The Condition for Conception

§01

I’m an infertility specialist.

I work two clinic days a week.

One Tuesday, my husband, Nate, showed up at my office, begging me to see his high school sweetheart, Cassandra.

He accompanied her personally, holding her arm as he guided her to the chair opposite my desk, as if she were my patient here for a prenatal check-up, not a fertility consultation.

I began my summary of her case file, keeping my voice clinical.

“A thin endometrial lining.”

Cassandra’s eyes immediately reddened.

Nate lashed out at me.

“What are you implying, Camille? Cassie’s a good person. What are you trying to say?”

I glanced up at him.

His aggressive posture deflated slightly under my gaze.

“A thin endometrial lining isn’t always caused by multiple abortions,” I stated, my tone as cold as the steel of my instruments.

“No need to be so defensive.”

I continued down the list of findings.

“Bilateral ovarian cysts. How long have you been trying to conceive without success?”

Nate’s eyes blazed again.

“She got divorced because she couldn’t have children, don’t you know that? Why are you trying to hurt her?”

It had been a long time since I’d dealt with a madman of this caliber in my own office.

I decided to end the consultation.

As a final formality, I asked the last question on the intake form.

“Are you both open to the possibility of in vitro fertilization?”

Across the desk, both of their faces changed color.

Before Nate could erupt again, I clicked the mouse on my computer.

“Next!” the automated voice called out in the hallway.

§02

As a newly appointed Associate Physician Director at The Mercer Fertility & Reproductive Health Center, my work was demanding, the pressure immense.

Which is why when my husband, Nathaniel Coleman, asked me to help his first love, Cassandra Fields, I felt nothing.

No jealousy, no spark of anger.

It was just another request from an acquaintance needing a favor.

Truth be told, Nate and I had always had a decent relationship.

It’s just that in the last couple of years, I’d been busy, and he’d been busy.

We had both neglected the family.

But today, watching him, he felt like a stranger.

I was just too tired to deal with it.

My life was a relentless cycle.

Besides my two clinic days for new patients, I was at the hospital by 7 a.m. every other morning, performing ultrasounds on dozens of ongoing cycle patients, followed by afternoon egg retrievals and embryo analysis.

Old patients graduated, new ones came in.

A never-ending cycle of life and hope.

In a few days, I had a particularly challenging egg retrieval scheduled.

It was a major test of my skills.

I decided I would finish that, and then I would sit down and have a serious talk with Nate.

I just didn’t realize the talk would come to me first.

§03

The next morning, the clinic was a cacophony of anxious voices.

Halfway through my list of ultrasounds, the head nurse rushed in.

“Dr. Mercer, your husband is back. This time he used your name to pull some strings with Dr. Kendrick, got squeezed in again. Then something happened, and now he’s causing a scene. You should go see.”

A wave of disbelief washed over me.

From a distance, I could see a crowd gathered outside the HSG procedure room.

As I pushed my way through, I saw Nate, frantically waving a report at a technician.

His voice was shrill.

“I’m telling you, my wife is a senior physician at this hospital! Look at the attitude you’re taking with me! What kind of report is this? ‘Fallopian tubes patent but with sluggish spill.’ What does that even mean? Are they open or are they not?!”

The young technician mumbled, her contempt for him written all over her face.

“This is the standard terminology for everyone, sir.”

“Nate!” I shouted.

“What the hell are you doing?”

He whirled on me.

“You’re jealous because I care about Cassie, aren’t you? You conspired with these people to torture her! The HSG procedure—it hurt her so much! You did this to her on purpose!”

My heart pounded in my chest.

I had just been promoted.

The last thing I needed was him dragging my name through the mud.

§04

Just then, Dr. Kendrick, the physician who had seen him, arrived.

“Sir, this type of report needs to be interpreted by a doctor. Please don’t cause a disturbance here.”

Nate puffed out his chest.

“I’m family here! Can’t I ask a few more questions?”

I closed my eyes, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

Just as I was about to speak, our center’s director, Dr. Wallace, appeared.

Dr. Wallace had a gentle demeanor, but he commanded immense respect.

At the sight of him, Nate finally shut his mouth.

Dr. Wallace extended his hand and took the report from Nate.

He glanced at it, then looked up at Nate, his eyes filled with a calm disdain.

“You say you’re family here. Whose family are you?”

Nate pointed a finger at me without hesitation.

“Dr. Camille Mercer. I’m her husband.”

I wanted to die.

Dr. Wallace gave me a long, unreadable look.

“All of you, come with me,” he said calmly.

“Let’s not block the hallway.”

I followed them, my head bowed in shame, down the long corridor to his office.

§05

In Dr. Wallace’s office, he gave me the floor first.

Grateful, I explained.

“Director, Nate did come to see me. However, he doesn’t trust my judgment. I felt it was best to recuse myself. It’s better to avoid treating friends or family.”

Dr. Wallace nodded, then turned to Nate.

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable seeking treatment elsewhere? We are a medical facility, not a wishing well.”

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