Morning by Nancy Thayer Page B

this morning, his white lab coat unbuttoned and hanging unevenly, his hair slightly mussed. Sara went down the hall and into a small laboratory.
    Dr. Crochett took her arm and led her over to a counter. “Look!” he said, triumphantly, indicating a small microscope. “Just look at that!”
    Sara bent over the microscope. For a moment she could see nothing. Then she saw them, a swarm of tiny sperm swimming around like maniacs, their tiny tails wiggling.
    “Wow,” Sara said. “They look just like what the textbooks say they look like. This is amazing.” And in that moment she had much more faith in all the outer world with its technological paraphernalia. For there they really were, sperm , Steve’s sperm, miniature tadpoles, fat round heads, wriggling tails, zipping around the slide with determined energy.
    “So!” Dr. Crochett said. “That is great, isn’t it! You should be very happy. Your husband’s got plenty of sperm—look at all those little critters. And your mucus is compatible with his sperm. Another point in your favor.”
    Sara looked up at Dr. Crochett, who was beaming as proudly as if he had just that moment created the sperm himself. She couldn’t help but feel fond of him. “Do you mean there was a chance that it might not be?” she asked.
    “Oh, yes, oh, yes indeed,” Dr. Crochett said. “It happens quite often. Sometimes the woman’s mucus kills off the sperm! Quite a problem, you can imagine. But not in your case. Now— watch .”
    He picked up the specimen slide and held it over the flame of a cigarette lighter. “Aha!” he said, “just look at that!”
    Sara couldn’t help smiling. He was so excited. She looked, not certain what she was supposed to see. But she did see it, clearly, how the mucus from her body dried into a delicate, intricate fern pattern on the glass slide.
    “Do you see that? That fern pattern? That’s a sign that you’re ovulating today! Hurry home now and have intercourse—you’re ovulating today. This is the proof. And your husband has plenty of sperm and your mucus is compatible. All points in yourfavor.”
    Sara smiled, elated. She was going to get pregnant today, she felt it, she felt as inspired as a sinner at a revival meeting; she had just been saved by the evangelist. “Yes, yes, all right, thank you,” she said.
    “Now look,” Dr. Crochett said, his voice slowing a little, “if you don’t get pregnant this month, call me right away. Then I want to schedule a uterotubalgram. Don’t be alarmed, it’s just a little test to see if your Fallopian tubes are blocked.”
    “Blocked? But—how?” Sara asked.
    “Oh, easily, with anything. Happens all the time. Sometimes a bit of menstrual matter attaches itself to the Fallopian tube at the wrong place, then the eggs can’t get down from the tube into the uterus. And if that’s the problem, the solution is easy, because when we run the dye through it blows the tube clean. This procedure can be therapeutic as well as diagnostic.”
    “Well,” Sara said. “Hmm.” She was trying to envision all that he was telling her, her Fallopian tubes, and a procedure that would clear them.
    “Don’t worry, don’t even think about it, the uterotubalgram is just another step, but we may not even have to take it. Just think about going home and having intercourse. Today. And listen,” he said, leaning forward, smiling, giving her this one last gift, “you know, quite often when I take the mucus from a woman’s body, that procedure in itself makes pregnancy a little more possible. Because I opened the cervix slightly, it makes it possible for those little devils to swim right up there and— wham! You might be getting pregnant right now!”
    Instantly Sara was covered with goose bumps. She might be getting pregnant right now. Oh, God, wouldn’t it be wonderful?
    “Thank you,” she said. If she was pregnant she would come back to his office and fall on her knees and kiss his feet. She would bring him