"How so?"
"Female embryos have the maximum number of eggs in their ovaries for an individual's entire life," Deborah explained. "Someplace I read that at a particular point in embryonic development, the female embryo has close to seven or eight million, whereas when it is born it's down to a million, and by puberty down to three or four hundred thousand. Some distorted souls like Paul Saunders and Sheila Donaldson might think of the female embryo as a virtual gold mine."
"I don't think I like what you are suggesting," Joanna said.
"I don't either," Deborah said. "But unfortunately it stands to reason. These Nicaraguan women could be allowing themselves to be implanted and then subjected to abortions at twenty weeks just to get the eggs."
Joanna averted her eyes and stared out the side window as she shuddered through a wave of revulsion. What Deborah was saying was as horrific as the cloning, with its implications about the role of a woman and the lack of sanctity of human life. With difficulty she suppressed a caldron of emotion that threatened to bubble to the surface. She found herself wishing she'd never had anything to do with the Wingate Clinic. Having been involved as a donor made her feel like an accomplice.
"The problem with that scenario, if it is going on, is that it's legal. It might be a PR disaster to be happening at an infertility clinic, but it would be hard for anybody to do anything about it as long as the women were not being coerced."
"Paying them is a type of coercion!" Joanna snapped. "These women are poor and come from a struggling Third World country!"
"Hey, calm down! We're trying to have a discussion here."
"I'm not going to calm down!" Joanna spat. "And what was that thought of yours that you didn't finish about my eggs? I hate it when you leave me hanging like that."
"Oh, yeah, sorry," Deborah said. "The Nicaraguan connection got me sidetracked. The only way I can imagine they got that many eggs from you is if they took your whole ovary."
Joanna swayed as if Deborah had slapped her. She had to shake her head to refocus her mind. With a tremulous voice Joanna asked Deborah to repeat herself in case Joanna had misunderstood.
Deborah took her eyes off the road to cast a quick glance at her roommate. She could hear from Joanna's voice that she was momentarily on thin emotional ice. "I'm just thinking out loud here," Deborah explained. "Don't get yourself in a dither."
"I deserve the right to get upset if you're suggesting they took my ovary," Joanna said, slowly and seemingly in perfect control.
"Then you come up with an alternate explanation for all the eggs," Deborah challenged. "This is a brainstorming session to try to make up for not having much information."
Joanna got a grip on herself and tried to think up another explanation as Deborah had suggested. With only high-school biology and girls' locker room chatter as her reproductive technology sources, she couldn't think of a thing.
"The most eggs I've ever heard of being harvested in an ovarian hyperstimulation was around twenty,' Deborah said. "Retrieving hundreds suggests to me some kind of ovarian tissue culture."
"Is it possible to culture ovarian tissue?" Joanna asked.
Deborah shrugged. "You know, I haven't the slightest idea. I'm a molecular biologist, not a cellular biologist. But it sounds reasonable."
"If they took one of my ovaries," Joanna asked, "how would it affect me?"
"Let's see," Deborah said, screwing up her face as if thinking deeply. "With half your usual ovarian production of estrogen, your adrenal testosterone level would be relatively doubled. That means you'll probably grow a beard, lose your breasts, and go bald."
Joanna looked at her roommate with renewed horror.
"I'm just kidding!" Deborah cried. "You're supposed to laugh."
"I'm afraid I don't find any of this funny."
"The truth is, there'd probably be very little effect, if any," Deborah said. "Maybe there could be a slight statistical drop in your fertility since you'd be reduced to ovulating from one ovary, but I'm not even sure of that."
"Still, having your ovary ripped out is an awful thought," Joanna said, hardly mollified. "It's like rape but maybe even worse."
"I totally agree,' Deborah said.
"Why just me and not you?"
"That's another good question,' Deborah said. "My guess would be because I refused to have general anesthesia. To take an ovary they'd have to use a laparoscopic approach as a minimum, and certainly not just an ultrasound guided needle."
Joanna closed her eyes for a moment. She found herself wishing she'd not been such a coward about medical procedures when she'd donated. She should have followed Deborah's advice.
"I just thought of something," Deborah said.
Joanna stayed still. She vowed to herself she wasn't going to ask.
They drove in silence for almost two minutes. "Aren't you interested?" Deborah asked.
"Only if you tell me," Joanna said.
"If we can prove they took your ovary, then we might have something. I'm not saying they did take it, but if they did, we might have some legal recourse. I mean, taking your ovary without consent is technically assault and battery, which is a felony."
"Yeah, well, how could it be proved?" Joanna said without enthusiasm. "What would they have to do, open me up and look? Thanks, but no thanks!"
"I don't think they'd have to open you up," Deborah said. "I think they could tell by ultrasound. What I suggest is that you call Carlton, explain as little or as much as you want, and tell him you need to find out if you are missing an ovary."
"It's a bit ironic for you to be suggesting I call Carlton," Joanna said.
"I'm not advocating you marry him, for goodness' sakes," Deborah said. "Just take advantage of the fact that he's a medical resident. Residents know other residents. It's like a fraternity. I'm sure he could arrange for an ultrasound."
"I've been home for three days and haven't called him once,"
Joanna said. "I feel guilty about calling him up out of the blue and asking for a favor."
"Oh, please!" Deborah groaned. "Your Houstonian upbringing is reasserting itself. How many times do I have to remind you that men can be used just like men use women? This time instead of using him for entertainment, you're using him to get an ultrasound. Big deal!"
In her mind Joanna went over what she thought the conversation with Carlton would be like. From her perspective it wouldn't be as easy as Deborah suggested. At the same time Joanna wanted to know whether she'd been internally violated or not. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she had to know.
"All right!" Joanna said. She reached for her cell phone. "I'll give him a call."
"Good girl," Deborah said.
FIFTEEN
LOUISBURG SQUARE WAS UP on the slope of Beacon Hill reached by heading up Mount Vernon Street and turning left either into the square's upper roadway or lower roadway. Technically it wasn't a square but rather a long rectangle bordered by a collection of mostly bow-fronted, brick town houses with multi-paned, shuttered windows. The center of the square was a patch of anemic, trampled grass ringed by a tall, threatening cast-iron fence and covered by a canopy of old-growth elms which had somehow survived the ravages of Dutch elm disease. At either end were modest copses of shrubbery with a single weathered piece of garden statuary.
Kurt had found the square without difficulty despite his unfamiliarity with Boston in general and the profusion of one-way streets on Beacon Hill in particular. But parking was another matter. The square's parking was discreetly labeled PRIVATE with the admonition that whoever tested the ban would be towed. Kurt did not want to be towed. He was driving one of the Wingate Clinic's unmarked, black security vans with a lockable compartment in the back. In the compartment were the various and sundry things he might need, as well as ample room for uncooperative passengers.