Dragged

Ashley

I dragged myself out of bed and walked to the door, wondering who had decided my sleep was a public inconvenience.

I opened it with a frown.

Of course.

The cold-faced woman.

“Hi,” I said.

“Good morning. Be ready in an hour. You have your first fertility appointment today.”

I stared at her. “Good morning to you too. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Your appointment. One hour, Ashley.”

And she walked away.

I slowly closed the door.

Oh, my God. These people would be the end of me.

Couldn’t I have one peaceful morning? Just one? I’d barely opened my eyes, and somebody was already scheduling my reproductive system.

I marched into the bathroom, muttering under my breath.

Was smiling against that woman’s personal beliefs? Had she signed a contract promising never to be pleasant? Because at this point, I was beginning to suspect she had.

I showered, dressed in something comfortable, and grabbed a quick breakfast. If I was going to have a medical procedure, I wasn’t about to arrive hungry and faint dramatically in front of strangers.

When I came downstairs, she was waiting beside the door.

“Are you ready?”

I smiled sweetly. “No. I’ve decided to run away and become a nun.”

She stared at me.

I stared back.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Naturally.

I followed her outside, mentally adding another item to my growing list of reasons to scream into a pillow.

“Do you have anything to say?” she asked as we approached the car.

Several things, actually. None of them suitable for polite company.

I smiled.

“Nothing.”

The fertility clinic surprised me.

I’d expected somewhere cold and intimidating, the kind of place where even the walls looked disappointed in you. Instead, the reception area had cream-coloured walls, comfortable chairs, large windows, and little potted plants arranged around the room. Soft instrumental music played in the background, and the air carried a faint lavender scent.

It was almost suspiciously peaceful.

I glanced around, wondering whether the building belonged to the same people who had apparently made it their mission to deprive me of sleep.

A nurse soon led us to the doctor’s office.

Dr. Bennett looked to be in his early forties. He wore a white coat over a pale blue shirt, and his glasses rested low on his nose as he reviewed my file. When he noticed us, he stood and offered me a welcoming smile.

“Good morning, Ashley. Please, have a seat.”

I sat opposite him, placing my handbag on my lap.

He introduced himself and explained that he would be overseeing my IVF treatment.

“Before we begin,” he said, “I want you to understand the process. If anything worries you or you don’t understand something, please ask. I don’t want you leaving here confused about your treatment.”

I immediately liked him a little.

Finally, somebody who understood that I was a human being and not an item on a checklist.

“Okay, Doctor. I might have a lot of questions.”

“That’s perfectly fine.”

He explained that the first stage of IVF was ovarian stimulation. Ordinarily, my ovaries would release one mature egg during a menstrual cycle, but the medication would encourage them to develop several follicles at once. Each follicle might contain an egg, although not every follicle would necessarily produce a mature one.

“The medication is usually administered through daily injections under the skin,” he continued. “Stimulation commonly lasts around eight to fourteen days, depending on how your body responds. We’ll monitor you with ultrasound scans and blood tests, adjusting the medication when necessary.”

I blinked.

“Daily injections?”

“Yes.”

“As in, every single day?”

He smiled. “Every day during the stimulation phase.”

I leaned back in my chair.

Fantastic. Apparently, I’d signed up for a job that came with a subscription to needles.

“And what happens after that?”

“Once the follicles are ready, we’ll administer a trigger injection to help the eggs complete their final maturation. Egg retrieval is generally scheduled about thirty-four to thirty-six hours later. We’ll collect the eggs through the vagina using an ultrasound-guided needle, under sedation or anaesthesia, depending on the protocol.”

I stared at him.

Through the vagina.

With a needle.

I pressed my lips together.

“Okay.”

He continued explaining that the eggs would be fertilised in the laboratory using the intended father’s sperm. The resulting embryos would be monitored for several days before a suitable embryo was selected for transfer. A blood test would usually be performed about ten to fourteen days after the transfer to determine whether pregnancy had occurred.

“So, this isn’t something that happens in one day?”

“No. The entire process takes time, and pregnancy isn’t guaranteed on the first attempt.”

My fingers tightened around my handbag strap.

Not guaranteed.

I’d known there were no guarantees when I signed the contract, but hearing it from a doctor made the reality feel different.

“What if something goes wrong?” I asked.

Dr. Bennett put down my file.

“What specifically are you worried about, Ashley?”

I hesitated.

“What if this whole process kills me?”