by Piotr Ryczko
* * *
Viola sat outside the operating room and prepared herself mentally.
She had been given an anonymous survey. Nothing serious, they said. Supposedly for all patients prior to the egg retrieval process.
So she crossed it off diligently and added up all the points. On a scale from one to ten, to what extent have you experienced any of the following as a result of infertility?
“Tearfulness, Low Confidence, Low Concentration, Depression, Isolation, Stress, Lack of Support, Frustration, Feeling out of control, Fears and Worries, Anger, Inadequacy, Guilt/Shame, Loss of Sex Drive, Sadness, Helplessness, Despair, Suicidal Thoughts.”
She glanced at the result. She’d hit the jackpot. When she thought about it in such loose terms as depression, anger, and so on, her high score was nothing shocking or revelatory. On the contrary, she felt proud of her screwed-up perfection.
Her face loosened up into a smirk for the first time since she had come here. Her last twenty years of suffering reduced to a few numbers, an innocent fast-food survey. Surely there was nothing more to it.
She crumpled it up, and threw it in the dustbin.
* * *
Ronny was more than happy for the next half hour. He had achieved what he wanted. Pål wasn’t even remotely interested in initiating further talk. Instead, he refocused on the task at hand, keeping Viola safe. Just what Ronny wanted.
The men’s temporary truce was quickly interrupted by Pål’s fumbling at his laptop. It started off rather innocently, with twitchy pounding at the keyboard, but soon escalated into feverish tapping on his headphones.
Ronny couldn’t avoid casting several glances at him. As their eyes met, he was struck at what that look meant. It had all the fickleness of a situation gone sour. When it was followed by Pål’s twitchy grin, Ronny knew this was even worse than he initially thought.
“Batteries. Out of juice soon. In less than an hour.” Pål referred to the equipment, while trying to maintain the smile. Ronny didn’t know it was possible to beam this wide and still be able to talk.
“Is that a problem? Want me to get them?” Ronny threw out the suggestion, hoping this would be helpful. But it was met with an even more perplexed reaction.
“Umm. Not possible. The thing is from HQ,” Pål barely managed to sputter out.
“So? I’ll go get them now.” He pointed out the obvious way to resolve this. Pål just smirked back at him. Was that in the same category as the fake grin? No. It was worse because it also tried to reassure him everything was ok.
“Without permission...” Pål added the slightly inconvenient detail about his story. Ronny coughed hard at this. He prodded at the facts in his mind, then quickly arrived at the conclusion.
“You mean taken as in stolen...?”
Pål eyed Ronny sheepishly. The silence that followed was an adequate confirmation.
Not only had Ronny risked Viola’s life with this stunt, but he was doing it with a half-drunk cop. And now the same cop admitted he had stolen equipment from HQ. How much worse could this get?
“I’ve had it with this shit. I am going back in there to get her.” Ronny scrambled out of the car and raced towards the clinic. But Pål rushed right behind him. Yanking at Ronny’s jacket, he sent him a pleading glance.
“Ease off, man. I can hear her now. As long as she doesn’t take any anaesthesia and remains conscious... She... She will be just fine.” Pål whispered the words in as subdued a tone as he could, as if the tone would help soothe Ronny’s nerves.
Pål nodded Ronny back towards the car. Despite the fact that every inch of Ronny’s intuition was telling him he was about to make a huge mistake, he finally gave in and returned to the vehicle.
* * *
She heard them utter some words, mostly nonsensical mumbles, but she still smiled, listened, and nodded to everything. They shared some technical facts about her follicle size, about maximising in vitro success, about different ovarian stimulation medication protocols that are used to “pump up” her ovaries, and so on, and so on.
Her mind had long gone into some twilight zone, in search of an alternate, more manageable reality. As an intense nausea washed over her, she tried to breathe in all the words, accept them in some way, but her mind pushed them out again, refused to register any more medical facts dealt out by the staff.
