Page 2 of Breeding Clinic

I sit up taller in my seat, eager. “Okay. What are those?”

“There are three main methods. Natural insemination, intrauterine insemination, and In Vitro Fertilization. In IVF, we harvest your eggs, inseminate them in the lab, and transplant an embryo into your uterus a few days later. There are pros and cons to all of them, and the cost varies but goes up as more intervention is needed. Here’s a pamphlet with our prices. Most insurance doesn’t cover infertility services, so we offer bundle pricing and we have financing options too if you’d like to take out a medical loan.”

I take the pamphlet from her, not shocked at the high price tag for some of their services. IVF can cost as much as buying a car. Thanks to my pack disbanding settlement, I have the money for it. But I don’t think I’m ready for all the shots that comewith IVF. What if Jen is right? What if it’s Josh who had the problem?

“What are the success rates for each one?” I ask.

“Normally I’d recommend going straight to medicated IUI or IVF for someone in your age range. But you had bloodwork done six months ago and your ovarian reserve is good. Since omegas are hyper-fertile compared to betas, you could try a low-dose medicated insemination round. Our results show that we have a better success rate with this method when an alpha and omega are scent matched well. Your sensitive nose can tell a lot about the compatibility of a prospective alpha. If that doesn’t work after your second heat, then you could consider more advanced options.”

Hope renews me yet again. “Okay. Let’s do that. So what’s next?”

“We’ll have you look through the books, pick out some sperm donors, and do a sniff test for compatibility. Unless you already have someone donating? No? Well, that’s fine. We have plenty of wonderful donors for you to choose from. All of them go through criminal background, motility, and STI tests. In the meantime, we’ll run some fresh blood work and call your prescription into your pharmacy. You’ll need to test your urine at home with estrus strips. When the indicator says you’re in preheat, call us to book your heat appointment, then start your medication. It’s usually about five days of pills.”

“Okay,” I say, truly excited now. “My heat’s due in a week or two.”

She smiles at my enthusiasm and leaves me to order the medication and blood work. A medical assistant brings me to another area where they draw several vials of blood. Then she leaves me in a private room with a white glossy book of potential donors. There aren’t any current photos, only baby photos and donor numbers. Each page has a list of basic demographicinfo, a health history, family history, and a brief paragraph about why they’re donating.

Most of the donors are young, struggling college kids who are probably doing it for the money. Their essays glowingly praise how selfless the act of donation is. Each one sounds almost exactly the same as the next. While they probably have the healthiest sperm, I find it hard to pick from one of them. None of them feel right. When the first binder is a dud with only a few maybes, I grab another from the rack on the table.

The second binder has a better mix of donors. Some are in their twenties, most are in their thirties, and a few are older still. Their essays are more personal. Some talk about how they always wanted kids but never found the right partner. Others talk about busy, intense careers taking up their prime breeding years. From this one, I find three potential donors.

The first is a thirty-four-year-old lawyer. He’s smart and successful. He enjoys hiking and jogging with his dog. But his pheromone sample smells terrible. My nose wrinkles as I seal his baggie and flip to the next donor I liked.

The second one is thirty-eight and owns a pub. His paragraph talks proudly of his family. How he’d always wanted a large family like the one he grew up in. How he never found someone to have kids with. On his days off, he enjoys being with his friends and family and watching movies. While his bio doesn’t stand out among all the doctors, lawyers, and business executives, there’s something sweet about it.

His scent sample is a dreamy mix of woodsy notes. It reminds me of that one summer when I was fourteen and my entire extended family went camping in the mountains. We ate blackberries straight from the vine and caught rainbow trout that we skinned and cooked.

The third donor is an engineer. His baby photo is of himcrying while meeting the Easter Bunny. It’s an endearing mix of cute and funny that makes me laugh. His scent is okay. An overly sweet mix of cinnamon and sugar that might be sickening in large doses. His bio hits all the right notes. He’s smart, has a great career, has a cute baby photo, and I like his sense of humor.

I flip through the album again to make sure I didn’t miss anyone. There’s something about the second donor that I can’t get out of my mind. Maybe it’s how much he appreciates family or his scent, but my gut is steering me toward him.

She said to follow my nose. Besides, if the first time doesn’t work, I can always pick a new donor. They might have more to choose from by then.

I make my choice, feeling satisfied that I’m finally doing this after months of thinking about it. I hand the binder with my choice on top to a harried-looking staff member sitting at a computer in the hallway, then head out.

My phone is in my hand and I’m dialing Jen as soon as the door closes behind me.

“Hey. How’d it go?” she asks.

“Amazing.” I smile and head to my car, unlocking it and cranking the engine, then turning the AC to full blast. “They took blood work, and I picked a donor. Once my next heat starts, I call them and take some pills. It’ll probably be next week.”

“See? That wasn’t so bad. I—Bailey! Put that cat downright now! Because I told you so. Thank you.”

My cheeks hurt from grinning. “I’ll let you go. You sound busy.”

“I can’t wait for her to start kindergarten,” she sighs.

“You’ll be a crying mess the day she finally leaves for school,” I tease her.

In the background, something crashes to the ground andbreaks. Jen sighs again. “True. I gotta go. I’ll call you when they’re down for their nap.”

I pull out into traffic and drive to the store. There are probably still some old estrus and pregnancy test strips collecting dust in the shoebox hidden in the back of my closet. But it might be best to start fresh. What if they expired? Besides, digging out that old box of dying dreams would make me sad.

The family planning section of the local big box store brings back enough painful memories as it is. For the first year after everything, I pretended it didn’t exist. I never looked down the aisle while getting groceries. Now butterflies flutter in my stomach as I debate the blue one or the pink one like I’ve never done this before. There’s a new digital test kit they didn’t sell three years ago. Thin test strips go into a portable machine and the result pops up on a digital display. Its box says it does both ovulation and pregnancy tracking and it syncs to a smartphone calendar app.

I put the two-hundred-dollar machine in my cart and buy an extra box of refill strips. I grab a few more things I need so it won’t be the only thing the cashier rings up. Not that the eighteen-year-old with the lip ring cares. The bored teenager scans my items quickly and rattles off the total. I throw everything into a bag and pay, then take my purchases home.

Waffles greets me at the door, rubbing against my legs and meowing, begging for his dinner like he’s starving. “I fed you this morning,” I remind him. He meows again and leads me to his food bowl as if I might have forgotten where it is.

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