Fertility: A Novel

by Gelberg, Denise

  After checking their calendars, it became clear that the upcoming Sunday was the only day open to them both. They agreed to meet at eleven so they would have the chance to work out beforehand, she with a swim at the pool and he with a long run along the river.

  Rick and Sarah — as they learned to refer to one another over dim sum — talked effortlessly as empty plates accumulated on their table. After a couple of hours, Sarah noticed the maître d’ giving them the evil eye, and the long line of people waiting to be seated.

  “I think we’d better get our check,” Sarah suggested, nodding to the waiter.

  “Oh, is our time up? I thought we were just getting started.”

  “Well, I think our time at this table is up, unless you don’t mind the ugly stares from those people over there,” she said, nodding in the direction of the door.

  Rick turned around and saw the mass of humanity eager to have their go at dim sum. “Oh. I see what you mean.” But he wasn’t ready to say good-bye to Sarah Abadhi.

  “I don’t know what the rest of your day looks like, Sarah, but if you have some time, we could walk up to the Met. Actually, if you say yes, you’ll be rescuing me from a life devoid of culture. At this point in my training, the only culture I recognize is the kind that grows in a dish of agar.”

  Sarah hadn’t been to the Metropolitan Museum since she’d gone with Alex years before. She generally shunned anything that reminded her of their time together, but she found herself tempted by Rick’s suggestion. “Well, I guess you could say I’m equally deprived, culturally speaking. Eighty hour workweeks have a way of doing that to you. I think your prescription to remedy our shared deficit might be just the thing.”

  The waiter approached with the bill and they both reached for it.

  “Hey, this is my treat. Think of it as congratulations on the settlement,” Rick said.

  Though the fellow made just a fraction of what she earned, Sarah didn’t put up a fight.

  * * *

  The twenty-five-block walk to the museum, the three hours they spent at the exhibits and the visit to a cafe that followed were characterized by nothing if not comfort. Rick and Sarah both found themselves comfortable in their own skin, and unable to run out of subjects to discuss, often with passion. One topic segued seamlessly into the next, and before either of them knew it, the day had turned to night. Rick couldn’t believe his good luck. Not only was Sarah hot, she was great company for a cherished day off. Sarah was a bit incredulous herself. She wondered if she might get a break from the narcissists who’d plagued her dating life in the five years since Tom, the last boyfriend of record, had left.

  Leaving the cafe, Sarah decided to make the first move. She turned and kissed Rick, lightly at first, and then, when she got a friendly response, with more enthusiasm. He was glad he’d put clean sheets on the bed after his morning run — just in case he got lucky that day. He suggested they go to his place. Sarah complimented him on coming up with another fine idea for spending a Sunday off.

  * * *

  As it turned out, Rick and Sarah fit one another to a tee. They had an equally good time under the covers and out of bed. Since their schedules were hectic, mutually free time was hard to come by, but they let no opportunity pass. They usually met at Sarah’s apartment, which was not only habitually cleaner, it was also not shared by — as Rick good-naturedly described him — a hairy ape of an orthopedics resident. When they had more time than it took to have sex and catch some sleep, they worked out together. They pounded out seven-minute miles along the river or swam laps at Sarah’s pool. With Rick’s help, Sarah mastered flip turns, something that had eluded her for years.

  Early on, Rick brought up the subject of commitment, explaining that it was something that held no appeal for him. “Look,” he said matter-of-factly, “I have no plans to get married — ever. I don’t want kids. I like my work, a lot, and it takes just about all I have to do it well. I don’t want to add something into the mix as important as a family, and end up ruining both.”

  Rick had given this early warning to each of his many girlfriends over the years. Most of the women had tried to change his mind, saying something akin to, “You’ll sing a different tune when you meet the right woman.” But Sarah was not like any of his previous girlfriends.

  “I’m glad you brought this up. Thanks for your honesty. I agree to your terms,” she said in a businesslike way. “I understand what it means to have work fill up your life. The truth is, I’d planned on saying something similar, but you beat me to the punch.” Then she punched him lightly on the arm and they ended up wrestling on the floor. In no time flat they were in the sack, enjoying each other’s bodies with abandon.

  A few weeks later Rick broached the subject of getting tested for the standard battery of sexually transmitted diseases, so they could ditch the condoms and switch to some other form of birth control. When he mentioned birth control, Sarah’s mood changed.

  “Are you okay with that? Getting tested, I mean,” he asked.

  “Sure. It’s a good idea. Let’s do it.” But the issue of birth control had touched a nerve. Now she’d have to disclose what she’d told only one other lover — Tom — back when she was a law clerk. She took a deep breath and laid it on the table. “But birth control won’t be necessary. I’m sterile.”

  “What? No way. You can’t be sterile. You’re a beautiful, sexy, athletic, big-bucks lawyer.”

  That made her smile. “Well, if those were the key factors in reproduction, I guess I’d be one hell of a fertile earth mother. But the fact is….” Her voice trailed off, pained at having to discuss the thing she mourned like a death. “The fact is, I can’t have children.”

