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Noah rests his hand on my stomach, protecting what’s there and not there, yet. There isn’t a doubt in my mind he’s going to be the most amazing father. It’s me who I worry about. The irrational fear I have about the world, life, and society. My therapist assures me I’ll be a good mother, but words and actions are different. I already feel like a letdown.
The door opens, and the nurse comes in. She sits down without reservation, making me question her sanity. She knows what goes on in this room and if she thinks for one second men are cleaning up after themselves, she’s sorely mistaken.
“I’m Dakota, as I understand it you want to have your consultation together?”
“Yes,” Elle says. “We figured we’d save time. Obviously, my sister and I don’t need to be on the table at the same time.”
“Right, your sister?” The nurse looks at her file. Noah and Ben stifle a hard laugh while I look at Elle, knowing my eyes are bugging out.
“Yeah, she’s my twin. Don’t you think we look alike?” Elle asks.
Noah can’t contain his laughter.
Dakota looks up from her file. She eyes Elle, then me. “I can tell you apart,” she says with so much enthusiasm I want to believe her. Teachers we had for years had trouble telling us a part, which Elle used to her advantage. A lot.
“No, you can’t,” Ben chimes in. “You don’t even know them.”
Dakota’s cheeks redden and briefly I feel sorry for her, but it’s obvious—Elle and I are identical twins. Over the years, we’ve tried to change our looks and have failed. She cut six inches off her hair once and called me while I was at the salon, sitting in the chair, getting six inches cut off mine. We figured, what’s the point? The important people in our lives know the difference, and with us living in different states, it’s really not an issue.
Until now.
“Well, let’s go meet the doctor.”
2
NOAH
Nurse Dakota shows us into the office. Dr. Hilda Rock stands and greets us and asks Ben how’s he doing. They chat for a bit while Peyton, Elle, and I sit down. The desk in front of us is large and ornate, and I find myself looking at the carvings, knowing in the back of my mind, they aren’t what I think they are, but can’t help but wonder if I’m staring at wooden vaginas.
“Are those what I think they are?” I whisper into Peyton’s ear. She nods. “What the fuck?”
“I know. Elle said she’s a good doctor though and . . .” She stops talking when she sits down.
“Elle and Ben, we’ve already discussed the process, so I’m going to focus on Peyton and Noah,” she says. She explains in detail the process my wife is about to go through. Each time I hear the word shot, I want to pick her up and carry her out of the room. Something as natural as carrying a child shouldn’t be this painful or heartbreaking. Ever since we started this journey, it’s been so hard seeing the boxes of pregnancy tests only for them to be negative, hearing her cry at night when she thinks I’m asleep—my wife shouldn’t have to go through this. No woman should.
I’m thankful doctors like Dr. Rock exists, even though the costs are abhorrent and not covered by health insurance, which is another bone of contention with me. Medical assistance that supports a woman’s right to have a child should be covered. Right down to the last penny.
She opens a chart but doesn’t look at anything in there. “Peyton, I’ve gone over the records sent from the specialist you saw in Portland. I don’t see anything about Clomid. Did you want to try this route first?”
Peyton shakes her head. “I tried, but the side effects made me ill,” she tells her. “To the point where we couldn’t have sex when needed.”
Fun times for Noah.
I lost count of how many nights we spent sleeping in the bathroom, so she was near the toilet. I’ve come to learn if there’s a horrible side effect, Peyton will have it.
Dr. Rock sighs. “All right, well first, let me say I’m sorry you’re having difficulties conceiving. I take my job very seriously and have a high success rate. Two, I’ve looked over your chart and, barring any unforeseen circumstances, the scan of your uterus shows healthy. Three, Noah’s initial sample results showed very strong and eager swimmers, ready to impregnate. I’m expecting the same results today and expect fertilization almost instantly once we get your eggs out. She closes the file and lays her hands over it.
What in the actual fuck did we just sign up for? I glance at Elle, who stares forward because she knows I’m about to wring her neck. There is no way in hell this woman is the leading specialist in infertility. She’s a quack, and that’s putting it mildly.
“Do you have any questions?”
“Yes,” I blurt out. “Where did you go to school?”
“Harvard,” she says proudly.
I make a mental note, and plan to call the school to verify.
“I suspect you don’t appreciate my humor when it comes to making a list, Mr. Westbury. I like to lighten the mood sometimes.” She pauses and looks at Peyton. “When would you like to get started?”
