Cyberside: Level Zero Glimpses #7

James pulls his Honda Civic into the parking lot of the Seven Pines Family Planning Clinic to see Sarah getting out of her Uber. Perfect timing. She runs over, opens the door, and climbs in the passenger seat. She and James share a look of nervous excitement.

“How are you feeling?” Sarah asks.

“Yeah. A bit jittery. Excited. I think. I don’t know. You?”

            “Flustered.”

“Flustered. That’s the word I was looking for.” This appointment is the culmination of years of disappointment, apprehension, and uncertainty. Husband and wife take comfort in the fact that they’re both sharing the same wave of mixed feelings. Sarah glances at the sprawling premises.

“How much cum do you think is in there?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” James answers. “But if I was to give an estimated guess, I’d say … fuckloads.” This place looks high-end. The isolated, gated private facility – hidden away in the rugged, upland plateau of Weston – was carefully chosen after weeks of online research. The numerous sports cars and Teslas populating the parking lot signify the deep pockets of the clientele. Business is booming.

            “We’re sure we can afford this?” James asks. Sarah strokes the back of James’ head.

            “Just about.” 

            James thinks back to all the phone consultations they have already had with the eminent Dr Mahoney. He cringes at the memory of in-depth discussions regarding his spermatozoa and Sarah’s eggs, of how a few of them would be implanted, how most would die and of how, God willing, some would start developing. James had never considered himself a prude until these highly personal IVF conversations had begun, let alone the process of jizzing into a plastic cup at the facility’s sister site in Downtown Boston. His awkwardness at the whole process has provided endless entertainment for Sarah, who has found his discomfort both uncharacteristic and oddly endearing.

            “You sure you’re OK?” Sarah asks.

            “I think so.”

            “Jim. They’re not going to inject alien DNA into our baby.”

            “C’mon, Sarah. Don’t joke around.” 

            “Babe! You need to chill! It’s alright for you. All you had to do is watch a lovely little bit of porn and polish your banister. This is the only time I’m ever going to actively encourage such behaviour. So snap out of it.” James allows himself a laugh and gets his head in the game. She’s right. For her, the process has been invasive and traumatic. For him, it’s been as simple as one, two, three. Sarah gets out of the car and sticks her head back inside.

            “It’ll be OK. We’re just getting some results and potentially setting some dates.” James nods and gets out of the car.

            Two minutes later, James and Sarah cross the lobby. James absorbs the surroundings. Vast open spaces, vertical-wall fountains, giant screens with an advertisement on rotation featuring a stunning woman in a white lab coat, holding an apple and waxing lyrical about the miracle of childbirth. 

“It screams cult, don’t you think?” James asks. “I bet there’s a pentagram in a basement somewhere.”

“Don’t be silly,” Sarah answers, slapping his arm. “More like a slaughtered sacrificial goat.” The building has clearly been finessed over the years, honed by hundreds of polls and focus groups. It whispers a message. We know what we’re doing here. Trust. Comfort. Wealth. Welcome to the family that makes families. Give us your money.

Ten minutes later, they sit in a plush office opposite Dr Paul Mahoney. Based on their numerous interactions thus far, James has decided that he seriously likes this guy. Of course, he likes him in the same way that everyone likes a senior doctor in a private clinic. The warm, welcoming smile, softly spoken nature, and perfectly trimmed beard seal the deal. Pleasantries are exchanged, a mouse is wiggled, and the relevant file is opened on the computer. 

“Let’s get straight to it,” Dr Mahoney says, swinging the monitor around in a highly intentional gesture designed to undercut the complex nature of what they do here. Look, I’m sharing my screen with you. We’re all on this journey together. James is hit by a deep anxiety. He didn’t expect to be getting straight to it. He longs for the doc to exchange at least two or three more pleasantries. Pleasantries, he can handle. A screen filled with impenetrable charts, not so much. The doctor hasn’t even asked about their drive in or the changeable weather. James had a witty anecdote about rush-hour traffic at the ready. What a waste.

“It’s good news. Your sperm and cell analyses have been returned. Both look very good.” Simple, basic, accessible. This guy is good. He allows a few seconds for this information to be absorbed. Sarah looks at James with raised eyebrows, grabs his hand, and squeezes. James knows he’s lagging behind here and follows his wife’s lead, forcing a smile onto his dumb face.

“Sorry, just to clarify. We’re good? As in, we’re good?”

“You’re good, Mr Reynolds,” Dr Mahoney confirms. “This is good.” James suddenly experiences an unexpected lightness as a giddy excitement bursts to life deep within. It’s all suddenly so overwhelmingly real. James looks over to Sarah, smiling uncontrollably.

“We’re good!”

“We’re good, Jim!” 

James looks back to the doctor. “So? What’s next, doc?” 

“We schedule you in. We have available slots three months from now, if that works for you? We’ll need you to clear out some of your schedules. What do you say we iron out the details?”

The next hour passes in a woozy blur. Details are ironed out and mid-July is selected as the go-date. Dr Mahoney intricately explains various disclaimers and safety procedures, ensuring he carefully manages expectations. As per usual, James’ initial elation wavers slightly as the reality of what is to come ignites flickers of apprehension. Even so, the flickers are mild and the joy lingers longer than is usual. 

James and Sarah find themselves out in the parking lot in a tight, loving embrace. James instinctively digs out a cigarette and brings it to his mouth. He looks at Sarah. She says nothing. Without a second thought, he walks over to a nearby trash can and launches it. The rest of the packet follows.

“I love you, James Reynolds.”

“I know.”