Page 18 of The Facilitator, Part 3

Chapter Ten

We sat in front of Sam at his clinic and he explained, although I hadn’t received the letter from him, what the next steps were.

Lauren asked him loads of questions, specifically, if he was able to extract living sperm what happened to it while we prepared for IVF.

We were told, in Sam’s usual comedic way, that it would stay on ice.

She had him tell her everything that he had told me and he printed off the letter that never got sent and handed us a copy to read later. We had a stack of pamphlets to study as well.

“Since we’re not talking a straightforward IVF system here, I suggest that, should you want to go ahead, I recommend a fertility specialist here so we can coordinate,” he said. That made sense to me .

“What do you think are our chances of a successful fertilization?” Lauren asked.

Sam sighed, he steepled his fingers. “Honestly, I’d say fifteen percent.”

“And I only have a what? Twenty-five percent chance of this working?”

I wasn’t prepared for those figures, I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear them.

Sam nodded. “It’s a risk, Lauren, and one you’ll need to carefully consider. There will be a lot of medication, daily injections, and surgical procedures to extract eggs for which you’ll likely be sedated. And counseling. I’d highly recommend you accept that.”

She nodded slowly but didn’t respond. We left the meeting a little more deflated than we’d arrived. She held my hand as we drove back home.

“How do you feel?” I asked, as we coasted along the motorway.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I know roughly what IVF entails and I’m not worried about that. I’m more worried about the fallout if it doesn’t work,” she said, and turned to me. “Can you cope with the failures, because the chances are there will be some?”

“I don’t know, is the honest answer.”

“I’ll probably need to quit work,” she added.

“Why not just go part time, work from home?” I wasn’t sure why she’d need to quit entirely .

She nodded and sighed. “Maybe,” she said. She gave me a smile and I squeezed her hand.

“I’m scared,” I added quietly.

“So am I. We have to do it, though, don’t we? If there is even the slimmest chance, then we need to go for it,” she said, nodding as she spoke.

“I think so.”

Three days later I had a date for my procedure, Lauren had a meeting with a fertility expert, and we had a call from the realtor that the two houses were coming off the market. I wondered if that was an omen at first but laughed off the idea.

She underwent as many tests as I had, scans, health screening, and it was decided she was a perfect candidate.

She was given medication to suppress her cycle.

She had to inject herself daily and, since she hated needles, I did it for her.

I winced at the small bruising to her skin from previous injection sites. She did that for two weeks.

We were driven to the private hospital in Kent and met by Sam.

My procedure would be later that morning and we were left to settle in the plush bedroom.

If all went well, I’d be back in my own bed that evening, but had been allocated a bedroom, just in case.

I didn’t want to dwell on the just in case . Lauren sat with me.

“How sore will your balls be after this?” she asked .

“Apparently not that sore. However, you can tend to them, if you like,” I offered.

“Can we have sex?”

“Of course. They’re taking some shit out of my balls, not touching my cock,” I said, hoping I’d remembered correctly. “Although I guess a couple of days off won’t kill us.”

Whether it was coincidence or the thought we were going to try for a child, we’d been having sex multiple times a day, every day. I’d never felt so horny.

“We could get one last fuck in now,” I said, smirking at her.

“Erm, no. Anyone could walk in that room and the last thing you need is to waste any of the little blighters before they can get their hands on them,” she said, laughing away.

I was glad that we’d decided to preserve the blighters since the anesthetist then came into the room. I’d already met him but he wanted a final check.

“Okay, we’ll be calling for you soon, I believe,” he said.

“This is awful,” Lauren said when he left.

“What is?”

“This. This is the first dangerous thing we’ve had to face,” she said.

I frowned. “I don’t plan on dying, if that’s what you’re worried about. But if I do, will you promise me one thing?” I took her hand in both mine and found the sincerest look I could to plant on my face.

“Anything,” she whispered.

“Come on my leather Bentley seat then strap my ashes to it and take me for a drive?”

She stared at me. “Honestly, you are fucking awful,” she said, just as the nurse came to collect me.

I kissed Lauren and told her to wait there. I didn’t want her to walk with me, not that I thought she’d be allowed to. I clutched my wonderfully fashionable gown that allowed my ass to be on display and followed the nurse.

“Ah, here he is,” the anesthetist said. The only reason I knew he had smiled was because the skin around his eyes crinkled. He was fully masked up.

I was helped onto a bed and had to wiggle my stockinged feet, I wasn’t sure why. I took a couple of breaths and found a metallic unpleasant taste in my mouth. Then I was out of it.

I woke in my room and Lauren was sitting beside me on her phone. I coughed, my throat was a little sore. She looked over to me.

“Hey,” she said, and smiled.

“What time is it?” I asked .

“Two. You’ve been awake a couple of times, do you remember?” she asked, and laughed.

“No. I’m thirsty,” I said.

She rose and poured a glass of water for me before pressing for a nurse.

“You’ve had the nurses in stitches,” she said.

“Have I? What did I say?”

“They have to take care of your cock because you need to fuck your wife in your new car,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“No, did I?” I laughed.

