Waiting For You

Chapter 7: Egg Retrieval Day

Chapter 7: Egg Retrieval Day

Sam

Lia is pointing a camera in my face and I don't know how to feel about it, especially when I can feel a breeze going up my ass.

"Is this really necessary?" I scowl at the red light letting me know she's recording every move I make. All I can think about is that one day our child might see this.

"Yes! We're documenting!" Lia hisses at me. She's also gesturing on the other side of the camera, but I can't tell what she's trying to say.

Lia turns the camera onto her and wraps her arm around my middle. I pull her a little closer against me so that we're both in the frame now.

She starts to ramble on about what's happening. It's the cutest thing in the world to watch her addressing our future kids, but all I can think about is how exposed I feel wearing this piece of shit. Instinctively, I start pulling at the gown, trying to cover myself up the best I can.

"So..." she says in a drawn out voice. "How do you feel?"

Her words bring me back to the little room they've shoved us in until they're ready to knock me out and suck out my eggs.

"I'm starving," I say.

"We'll stop to get breakfast after the procedure if you're not too far gone," she giggles and kisses me on the cheek.

I remember walking down the hallway into the pre-op room. I remember talking to the anesthetist and answering a few quick questions. I remember them putting an IV into my arm. The nurse that did it commented on my tattoos.

"You must be used to this then," I remember her saying to me as she jabs the needle into my flesh. I don't even flinch. It only takes a few seconds and then the needle is out again and she's putting tape over the tubing.

After that it's a little blurry. I remember Lia was there for a while and we talked, but then it was time for the procedure and she was whisked away to the waiting room by a man in scrubs. Once I was in the operating room the anesthetist put me on more machines to monitor my blood pressure and I was outfitted with a very fashionable nasal cannula. It's the latest trend.

"State your full name, please?" the anesthetist asks me.

"Samuel Jay Willems," I recite. It's the name on my driver's license. It's the name I've responded to for so long now, it might as well be the only name I ever had.

"You're doing well, Sam," the anesthetist smiles reassuringly.

I remember I could see people through a tiny window. I think they were waiting for me to pass out before getting started.

I know I made a joke then, and I'm pretty sure the anesthetist laughed, but for the life of me I cannot remember what the hell I might've said. It was probably inappropriate, after all, they were about to get real fucking acquainted with me.

The procedure didn't take long: an hour and a half and it was done.

I was out before I could even count down to eight, and the next thing I remember is Lia holding my hand, the one with my medical bracelet. Now I'm sipping on some cranberry juice. I don't even like cranberry juice, but it's all they've got.

"How do you feel?" Lia asks me.

She's got the damn camera out again and the red light is on, so she's recording me. I'm not going to complain about it. She likes the idea of being able to go back on all of this later to see how far we've come... and besides, I'm too out of it to protest.

The truth is, I feel like shit. I probably look like it too. I'm bloated and gross.

"Eh, I've been better," I mutter.

"Do you have any pain?" she continues.

"Mhm," I shake my head.

It kind of feels like period cramps, but I'm too groggy to come up with the right words to tell her. She'll have to settle with one-syllable answers for right now.

"How many eggs did we get?" she asks.

She already knows the answer. They told us both earlier. She just wants me to repeat it for the home-video she's making.

"Thirteen," I reply.

"And they're really good ones, so we're really hopeful a lot of them will make it into embryos," Lia adds to the camera. "What did they say about your follicles?" she asks me.

"They're awesome," I give her the thumbs up with my free hand.

"I'm so proud of you, baby, I love you," she giggles and kisses me on the mouth.

"I have to keep drinking this," I tell her.

"Yes you do, so we can go home." She's still giggling, but I can tell she's trying to muffle the sound.

They discharge me and we get to go home about an hour later. I have really bad cramps and I feel so tired from the anesthesia though, so I end up spending the rest of the day in bed being useless. Our cat Toby probably thinks there's something seriously wrong with me, because he spends almost all afternoon sleeping next to my head on Lia's pillow.

"Do you want me to make you some soup?" my wife asks softly.

I don't know how late in the afternoon it is by then, but I've definitely slept since coming home. I'm still starving. We didn't end up going out for breakfast. So I nod my head.

She runs her fingers through my hair and I close my eyes again, leaning into her touch. She feels so good.

I don't remember her walking out of our bedroom. The next thing I know, I'm waking up again to the smell of tomato soup and my stomach rumbling. I try to sit up in bed. I manage it, but I feel woozy, like I'm on day two of a really bad flu that hasn't let me keep anything down.

My whole mouth feels dry and disgusting. I grab the glass of water on my night table next to our bed and take a sip.

"Hey, how're you doing?" Lia asks me from the doorway.

I bite back the sarcastic remark that almost comes out of my mouth. She really doesn't need that right now, not when she's been worrying about me all day.

"I'm OK," I shrug.

"I come bearing food," she smiles and comes in with a tray. On it there's a glass of apple juice, a bowl of tomato soup, some saltine crackers and two aspirins.

"It smells good," I tell her as she props up the tray onto my lap and slips into bed next to me. "Don't be offended if I can only take a bite," I tell her with a half-smile.

"I won't," she laughs and lays her head down on my shoulder.

I stir the soup with my spoon a couple times before putting some in my mouth. It's hot as hell but it goes down smooth, and my stomach doesn't protest, which is a good sign. I feel OK taking another bite, and after a sip of juice I take a third.

"Stop staring at me," I chuckle, looking over at Lia. She's got a big ole smile that's threatening to split her face in two. I shift around so that I can wrap my arm around her and she can settle in against me.

"Thirteen," she whispers.

"Lucky thirteen... It's not a bad number," I smile.

"No, it's not," she agrees.

"We might get half a dozen good embryos," I tell her, regurgitating what the doctor said at the clinic. Usually at least half the eggs will make it through the fertilization stage, which is probably happening right now at the lab.

"Fingers crossed," she says.

Thirteen really is an OK number. It's not the best we could have asked for, but it gives us good odds. If for some reason none of them take, we'll still have some of our sperm left over to try again. I'm willing to do it, even if it means staying off T for a couple months longer.

I just love seeing Lia this happy and excited.

To think we haven't even hit the good part yet.