Dalton stored the sperm-filled condom overnight in a glass jar in the hotel suite’s refrigerator and presented it to Goth the next morning at the hospital. The doctor gazed incredulously at the rubber prophylactic lying at the bottom of the jar. He told Dalton that he had done exactly the wrong thing. He needed fresh sperm, and preferably after a day’s abstinence. How many times had he told him that? But it was too late now. The procedure had to be done within the next few hours, no matter what. He directed Dalton to go immediately into the bathroom and masturbate into a plastic container.
Dalton was appalled by the idea. He was damned if he would do anything of the kind, he said, with everyone in the place standing around waiting for him. Goth insisted. Dalton still refused.
Anne finally saved the situation by forcing a compromise. If she and Dalton could have the use of one of the hospital rooms for half an hour, she would help him collect the sperm.
An empty room with a hospital bed was quickly found, and Anne and Dalton went inside and closed the door. Neither was in the mood for civil conversation, let alone sex. But it was a crisis, and something had to be done.
Since Dalton was unwilling to masturbate on demand, Anne did it for him. After a prolonged, sweaty effort, she succeeded in getting a quantity of her husband’s semen into a plastic container.
The episode led to a bitter argument later.
“That was the single most embarrassing damned thing I’ve ever been through,” he told her. “I hope the hell you appreciate it.”
Anne was stunned. “Appreciate it? Do you have any idea of what Goth’s putting me through? Don’t you think I feel just as degraded by the experience as you? How selfish can you be?”
“You’re the one who insisted on a child.”
Anne swelled with fury. For the first time she actually felt a powerful dislike for her husband. “You bastard,” she shot back.
“You’re the one who lied to me about the embarrassing condition of your genes.”
She had never called anyone a bastard before, let alone belittled a physical shortcoming. She had wounded him deeply, and she knew it.
They eventually apologized to each other, but the damage had been done.
The incident created a permanent distance between them, and it frightened her, especially when they had just made such an effort to reconcile their differences and commit themselves to having this child.
Anne looked down at the doctor again, bent to his task with his characteristic nervous intensity. The paper mask over his nose and mouth were causing his eyeglasses to cloud up. He removed them, wiped them hastily on his sleeve, and hooked the temples back over his ears.
She felt his hand pressing on her lower stomach. “You’ll feel a little pain,” he warned her. She closed her eyes and bit her lip.
In two days, she would have to come back for a second procedure—the reinsertion of her fertilized eggs into her fallopian tubes. Goth had explained to her what would happen in the meantime. Tonight, her eggs would be mixed with Dalton’s washed sperm in a specially prepared medium and left to fertilize in a petri dish. The newly fertilized eggs would be allowed to divide three times. Then they would be frozen with nitrogen gas.
Samples of their DNA would be removed from the cells; the flawed segment of DNA on Stewart’s X chromosome that produced the fragile X
syndrome would be cut out and the altered DNA spliced in its place.
The fertilized eggs, or zygotes, containing their new pieces of DNA, would then be thawed out and allowed to continue dividing.
In a procedure called ZIFT (zygote intrafallopian transfer) Goth would make a tiny incision in Anne’s stomach and insert a laparoscopic syringe loaded with the altered zygotes through her stomach wall to the open end of her left fallopian tube. There the eggs would be squirted into the tube and allowed to drift down through it toward the uterus.
In about two days the eggs would begin arriving in the uterus. With any luck at least one of the zygotes would adhere to the wall of the uterus and start growing.
Of course it would be much easier to squirt the eggs directly into the uterus through the cervix, Goth told her; that was the normal in vitro fertilization method. But impregnation rates were low.
The ZIFT procedure more closely approximated nature and avoided irritating the uterus. Impregnation rates were much higher. That was especially important, he said, given the great amount of time and expense involved in retrieving, fertilizing, and genetically altering the eggs.
The sedative Goth had given her finally began to take effect.
She was becoming light-headed, almost giddy. She could still feel a slight cramping pain from the probe as he worked it deeper into her lower abdomen, but now she felt insulated from it, almost as if it were happening outside her body.
Her mind drifted. She wondered about Goth. Why was he in El Coronado?
A scientist of his stature should be associated with some prominent research center, not a small Catholic hospital on a remote Caribbean island.
She thought about Dalton. It was typical of him, refusing to disclose any details about Goth and the Jupiter project. He had never liked her inquiring into his business affairs. When they were first married it had hardly mattered. But as it became clear that Dalton’s whole world revolved around his business, for him not to share anything about it with her was in effect to cut her off from everything that really interested him. And she was particularly annoyed in this case.
She did, after all, have a degree in biology from the University of Vermont. She was far better able to understand what Goth was about than most people were, including her husband.
His refusal to involve her in matters of his company’s business, or even take her into his confidence, left them with nothing to talk about, nothing to get excited about, nothing to share. And it left Anne frustrated. She would have been so happy to have taken a lab job at Stewart Biotech—any job. But Dalton still wouldn’t hear of it.