“Apparently. A nurse was sent to ask me what car you had! I don’t think she believed me when I said, two Bentleys and two Aston Martins. I thought you’d been talking cars until they brought you back and I was actually told what you’d said,” she said, laughing more.

A nurse came to check me over. She gave Lauren a wink as she passed. “Right, mister lover man, let’s get you sitting up,” she said, and chuckled.

“Listen, you’re amazing, but my wife is here, and she’s as jealous as fuck,” I said, chuckling and wincing at the same time.

“Mr. Rules will be around to check you when the list is done. Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starving,” I replied. “And please don’t offer me toast.”

“I think we might be able to rustle up something better than toast. Mrs. Miller there is a menu for you in the information pack. You, Mr. Miller, get the bland one, sadly.” She handed me a menu. “I will, however, send down some tea, or would you prefer coffee?”

“Tea for me and a weak coffee for him,” Lauren said before I could answer. She turned to me. “You don’t want your heart racing before we get home, they might keep you in.”

I sighed. “I feel bullied here,” I said in mock sadness.

“You wish,” Lauren added.

“Just call reception with your choices,” the nurse said, writing up her observations. “Once you’ve eaten a little something and we know you’re keeping it down, I’ll let Mr. Rules know.”

Lauren ordered a couple of sandwiches, one for her and one for me. I wiggled around on the bed, surprised not to feel any discomfort. I reached under the sexy netting shorts to feel some wadding.

“Leave them alone,” Lauren said, chuckling.

“Just checking they’re still there,” I replied, just as a wave of nausea washed over me.

I reached for one of the completely hopeless cardboard bowls and threw up. Lauren called for a nurse. I continued to throw up and it was decided it was simply the aftereffects of the anesthetic. I had a couple of shots and it settled my stomach. However, it meant I wasn’t going home that evening .

Lauren sat with me for a while until I sent her home. I actually just wanted to sleep. I didn’t do throwing up very well and I had started to feel really ill.

I was regularly checked on and then later that evening, Sam came in.

“Mackenzie, I hear you’ve been poorly,” he said. I nodded, not trusting myself to open my mouth. “The anti-sickness will kick in soon. The procedure went well and your samples are being worked on as we speak,” he said, smiling.

He told me a little about the extraction process but by that point I just wanted to close my eyes.

I slept well and I think the drugs, the fact I was doing something about my situation, was enough to settle my mind for that one night.

The following morning, after holding in my breakfast, I was allowed home. Lauren came with a car to collect me and although a little sore, I quite happily walked from the hospital to the vehicle.

“How do you feel?” she asked.

“Fine. No sickness now, I’m famished, though.”

“I’ll make you a nice lunch,” she said.

I raised my eyebrows at her. “I’ll make a lunch,” she said, chuckling and omitting the nice .

She did make lunch, and it was a nice one. There wasn’t much she could fuck up with a chicken salad. I did, however, have to remind her she had chicken grilling when smoke started to rise from the pan.

Sam called to inform us that a handful of sperm had been extracted and were bobsleighing their way down a test tube to be put on ice. I was disappointed at the handful until Lauren reminded me that we only needed one.

Lauren had her list, but I had mine. A list I’d made just a few weeks ago.

Lauren and I sat with her fertility expert. We were already ahead of the game on information, having devoured as much as we could, and she’d been taking her injections to suppress her normal cycle. Stage two was more medication to increase egg production.

“There are a lot of side effects with this one,” we were told, and a list was reeled off. I shook my head in shock and concern. Lauren just nodded.

“Mackenzie, if we worried about the side effects of every drug we took, we’d never take one,” she said, as we left the appointment with yet another prescription. We picked up her medication from the little booth and headed home.

I knew Lauren had been experiencing some of the side effects of suppressing her cycle, even though she’d kept quiet about it. She had regular headaches, to the point she mentioned she might get her eyes tested. However, they were nothing like the ones she experienced in stage two.

The drug she took gave her hot flashes. She was regularly sick and her headaches got worse.

I held her hair one evening as she puked in the toilet. She had tears streaming down her cheeks as she dry heaved.

“No more, Lauren,” I whispered.

I’d watched my wife lose weight, lose sleep, have outbursts of anger, and then tears. Her mood swings were enormous. She reached for my hand.

When she finally sat back on her heels, I handed her a facecloth that I’d soaked in cold water.

“No more, Lauren. I can’t bear to see you like this,” I said. It was only been a week.

She closed her eyes slowly and smiled. “Mister, if you can’t bear seeing me like this for just one week, you are truly fucked if I get morning, lunchtime, or afternoon, or all, sickness.” She chuckled and reached her arms out for me to help her to her feet.

“I didn’t realize it was going to be like this,” I said, as she lay on top of the sheets.

She was way thinner that she should be. She had bruising along her stomach from the injections, she was pale, and had dark circles around her eyes.

She covered it well, but I knew she was suffering.

I’d called the clinic, they’d offered anti-sickness medication but Lauren didn’t want yet another chemical in her body.

“One more week,” she whispered.

The desire to have a child paled against the desire to not have my wife throwing up constantly.