"He's not much of a conversationalist," Joanna commented.
"He's a busy man," Myron said. He pulled the sheet back to expose her legs. "Why don't you stand up and see how that feels. I think you're about ready to have that IV taken out."
"Does Dr. Saunders do all the egg retrievals?" Joanna asked as she sat up and dropped her feet over the side of the bed. Then she slid off to stand while holding the johnny closed behind her back with her left hand.
"He and Dr. Donaldson do them together."
"Do you think his coming in here means my roommate's procedure is done?"
"'That would be my guess," Myron said. "How do you feel? Any dizziness at all?"
Joanna shook her head.
"Then let's get that IV out and get you on your way."
Fifteen minutes later Joanna was at the locker extracting her clothing, shoes, and bag. There were four other patients in hospital garb sitting on the couches and chairs and flipping through magazines. None of them paid her any attention. Deborah's locker was still locked up tight.
As Joanna entered the same changing room she'd used earlier, Cynthia arrived with Deborah in tow. Deborah's face lit up with a broad smile when she caught sight of Joanna, and she immediately rushed over to squeeze into the changing room. She closed the door behind her.
"How did it go for you?" Deborah demanded in a whisper.
"It wasn't bad at all," Joanna answered, unsure why they were whispering. "The anesthesiologist said I might feel a little burning in my arm when he gave me the 'milk of amnesia, but I didn't feel a thing. I don't even remember going to sleep."
"Milk of amnesia?" Deborah questioned. "What the hell is that?"
"It's what the anesthesiologist called the medicine he gave me," Joanna said. "It was so rapid. It was like somebody just turned out the lights. I didn't feel a thing through the whole procedure. And on top of that, I'm happy to report I didn't have any nausea when I woke up."
"Not even a little queasiness?"
"Nothing. And I woke up the same way I went to sleep: really suddenly." Joanna snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "The whole experience was benign. How was yours?"
"Truly a piece of cake," Deborah said. "No worse than a routine pap smear."
"No pain?"
"A little, I suppose, when the local anesthetic went in, but that was it. The worst part was the humiliation of being looked into."
"How many eggs did they get?"
"I haven't the slightest idea," Deborah admitted. "I assume only one. That's how many we women put out each month without hormonal hyperstimulation."
"They got five or six from me."
"Well, aren't we impressed," Deborah said in a playfully sarcastic tone. "How do you know?"
"I asked," Joanna said. "The doctor came by when I was in the recovery room. His name's Dr. Saunders. You must have met him, because he's the one who does the egg retrievals along with Dr. Donaldson."
"Was this Dr. Saunders a rather short guy with unusual eyes?"
"He's the one. I think he's also kinda strange as well as quiet. What was weird was that he seemed to act mad when he found out I was already awake."
"Get out of here!" Deborah blurted.
"I'm serious."
"The reason I'm surprised is that he acted mad with me, too."
"No kidding!" Joanna said. "Then he's definitely got a problem, which is reassuring because I was wondering if I was making it up. You know me with authority figures."
"All too well," Deborah said. "And you think he was irritated because you were awake?"
"Yes," Joanna said. "He snapped at the nurse because the nurse had told him a few minutes earlier on the phone that I was still asleep. I suppose he had it in his mind to breeze in and breeze out. Instead, he had to relate to me, such as it was."
"That's absurd," Deborah said.
"The nurse excused his behavior by saying he was a busy man."
"He was equally inappropriate with me. Like everybody else he'd started in about wanting to use general anesthesia, and how much better it would be. But I just said no way. So he got mad. And you know what: It dawned on me why they had me suffer not eating or drinking since midnight. They thought they were going to talk me into it."
"You didn't have it, did you?"
"Hell no!" Deborah said. "I told them I was ready to get up and walk out, and I came close. If it hadn't been for Dr. Donaldson, who smoothed things over, I think I would have. But anyway, it all worked out."
"Let's get out of here," Joanna said.
"I'm with you," Deborah responded. She opened the louvered changing room door, winked at Joanna, and disappeared.
Joanna could hear Deborah out in the waiting room banging open her locker as Joanna peeled off the hospital clothing and tossed it into a convenient hamper. For a moment she gazed at herself in the changing room's full-length mirror. The thought of the small incisions beneath the Band-Aids made her shudder. They stood as minute reminders that someone had recently been looking into her innards.
The crash of the neighboring louvered door closing snapped Joanna back to reality. Fearful of keeping Deborah waiting, who was notoriously quick at dressing, Joanna concentrated on getting into her clothes. Once that was accomplished she began brushing out her hair, which she'd pulled back into a ponytail for the procedure but which was now a mass of snarls. Before she was finished, she heard Deborah emerge into the waiting room. "How are you doing in there?" Deborah called through the door.
"Almost ready," Joanna answered. Her hair was giving her more trouble than usual, with loose ends dangling in her face. She'd had bangs in high school that she'd grown out in college. After a last check in the mirror, she finally opened the changing room door. Deborah rewarded her with an exasperated expression.
"I hurried," Joanna said.
"Sure you did," Deborah said as she got to her feet. "You should try short hair like mine. You'll save yourself a lot of grief; it's ten times easier."
"Never," Joanna said jokingly, but she meant it. Despite the difficulties, she treasured her long hair.
The two women called out a thank you to Cynthia, and she waved in acknowledgment. The women sitting on the couch and the chairs looked up, several smiled, but all had returned to their reading before Joanna and Deborah had passed through the swinging doors.
"I just realized there's something we forgot to ask about," Deborah said as they walked down the main hallway.
"Do I have to ask, or are you just going to tell me?" Joanna said with a sigh, when Deborah failed to complete her thought. She found it mildly irksome that Deborah had a tendency not to finish a thought unless prompted.
"We forgot to ask how or when we were going to be paid."
"It's certainly not going to be in cash," Joanna said.
"I know that!" Deborah grumbled.
"It will be by check or wire," Joanna said.
"All right, but when?"
"The contracts we signed stipulated we would be paid when we had performed our service, which we've now done. So they'll pay us now."
"You seem to be more trusting than I," Deborah said. "I think we should inquire about it before we leave."
"That goes without saying," Joanna said. "I think we should page Dr. Donaldson if she's not out in the main waiting room."
The two women came to the threshold of the waiting room and glanced around the generous space. Nearly every seat was taken. There were spotty areas of hushed conversation but in general the room was surprisingly quiet for being so crowded.
"Well, no Dr. Donaldson," Deborah said. Her eyes swept the room once again to be certain.
"So, let's have her paged," Joanna said.
Together they approached the central desk. The receptionist was an attractive, young, amply endowed redhead. She had pouty, full lips like many of the women gracing the covers of the magazines displayed in the grocery checkout line. Her nameplate said ROCHELLE MILLARD.
"Excuse me," Joanna said to get the woman's attention. She was surreptitiously reading a paperback book cradled in her lap.