat down, and began to flip through the pages. Apparently sensing Deborah's stare, she raised her strikingly cerulean eyes. This time it was Deborah's turn to smile. She then introduced herself, and Dorothy did the same. For a few minutes the two women indulged in light conversation. After a pause, Deborah asked Dorothy if she'd been a patient of the Wingate Clinic for some time.
"Unfortunately, I have," Dorothy said.
"Has it been a pleasant experience?"
"I don't think pleasant is the right word," Dorothy said. "It's not been an easy road by any stretch of the imagination. But to the Wingate's credit, they did warn me. Anyway, my husband and I are not about to give up, at least not yet or at least not until we've used up all our credit."
"You're having an embryo transfer today?" Deborah asked. She was
"That's right," Joanna said.
Cynthia bent over the IV port and took the cap off the first syringe.
"What am I getting?" Joanna asked.
"You really want to know?" Cynthia asked. She finished with the first and started with the second.
"Yes!"
"Diazepam and fentanyl."
"How about in English?"
"Valium and an opioid analgesic."
"I've heard of Valium. What's the other stuff?"
"It's in the morphine family," Cynthia said. The nurse quickly cleaned up the wrappers and other debris and threw it all into a special receptacle. While she made an entry onto the clipboard that she'd pulled from beneath the gurney's pad, the door opened to the hallway and another patient walked in. She smiled at the women, went to the clothes rack for a set of the hospital patient clothes, then disappeared into one of the changing rooms.
"Do you think she's another donor?" Joanna asked.
"I've no idea," Deborah said.
"That's Dorothy Stevens," Cynthia said in a hushed voice as she went around to the head of the gurney and unlocked the wheels. "She's a Wingate client who's here for yet another embryo transfer. The poor dear has suffered a lot of disappointment."
"Am I going already?" Joanna asked as the gurney began to move.
"Yes, indeed," Cynthia said. "I was told they were eagerly awaiting your arrival when I went out to get the IV material."
"Can I go along?" Deborah asked. She'd taken hold of Joanna's hand.
"I'm afraid not," Cynthia said. "You stay and relax. You'll be going up yourself before you know it."
"I'll be all right," Joanna said with a smile to Deborah. "I already feel that opioid stuff. It's not half bad, either."
Deborah gave Joanna's hand a final squeeze. Before the doors swung shut Deborah caught a glimpse of Joanna merrily waving to her over her shoulder.
Deborah turned back to the room. She walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. She was hungry from not having eaten anything since before going to bed the night before. She picked up several magazines but found she could not concentrate, not with her stomach growling. Instead she tried to picture where they were taking Joanna in the huge, old, white elephant of a building. Tossing the magazines aside, she glanced around the room. There was the same jarring disjuncture between the elaborate crown molding and trim and the furniture as there had been out in the main waiting room. Joanna had been right: The Wingate was a place filled with contrasts that were vaguely unsettling. As much as Joanna, Deborah was looking forward to having the egg retrieval procedures behind them.
One of the changing room doors opened and Dorothy Wash-burn emerged clutching her clothes. She smiled at Deborah before heading over to the lockers to store them. Deborah watched her and wondered what it was like to contend with continued infertility treatment and continual disappointment.
Dorothy locked the locker, then came over to the sitting area while pinning the locker key to her johnny en route. She picked up a magazine, sat down, and began to flip through the pages. Apparently sensing Deborah's stare, she raised her strikingly cerulean eyes. This time it was Deborah's turn to smile. She then introduced herself, and Dorothy did the same. For a few minutes the two women indulged in light conversation. After a pause, Deborah asked Dorothy if she'd been a patient of the Wingate Clinic for some time.
"Unfortunately, I have," Dorothy said.
"Has it been a pleasant experience?"
"I don't think pleasant is the right word," Dorothy said. "It's not been an easy road by any stretch of the imagination. But to the Wingate's credit, they did warn me. Anyway, my husband and I are not about to give up, at least not yet or at least not until we've used up all our credit."
"You're having an embryo transfer today?" Deborah asked. She was
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