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"Mr. Hanna, I thought you told me the patient was still asleep," Dr. Paul Saunders snapped. His eyes stayed glued to Joanna's.

"She was, sir, when we spoke," Myron said. "She just woke up, and everything is fine."

Joanna felt acutely uncomfortable under the man's unblinking gaze. Joanna had reflexive, visceral reaction to authority figures thanks in part to her emotionally distant, staunchly disciplinarian, oil-company-CEO father.

"Blood pressure and pulse are all normal," Myron said. He stood up and started forward but stopped when Dr. Saunders held up his hand.

The doctor advanced toward Joanna with his mouth set. His nose had a wide base that gave the false impression of closely spaced eyes. But by far his most distinguishing characteristics were irises of slightly different colors and a minute widow's peak of white hair that quickly lost itself in the rest of his mildly unruly coiffure.

"How do you feel, Miss Meissner?" Paul asked.

Joanna noticed his tone was devoid of emotion, similar to the tone her father had used to ask her how her day had been back when she was in elementary school. "Okay," she answered, unsure if the man cared particularly or even wanted her to respond. Marshaling her courage, she asked: "Are you the doctor who did my egg retrieval?" She'd been put to sleep before Paul's arrival into the operating room.

"Yes," Paul replied in a manner which discouraged further questions. "Would you mind if I had a look at your abdomen?"

"I suppose not," Joanna said. She glanced at Myron, who immediately came around the other side of the bed. He encouraged her to lie back supine and then pulled the sheet up to her waist to cover her legs.

Paul gently pulled up the johnny, being careful to keep the sheet covering Joanna's lower half in place, and gazed down at Joanna's exposed midriff. Joanna lifted her head to look herself. There were three Band-Aids. One was directly below her navel, and the other two were in the lower quadrants forming an equilateral triangle.

"No sign of any bleeding,' Myron said, "and the gas has been absorbed."

Paul nodded. He pulled the johnny back to cover Joanna's abdomen and turned to leave.

"Dr. Saunders," Joanna called out impulsively.

Paul stopped and turned back.

"How many eggs did you get?"

"I can't remember exactly,' Paul said. "Five or six."

"Is that good?"

"It's perfectly adequate," Paul said. A faint smile graced his heretofore grim expression. Then he left.

"He's not much of a conversationalist," Joanna commented.

"He's a busy man," Myron said. He pulled the sheet back to expose her legs. "Why don't you stand up and see how that feels. I think you're about ready to have that IV taken out."

"Does Dr. Saunders do all the egg retrievals?" Joanna asked as she sat up and dropped her feet over the side of the bed. Then she slid off to stand while holding the johnny closed behind her back with her left hand.

"He and Dr. Donaldson do them together."

"Do you think his coming in here means my roommate's procedure is done?"

"'That would be my guess," Myron said. "How do you feel? Any dizziness at all?"

Joanna shook her head.

"Then let's get that IV out and get you on your way."

Fifteen minutes later Joanna was at the locker extracting her clothing, shoes, and bag. There were four other patients in hospital garb sitting on the couches and chairs and flipping through magazines. None of them paid her any attention. Deborah's locker was still locked up tight.

As Joanna entered the same changing room she'd used earlier, Cynthia arrived with Deborah in tow. Deborah's face lit up with a broad smile when she caught sight of Joanna, and she immediately rushed over to squeeze into the changing room. She closed the door behind her.

"How did it go for you?" Deborah demanded in a whisper.

"It wasn't bad at all," Joanna answered, unsure why they were whispering. "The anesthesiologist said I might feel a little burning in my arm when he gave me the 'milk of amnesia, but I didn't feel a thing. I don't even remember going to sleep."

"Milk of amnesia?" Deborah questioned. "What the hell is that?"

"It's what the anesthesiologist called the medicine he gave me," Joanna said. "It was so rapid. It was like somebody just turned out the lights. I didn't feel a thing through the whole procedure. And on top of that, I'm happy to report I didn't have any nausea when I woke up."

"Not even a little queasiness?"

"Nothing. And I woke up the same way I went to sleep: really suddenly." Joanna snapped her fingers to emphasize her point. "The whole experience was benign. How was yours?"

"Truly a piece of cake," Deborah said. "No worse than a routine pap smear."

"No pain?"

"A little, I suppose, when the local anesthetic went in, but that was it. The worst part was the humiliation of being looked into."

"How many eggs did they get?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," Deborah admitted. "I assume only one. That's how many we women put out each month without hormonal hyperstimulation."

"They got five or six from me."

"Well, aren't we impressed," Deborah said in a playfully sarcastic tone. "How do you know?"

"I asked," Joanna said. "The doctor came by when I was in the recovery room. His name's Dr. Saunders. You must have met him, because he's the one who does the egg retrievals along with Dr. Donaldson."

"Was this Dr. Saunders a rather short guy with unusual eyes?"

"He's the one. I think he's also kinda strange as well as quiet. What was weird was that he seemed to act mad when he found out I was already awake."

"Get out of here!" Deborah blurted.

"I'm serious."

"The reason I'm surprised is that he acted mad with me, too."

"No kidding!" Joanna said. "Then he's definitely got a problem, which is reassuring because I was wondering if I was making it up. You know me with authority figures."

"All too well," Deborah said. "And you think he was irritated because you were awake?"

"Yes," Joanna said. "He snapped at the nurse because the nurse had told him a few minutes earlier on the phone that I was still asleep. I suppose he had it in his mind to breeze in and breeze out. Instead, he had to relate to me, such as it was."

"That's absurd," Deborah said.

"The nurse excused his behavior by saying he was a busy man."

"He was equally inappropriate with me. Like everybody else he'd started in about wanting to use general anesthesia, and how much better it would be. But I just said no way. So he got mad. And you know what: It dawned on me why they had me suffer not eating or drinking since midnight. They thought they were going to talk me into it."

"You didn't have it, did you?"

"Hell no!" Deborah said. "I told them I was ready to get up and walk out, and I came close. If it hadn't been for Dr. Donaldson, who smoothed things over, I think I would have. But anyway, it all worked out."

"Let's get out of here," Joanna said.

"I'm with you," Deborah responded. She opened the louvered changing room door, winked at Joanna, and disappeared.

Joanna could hear Deborah out in the waiting room banging open her locker as Joanna peeled off the hospital clothing and tossed it into a convenient hamper. For a moment she gazed at herself in the changing room's full-length mirror. The thought of the small incisions beneath the Band-Aids made her shudder. They stood as minute reminders that someone had recently been looking into her innards.

The crash of the neighboring louvered door closing snapped Joanna back to reality. Fearful of keeping Deborah waiting, who was notoriously quick at dressing, Joanna concentrated on getting into her clothes. Once that was accomplished she began brushing out her hair, which she'd pulled back into a ponytail for the procedure but which was now a mass of snarls. Before she was finished, she heard Deborah emerge into the waiting room. "How are you doing in there?" Deborah called through the door.