"Cook, Robin - Vital Signs" - читать интересную книгу автора (Cook Robin)

Marissa turned. Robert was standing in the closet doorway, his hands gripping the jambs. At first Marissa couldn't see the expression on his face; he stood in shadows with his sandy hair backlit from the bedroom light. But as he moved toward her she could see that he looked concerned but determined; his angular jaw was set so that his thin lips formed a straight line.

"When you wanted to go this infertility treatment route I was willing to give it a try. But I feel it's gotten way out of hand. I'm coming to the conclusion that we should think about stopping before we lose what we do have for the sake of what we don't."

"You think I'm obsessed? Of course I'm obsessed! Wouldn't you have to be obsessed to endure the kind of procedures I've been going through? I've been willing to put up with it all because I want to have a child, so that we can have a family. I want to be a mother and I want you to be a father. I want to have a family."

Without meaning to, Marissa. steadily raised her voice. By the time she finished her last sentence, she was practically shouting.

"Hearing you yell like this only makes me more convinced we have to stop," Robert said.

"Look at the two of us. You're strung out; I'm at the end of my rope. There are other options, you know. Maybe we should consider them. We could just reconcile ourselves to being childless. Or we could look into the idea of adopting."

"I just cannot believe that you would pick this time to say these things," Marissa snapped.

"Here it is the morning of my fourth egg retrieval, I'm prepared to face the pain and the risk, and, yes, I'm an emotional wreck. And this is the time you pick to talk about changing strategy" "There is never a good time to discuss these issues with this in vitro fertilization schedule," said Robert, no longer able to control his anger.

"You don't like my timing, okay. When would be better, when you're crazy with anxiety, wondering if you are pregnant? Or how about when you're depressed after your period starts again? Or how about when you are finally coming out of your grief and starting a new cycle? You tell me; I'll come talk to you then."

Robert studied his wife. She was getting to be a stranger. She'd become impossibly emotional and had gained considerable weight, especially in her face, which appeared swollen. Her glare was so cool, it chilled him to the bone. Her eyes seemed as dark as her mood, and her skin was flushed as if she might be running a fever. She was like a stranger, all right. Or worse: just then she seemed like some irrational hysteric. Robert wouldn't have been surprised if she suddenly sprang at him like an angry cat. He decided it was time to back down.

Robert edged a few steps away from her.

"Okay," he said, "you're right. It's a bad time to discuss this. I'm sorry. We'll do it another day. Why don't you finish getting dressed and we'll head down to the clinic." He shook his head.

"I just hope I can produce a sperm sample. The way I've been feeling lately, I'm hardly up to it. It's not purely mechanical. Not anymore. I'm not sixteen."

Without saying anything, Marissa turned back to her dressing, exhausted. She wondered what they would do if he failed to produce the sperm sample. She had no idea how much using thawed sperm would lower the' chances of a successful fertilization.

She assumed it would, which was part of the reason she was so angry when he had initially refused to go to the clinic, especially since the last in-vitro cycle had failed because fertilization had not occurred. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, and seeing the high color of her cheeks, Marissa realized just how obsessed she was becoming. Even her eyes looked like those of a stranger in their unblinking intensity.

Marissa adjusted her dress. She warned herself about getting her hopes up too high after so many disappointments. There were so many stages where things could go wrong. First she had to produce the eggs, and they had to be retrieved before she ovulated spontaneously. Then fertilization had to occur. Then the embryos had to be transferred into her uterus and become implanted.

Then, if all that happened as it was supposed to, she'd be pregnant. And then she'd have to start worrying about a miscarriage. There were so many chances for failure. Yet in her mind's eye she could see the sign on the waiting room wall in the in-vitro unit: YOU ONLY FAIL

WHEN

YOU GIVE UP TRYING.

She had to go through with it.

As pessimistic as she was, Marissa could still close her eyes and envision a tiny baby in her arms.

"Be patient, little one," she whispered. In her heart she knew that if the child ever arrived, it would make all this effort worthwhile. She knew she shouldn't be thinking this way, but Marissa was beginning to feel it would be the only way to save her marriage.

March 19, 1990

9:15 A.M.

Walking beneath the glass-enclosed walkway that separated the main clinic building from the overnight ward and emergency area, Robert and Marissa entered the brick courtyard and started up the front steps of the Women's Clinic. The particular color and pattern of the granite made Marissa think about all the times that she'd climbed the steps, facing innumerable "minor procedures." Involuntarily her footsteps slowed, no doubt a response conditioned by the collective pain of a thousand needle pricks.