What kind of father would Dalton be? she wondered.
Anne opened her eyes and blinked in the bright light. She felt extremely groggy. Had she been unconscious? Dr. Goth was standing up and pulling off his latex gloves.
What a terrible way to get pregnant, she thought again. And what a terrible time to get pregnant—just when her marriage was beginning to feel as fragile as her husband’s X chromosome.
Dalton Stewart followed Goth’s research assistant, Kirsten, into the hospital cafeteria. He poured himself a diet cola and watched her carry her tray to a seat by a window against the far wall. It was the middle of the afternoon, and the place was almost deserted. He walked over to her table.
“May I sit down?”
She peered up over her glasses with a.suspicious frown.
“I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
“Okay.”
“What’s your last name, by the way?”
“Amster.”
“German?”
“Danish.” She took a bite from her sandwich.
“How long have you worked for Goth?”
“Two and a half years.” She obviously wasn’t eager for conversanon.
“You enjoy it?”
“No. What do you want?”
Stewart laughed in embarrassment.” ‘Don’t feed me any bullshit,’ is that it?”
She nodded.
“I want to offer you a lab job with Stewart Biotech in New York. Are you interested?”
Kirsten took another bite of her food. “Should I be?”
“I’ll triple your present salary. And give you a cash living allowance. New York is an expensive city.”
“What’s the catch?”
“That you don’t tell Goth why you’re leaving or where you’re going.”
“That’s all?”
“No. I need a little favor.”
“Let me guess. You want a copy of the Jupiter program.”
Stewart looked at her. She met his gaze head on. “That’s it,” he admitted.
“Okay. For ten thousand dollars.”
“The job in New York is what I’m offering.”
“I don’t want the job,” she said. “I want the money.”
Greed was everywhere, he thought. “Well, maybe I’ll just go and ask Goth for a copy.”
She wasn’t bluffed. “He won’t give you one.”
“Are you able to make a copy—without him knowing?”
“Absolutely.”
“You ever make one for anyone else?”
“No. The earlier versions were no good, anyway.”
“How soon can you do it?”
“Tomorrow or the day after.”
“Okay. Forty-eight hours. I’ll meet you right here.”
“With ten grand?”
“With ten grand. If you leave the island immediately.”
“Then I want twenty.”
Stewart took a deep breath. “Fifteen. Take it or leave it.”
Kirsten shrugged. “I’ll take it. Plus plane fare to Miami.”
“I’ll bring you the damned ticket myself.”
Dr. Paul Elder came around the side of his desk: “Please have a seat, Mrs. Stewart.”
“Thank you.”
Anne held out her hand and the doctor took it briefly. His appearance startled her. He was the sixth pediatrician she had interviewed, and he hardly fit her image of a doctor. He was unusually tall. She noticed that he had to duck under the door lintel when he came in. His hands were big, and his head was broad, with prominent cheekbones and a mane of glossy black hair. His gaze was intense. It would have been intimidating in the extreme if it were not for his relaxed manner and big, easy grin.
His chin and upper lip had shaving cuts on them (a tiny piece of toilet paper still adhered to one of the cuts), and his gray, pin-striped suit pants were wrinkled. He seemed disheveled in the absentminded way of someone who never thought about his appearance—or about himself. If Anne had met him outside his office, she would have guessed he was a man of the outdoors—a bush pilot—not a doctor.
He wedged himself into his chair and folded his hands in his lap. Anne suppressed a giggle. He looked so comically outsized for everything in the room, including his desk and chair.
His eyes dropped briefly to her stomach, then came back up to meet hers. “Four months? Give or take a week?”
Anne laughed. “Oh, you’re exactly right. How can you tell?
Everyone says I’m hardly showing anything at all.”
109
He chuckled. “It’s not really your tummy size I’m going by. It’s more your face—your complexion, and a few other clues I’m not sure I can articulate easily. All I know is that you look like a woman four months pregnant. And you look—well, to use a very unmedical term—terrific.”
Anne felt herself blush slightly.
Dr. Elder cleared his throat and became more businesslike. “So I suppose you’re checking me out?”
Anne patted her stomach. “I want the best doctor for her.”
Elder locked his hands together across his chest and began twiddling his thumbs thoughtfully. “I’m wondering why you had an amnio.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The doctor grinned apologetically. “I’m sorry. You seem to know you’re having a girl, so I assumed you’d had amniocentesis.
I was just wondering why.”
“I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. She’s doing very well.”
Dr. Elder was interrupted by his nurse-receptionist. She told him that a Mrs. Somebody was on the phone about her daughter—something about a drug problem. He excused himself to take the call.
It was the first of a series of telephone interruptions. Between them, Dr. Elder filled Anne in on his medical education and his experience.