  With Tom, a fellow lawyer, she merely told him she was infertile and that birth control was a non-issue. But it was different with Rick.

  “You’re probably wondering what happened to me,” she said, trying her best to sound cool despite the rhythmic pounding in her head.

  “As a doc, I am kind of curious. But you don’t have to go into it if you’d rather not.”

  “No. It’s okay. I got chlamydia from my college boyfriend, Alex. We’d been together for years. We went to grad school together, planned a future together, you know, the whole nine yards. But, unbeknownst to me, he’d been screwing around, apparently for a long time. I didn’t realize he’d infected me with chlamydia until it progressed to pelvic inflammatory disease. The end result is my fallopian tubes are shot.”

  Rick’s first thought was what a shame those terrific genes would not be making an appearance in the next generation. Then he remembered something he’d learned during his gynecology rotation — how infertility often precipitated major depression in women. From the way Sarah’s mood had changed when he mentioned birth control, it seemed to be a big deal for her. Even a high-powered attorney probably wanted babies. The drive to reproduce was instinctive to most people, though it was a drive he didn’t share.

  “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I really am.” He put his arm around her and rubbed her back. He kissed her cheek and brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “If you point out the bastard who did this to you — this Alex jerk — I’ll beat the crap out of him,” he offered, picking up his fists and jabbing the air.

  “Nah, no point. He’s long gone. And I’m okay, really,” she said, touched by Rick’s response.

  “You know, when and if you ever want kids, the docs may be able to help you,” he said. “They’ve come a long way with IVF — in-vitro fertilization. You’re young and otherwise healthy. But I warn you, you may end up with more than you bargained for — triplets, for example. Really, Sarah, you may be able to become a mother if that’s something you want.”

  “You think? Well, it’s always nice to have options. I didn’t take it well when my reproductive life was extinguished at the age of twenty-three.”

  “Are you sure your tubes are blocked? Sometimes they’re partially occluded but those little spermies don’t need a heck of a lot of
room,” Rick said, trying to make certain there would be no need for them to take precautions.

  “Well, two eminent gynecologists feel certain. And I went for a couple of years in a subsequent relationship without using any birth control. I have no children hidden under the couch. Promise.”

  “No babies under the couch?” Rick ducked down and took a look, bringing a little smile to Sarah’s somber face. “You speak the truth,” he said. “No babies under the couch. Okay. So we’ll get tested and then — if it’s all right with you — we’ll say good-bye to the condoms.”

  Sarah caught his gaze and held it. “Sure. But there’s one more thing. I’m assuming that you’re suggesting we ditch the condoms because you want us to be exclusive. And that’s fine with me. And it will be fine until it’s not fine with one or the other of us. What I mean is, when you want to be with someone else, just tell me. And I promise I’ll be frank and honest with you, too. We’re grown-ups. When we’re not enjoying each other as we are now, or when something else catches your eye or mine, well, no game playing. Okay?”

  Rick was having trouble imagining a time when he wouldn’t want to make love to this woman, to run along the river with her lithe figure next to his. For Sarah, he’d willingly drop out of the hunt, for a while at least. He couldn’t argue with her terms. No cheating, full disclosure. Always the joker, he stood to attention and put his hand on his heart, declaring, “I promise that when Sarah Abadhi, Esquire, does not sufficiently entertain me in every way, I will hereby say that that I want out.”

  Not to be outdone, Sarah got up and stood face-to-face with Rick. She placed her hand on her heart and offered her play on his words, “I promise that when Richard Smith, M.D., does not sufficiently entertain me in every way, I will hereby say, ‘See ya later, busta.’”

  After this perverse send-up on nuptial vows, Rick embraced her and whispered that, at that moment, he wanted very much to be in. Luckily, he still had an ample supply of condoms.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The long winter finally yielded to spring, and Sarah and Rick continued to enjoy one another’s company. Given her low expectations, Rick was a ten on the “male-o-meter,” a rating system Sarah’s college friends used to rate the men they dated. She and Rick had a good time just about every time. They could talk about work, politics, running and swimming. After their discussion about Sarah’s infertility, they gave topics relating to their personal histories a wide berth. The only thing Sarah knew about Rick’s life story was that he grew up with his single mother in Michigan, and had been in a terrible car accident when he was five, the latter accounting for the many faint scars on his body. They rarely disagreed, and when they did, one was always ready to capitulate to the other. The issues that divided them were never more serious than what DVD to rent or which restaurant to order from, but nonetheless, each was conscious of the other’s desires and aimed to please.

  Although they never made a conscious decision to hide their relationship, neither did they go out of their way to advertise it. In fact, only two people knew they were a couple: Jeff, Rick’s roommate, a.k.a. the “hairy ape” orthopedic head resident, and Devorah, Sarah’s best friend who lived in Chicago. If they passed someone they knew while coming off a run by the river, they chatted pleasantly and kept it light, with first-name introductions only. People at Sarah’s office saw more of her elusive dimples and figured she’d likely met someone. Rick’s reputation as a player was put in jeopardy when he failed to put the moves on any of the attractive female nurses for months, leaving co-workers scratching their heads.

