Lisa knew that. She crossed one leg over the other. “How is the donor selection actually made?”
Beth pulled what looked like a homemade catalog from a pile in front of her and tossed it to the outside edge of her desk, just within Lisa’s reach. “You look through there and you pick one.”
Lisa took the catalog, opening it slowly. She scanned the first couple of entries. “These listings are incredibly thorough,” she said, glancing up at Beth. She’d expected to see physical characteristics, medical history, maybe even an IQ, but the records also contained notations of schooling, of likes and dislikes, habits.
“But remember, they only represent the final product of one particular genetic toss-up, mixed with an unknown environmental upbringing. There are no guarantees.”
“No, of course not” Lisa continued reading. If only she could find one with eyes of Marcus’s particular shade of blue, with his rich brown hair and quick mind.
“The one on page forty-nine is probably what you’re looking for. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Marcus was the donor.”
Lisa shut the book. “I’m not really in the market.”
Beth rocked back in her chair. “Fine. But if you ever decide you are, page forty-nine’s there.”
Shaking her head, Lisa tried to make herself think clearly, to not let herself hope for—or want—something she couldn’t have. “Page forty-nine. It’s really that impersonal, is it?”
“Yep.”
“But what about the donors? Couldn’t one come back looking for his child?”
Beth shook her head. “Not here they can’t. In the first place, a donor must sign a waiver before the process is ever begun. And then, as soon as all medical tests are administered and the man is cleared for donation, all records are destroyed.”
“Destroyed? They aren’t locked in some cabinet somewhere or sent out into cyberspace?”
“We destroy them, as is the common practice at most fertility clinics.”
Lisa folded her hands, rubbing her thumbs together. Back and forth. Back and forth. “So what happens after a donor is chosen?” She was just curious. It was fascinating what medical science could do.
“The mother has a physical, blood tests for HIV, rubella and so on.”
“I just had my yearly last week, and I’ve been having that blood work done each year since Marcus and I first started trying to have a family,” Lisa said.
Not that it mattered. She couldn’t seriously consider any of this. Not without Marcus’s support. She folded her arms across her chest.
Beth smiled. “I thought you weren’t in the market.”
“I’m not.” She couldn’t be.
“Well, if you were, you’d need to get out your ovulation kit again, back to the old basil thermometer every day. And as soon as you begin ovulating, you have an ultrasound done and a blood test to show your hormone level. Then come to see me within the next twelve to thirty-six hours. But remember to give me at least an hour to thaw page forty-nine.” Beth grinned.
“That’s really all there is to it?”
“For you it is. The important forms have already been signed.”
“They can’t be.” She knew Marcus had to sign a waiver, allowing her to have the procedure done. Because, legally, married to her, the baby would be his responsibility, too.
Beth pulled a thick folder from a cabinet behind her. “Remember that first time you two came in here—professionally, that is?”
Lisa remembered back to the day she and Marcus had first come in for testing. They’d been so full of hope. Beth had asked them if they were willing to do whatever it took to have a baby. They’d both replied with an emphatic yes. And she’d given them each a stack of papers to take home, red tape that could slow down the process if they had to stop and sign for each procedure. They’d signed them all that night and Lisa had returned them the next day.
“There wasn’t anything about…”
“Yes, there was. I have his signed waiver right here.” Beth pulled a sheet of paper from the file.
Frowning, Lisa leaned forward. It was Marcus’s signature all right. “But he wouldn’t have…”