She had been here eight times. She knew all too well this was far more than she should have done. And one would have thought that each time her neurosis would lessen. But it didn’t. The worst time was the first fourteen days. This was the time to see if the eggs stayed in place. And this always brought on a flood of mental flogging. Would she get pregnant or not? Would this be a new beginning? Would she be given another chance? Was this all a mistake?
According to the Bioteknologirådet, the cap was at three times. A healthy number for the body and the soul, or so they said. But what did those impotent men know about having a baby?
Still, she could handle fat old men and their rules. But what she couldn’t bear was the silence of the baby. The one that was like a dark pre-shadowing of an apocalypse. That could only spell death. And it often did. Whatever happened in her stomach, she adored it, it was a good sign. The kicks, the burps, the movement, the caresses, and the tickles. Sometimes intense, yet also euphoric in their beauty. Pure flow of life. But the sudden quiet, the lack of activity from inside, that was the stuff of nightmares. Where there should have been joy and happiness, there were only worries and death. They were all just around the corner.
What did the men at Bioteknologirådet know about going through a miscarriage, ectopic, or pregnancy loss?
Had they been through the dull pains in the abdomen, the lower back, the bleeding? And worst of all, the constant reassuring from the doctors that this didn’t have to mean a miscarriage. This didn’t have to turn out badly. Despite her dark attitude.
Yet she didn’t listen to them. Because inside herself, she felt it had gone wrong. Simple mother’s intuition. And if that wasn’t enough, the scan always confirmed it. For God’s sake! She had bled like a pig all over the carpet and they still needed to confirm the obvious?
So, she went to the hospital and they hooked her up, scanned her, and sure enough, there was only stillness. No heartbeat.
Yet here she was. At another clinic. And she felt no different this time. Yet another causal visit to the nearest car dealer. As if she were simply discussing what kind of additional equipment she wanted for her new Audi A6 S-Line.
And now they were removing a part of her body. Something that wasn’t a something but a Someone. With stubby, cute, fragile fingers. Someone beyond body and flesh. An uncanny spark of life, the atom of a soul. How could these people around her not see the obvious?
Her mind was torn back into the real world when she eyed an older member of the staff standing over her. Smiling at her with beady eyes, he prepared some equipment that screamed anaesthesia.
“Hey, what’s this?” Viola glanced at the older man, who was more than prepared to put her under.
“Please, Miss Voss. Relax. Monitored anaesthesia is required during the retrieval. Just a small dosage of Remifentanil.” He minced the words with his tiny mouth and underlined them with a fake warm glow. The intention was to assure her this would not only be safe, but she would enjoy it. Quite a lot in fact.
Instead, Viola’s stomach wrenched into a tightening knot. She was sure that Pål mentioned something about precautionary rules. She was also quite certain that one of them had been about anaesthesia. But her mind was muddy, tainted with way too much fear. She couldn’t, for the life of her, recollect what the rule was. Or how she was supposed to act now.
“No. No. No. Forget it,” she spat out. This was a border she was not going to cross. After all, doing so meant she would give up anything resembling control. She wouldn’t give herself up to these people. Not now, and not at any price. She had no idea where she would wake up or what they would do to her.
She
was trying to locate a missing woman. Not become one.
“Miss? We can’t proceed without your consent.” The anaesthesiologist’s face flashed with a perplexed glance.
She felt her hand clutching onto the necklace with the microphone inside it. She surely had no guarantee they wouldn’t find the mike. That very thought sent her reeling into an even bigger panic.
“Do you want me to cancel?” The man glanced at her, then looked at the rest of the staff.
Now she was getting attention from everyone in the room. Time was up, and unless she made a decision right now, any kind of decision, she would torpedo her own agenda.
Viola’s insides seemed to shrink. This choice might very well be the last one she ever made. She felt her body flood with adrenaline, and her head exploded with an energy made possible only when faced with death itself.