  The major exception, of course, was Jeff, who knew precisely what was preventing Rick from maintaining his position as alpha male among fellows and residents. Jeff liked Sarah from the get-go, and the feeling was mutual. They occasionally made a running threesome, with Jeff pushing himself to keep up and Rick and Sarah adjusting their pace to accommodate him. Once every few weeks, Sarah would meet Rick and Jeff for a drink or some supper on a Friday evening before she and Rick headed off to her apartment for the night.

  There was no doubt about it: Rick and Sarah were compatible. Just as important, they each refused to give oxygen to the idea that their relationship was anything more than a great time. They were vigilant about not making plans. A week or two into the future was the farthest outpost of their shared horizon.

  * * *

  At the end of their fifth month together, Sarah, who had always been as regular as a clock, was late with her period; first a day or two, and then a week. She was under a lot of pressure at work with an important case: a professional pianist had lost his forearm due to a medical error. Unless they could work out a settlement, the case was going to trial in a few weeks. Though pressure was nothing new, Sarah thought maybe it was wreaking havoc with her menstrual cycle.

  When she was ten days late, she began to feel light-headed. Her mind raced to every possibility. Was she coming down with some strange infectious disease? Was she developing a brain tumor? Perhaps it was premature menopause. She’d read about that happening to some women. It would be just her luck to have yet another insult to her damaged reproductive system.

  She decided to call for an appointment with her internist. If she had some terrible disease, time might be of the essence. Her period was now two weeks late, but it also felt like it could come any time. She felt bloated. Her breasts ached right up through her armpits. She even had menstrual cramps. What worried her was that little things exhausted her — like going up a flight of stairs. Just the day before, she’d had to turn around early on her run. Maybe it was mononucleosis. How ridiculous would it be to get the adolescent scourge at age thirty-two?

  The doctor’s office had a cancellation for that morning, and Sarah grabbed it. The doctor, Grace Tanaka, had grown up in a suburb northwest of Chicago — next door to Devorah. She had joined a bustling practice on the East Side after completing her residency at NYU. Sarah had visited her only a couple of times before. Each time they swapped tales of Devorah’s parents’ gourmet cooking skills and exotic vacations.

  That morning Sarah was feeling especially woozy. When she arrived at the doctor’s office, she thought about taking the stairs, but then thought better of it. She opted for the elevator, signed in at reception, peed into a cup as requested and found a seat in the waiting room. After filling out the required paperwork, she opened her laptop to make the most of the inevitable wait.

  After about half an hour, her name was called and she was shown into a small examining room. Dr. Grace Tanaka followed quickly on her heels.

  “Hello, hello,” the meticulously groomed doctor said as she extended her hand to Sarah. “It’s good to see you. Have you heard from Devorah lately?”

  “Oh, yes. We talk at least a couple of times a week. She’s doing well, busy with work, like the rest of us.”

  “I don’t doubt it. She was always a worker, even as a little kid.”

  “She didn’t graduate summa cum laude for nothing. She’s whip smart and, as you say, a worker,” Sarah said, remembering their college days.

  The doctor scanned the form Sarah had filled out. “So, I see that general malaise has brought you in today. When did it start?”

  “Maybe a week ago. And it’s funny because I have no fever, no rash and no sore throat. I just have no energy,” Sarah explained. “I can hardly go up a flight of stairs without being wiped out. And I generally swim or run before work, so something is off.”

  “Do you notice any other differences?”

  “Only that my period is late — but I think it’s coming any day. I’ve got all the symptoms: cramping, bloating, sore breasts.”

  “How late, Sarah?”

  “A couple of weeks. I don’t know if you remember, but I had PID several years ago. Afterwards, two doctors determined my tubes were completely blocked. So pregnancy is out.”

  “I see on your form that you’re sexually active.”

  “Yes.”

  “And are you using birth contr
ol?” the doctor queried.

  “The one good thing about being sterile, Dr. Tanaka, is the money you save on birth control. To answer your question, after having the tests done for STDs, my current partner and I have not been using birth control.”

  “Okay, so I’ll have to investigate. You get into a gown; take everything off. I’ll be back in a few minutes and I’ll see what’s up.”

  A few minutes later the doctor knocked on the door as Sarah was arranging her paper gown as modestly as she could.

  “Come in,” Sarah said.

  The doctor began with the usual: eyes, nose, ears, throat, thyroid, reflexes. She listened to Sarah’s heart and lungs and took her blood pressure. Then she told Sarah to lie down on the table. She examined her breasts and her belly before having Sarah put her feet in the stirrups. After examining her vaginally and rectally she told her she could sit up.

  “Well, Sarah. Everything is unremarkable with the exception of your uterus, which is a bit enlarged. As you expect your period any day, that could explain the enlargement. I won’t be able to get to the bottom of this without some lab work. I’m going to order a CBC and some tests to measure your hormone levels. Low thyroid function could make you feel punky. It could also throw off your menstrual cycle. But I really don’t want to speculate until I get the results of the blood work.”

  “Sure. Needles don’t bother me. Can you do the lab work right here in the office?” Sarah asked, hoping to expedite the process.