Robin Cook - Foreign Body

No one spoke. Everyone was becoming more and more tense with every passing minute. Their initial optimism of an easy border crossing was rapidly eroding.

Petra was the first to see the police Jeeps in the rearview mirror. There were four of them, and they came rapidly. In the blink of an eye, they boxed in the Toyota. Out of each jumped four policemen. All except two had their pistols drawn. The last two had assault rifles.

“Out of the vehicle!” the obvious commander barked. His left breast was covered with ribbons. “Hands raised! You are all under arrest.”

November 1, 2007

Thursday, 6:15 a.m.

New York City, USA

From Laurie’s perspective, the worst part of the whole infertility nightmare was the wait. In the first part of the cycle, you were occupied taking the pills or taking the shots and checking the progress with the ultrasound. One way or the other, you were busy and had limited time to obsess. But in the second half of the cycle, it was different. All you could do was wonder: Is this the cycle I’m going to become pregnant, or am I destined to be barren? Even the sound of the word barren was disturbing, as though there was something wrong with you, something missing.

As Laurie woke up on that early November morning with the rat-a-tat-tat of rain hitting the window, she wondered if she was pregnant. Like the ten or so preceding cycles, she had high hopes. The hormone shots she’d given herself that month had produced a bumper crop of good-sized follicles.

At the same time, Laurie felt depressed. She’d not become pregnant in all the other cycles deemed to be equally promising. Why would this one be any different? Wasn’t it best to lower hope and expectation? Last month when she’d finally gotten her period, loudly proclaiming she was not pregnant, she’d been ready to give up completely. She feared pregnancy just wasn’t going to happen to the over-forty Laurie Montgomery Stapleton.

As she lay there in her warm bed, she could hear Jack singing in the shower. His blitheness in the face of her struggles made them that much more difficult to endure.

“Screw it,” Laurie finally called out. She was resigned. She threw back the covers and hurried into the bathroom, where it was warm and steamy. Trying to keep her mind blank and devoid of expectation, Laurie got out one of her hated pregnancy tests. Squatting over the toilet, she wet the wick as the instructions advised. She set the timer and put the stick on the ceramic back of the toilet.

Heading back to the bathroom from the kitchen after turning on the coffeemaker and putting several English muffins in the toaster, Laurie picked up the pregnancy stick but purposefully avoided looking at it so she could devote more attention to turning off the irritating buzzing timer.

Having convinced herself it was negative, Laurie allowed a quick glance at its reading window but then had to look back when her brain said it was positive. For the first time there was a second stripe, and it was loud and clear. Laurie let out a whoop. Instinctively, she knew when the conception had happened. In India, right after Jennifer had happily appeared at the hotel, Laurie and Jack had made love, and even though later in the day they’d also done intrauterine insemination, Laurie knew it had been the natural way that had produced the happy outcome.

Twisting around, Laurie grabbed the towel bar on the shower door and whipped the door open. She then jumped in, pajamas and all, joining a totally surprised Jack. “We did it!” she yelled. “I’m pregnant!”

March 20, 2008

Thursday, 11:45 a.m.

Los Angeles, USA

Jennifer got her envelope and resisted the strong urge to tear it open on the spot. After all, its contents would influence the rest of her life. On the front, all it said was Jennifer M. Hernandez, UCLA David Geffen School of Medicine. Inside was the result of the match: the process by which the desires of fourth-year medical students and those of the academic medical institutions were correlated to give the most satisfaction to both parties.

The match was so important for the students because where they trained was the biggest single determinant to where they would spend their professional lives.

A number of Jennifer’s friends who had already learned about where they were going tried to pressure her into opening her envelope, but she refused. Resisting all manner of persuasion, she broke free of the mostly happy group and dashed out of the auditorium. For mostly superstitious reasons, she was bent on sharing the discovery with her closest friend, Neil McCulgan.

After returning from India, their relationship had blossomed. Although Jennifer rarely had much free time, with her medical student responsibilities amalgamated with her medical-center gainful-employment jobs, what little time she did have she wanted to spend with Neil, provided he wasn’t off surfing in some exotic locale.

With her envelope burning a hole in her hand, Jennifer took off for the emergency room. When she arrived, she chased Neil down to a cubicle, where he was working with several residents, practicing intubation on a recently deceased ER patient. Concentrating on his students, he didn’t notice her immediately, but when he did, she held up the envelope and coyly waved it. He knew what it was immediately and felt a twinge of depression. He was enjoying their growing friendship even though the physical realm was still very much a work in progress. He knew things had to move on and change, but he wasn’t happy with her returning to the East Coast, where he knew she had been set on going since her first year in L.A.

As for Neil’s trying the East Coast, the thought had occurred to him, but he fought against it. As much as she liked New York, he liked L.A., especially with his spiritual relationship with surfing. He knew she’d get the match she wanted. She was too good a student and had done particularly well during the fourth-year surgery rotation she’d completed on their return from India.

Cupping his hand over his mouth, he silently and definitely enunciated, “Go to my office.”

Jennifer indicated she’d gotten the message. Leaving the cubicle, she walked back to his office. She sat down in his side chair and lifted the envelope up to the overhead light to see if she could make out what the note said. She knew it was like cheating herself, but she couldn’t help it.

Neil showed up in just a few minutes. “Well, did you get Columbia?” he asked.

“I haven’t opened it yet. I’m superstitious. I wanted to do it in your presence.”

“Silly woman! You’re going to get what you want.”

“I wish I were as confident as you are.”

“Well, open it!”

Taking a deep breath, Jennifer ravished the envelope, rudely yanked out the note, opened it, and then cheered. She threw the note into the air and let it waft down to the floor.

“See!” Neil said. “Columbia is lucky to have you.” He bent down and picked up the note, glancing at it in the process. He did a double take, shocked. It said “UCLA Medical Center Department of Surgery.”

Neil switched from confusedly regarding the note to looking into Jennifer’s eyes. “What is this?” he sputtered.

“Oh, yeah, I forgot to tell you. I changed my order of preference. I realized I didn’t want to leave now that we’re just getting to know each other, but don’t worry, there’s no pressure.”

Neil reached out, grabbed Jennifer in a bear hug, and by rocking back lifted her off the ground. “I’m thrilled,” he said. “And you know what? You’re never going to regret it.”

August 5, 2008

Wednesday, 6:20 p.m.

Los Angeles, USA

Jennifer Hernandez was so excited she had trouble standing in one place. She was pacing outside customs in the arrival area of Los Angeles International Airport. In just a few minutes she’d witness the culmination of months of effort on her part, along with the aid of a number of other people.