'How's that?' Fletcher asked.
'Fine,' Karen moaned, taking a deep breath.
'Don't strain,' the doctor said urgently. 'Just relax. We've got lots of work to do.' Nurse Dyer stared intently at the video monitor. She moved a tube on the machine's side with slow, deliberate motions. A soft sucking noise grew and subsided in concert with the mo-tion of her wrist and the touch of her fingers on the controls. 'In place,' she said, quickly pressing a button and grasping the tube.
In a blur of rehearsed speed, Dr. Fletcher unlocked and with-drew the hysteroscope, leaving the hollow tube inside Karen. The nurse slid the other tube out of the machine and gently pressed it into Fletcher's hand. With a fluid motion, the doctor inserted the opaque rob deep into Karen's womb.
'Transfer,' Fletcher said in a sharp voice.
'Pump on,' Dyer replied.
A fluid warmth filled Karen. Liquid pressure swelled in her belly, pleasant and comforting amidst the ache of the instru-ments.
'It's in.'
Another jolt as Fletcher removed the device and inserted a combination hysteroscope and laser microsurgical instrument.
Karen Chandler gazed at the doctor's head as she worked intently and silently between her legs. She thought there should be a sign around that read Caution: Baby Being Installed. She wondered who the donor was. Part of the privacy ar-rangement, according to her contract, was that the identity of the mother would not be revealed until the child was eighteen years old, and only if he or she asked to know. She hoped her child would someday ask. She wanted the chance to thank the nameless, faceless woman who so generously offered her baby to someone who couldn't produce one naturally.
Nurse Dyer stepped away from watching the work on her monitor to dab sweat from her doctor's brow. Fletcher re-mained bent over the eyepiece of the hysteroscope, maneu-vering the remote scalpel and laser microsuture with intense concentration. '
Thirty-five minutes passed during which Dr. Fletcher never shifted from her crouched position, never said a word. Nurse Dyer, watching the progress on the monitor, took over the re-sponsibility of reassuring Karen that all was well.
'The embryo knows what to do,' she told Karen. 'It's al-ready manufacturing the hormones that will tell your body you're pregnant. But since it's been detached from one uter-ine wall, we've got to reattach it surgically so that it won't bounce around.' She smiled warmly. 'You wouldn't want a child that young running around loose, would you?'
Karen tried her best to smile, but the length of the operation was getting to her. She simply stared at the ceiling. Someone had stuck a smiling yellow sun directly over the table. She focused on it, thinking of sunrises and waking up to mother and father and brothers when she was a child. She'd have a chance, now, to see it from a parent's point of view. If all went well this time. If their terrible past didn't repeat itself.
At long last, Dr. Fletcher said, 'There. Transoption complete. Looks good inside.' She let go a tense, deep breath. 'I took a snip of chorionic villi for genetic testing. That way we can skip the risk of an amniocentesis. We're going to keep you here a few days for observation just to make sure the little one in there is settling in and on the job.'
Karen groaned as the tube slid out of her. She raised her head to look at the doctor. 'I'm pregnant?'
'That's what you paid for.'
She lay back to stare at the bright and silly paper sun over-head. Tears brimmed her eyes. 'Thank you, Doctor, thank you. I don't know how I can ever pay you enough for-'
'Just make sure you take every precaution with this preg-nancy. I've done all that I can surgically. The rest is up to you and that baby.' The doctor remembered something. 'Oh-will you want to know what sex it is?'
'No. David and I want to be surprised.' She murmured a few more thank yous amid her assurances that she would fol-low every guideline. Then she allowed Nurse Dyer to unstrap her from the stirrups and help her onto a gurney.
As she wheeled the patient out, Dyer turned to look inquir-ingly at the doctor. She tilted her head slightly toward the medical equipment.
Dr. Fletcher shook her head imperceptibly. 'You take the CV sample to the lab. I'll clean up.' The gurney wheeled out of the room. The doors slammed shut with a muted thunk. Dr. Fletcher, alone in the silence of the empty operating room, locked the doors, took several deep breaths, and leaned against a counter. After a moment, she stepped over to the surgical machinery, switched everything off, and pressed a button near the monitor. A
