9
Sophia
Patricia was out sick Monday and Tuesday, courtesy of a stomach bug. She comes into my office first thing Wednesday morning, still looking a little exhausted from her bout of illness, but her eyes shine with excitement.
“Sophia,” she exclaims. “I opened my email last night and saw your note about the donation from Damien Cardenas. A check for a million dollars? I can hardly believe it.”
Yeah, me neither.
“How did you manage this?”
Crap. With everything that has happened since the fundraiser, I forgot to come up with a cover story for this donation. I like my boss, and I don’t want to lie to her. “Umm. . .”
“I looked him up, of course,” she continues. “He's the Chief Operating Officer of the Cardenas Group. The company supports quite a lot of community health care in South America, Asia, and Africa but doesn't do much in North America. I don’t understand how we ended up on their radar.”
Patricia has a dozen photos of her grandchildren on her desk. On the back of her office chair hangs a sweatshirt that says ‘Cat Mom.’ Someone meeting her for the first time might be excused for underestimating her, but I know better.
She's looking to me for an explanation, and I don't have one to offer her. I don't know why Damien gave our organization that money unless it was to spend time with me. But that's insane.
I settle for a version of the truth. “Damien is an old friend,” I respond. “He was at the Summit fundraiser, and I guess he thought we were a worthy cause.” He’s also rich enough that a million dollars is a drop in the bucket. If Patricia looked him up, she’d already know that.
“Such a generous gesture,” she gushes. “Sophia, we must thank him.”
“I sent a note.”
“No, no, no.” She shakes her head emphatically. “That doesn’t seem sufficient. We must take him out to dinner. An old friend, you said? Perfect. Can you set it up?”
More time with Damien, just what I need. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
I leavework early and head to my appointment at the Collins Fertility Clinic. My appointment is with a Dr. Mark Hernandez.
Dr. Hernandez looks like he’s in his late forties. He has olive-brown skin and brown eyes. “What can I do for you, Ms. Thorson?” he asks after the initial exchange of pleasantries.
“I want to get pregnant,” I reply. “I’m thirty-five, single, and painfully aware that I’m running out of time. I want to explore my options.” I take a deep breath. “Like donor insemination.”
“Have you been trying to conceive?”
He’s asking me if I’m having regular sex. I wish. “No, I haven’t,” I reply. “I've done a little bit of research, but I thought I'd schedule this appointment to see what the process is.”
“Certainly,” he answers readily. “The first step is to make sure that you have no fertility issues that will complicate donor insemination. Once that’s done, the next step is to pick a donor. Some people choose to use the sperm of a friend or an acquaintance. But I’ll caution you that there are some legal liabilities to consider in that situation.”
Even if I could find somebody to be a sperm donor, I would never take that risk. They might try to assert custody over my child. I would never let my baby experience what Denise put us through.
“I’ll be using a sperm bank, Doctor.”
“Excellent. We work with several. Laura will give you a list on your way out. She’ll also give you information about the differences between anonymous, semi-open, and open donors. Once you have a donor picked out, we move on to the insemination cycle. There are three ways to do this: intracervical insemination, intravaginal insemination, and intrauterine insemination. It typically takes anywhere from three to five rounds for fertilization to happen.”
My head is spinning, and it’s only been a few minutes. Some of what I’m feeling must be visible on my face because Dr. Hernandez gives me a thoughtful look. “Fertility testing and treatments can be stressful,” he says. “Not to mention expensive. We can start the basic fertility screening today, but as you move forward in this process, I recommend counseling.”
Some clinics don’t welcome single women, but the Collins Fertility Clinic isn’t one of them. I looked them up online, and several reviews mentioned how welcoming and supportive they were toward single parents and same-sex couples. Dr. Hernandez isn’t trying to discourage me from having a baby; he’s treating it like it’s a major, life-changing decision.
Because it is.
I have good health insurance, but it doesn’t cover fertility treatments and barely covers therapy. I used up most of my savings to fix up our house. Do I want a baby so much that I’m willing to go deep in debt?
Yes. Yes, I do.
“If counseling isn’t an option, one of our volunteers runs a support group. I believe they meet once a week. Laura can give you the details.” He looks up from his notepad. “If you’re ready, we can begin the first part of your fertility testing today.”