Confidential(75)

Well, this was a necessary risk, as I was on borrowed time. I had to go with my gut and put a baby in my uterus as quickly as possible. I didn’t control when I ovulated, and why wait another month when I knew Michael was the one? We had the same deficits—I couldn’t be a wife or have an equal partner in parenting beside me, I wanted the control too much, and he couldn’t be a husband and a full father—so we were two wrongs that made a right. We were perfect for each other.

The sperm analysis showed that his was of high quality, and it had already been washed and processed by the fertility clinic. All dolled up for its big day. Now I was just waiting for the doctor to show up and perform the insertion. Michael and me and the doctor made three.

I’d been assured that intrauterine insemination (IUI) was likely the fastest route to where I wanted to go. There were no guarantees, either of pregnancy or of my being able to carry the baby to term, as I’d been reminded on countless forms. But I was hopeful. I had unlimited sperm (per my contract with Michael) and unlimited funds and unlimited determination. I wouldn’t stop until my child was in my arms.

The thought made me smile. That was the endgame, and every day, I was surer of it. Surer of myself. I wasn’t one of those women who was born to be a mother, but neither was my mom. No wonder it took me extra long to reach this point. Really, it was the same way with Michael. No one in his house made parenthood look appealing, either.

I kept thinking back to the other night in North Beach. I’d been a bit worried about how our chemistry would be affected by the change in venue, but it was still there. If anything, it had gotten stronger because now I knew so much about him: his past and what he wanted for his future.

I had to admit, I was excited to see where it would lead. I even had a dream the other night about his being in the delivery room when our baby was born, and I woke up as happy as I had after the manny dream. We still had so much to learn about each other. There was so much potential. It was an unconventional love story, of course, but those were the most interesting.

Not that it had to become love. That was the beauty of our arrangement. It didn’t have to be anything other than a means to an end, but it could wind up surprising us. We’d left open the possibility.

There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Salton bounded in. He was young and handsome, the junior member of the practice. Since I had no known issues, no long history of disappointments, I didn’t need the senior. “Good to see you again!” he said. “How are you feeling?”

“Excited.”

“No nerves?”

“No. I’ve had plenty of Pap smears in my life. Use a small speculum, and we should be fine.”

He laughed. “I like a woman who knows what she wants.” From him, it was boyish rather than gross. He had me slide down the table (just a little farther, just a little farther, that’s it) and I placed my feet in the stirrups. Then came the narration: first the speculum, might be a bit cold (it was), and afterward, “the sperm sample is being prepared for insertion.” I stared up at the ceiling, wondering where Michael was as he was impregnating me. “Now you’ll feel the catheter being inserted. There might be a little cramping,” and just as he said it, I winced. It could have been the power of suggestion or the syringe pumping sperm into my cervix, but before I could determine, he told me it was over. He’d placed a sponge that I’d remove in a few hours. “It’ll keep the sperm where we want it,” he explained, removing his latex gloves and tossing them in the garbage.

“That’s it?” I said. I’d expected something more momentous somehow. It didn’t seem like new life—mine, a baby’s—should start with disposable gloves.

“If you’ve got fifteen or twenty minutes to keep laying down, it could boost your chances.”

I laughed. “Yes, I think I can find the time.” I settled myself back against the exam table.

“Any questions for me?”

“No, I’ve read through all the paperwork. Now I just need my body to do its part. Could you hand me my cell?” It was stacked on top of my folded clothes on a chair.

“Sure thing.” He handed it to me. “Enjoy your day.”

After he’d left, I called Michael. One ring and into his voice mail. Had he sent me straight there? I shouldn’t have felt hurt. This was a business arrangement, after all.

With potential.

“Hi, Michael,” I said. “Well, it’s done. I’ve taken the first step, the first insemination. Hopefully, it’s the last.” I could practically feel the cells proliferating. Or maybe that was just another cramp. I wished I could talk to him live, because my excitement was yielding to anxiety. But he wasn’t my therapist anymore; it wasn’t his job to talk me through this. Oddly, his job (the one I was paying a hundred grand for) might already be done.

I was hit with a wave of sadness. Someone should have been there with me, holding my hand. Someone should love me and the zygote inside me.

“If you feel like talking, give me a call. I’ll keep you posted.” My voice echoed in the room that suddenly felt so empty.

I didn’t even know where the possible father of my baby was, who he was with. I didn’t even know if he was in a relationship with another woman. He hadn’t volunteered that he was, but he hadn’t reassured me that he wasn’t. I’d felt it would be inappropriate to ask.