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“Whatever it is,” I said. “Well fix it. I swear we’ll fix it.”
She sniffed. Slowly she nodded.
“Sammara…” I said, letting go of her face. “Please. Just tell me.”
And then she did.
Fifty-Five
SAMMARA
The leather-bound room that served as Doctor Hill’s office seemed smaller than last time. And that was probably because all five of us were in it.
Chairs had been brought in for everyone, this time at the doctor’s insistence. The receptionists had been helpful, scrambling to accommodate us, but I could also see the curiosity in their eyes.
“Please, sit.”
Though Jason and Kyle had taken seats at my side, Dakota and Ryan were still standing. Maybe they were just nervous. But there was no way they were more nervous than me.
Doctor Hill smiled amiably as he took his big leather chair. Behind his diminutive head lay the vast bulletin board of photos; newborns and toddlers, spread out on either side of him. I saw images of babies crying, babies sleeping, babies laughing. Parents, holding their children, grinning down at me. Mocking me, and my situation…
Sammara, stop!
For some reason I just couldn’t look away. I kept on staring at the collage as the doctor sifted through my file. I swore the whole thing looked bigger than before.
“Okay,” said Doctor Hill, his eyes shifting from man to man. “Before we begin Ms. Madsen, I want to make one-hundred percent sure it’s okay to share the results with—”
“Yes,” I said quickly. “With all of them.” Then I added: “Please.”
The doctor nodded. “Very well. So I have the results of your Hysterosalpingogram.”
“Her what?” asked Jason.
“Her HSG,” the doctor said politely. “Her dye test.”
“Oh.”
This is it…
The Filipino man squinted down at a single piece of paper. A piece of paper that could radically alter the course of my life.
“Unfortunately, the X-rays indicate a blockage. For both ovaries, I’m afraid.”
My heart, which felt like it was already hammering its way out of my chest, now felt like it had stopped altogether. A cold numbness crept over me, consuming me completely, taking me over.
I recognized it as despair.
“What does that mean?” Dakota demanded, his voice fraught with concern.
“Yeah doc,” said Ryan. “What do you mean by—”
“It means her fallopian tubes,” he turned to face me, “or rather, your fallopian tubes, are obstructed.”
Kyle squeezed my hand. I suddenly wanted him to squeeze it so hard he’d break my fingers, just to distract me from the emotional pain.
“Obstructed?”
“Obstructed, yes,” Doctor Hill went on. “Partially, or perhaps blocked altogether. Or in some cases the tubes are just formed too small. Too narrow to allow the passage of the egg.”
