"Do you think she's another donor?" Joanna asked.
"I've no idea," Deborah said.
"That's Dorothy Stevens," Cynthia said in a hushed voice as she went around to the head of the gurney and unlocked the wheels. "She's a Wingate client who's here for yet another embryo transfer. The poor dear has suffered a lot of disappointment."
"Am I going already?" Joanna asked as the gurney began to move.
"Yes, indeed," Cynthia said. "I was told they were eagerly awaiting your arrival when I went out to get the IV material."
"Can I go along?" Deborah asked. She'd taken hold of Joanna's hand.
"I'm afraid not," Cynthia said. "You stay and relax. You'll be going up yourself before you know it."
"I'll be all right," Joanna said with a smile to Deborah. "I already feel that opioid stuff. It's not half bad, either."
Deborah gave Joanna's hand a final squeeze. Before the doors swung shut Deborah caught a glimpse of Joanna merrily waving to her over her shoulder.
Deborah turned back to the room. She walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. She was hungry from not having eaten anything since before going to bed the night before. She picked up several magazines but found she could not concentrate, not with her stomach growling. Instead she tried to picture where they were taking Joanna in the huge, old, white elephant of a building. Tossing the magazines aside, she glanced around the room. There was the same jarring disjuncture between the elaborate crown molding and trim and the furniture as there had been out in the main waiting room. Joanna had been right: The Wingate was a place filled with contrasts that were vaguely unsettling. As much as Joanna, Deborah was looking forward to having the egg retrieval procedures behind them.
One of the changing room doors opened and Dorothy Wash-burn emerged clutching her clothes. She smiled at Deborah before heading over to the lockers to store them. Deborah watched her and wondered what it was like to contend with continued infertility treatment and continual disappointment.
Dorothy locked the locker, then came over to the sitting area while pinning the locker key to her johnny en route. She picked up a magazine, sat down, and began to flip through the pages. Apparently sensing Deborah's stare, she raised her strikingly cerulean eyes. This time it was Deborah's turn to smile. She then introduced herself, and Dorothy did the same. For a few minutes the two women indulged in light conversation. After a pause, Deborah asked Dorothy if she'd been a patient of the Wingate Clinic for some time.
"Unfortunately, I have," Dorothy said.
"Has it been a pleasant experience?"
"I don't think pleasant is the right word," Dorothy said. "It's not been an easy road by any stretch of the imagination. But to the Wingate's credit, they did warn me. Anyway, my husband and I are not about to give up, at least not yet or at least not until we've used up all our credit."
"You're having an embryo transfer today?" Deborah asked. She was reluctant to admit she already knew.
"My ninth," Dorothy said. She sighed and then held up crossed fingers.
"Good luck," Deborah said sincerely.
"I could use some."
Deborah imitated the crossed-fingers gesture.
"Is this your first time to the Wingate?" Dorothy asked.
"It is," Deborah admitted. "For both myself and my roommate."
"I'm sure you'll be satisfied with your choice," Dorothy said. "Are you both doing in vitro?"
"No," Deborah said. "We're egg donors. We responded to an ad in the Harvard Crimson."
"That's wonderful," Dorothy said with unabashed admiration. "What a loving gesture. You are going to give hope to some desperate couples. I applaud your generosity."
Deborah suddenly felt uncomfortably venal. She hoped to change the subject before her true motive for donating was revealed. Luckily she was saved by Cynthia's abrupt return. The nurse burst through the swinging doors without warning.
"Okay, Dorothy!" Cynthia called out with great enthusiasm. "You're on! Get yourself down there to the transfer room. They're all ready for you."
Dorothy stood, took a deep breath, and then headed out the door.
"She's quite a soldier," Cynthia remarked as the door swung shut. "I sure hope this turns out to be a successful cycle. If anyone deserves it, she does."
"How much does a cycle cost?" Deborah asked. Concern about her venality had brought the issue of economics to the fore.
"It varies quite a bit depending on what procedures are involved," Cynthia said. "But on average it's around eight to ten thousand dollars."
"Oh, my goodness," Deborah commented. "That means Dorothy and her husband have spent nearly ninety thousand dollars!"
"Probably more," Cynthia said. "That doesn't include the initial infertility workup or any ancillary treatments that might have been indicated. Infertility is an expensive undertaking for couples, especially since insurance doesn't usually cover it. Most couples have to come up with the cash somehow."
Two more patients entered, and Cynthia's full attention immediately turned to them. She took the women's paperwork, glanced at it briefly, got them apparel, and directed them into changing rooms. Deborah was surprised at the apparent age of one of them. She couldn't be sure, but she thought the woman looked old, like she was in her middle to late fifties.
Feeling restless, Deborah got to her feet. "Excuse me, Cynthia," Deborah said. The nurse was reading the patients' paperwork more thoroughly. "Dr. Donaldson mentioned that I could have a tour of the laboratory. Who should I see about it?"
"That's a request I haven't had before," Cynthia said. She thought for a moment. "I guess you could try Claire Harlow in public relations. She gives tours to prospective patients, although I don't know if that includes the lab or not. If you don't mind walking around in your robe, you can go out to the receptionist in the main waiting room and have her page Miss Harlow. You don't have a lot of time so I wouldn't go far. I imagine they'll be calling for you in another fifteen minutes or so."
Despite the warning about time, Deborah had to do something. Following Cynthia's suggestion, she retraced her steps out to the main waiting room and had the public relations person paged. While she waited for the page to be returned, she noticed that quite a few patients had arrived since she and Joanna had passed through. There was not much conversation. Most of the women were reading the magazines. A few were blankly staring ahead.
Claire Harlow was a soft-spoken, gentle, accommodating woman who seemed pleased to take Deborah up a floor and show her the main lab. As Dr. Donaldson had suggested, it was huge, extending along the back of the building for almost the entire wing occupied by the Wingate.
Deborah was duly impressed. Having spent many hours in biology labs, she knew, for the most part, what she was looking at. The equipment was the newest and best available and included surprising things like automated DNA sequencers. The other surprise was how few people were in the mammoth room.
"Where is everybody?" Deborah asked.
"The doctors are all doing various clinical procedures at the moment," Claire answered.
Deborah strolled along a long countertop supporting more dissecting microscopes than she'd seen in any one place before. They were also more powerful than the microscopes Deborah had had the pleasure of using.
"An army could work in here," Deborah said…
"We're always looking for qualified people," Claire said.
Deborah came to the end of the lab bench and glanced out the window. It faced out the back of the building and offered an impressive view. It was particularly expansive because the building sat on the spine of a hill, with lawn sloping away in both the front and the back. Northward through a tangle of orange oaks and red maples Deborah could make out stone buildings similar to the gatehouse but with white trim.