“I’m not up to providing a sperm sample this morning. I’m just not. Not today.” He shrugged, then disappeared back into the bathroom.
For a minute, Marissa didn’t move. Then she ran her fingers through her hair, trying to control herself. Blood pounded in her ears as she replayed Robert’s casual refusal to go to the clinic.
How could he back out at the last minute like this?
Spotting the clock radio which had awakened them half an hour ago, she felt an almost irresistible desire to step over to the night table, yank its plug from its socket, and dash the whole thing against the fireplace; she was that furious. But she held herself in check.
Inside the bathroom she heard the shower door open and then close. The sound of the water changed; Robert had gotten into the shower.
“I don’t believe this,” Marissa muttered. She marched to the bathroom and pounded the door fully open with a bang. The dog followed her to the threshold. Steam was already billowing out over the top of the shower stall. Robert liked his showers piping hot. Marissa could see her husband’s athletic nude body through the stall’s smoked glass.
“Run that by me once more,” Marissa called to him.
“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”
“It’s simple,” he said.
“I’m not going to the clinic this morning.
I’m not up to it today. I’m not some kind of sperm dispenser.”
Of all the ups and downs of the infertility treatments, this was something Marissa had not anticipated. It was all she could do to keep from kicking in the shower door while Robert finished.
The dog, sensing her state of mind, ducked under the bed.
Finally Robert turned off the water and stepped from the stall.
Drops of water cascaded down his muscular frame. Despite his heavy work schedule, he still managed to exercise three or four times a week. Even his trimness irritated Marissa at the moment.
She was unpleasantly cognizant of the extra ten pounds she’d put on through the course of her treatment.
When he saw her standing there, Robert seemed surprised.
“You’re telling me that you won’t come with me this morning to give a sperm sample?” she asked, once she knew she had his attention.
“That’s right,” Robert said.
“I was going to tell you last night, but you had a headache. No surprise, lately you always have a headache or a stomachache or some other kind of ache. So I thought I’d spare you. But I’m telling you now. They can unfreeze some sperm from the last time. They told me they froze part of it. Let them use that.”
“After all I’ve gone through, you won’t even come in to the clinic and give up five minutes of your precious time?”
“Come on, Marissa,” Robert said as he toweled off, “You and I both know we’re talking about more than five minutes.”
Marissa was beginning to feel more frustrated by Robert than she was by her infertility.
“I’m the one who’s had to put in all the serious time,” she said, exploding.
“And I’m the one who has been pumped full of all these hormones. Sure I’ve had headaches.
I’ve been in a constant state of PMS to produce eggs. And look at all these needle marks on my arms and legs.” Marissa pointed to the multiple bruises she had covering her extremities.
“I’ve seen them,” Robert said without looking.
“I’m the one who has had to have general anesthesia and laparoscopy and biopsy of my fallopian tubes,” Marissa shouted.
“I’m the one who has had to endure all the physical and mental traumas, all the indignities.”
“Most of the indignities,” Robert reminded her, “but not all.”
“I’ve had to take my temperature every morning for months on end and plot it on that graph before I even get out of bed to pee.”
Robert was in his closet, selecting a suit and an appropriate tie.
He turned his head toward Marissa, who was blocking the light from the bedroom.
“You were also the one who doctored the graph with the extra Xs,” he said flippantly.
Marissa fumed.
“I had to cheat a little so that the doctors at the clinic wouldn’t think we weren’t trying by not making love often enough. But I never cheated around ovulation time.”