Narina
I got out of class, my stomach rolling with nausea. The morning sickness had already kicked in. I’d done my research and kept ginger tea and ginger ale on hand, but it only took so much of the edge off. Certain smells made me want to puke. I passed by a taco truck on the way to class today and wanted to barf. Beans smelled like body odor now. It was horrific.
I grabbed my phone and checked my messages. I had three calls from the fertility clinic. The first one was the receptionist, Angela. She sounded a bit panicked and asked me to call immediately. The second and third calls were both from Dr. Coulter himself. He sounded calm but stressed and said that it was imperative for me to call him as soon as possible. There was a mix-up of some kind in my file, and they needed to get in touch with me as soon as possible.
I glanced at the time and noticed it was eleven thirty. I had about twenty minutes before my next class, but it was across campus. I decided to wait to call the clinic until after I was finished for the day. If they were telling me anything bad, I couldn’t afford to be distracted in my last class of the day.
As it turned out, not calling them was a mistake. I thought about what they could possibly want and what was so urgent the whole time I was in my Economics class that I didn’t listen. Thankfully, I recorded the lecture because I’d be able to replay it later.
The whole time the professor was talking, my mind was racing with worries about what they wanted. Did the couple whose baby I was carrying decide against having a kid? If so, what would happen?
I received the first check from the clinic, which helped pay off the first installment on my tuition and gave me a little to live off of, though I was saving that for next semester’s books. What I really needed was a part-time job. One on campus would be best, so I told myself I’d start looking for one as soon as I got a routine in place and figured out how hard the classes were going to be for me.
I was just getting out of my last class when my phone started vibrating again. New Hope Clinic popped up on the screen and I hesitated, not ready for the bad news. People don’t blow up your phone for good news, so whatever was going on wasn’t going to be good.
“Hello?” I answered the phone, wary of what they could want.
“Hi, Ms. Boggs?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness I finally got in touch with you. This is Dr. Coulter from the New Hope Clinic. I need you to come into the office immediately.”
“What’s wrong?” I asked, my stomach squeezing tight with worry.
“Please come in as soon as possible, Ms. Boggs. It’s important.”
“Okay.” I hung up the phone and placed my hand on my stomach. It was flat, but I knew in a few months I’d start to feel the small bump from the baby. The thought thrilled and scared me shitless at the same time. “I can’t get attached to you, Little Peanut. You don’t belong to me,” I whispered.
Since I found out I was pregnant and that the insemination had worked, I had been talking to the baby regularly and reminding us both that she didn’t belong to me. I don’t know why, but I was convinced the baby was a girl.
I took a deep breath and sent a text to my friends, letting them know something was up with the pregnancy. Crazy as it seemed, we were all pregnant at the same time. We’d all signed up to be surrogates, but I was the only one that went through with it. They’d all found their soulmates and were starting families with them getting pregnant the old-fashioned way.
Part of me envied them, but for right now, that wasn’t in my cards. Apparently, something was wrong, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous as hell about it.
I got back a bunch of responses from the girls telling me to call them as soon as I knew what was going on. Gwen asked me if I wanted her to meet me at the clinic, but I declined the offer. I could do this. Scared as I was, I could do this.
The subway system still confused the shit out of me, so I hailed a cab to take me the fourteen blocks to the clinic. It was money I didn’t want or need to spend, but I had to do it. I needed to figure out what the hell was going on.
When I got to the office, Dr. Coulter ushered me into an examination room and told me to wait there. The receptionist wasn’t there, and everyone seemed to be on edge. My nerves were fraying with every second that ticked by as I waited to find out any information.
It was only five minutes before the doctor came back in, but it felt like forever. When he did, the look on his face said it all. He was pale and nervous.
“What is it? Just tell me,” I stated immediately. My hand went to my stomach protectively to try to calm the mass of fluttering butterflies inside.
“Ms. Boggs, there was a mistake made.”
“What kind of mistake?” I took a deep breath, trying to keep myself from going into a panic attack. The doctor was not helping my anxiety, and anxiety wasn’t good for the baby.
“The baby you’re carrying—it’s your baby.”
Huh? “What do you mean, my baby?”
“Your file was labeled wrong, and a specimen was put into your file for insemination. You were inseminated, but there was no egg with the specimen. You are pregnant with your own egg, and the man whose sperm fertilized the egg—well, he was planning to have a surrogate carry his baby from a donor.”
Bile rose in my throat, burning like acid. I moved for the trashcan and heaved into the bag lining it. My lunch from earlier was revisiting me. The nausea I felt after class came spiraling back, making me lightheaded. I heaved again, dispelling more until I felt drained and limp, sweat soaking my brow.
I moved to the sink and used the water to rinse my mouth out. When I finally sat back down, the doctor was there holding onto a clipboard. “I’m sorry this happened, Ms. Boggs. This was an unfortunate accident, but we are determined to help fix this.”