Vital Signs by Robin Cook Page B

present were Dr. Wingate, his nurse-technician, Tara MacLiesh, and Mrs. Hargrave. But then the door opened and Linda Moore came in. The fact that people could come in and out was part of the reason Marissa felt so vulnerable.
     
     
“It’s important for you to be relaxed,” Linda said, positioning herself near Marissa’s head. She patted Marissa’s shoulder.
     
     
“I want you to think relaxing thoughts.”
     
     
Marissa knew the therapist meant well, but telling her to think relaxing thoughts seemed absurd. She hardly saw how it would help. And it was particularly hard to relax knowing Robert was outside waiting. Marissa had been surprised he’d come with her that morning since he’d slept in the guest room again.
     
     
“Everything is ready,” Dr. Wingate said, keeping Marissa informed, as usual.
     
     
“And just like we did last time, the first thing we have to do is assure asepsis.”
     
     
Marissa felt the sheet drawn back. Now she was literally exposed.
     
     
She closed her eyes as Linda continued to drone on about relaxing. But Marissa couldn’t relax. So much was riding on this transfer, maybe even her marriage. Robert had accompanied her to the clinic, but neither of them had said a single word through the entire drive from Weston to Cambridge.
     
     
“First the sterile speculum,” Dr. Wingate said. A few seconds later, she felt the instrument.
     
     
“Now I will be rinsing with the culture medium,” Wingate continued.
     
     
Marissa felt the rush of fluid inside her. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, she saw that Linda Moore’s freckled face was inches from her own.
     
     
“Are you relaxed?” Linda asked her.
     
     
Marissa nodded, but it was a lie.
     
     
“We’re ready for the embryos now,” Dr. Wingate told Tara.
     
     
Tara went back into the lab. Then to Marissa, Dr. Wingate said:
     
     
“You might feel a tiny bit of cramping with the insertion, but don’t worry. It will be just like last time.”
     
     
Marissa. would have preferred he’d not made the comparison: last time the transfer had not worked. She heard Tara come back into the room. Marissa could picture the Teflon catheter, called a Tomcat.
     
     
“This is it,” Dr. Wingate continued.
     
     
“Remember to relax,” Linda said.
     
     
“Think of a fine, healthy baby,” Mrs. Hargrave said.
     
     
Marissa felt a strange deep sensation like a pain, but not strong enough to be called a pain.
     
     
“We should be within one centimeter of your uterine fundus,” Dr. Wingate said.
     
     
“I’m injecting now.”
     
     
“Breathe deeply,” Mrs. Hargrave said.
     
     
“Relax,” Linda suggested.
     
     
Despite her hopes, Marissa didn’t feel optimistic.
     
     
“Perfect,” Dr. Wingate said.
     
     
“I’m coming out now.”
     
     
Marissa held her breath as she experienced an extremely mild cramp’ Now don’t move until we ascertain that the embryos have all been extruded from the catheter,” Dr. Wingate said. He and Tara disappeared into the lab.
     
     
“You feel okay?” Mrs. Hargrave asked.
     
     
“Fine,” said Marissa, as selfconscious as ever, always concerned someone else was about to barrel through the door, “Now that it’s over,” Linda said, giving Marissa’s shoulder another pat, “I’ll be going. I think I’ll have a word with your husband on my way out.”
     
     
Good luck, Marissa thought. She didn’t think her husband would be approachable that day.
     
     
Dr. Wingate returned just as Linda was departing.
     
     
“All the embryos were planted,” Dr. Wingate said. Marissa felt the speculum being removed. He tapped her gently on the top of her rump.
     
     
“Now you can lower yourself to your tummy. But don’t roll over. Just like the previous transfer: I want you to remain on your stomach for three hours, then you can roll over on your back for an hour. Then you’ll be free to go.” He pulled the sheet over Marissa’s