“Do you want me to cancel?” the beady-eyed man repeated. This time with less patience.
Finally, she shook her head. No.
* * *
Pål’s headphones screamed urgency. He knew his face would give him away, practically telling the whole story, so he twisted his body into a knot in the corner of the car. Anywhere so that the unstable boyfriend would have trouble deciphering what was going on.
But he felt immediately that his contorted body only aroused more suspicion.
Why the hell did Viola go along with such a decision? Didn’t she listen to his precautions? Couldn’t she just say no?
He was prepared to gather evidence. He was even ready to sit there for a couple of days. But he wasn’t prepared for this. He had no idea what to do now.
* * *
Viola felt her consciousness slip away into some murky void. This was suddenly interrupted by a bodily sensation. A caress gently fondled her body. Only it wasn’t a tender caress of a nurse, but rather an intrusive groping. Fingers slid along her hospital gown. It yanked her foggy mind back to the surface.
Her bleary eyes darted toward the sensation, but already now, she was struggling to keep focus. Her world, her senses drowned in an alternate reality where she was defenceless and at the utter mercy of those around her.
Then she felt the fingers again, slithering along her chest. Only now did she become aware of what was going on. This wasn’t some member of the medical staff carrying out their job.
She was being strip-searched. Did this person presume she was already out? Or maybe noticed she was still conscious but just didn’t care? She felt it as the fingers yanked at her body. Needy, inquisitive as they searched for something.
Viola’s eyes darted downwards again in panic. She fought against the anaesthetic, battled her fading consciousness. She had to swim up to the surface. She forced herself, but it was no use.
For a moment, her involuntary jerks must have alerted the person searching her, because everything stopped. Only to be replaced by a stinging needle. Another set of hands that applied more drugs.
In an instant, she felt her mind accelerate into the unavoidable nothingness. She heard some unintelligible words. She struggled to separate the syllables. Were they syllables? Or just her mind losing its grip?
She couldn’t make out the source. The meaning. Nothing. But then, the words began to glide into focus.
“H...elp...” She attempted to focus again. Who was calling her? Was someone trying to help her?
She summoned all the will she had left. That resilient fighting spirit in her. Her eyes jerked from side to side. She would locate the source of the words.
But then she began to lose control of her vision. Still, the words came rushing at her. Tormented her till the very end.
“H...e....lp.”
And finally, she realised where they were coming from.
They were coming from her. Her own mouth was gagging on what she had left of fear.
Blackness slithered all over her.
* * *
“Help.” A barely audible whisper rustled through Pål’s headphones.
Despite Ronny’s proximity, Pål was sure Viola’s partner hadn’t registered her cry for help.
Pål caught a peek of Ronny’s inquisitive face. Was the man trying to speak to him? Only then did he realise that Ronny was repeating a vague phrase. Over and over again.
“What? What? What!”
Pål felt an immediate pang of compassion as he understood what a nightmare Ronny was going through. The cop’s mind searched for a way to break this to Viola’s partner gently. But no solution came to his mind.
They wouldn’t lessen the trouble Viola was in now, but they would dampen the panic attack Ronny was going through. And that was exactly what he needed right now.
He was about to launch into an argument, when Ronny ripped the headphones away from him. He clutched at them with trembling palms and listened in. But he instantly realised the line was dead. Ronny gazed at Pål with fever exploding in his face.
“The batteries, remember? Nothing to worry about. I suggest we go... and get them. Actually, uh... maybe you should go,” Pål whispered and prayed to God his imposed subdued tone would be mistaken for calmness.
“The batteries? What fucking batteries? You said we were okay. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Ronny thrashed at Pål’s collar and wrung at his neck.
Pål realised he was out of options. He had no way to contain Ronny’s emotions.
And this would probably have ended in a brawl, if not for the police car driving by.
“Thank God,” Ronny screamed with exhilaration and began to scramble out of the car.
