Робин Кук - Vital Signs

“Work? My God,” Marissa questioned with disgust.

Marissa tried to speak again but all she could do was stifle a sob. Robert was right, in a way. With all the fertility therapy, it was hard to feel spontaneous about anything that went on in the bedroom lately. In spite of herself, her eyes welled with tears.

Seeing that he had hurt her, Robert suddenly softened. “I’m sorry,” he said, “this hasn’t been easy on either of us. Especially you. But I’ve got to say, it’s not been easy on me either. As for today, I really can’t make it to the clinic. I have an important meeting with a team of people from Europe. I’m sorry, but my business cannot always be ruled by the whim of the doctors at the Women’s Clinic or the vagaries of your menstrual cycle. You didn’t tell me until Saturday about this egg retrieval today. I didn’t know you were going to give yourself that releasing injection or whatever you call it.”

“We’ve followed the same schedule as we have on three previous in-vitro fertilization cycles,” said Marissa. “I didn’t think I had to spell it out for you every time.”

“What can I say? When this meeting was scheduled we weren’t involved with infertility treatments. I haven’t reviewed my entire calendar with your fertilization cycles in mind.”

Marissa suddenly felt angry again. Robert went to the armoire to get a freshly laundered shirt. Above his head Joan Lunden was interviewing a celebrity on the TV screen.

“All you think about is business,” she muttered. “You have meetings all the time. Can’t you postpone this one for half an hour?”

“That would be difficult,” Robert said.

“The trouble with you is that business is more important than anything else. I think you have a mixed-up set of values.”

“You are entitled to your opinion,” Robert said calmly, trying to avoid another round of mutual recriminations. He pulled on his shirt and started buttoning it. He knew he should remain silent, but Marissa had hit a sore spot. “There is nothing inherently wrong with business. It puts food on the table and a roof over our heads. Besides, you knew how I felt about business before we were married. I enjoy it and it’s rewarding on many levels.”

“Before we were married you said children were important,” Marissa retorted. “Now it seems that business comes first.”

Robert stepped over to the mirror and started to put on his tie. “That was how I felt before we learned that you couldn’t have a child, at least not the normal way.” Robert paused. He realized he’d made a mistake. He turned his head to look at his wife. He could tell by her face that the careless comment had not gone unnoticed. He tried to take it back. “I mean, before we learned that we couldn’t have a child the normal way.”

But his restatement didn’t mitigate the blow. In a flash, Marissa’s anger dissolved to despair. Tears welled anew and Marissa began to sob.

Robert tried to put his hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away from him and ran into the bathroom. She tried to shut the door behind her, but Robert pushed his way in and enveloped her in a hug, pressing his face into the crook of her neck.

Marissa’s whole body shook as she wept. It took her a full ten minutes to begin to recover. She knew that she wasn’t acting like herself. No doubt the hormones that she’d been taking contributed to her fragile emotional state. But that knowledge didn’t help her pull herself together any faster.

Robert released her long enough to get her a tissue. Choking back new tears, she blew her nose. Now she felt embarrassed on top of her anger and her grief. In a shaky voice she admitted to Robert that she knew she was to blame for their infertility.

“I don’t care if we don’t have children,” Robert said, hoping to soothe her. “It’s not the end of the world.”

Marissa eyed him warily. “I don’t believe you,” she said. “You’ve always wanted children. You told me so. And since I know all this is my fault, why don’t you be honest about your feelings. I could deal with honesty better than your lying to me. Tell me that you’re angry.”

“I’m disappointed but I’m not angry,” Robert said. He looked at Marissa. Marissa stared back at him. “Well, maybe there have been a few moments,” he confessed.

“Look what I’ve done to your clean shirt,” Marissa said.

Robert glanced down at his chest. There were patches of dampness from Marissa’s tears both on his shirt and on his half-tied tie. Robert took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll put on another.” He quickly pulled off the shirt and tie and threw them into the laundry basket.

Gazing at her red and swollen eyes in the mirror, Marissa had a hopeless feeling about the task of making herself presentable. She slipped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later Marissa felt significantly calmer, as if the hot water and suds had cleansed her mind as well as her body. As she dried her hair, she returned to the bedroom to find Robert just about ready.

“I’m sorry I got so hysterical,” she said. “I just can’t help it. Lately all I ever seem to do is overreact. I shouldn’t have gone off the deep end just because you don’t feel like going to the clinic for the umpteenth time.”

“I’m the one who should be apologizing,” said Robert. “I’m sorry for picking such an idiotic way of expressing my frustrations about this whole experience. While you were showering, I changed my mind. I’ll come with you to the clinic after all. I already called the office to arrange it.”

For what seemed like the first time in weeks, Marissa felt her spirits rise. “Thank you,” she said. She was tempted to take Robert in her arms, but something held her back. She wondered if she was afraid he might somehow reject her. She was hardly looking her best. She knew that their relationship had been changing through the course of their infertility therapy. And like her figure, the changes hadn’t been for the better. Marissa sighed. “Sometimes I think this infertility treatment is just too much to bear. Don’t get me wrong; I have no fonder wish than to have our baby. But I’ve been feeling the stress of it every waking moment of every day. And I know it hasn’t been much easier for you.”

With panties and a bra in hand, Marissa went into her closet. While she dressed, she called out to Robert. Sometimes recently it seemed easier to talk to him without meeting his eyes. “I’ve only told a few people about our problem, and only in very general terms. I’ve just said we’re trying to get me pregnant. Everyone I tell feels compelled to give me unsolicited advice. ’Relax,’ they say. ‘Take a vacation.’ The next person who tells me that, I’m going to tell the truth. No amount of relaxing will help me because I’ve got fallopian tubes that are sealed shut like hopelessly clogged drains.”

Robert didn’t say anything in response, so Marissa went to the door of her closet and looked into the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed putting on his shoes.

“The other person who is bugging me is your mother,” Marissa said.

Robert looked up. “What does my mother have to do with this?”

“Simply that she feels obligated every time we get together to tell me it’s time for us to have children. If she says that to me once more, I’m going to tell her the truth as well. In fact, why don’t you tell her yourself so that she and I can avoid a confrontation?”

Ever since she and Robert had begun dating she had been trying to please his mother, but with only marginal success.

“I don’t want to tell my mother,” Robert said. “I’ve already told you that.”

“Why not?” asked Marissa.

“Because I don’t want to hear a lecture. And I don’t want to hear her tell me it serves me right for marrying a Jewish girl.”