Marissa. heard a click and a slight buzz. She knew that her body had just been bombarded by millions of tiny X-rays.
“We are going to try again,” Dr. Carpenter said as he returned.
“This might hurt a little more.”
Marissa gripped the sides of the X-ray table.
The pain that followed was the worst she’d ever experienced.
It was like a knife thrust into her lower back and twisted. When it was over she looked at the three people grouped around the fluoroscopy screen.
“What did you find?” Marissa questioned. She could tell from Dr. Carpenter’s face that something was abnormal.
“At least we know now why you haven’t been making babies,” he said solemnly.
“I couldn’t get dye into either of your tubes, And I really pushed-as you probably felt. Both of them seem to be sealed as tight as a drum.”
“How could that be?” Marissa asked with alarm.
Dr. Carpenter shrugged.
“We’ll have to look into that. Probably you had some infection. You don’t remember anything, do you?”
“No!” Marissa said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Sometimes we can find the cause of blocked tubes and sometimes we can’t,” Dr. Carpenter said.
“Sometimes even a high fever as a child can damage them.” He shrugged and patted her on the arm.
“We’ll look into it.”
“What’s the next step?” Marissa asked anxiously. She already felt guilty enough about being infertile. This puzzling discovery about her tubes made her wonder if she could have picked up anything from one of her former lovers. She had never been loose, not by any stretch of the imagination, but she’d had sex, especially with Roger. Could Roger have given her something?
Marissa’s stomach was in knots.
“I’m not sure this is the time to talk about strategy,” Dr.
Carpenter said.
“But we’ll probably recommend a laparoscopy and perhaps evena biopsy. There’s always the chance that the problem is amenable to microsurgery. If that doesn’t work or isn’t feasible, there’s always in-vitro fertilization..
“Marissa!” Robert called harshly, abruptly bringing Marissa back to the present.
She lifted her face. Robert was standing in front of her.
“What are you doing?” Robert asked, his frustration all too apparent.
“I asked after you and the receptionist said you hadn’t even checked in.”
Marissa got to her feet. Robert was looking at his watch.
“Come on!” he said as he turned and headed over to the receptionist’s desk. Marissa followed. She gazed at the sign behind the desk. That was the one that said: YOU ONLY FAIL WHEN
YOU
GIVE UP TRYING.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said, “with all the excitement, I’ve been in a dither. It didn’t dawn on me that Mrs. Buchanan hadn’t checked in.”
“Please!” Robert said.
“Just let the doctors know she is here.”
“Certainly!” the receptionist said. She stood up.
“But first I want to thank you for your help earlier, Mr. Buchanan. I think that woman was about to attack me. I hope you weren’t hurt badly.”
“Only two stitches,” Robert said, mellowing to a degree.
“I’m fine.” Robert then lowered his voice and, after a furtive glance around the waiting room, asked: “Could you give me one of those, errrr… plastic containers?”
“Of course,” the receptionist said. She bent down and opened a file drawer. She produced a small, graduated, red-topped plastic container and handed it over. Robert palmed it.
“Ah… this will make it all worthwhile,” Robert whispered sarcastically to Marissa. Without a second glance at his wife, he strode off toward one of the doors leading into a series of cubicle like dressing rooms.
Marissa watched him go, lamenting the widening gulf separating them. Their ability to communicate, especially where their feelings were concerned, was reaching a new low.
“I’ll let Dr. Wingate know you’re here,” the receptionist said.
Marissa nodded. Slowly she walked back to her seat and sat down heavily. Nothing was working out. She wasn’t getting pregnant and her marriage was disintegrating before her eyes. She thought about all the business trips Robert had been taking of late. For the first time since she’d been married, Marissa wondered if he could be having an affair. Maybe that was the reason behind this sudden talk of not providing a sperm sample. Maybe he’d been giving samples out elsewhere.