The Vampire Wore Baby Blue
The girl walked through the maze of halls, her mind swimming. Doors everywhere. Her black wedge heels clicked on the glossy tile floors. Which was room #340?
Overhead, a fluourescent bulb flickered off and on, casting inconsistent shadows along the corridor. It upset her eyes, much the way of a disco strobelight. Through the chaos, the door appeared at the end of the hall. A reflection of the single spotlight shone onto the plaque that read "Reproductive Associates, Room 340". It was a beacon of light in the dark hallway. She turned the knob.
Ashen faces looked up as she entered the room. A nervous couple fidgeted with their respective neutral-topic magazines, pretending that they were in control. Another couple held each other's hand, both staring at the same spot on the floor. Many feigned disinterest, but the unspoken questions floated around as if they were solid. "I wonder what this one is here for, I wonder what he/she/they are here for." They all knew the basics. Fertility trouble. No matter how you arranged it. The desired result was always the same: get baby, keep baby. There was also a mutual sigh of relief at the sign in thick black letters: "No children allowed in the waiting room."
The door swung open. Couple #1 was beckoned deeper into the recesses of the office. The rest wondered what they were in for. Would it be the day that couple finds out their IVF was a success? ...Or a failure? Would it be a consultation? Would it be something worse, more ominous? A woman passed them, on her way out of the office. Her face was swollen red and she clutched the wad of tissues in her right hand, her purse in the other. Bad news. Very bad. The collective unspoken thought pool said, "I don't want to be her."
Moments later, the door swung open again. Her name was called and she stood and faced the vampire in baby blue scrubs. They love to extract blood, these vampires. The titilation comes from the extraction rather than consumption of another's blood. The girl's veins throbbed before she even sat in the medieval chair.
The rubber band went around her arm and she was asked to hold the ironically cheerful sponge. It was shaped like a vial of fertility drugs but had a ridiculously grinning cartoon face. The brand was worn off from the countless numbers of women who clutched the sponge while praying and wishing that these tests would tell them what they wanted... needed to hear. She was no different.
Please, she thought, please let my day 3 hormone tests return normal.
Overhead, a fluourescent bulb flickered off and on, casting inconsistent shadows along the corridor. It upset her eyes, much the way of a disco strobelight. Through the chaos, the door appeared at the end of the hall. A reflection of the single spotlight shone onto the plaque that read "Reproductive Associates, Room 340". It was a beacon of light in the dark hallway. She turned the knob.
Ashen faces looked up as she entered the room. A nervous couple fidgeted with their respective neutral-topic magazines, pretending that they were in control. Another couple held each other's hand, both staring at the same spot on the floor. Many feigned disinterest, but the unspoken questions floated around as if they were solid. "I wonder what this one is here for, I wonder what he/she/they are here for." They all knew the basics. Fertility trouble. No matter how you arranged it. The desired result was always the same: get baby, keep baby. There was also a mutual sigh of relief at the sign in thick black letters: "No children allowed in the waiting room."
The door swung open. Couple #1 was beckoned deeper into the recesses of the office. The rest wondered what they were in for. Would it be the day that couple finds out their IVF was a success? ...Or a failure? Would it be a consultation? Would it be something worse, more ominous? A woman passed them, on her way out of the office. Her face was swollen red and she clutched the wad of tissues in her right hand, her purse in the other. Bad news. Very bad. The collective unspoken thought pool said, "I don't want to be her."
Moments later, the door swung open again. Her name was called and she stood and faced the vampire in baby blue scrubs. They love to extract blood, these vampires. The titilation comes from the extraction rather than consumption of another's blood. The girl's veins throbbed before she even sat in the medieval chair.
The rubber band went around her arm and she was asked to hold the ironically cheerful sponge. It was shaped like a vial of fertility drugs but had a ridiculously grinning cartoon face. The brand was worn off from the countless numbers of women who clutched the sponge while praying and wishing that these tests would tell them what they wanted... needed to hear. She was no different.
Please, she thought, please let my day 3 hormone tests return normal.
6 Comments:
Absolutely dead on for an RE's waiting room.
Hope all your tests come back normal.
Once again, a masterpiece. The squishy thing they give you in my RE's office is shaped like a hot pepper, which I always thought was subtly phallic.
Here's the good FSH!
I hope it's good too...
Yup, you nailed that description dead on. I've been the woman with the red swollen eyes walking out -- when I got the results of my tests.
Good luck.
Emily
scrambledeggs
Did you get your results yet???? Fingers crossed for normal results!!!]
Evelin
Praying this time you get good results !!!
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