Riding down in the elevator, Marissa realized she’d forgotten to ask Linda about Rebecca Ziegler. She made a mental note to do it at their next session.
From the Women’s Clinic, Marissa. went to her pediatric group. Robert had been right. Her practice was in disarray.
Given her frequent absences, her secretary, Mindy VaIdanus, was being used as a “float” to cover for other secretaries who were on vacation. Marissa wasn’t surprised to find Mindy’s desk empty when she passed by on her way to her office.
On her own desk, Marissa found a pile of unopened mail as well as a fine layer of dust. Hanging up her coat, Marissa called Dr. Frederick Houser, the senior partner of the group. He could see her, so she went directly up to his office.
“I have an embryo transfer scheduled for tomorrow,” Marissa told her mentor once they were seated in the conference room.
“It might be the last cycle if my husband has his way.”
Dr. Houser was an old-school physician. He was a large, portly man, mostly bald save for a ring of silver hair that ran around the back of his head. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and an everpresent bow tie. He had a warm, generous air about him that made everyone feel comfortable in his presence, from patients to colleagues.
“But if it is not successful,” Marissa continued, “and if I can smooth things out with Robert, we’ll try a few more. But no more than eight. So one way or another, I’ll be back to normal within half a year at most.”
“We wish you the best,” Dr. Houser said.
“But we will have to lower your salary again. Of course that will change as soon as you start contributing significantly to the group’s income.”
“I understand,” Marissa said.
“I appreciate your patience with me.”
Back in her office, Marissa took out the card Linda had given her and called the number. A friendly female voice answered.
“Is this Resolve?” Marissa asked.
“Sure is,” the woman answered.
“I’m Susan Walker. What can I do for you?”
“It was suggested I give you people a call,” Marissa said.
“I’m involved with the in-vitro fertilization unit at the Women’s clinic.”
“Staff or patient?” Susan asked.
“A patient,” Marissa said.
“I’m on my fourth cycle.”
“Would you and your husband like to come to our next meeting?”
Susan asked.
“My husband probably will refuse to come,” Marissa said, a bit embarrassed.
“Sounds familiar,” Susan said.
“It happens with most couples.
Husbands are reluctant until they come for one session. After that, most of them love it. That’s what happened with my own husband. He’ll be happy to call your husband to talk to him. He’s fairly persuasive.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Marissa said quickly. She could just imagine Robert’s response if a stranger called up about a self-help infertility group.
“I’ll speak with him myself. But if he doesn’t come, would it be awkward if I came by myself?”
“Heavens, no!” Susan said.
“We’d love to have you. You’ll have plenty of company. There are a number of women currently going through lVF. Several of them will be solo as well.” Shethen gave Marissa the date and the directions.
Hanging up the phone, Marissa hoped the experience would be as rewarding as the session with Linda Moore. Although she had her doubts, she was willing to give it a try, mainly because of
Linda’s recommendation. Donning a short white coat, Marissa went down to the main walk-in clinic area to try to cam some of the small salary she was still receiving.
After seeing a handful of children with runny noses, middle ear infections, and sore throats, Marissa found herself in an examination cubicle with an eight-month-old infant and a disinterested teenage mother.
“What’s the problem?” Marissa asked, even though she could see well enough herself. The child had a number of suppurating sores on his back and arms. In addition, he was filthy dirty.
“I dunno,” the mother said as she cracked her gum and stared around the room.
“The kid cries all day long. He never shuts up.”
“When was the last time you bathed this infant?” Marissa demanded as she looked at the pustules. She guessed it was staph.