Page 229 of ClickBack

“I don’t think I do.”

Saying that is more embarrassing than admitting how much I like having sex. I am forty-four, sitting here with a daughter who has just moved away with my grandson. I know what raising a child requires. I have a business, a house, a man I can finally spend a whole afternoon with without arranging somebody else’s care first.

And I have just seen somebody else carrying the pictures I waited for.

“Did something change?” Dr. Holder asks.

“I’m with someone I love. He’s younger. He doesn’t have children.”

“Have you discussed whether either of you wants them?”

“Not properly.”

She folds her hands over the tablet.

“What would you like to know today?”

It is a better question than whether I want a baby. It is still difficult.

“Whether it’s foolish even to think about it.”

“It isn’t foolish to ask. At forty-four, fertility is lower, and pregnancy carries additional risks. If you’re considering trying, I’d want us to arrange a preconception visit and a prompt fertility consultation. I wouldn’t tell you to wait and see for months first.”

“And you wouldn’t tell me I’m too old to bother.”

“I’d tell you what we know and what we would need to evaluate. I can’t promise you a pregnancy.”

“I’m not asking for a promise.”

“Good. I’d rather give you useful information.”

I look at her glasses. I want to ask whether she knows how much of my life I have spent confusing useful information with a verdict about me.

Instead, I ask, “Can I think about whether I even want the consultation?”

“Yes. Your IUD can stay in place while you think. If you decide you want to explore pregnancy, contact me soon so we can discuss it. If you decide to replace the device, we’ll make that plan. The hot flashes do not mean you no longer need contraception.”

“I wasn’t going to test that theory.”

“I like to be clear.”

“So does my daughter.”

“She sounds helpful.”

“She has her moments.”

Dr. Holder makes a note, then asks what else is worrying me about the replacement.

The question gets past me before I can prepare for it. My fingers have curled under the edge of the table.

“The appointment,” I admit. “Being back on this thing. I know the last time with you was different, but I keep remembering the biopsy they tried before I came here.”

She sets the tablet down.

The other doctor had called it pressure. I had called it pain, then apologized for moving, then cried because she kept telling me how much longer it would take if I couldn’t stay still. She was unable to finish. I went home feeling that I had failed a procedure being performed on me.

Dr. Holder had looked at those records and offered a different plan. The biopsy was completed under anesthesia. She placed the IUD during the same procedure, and I woke with somebody telling me what had happened instead of what I should have tolerated.