Pål’s eyes flashed with panic. The already disastrous situation had now become fatal. He pulled on Ronny’s shirt and threw himself in his face.
“No. No. No! Don’t you see...” Pål had less than three seconds to formulate his long overdue brilliant lie. But his creativity wasn’t exactly in full swing after the morning vodka shots.
“What? It’s perfect,” Ronny spat out at Pål, far from prepared to listen to anything the cop had to say.
“I promise you one thing: if you stop them, your lady in there, she will never make it out.” Ronny understood exactly what Pål was saying to him. Yet he still began to step back, his mind in denial.
“It’s her life we are talking about. Trust me,” Pål voiced himself as truthfully as he could.
But Ronny’s face clearly showed he battled with doubt.
At some other time, in a less stressful moment, Ronny might actually have listened to Pål. But this was not the time, and certainly not the moment.
Ronny swerved his body and practically charged towards the police car. Pål knew that the two bored cops, with too much spare time on their hands, were about to make their lives a lot more complicated.
He also realised that the moment they stopped them, he would have to answer questions. And that for some of these questions, he had no appropriate lies, even the lousy kind.
Void
It started with some distorted sounds that washed through the ubiquitous blackness. She couldn’t identify what this was, but as its grating structure became more prevalent, it pierced itself through her consciousness.
As the drilling noise became even more encompassing, she finally tore her eyes open and became aware she was in her bed, at home. And it was the middle of the night. She whipped her head around and realised the pervading sound was her baby crying. She eyed Markus’s tiny contorted face and immediately tried to get her bearings. Was there something wrong with him? Was his stuffy nose running, or maybe he had a fever?
“Liiiyo, reddiee... Leeeego!” Markus wailed and reached out with his hand towards her. And as it dawned on her why he was crying, she breathed out a sigh of relief. He must have woken up in the middle of the night and needed his red Lego piece. And when it wasn’t nearby to grasp, his world must have fallen apart, something he was making sure she understood right now. After all, what could be more important than his Lego at this hour?
She reached out for one of the Lego pieces and placed i
t in Markus’s hands. This eased his biggest drama, and his fit slowly receded. She cuddled him into herself and rocked him gently.
She knew that motherhood was about these nights, unexpected Lego dramas, and even more serious accidents. Unforeseen illnesses and abrupt changes in routine. But with him, she wasn’t sure if his slightest runny nose or way too many sneezes were just that, or something much more.
That’s why she braced her whole body in dread. For that something more. After all, she knew the exact terms Markus arrived in this world under. And so she readied herself for anything. She often caught herself thinking more about what bad stuff could happen to him than the good moments that still popped up from time to time. At least in this way, no bad things could surprise her. As long as she was constantly focused on the worst-case scenarios, she would be prepared. For anything.
She sensed these nights were getting more common, and his reactions more pronounced, sometimes even violent. At first it was in the small things, like this Lego piece, but gradually, it wasn’t so much about the toys or his humours but that he was uncomfortable. Was he getting worse? Was his condition progressing? Unavoidably deteriorating? And if so, how long did he have?
In these situations of doubt, she reminded herself of a few words she had heard somewhere: “In motherhood, the hard moments sometimes outnumber the beautiful moments, but the beautiful moments always outweigh the hard moments.” The simple beauty of this message gave her some hope, especially on nights when she could barely get up and rock his wails into stillness.
And as Viola watched him with his Lego in his chubby fingers, he glanced up at her, sent her a sleepy glance, and smirked with his puffy cheeks as he cuddled into her.
Viola glowed at this moment, soaked in everything. She felt his weight against her forehead, listened to his faint heartbeat, and smelt the perfection of his skin. She grabbed onto this moment with everything she had, savoured it, then tucked it deep inside herself.
* * *
Pål watched as the two policemen cast suspicious glances at their driver’s licenses. He knew the irreversible damage had already been done. His only hope was that Ronny wouldn’t make the situation terminal. The only thing Ronny had to do was shut up.
