Sperm. She had to focus on sperm. Her fertility had been the reason she’d spent all day visiting her reproductive endocrinologist in the city. There had been…issues…in the last few years, and at this year’s annual visit to the gyno, Mina had learned that she had uterine fibroids. If the fibroids got out of control, it would get harder and harder to get pregnant.
Mina still felt a bit like the wind had been knocked out of her. She was thirty—not a teenager by any means, but also not so old that she’d imagined fertility would be a problem. But one symptom after the other had piled up in the last year and now here she was, looking at her top five choices on a sperm donor website. It was nifty, in a way. She could tick a tiny checkbox next to each profile and compare them to one another on a single page.
The profiles contained more information than Mina would have expected. One donor liked chess and had won multiple tournaments. One made a habit of climbing mountains and “planned to tackle Everest in the next year.” That sounded pretty promising. Even now, sitting in Bette’s Diner, she imagined a life with her child that was…fun. So the donor—the father? Needed to be fun and adventurous too. She read through the profiles again and found herself lingering on donor number two. Was it possible to be attracted to sperm? Well, if you’re an egg, maybe. She snorted at her own joke just in time for Bette to walk by.
“Do you need a tissue, hon?”
Mina beamed up at her, a strange relief flooding her veins. “No, no—I was just laughing at my own joke. You know me.”
Bette winked at her. “I do. Can I get you anything? Another plate of dinner? It’s all-you-can-eat.”
“I’m good. I’m—I’m really good.” Excitement came hard on the heels of relief. That was it. That was the decision. She’d go with donor number two, and she’d have the intrauterine insemination procedure, and that would be that. She’d roll the dice on having a baby of her own. No more waiting. No more wondering. Only action. “Thanks, Bette.”
Bette put a hand on Mina’s shoulder, then bustled off to the other patrons. Mina swiped out of the internet browser on her phone and pulled up her contacts list. She had the clinic’s office saved. Two rings, and she connected with Jennifer, the unflappable receptionist.
“This is Dr. Humbacher’s office. Are you calling to make an appointment or about a previously scheduled appointment?”
“I want to do it,” Mina blurted out, then slapped a hand to her forehead. “I mean—hi, Jennifer. This is Mina Heath. I had an appointment with Dr. Humbacher earlier today. We spoke about an IUI procedure, and she told me to call back when I’d made a decision. Well, I’ve made the decision. I want to go through with it. I want to get on the schedule.” Mina held her breath, as if somehow the clinic would be full up. She braced to hear the news that they couldn’t possibly fit her in. Not next week, and not ever.
“Wonderful. Let me bring up your file and see if Dr. Humbacher left any notes.” Mina’s head started to hurt from holding her breath, and she forced herself to release it—in, out, in, out. “She wrote that your next appointment should be scheduled four days from now, which puts us at next Monday. Does that sound correct?”
“It does.” Now she was practically wheezing into the phone. Mina squared her shoulders. “It does sound correct, yes.”
“Is ten o’clock all right?”
“It’s more than all right. It’s perfect.” Mina worked from home, which sometimes meant that money was unpredictable. Today she praised all the good things in the universe for giving her a flexible schedule.
“A couple more things. I’ll need to charge your card for the deposit. Should I use the one we have on file?”
“That’s the one.”
Mina waited while Jennifer put the payment through. She swallowed hard at the thought of what this procedure would do to her bank account. It would be worth it—she knew that absolutely. But it was a lot of money, and there was a difference between scheduling an appointment and putting the cash where it counted. Oh, and there was an even greater difference between fronting the fee and showing up for the procedure, which she would do. No matter what.
“Now,” said Jennifer, “I have to remind you that you need to call twenty-four hours in advance if you need to cancel or reschedule, or your’ll lose the deposit.”
“I will do that. Thank you very much.” Mina hung up and set her phone on the table in front of her, nerves humming with something between anxiety and pure, wild hope. She’d done it! Modern woman makes modern decision to have a child without the help of a man. News at 10! She snorted again at her own joke and leaned back in the booth. Making the decision—that was always the hardest part. And now she really had done it. The wheels were turning on the next phase of her life.
Bette came by to clear her empty plate and leave a new pot of hot water. Mina poured it into her mug and dipped in a fresh tea bag. She felt like she’d just finished a marathon, or something equally hard and taxing. The next challenge waited right around the corner, but for now she could take a breath and celebrate. She considered the dessert menu. Maybe she’d have pie. Why not? Bette’s pie was the best in the world, and she’d done it. Next week, everything started.
A commotion at the door wrenched her attention away from the decision between chocolate cream and apple. The diner door stood open wide, cold air gusting in. A tall figure in a cowboy hat—that was about all she could see—was…surrounded by other patrons? Mina couldn’t help
