“Yes, I’m sorry about that. We’re behind on vetting applications. There was some complication with our grant funding and we had to get it straightened out before we chose people for the project.”
I laugh. “That’s ironic.”
“Why?”
“Writing grant applications is what I do for a living,” I say, “So if you need help with the grants, let me know.”
There is no hiding the surprise in her voice. “Really? We would have been better off getting this started sooner then.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“Can I ask how it’s going with you?” she asks.
“I’m not sure what you mean?”
She clears her throat. “I apologize. I meant in terms of your fertility journey? Are you still trying to get pregnant?”
“Oh,” I say. “I was trying, but I haven’t been successful. However, I still have the desire to get pregnant.”
“Excellent,” she says. “You hit all of our basic benchmarks, so if you don’t mind, we can get you set up for an appointment to come in, and start the tests needed to make sure you qualify.”
All of a sudden I’m conflicted. This is what I wanted, right? To get pregnant by myself? It’s the absolute answer to my dilemma, and yet I still feel a twinge. A hesitation. Part of me is still hoping for that non-existent dream for a family. But my mother is right, apparently I’m bad at relationships, and I’m not going to let that stop me from having a child. “How soon can you see me?” I ask.
“Really anytime,” Dr. Lang say., “We’re so early in the process that our schedule is very open.”
“Do you have any appointments today?”
“Sure,” she says enthusiastically, “If you can make it in this afternoon we’d love to get started.”
* * *
I hadn’t eaten breakfast yet when I got the call, and it’s good because I have to fast until the blood test. The fertility clinic is warm and comfortable, and you can tell an effort was made to make this place welcoming to people who are dealing with such a sensitive issue. It’s working. I’m not in the waiting room long before I’m called back by a nurse who puts me through the normal battery of tests. I’m weighed, blood pressure taken, blood drawn, and then I’m waiting in a gown in a room with stirrups for Dr. Lang.
She enters a few minutes later. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“I’m so glad you could come in today,” she says. “Everything looks good, and we know enough from your application that you’re already approved. I just have to make sure you’re not already pregnant and there’s nothing wrong down below.” She winks.
I always feel a bit like a stuffed turkey whenever I’m in stirrups, but Dr. Lang is quick, professional, and thankfully makes it more comfortable than most gynecologists I’ve had in the past. She pokes around for a couple minutes before extracting herself and letting me down. “Nothing looks out of the ordinary,” she says. “You are very healthy. We’ll need to wait to confirm you’re not pregnant with the blood test, but pending that, we should be able to start the process sometime next week.”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s fast.”
She smiles. “We can take more time if you need. We’re on your schedule.”
“No,” I say, “that’s good. I’ve been waiting a long time.”
“Then hopefully soon we can help you get that baby,” she smiles again. “Julie at the front desk will help you set up your appointment, and we’ll confirm once we have your bloodwork. She’ll also give you a code to our donor database so that you can start looking for the one you’d like.”
“I get to choose?”
Dr. Lang nods. “Of course. The study involves a new medication process, so there’s no reason to take away that choice.”
That’s going to be weird, hand picking the father of my child from a list of attributes. But I guess it’s really no different than swiping on an app to decide the same thing. I’m willing to bet the clinic has more detailed information. Dr. Lang finishes scribbling a note on my chart. “I’ll see you next week!” she says before breezing her way out of the appointment room. I put on my clothes and go to the front desk to set up my next appointment, and I choose Wednesday. My office is finishing a big grant proposal on Tuesday, so it will be easy enough to slip away on Wednesday for a bit.
Then she signs me up for the database and explains how it works. There are no photos but each donor has a profile, complete with physical attributes, medical history, interests and hobbies. I was damn right about them having more information. It’s like having a résumé for sperm. I take the card she gives me, and head home, texting Ellen on the way. There’s no way I want to do this one alone. I’m going to need wine and moral support, and this is right up her alley.