Page 11 of First Comes Forever

“I’m okay,” I state clearly once I’m composed.

Dr. Michel reaches out, his hand hovering briefly over my knee before he ultimately pats the side of the cushioned exam table instead of my leg. He must feel the urge to comfort me, and believe me—I’m craving it. If he wasn’t my doctor, if we weren’t alone in an exam room, if his integrity and ethics wouldn’t be called into question, I would ask this man to hug me.Really hug me.A big, friendly bear hug. Just until I got to my feet and felt steady…

Because I think if I keep trying to do this alone, I’m going to fall apart.

“I don’t want to lead you down a treatment plan that is only going to cause you disappointment. In my professional opinion, proceeding with IVF with your eggs has a very slim chance of success. I’d recommend you consider donor eggs, or the clinic can help you find alternative paths to becoming a mother, namely adoption.” Dr. Michel studies my eyes, waiting for a reaction, but when I don’t respond, he continues, “Why don’t we just take off the rest of the summer, perhaps. Take two months to just let your body reset. Then at the end of the summer, we can talk about whatever you want. For now, just focus on the other aspects of your life. Spend time with your friends. You’re young, full of energy, smart…”

An insomniac…sad…missing home…feeling helpless.I mentally finish Dr. Michel’s list.

“…just take a summer to have some fun, relieve the stress, and we’ll talk about options in a couple of months, okay?”

“Lovely,” I muster. I wonder if Dr. Michel can hear my sarcasm. I’m not so skilled at masking it. Staying focused on the next chapter of my life is the only thing that’s keeping me stitched together while the entire foundation of my current world seems to be shifting apart like Pangea.

“Great,” he replies, satisfied as he rises and heads toward the door. He seems so cold and dismissive all of the sudden, but I don’t know what the appropriate sendoff is after basically telling a woman her body is failing her and she’ll never conceive. A handshake? That aforementioned hug?

Dr. Michel pauses at the door and turns around. “Ms. Rhodes, do you have anyone you can talk to about this? Family? Friends? This is a lot to be going through on your own.”

Yes. But I haven’t been talking to anyone about it.“Thank you. I’m okay.”

He half-smiles. “Sometimes the only thing that stands in our way of feeling better is actually asking for what we need.” He winks and slips through the door before I can assure him I’m fine once more.

The problem is I don’t know what I need. I don’t know how to ask my four best friends, or even my mother for help, because I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t know how to process the constant tightening in my chest whenever I turn on the camera to do my job. How do I explain the way I flinch whenever I hear my phone’s notification chime? I can’t pinpoint why it feels like there’s a twenty-pound weight on my chest at all times and it’s hard to breathe, the sky always looks filtered with a hue of gray, and I dread when people ask me if I’m okay because I have to lieevery single time.I don’t think I can fix it. It’s been over a year and my anxiety is only getting worse, slipping dangerously close to what I can only describe as depression. I was trying my best to stave off the empty feelings. I spent some time with myself and really thought about what would feel more important to me than the constant approval or disapproval from faceless strangers on the internet.

In the sanctity of my most private thoughts, what is it that I really wanted? I thought about it for a long time, and the answer even surprised me.

I could only come up with one thing.

A family that’s all mine.

A baby.

three

Igrumble as I hang up my phone.

“Problem?” my older brother, Alex, asks me from the passenger seat. He’s been fiddling with his thumbs as I finish up my call.

“My cleaning lady,” I explain. “She’s locked out of the condo again.”

“Which condo?”

“The one in Elm.”

“You’re renting it out?”

I glance out the window, unwilling to meet his eyes. “I will eventually.”

Alex shakes his head through his reflection in the glass. “Adam, it’s been seven years. Why the fuck do you still have that place? And if no one is living there, why do you need to get it cleaned?”

I exhale loudly, trying to convey my annoyance. “Dust and shit. And what does it matter?” My brother has a valid point. Why oh why am I holding onto the first condo I purchased? The one where I watched my ex-wife’s belly grow? The one riddled with all the painful, fucked-up memories.Good question.“It’s a lucrative property. Elm is one of the top-rated communities in SoCal. It’s a five-minute drive to the beach. Easy maintenance. It’s just good business sense to keep it.”

I can translate his “hmph”of a response easily. He means to say,bullshit. “Do you have to go right now?” he asks.

“No, I’ll leave a key for her at the front desk tomorrow. She’s coming back later this week.” I shoot a side glance at Alex. “Not to mention, this is way more important.”

“Right. So what’s the game plan today?”

I shut off the car engine and exhale. Staring at the entrance of Piermont’s Center for the Elderly, I notice the shrubbery lining the building is chopped unevenly. For the amount of money Alex and I pay to keep Dad at one of California’s finest facilities for elderly care, you’d think they could afford a decent landscaper. And that’d be off our payments alone. There are hundreds of families paying for their loved ones to live here.

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