He had been a doctor for fourteen years but a pediatrician for only eight. He had started out as a research specialist but ended up feeling he wasn’t doing anybody much good, so he retrained himself for pediatrics. He had never regretted the decision. “I love kids,” he said simply.
Anne looked around the office. There were photos of children and drawings by children plastered on every available surface.
“Are any of these yours?” she asked, nodding toward the walls.
“Nope. They’re all patients.” He grinned proudly. He pointed out some of the photographs and told her about the children in them. “A lot of these kids are from one-parent homes,” he said.
“And their mothers can’t afford good medical care. Who can, these days? I sort of get to be a part-time father to some of them—mostly in the form of advice. For a lot of these kids, their biggest health problem is a bad home. I try to do what I can on that front, but needless to say, I can’t do very much. It’s frustrating.
He took another phone call. Two things were becoming clear: Dr. Elder was dispensing a lot of health care free, and he was overburdened with patients. The big waiting room outside was jammed with noisy children and their mothers. It looked and sounded more like an out-of-control day-care center.
Anne studied Elder. Not married, she thought. No time for a social life. No wonder he looks so unkempt. He takes care of everybody, but he doesn’t have anyone to take care of him. She felt like getting up and tucking in his shirt for him and running a brush through his hair.
“I’m sorry,” he said when he hung up.
“I feel I’m taking up too much of your time.”
Elder laughed. “No, no. Today’s a slow day. I just hope you don’t mind a lot of interruptions. It drives some people crazy, I know.”
He had no sooner said this than a piercing scream from the waiting room caused him to jump up and run out. He was gone for about fifteen minutes. She could hear him talking earnestly to someone on the other side of the wall.
Anne decided that she wanted him as her pediatrician. She already knew before she came in that he was widely respected. Now she knew that he was also kind, intelligent, caring, and unselfish.
He was certainly a light-year’s improvement on the doctor she had had growing up in Burlington, Vermont.
Elder’s only drawback seemed to be that he was already so overworked.
It would be a struggle just to get his attention. She had an almost irresistible impulse to run right out into the waiting room and offer him her help.
The doctor ducked back through the door and squeezed back behind his desk. His expression was grim. “That was Jason. Father’s an alcoholic. He beats the poor kid—and his mother as well. They don’t have a dime, and the social services people aren’t very responsive.
I’ve reported the case four times now, and nothing’s been done. I’m trying to get someone to at least monitor the situation, until we can get a court order against the father.”
“How horrible!” Anne was pleased, though, that the doctor was so open with her.
“I’m rambling on. Sorry. Do you have any other questions you want to ask me?”
Anne shook her head. “I want you to be my baby’s doctor. If you can possibly find time for another patient.”
Elder laughed. “I only work twelve hours a day. And I take every other Sunday off. Usually. So you see, I’ll have plenty of time. Do you live nearby?”
“No. Lattingtown.”
“Oh. Where is that?”
“Long Island.”
Elder’s eyes narrowed. “You really want to come all the way into Manhattan for a pediatrician?”
“Yes. I want the best.”
Elder shook his head. “I’m not the best. There’re a lot of good pediatricians around.”
Anne decided it was time to explain why it was so important that her baby have the best doctor she could find. She told him about Dr.
Goth’s in vitro fertilization. “My husband’s family has a history of something called fragile X syndrome. I assume you know what it is—a genetic abnormality on the X chromosome.
It causes mental retardation.
Dr. Goth said he could repair that defect. That’s why we went to the trouble of having the procedure.
Otherwise, we couldn’t have had any children. Naturally, we’re very concerned about the baby….”
During the course of her explanation, Elder’s friendly, interested manner evaporated. He was regarding her now with a disapproving frown.
“Dr. Goth?” he repeated. “Harold Goth?”
“You know him?”
“I know who he is. Where was this procedure performed?”
Anne felt uncomfortable. His sudden hard tone of voice had put her on the defensive. “In the Caribbean. El Coronado.”
.
“
:,
l Elder shook his head, incredulous. “El Coronado? Never heard of the place.”
“Doctor Goth has a clinic there—at a hospital….”
“Whose idea was this?”
“Idea? My husband’s. Dr. Goth is working on something for one of my husband’s companies….”
“Who’s your husband?”
“Dalton Stewart.”
“Of Stewart Biotech?”
“Yes.”
Elder slumped back in his chair and ran his hands along the armrests.
Anne was startled by his abrupt change of mood. “Is something wrong?”
“What did Goth do to you?” he asked.
“Just what I told you. He repaired the gene causing the fragile X.”
“Is that all he did?”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t tamper with anything else?”
Anne stared at Elder. Why had he turned on her like this?
“No,” she said, in a small voice.
“Are you sure?”
“Why would he? I don’t understand.”
Dr. Elder avoided her eyes. He stood up, indicating that the interview was over. “You and your husband can afford any pediatrician you want,” he said. “A whole staff of them, if you feel like it. You don’t need me.”
Anne was stunned. “But I want you.”
Tom Hyman Page 11