Where There's Smoke

The oak tree by the clinic’s gate was bare and black. Kate passed under it and walked up the drive. The gravel, dry and bleached the last time she had been, was dark and shiny with rain. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the day was reduced to a foggy twilight. Wind tugged at her hair and chapped her cheeks, and then the automatic doors slid open to let her pass into the warmth and light of the clinic. The smiling receptionist took her name and asked her to take a seat. Kate sat by the window. Outside, the February bleakness blustered silently behind the double glazing. She unfastened her coat, already feeling the central heating dispel the chill.

After a few minutes a young nurse, smart in a tailored pale grey and white uniform appeared and led her over to a lift. Kate had only been on the clinic’s ground floor before, but the first floor seemed little different. Their feet were silent on the wide, carpeted corridor. Weeping figs and yucca plants provided a green and healthy contrast to the dead vegetation outside. Soft, piped classical music followed them from hidden speakers.

“The residential area’s down there,” the nurse said, as they passed another corridor. Concealed lighting cast a gentle glow along the double row of well-spaced, limed wooden doors. It could have been a hotel.

“The rooms are all private, obviously,” the nurse added. “There’s a six-month waiting list for them, but I don’t suppose you’ll have got as far as thinking about the birth yet.”

Kate smiled dutifully. “I think I’ll get this bit over first.”

A woman in a crisp white maternity smock came towards them, the only other patient Kate had seen so far. Her stomach bulged, taut as a drum against the smock, but she was beautifully made up. She nodded in return to the nurse’s hello and her glance took in Kate’s damp hair, clothes and left hand. Her smile was perfunctory.

The nurse opened a door and stood back to let Kate enter. The room was windowless and small, but not claustrophobically so. A chair stood at one side, and a small rail at the far end held a row of coat hangers. A dressing mirror was fastened to a partly open door, beyond which she could glimpse a sink and lavatory. Another door, closed, was opposite the chair.

“You’ll find a gown and paper slippers for you to change into. There’s no rush. Just press the buzzer when you’re ready,” the nurse told her, indicating a button by the light switch, “and someone will come and get you. Okay?”

Kate said it was. She waited until the nurse had left with a final smile, then looked around. A single white gown was hanging on the rail. She went over and touched it. It was a soft paper. She remembered how the counsellor at the other clinic had told her that there would be no need to take off her clothes. The Wynguard Clinic clearly took a different view.

She sat on the edge of the chair. Her dislike of hospitals made her shiver. Turning, she caught sight of herself in the mirror, nervously perched with her thighs pressed together, her hands clamped between them. She stood up and began briskly to undress.

Kate didn’t hear any buzzer when she pressed the button, but one must have sounded because almost immediately the inner door was opened. The same nurse smiled at her.

“All ready?” She moved to one side, letting Kate into the next room.

It was bigger than the one she had changed in, but also windowless. A couch stood against the wall. Beside it was what looked like a computer console and monitor. A young woman in a white coat sat by it.

“You’ve had an ultrasound scan before, haven’t you?” the nurse asked. “So you know what the drill is.”

Kate nodded. She had been given a scan when she had first gone to the clinic. She lay back on the couch while the technician put a condom over the end of the scanner’s probe. The nurse pulled on a pair of surgical gloves.

“I’ll need a mucus sample first. So if you can move your legs apart and raise them a little, please?”

Kate did. The clearness and texture of her vaginal mucus was another indication of whether or not she was ovulating.

She had checked it herself that morning, along with her temperature and urine. She was as sure as she could be that she had got the timing right, but she was still anxious to have it confirmed by the clinic. After a few seconds, the nurse stepped away.

“Okay, I’ll just get this checked out.”

She left the room and the young woman took her place at the foot of the couch. She gave Kate an encouraging smile. “Right, just relax.”

That was easier said than done. Kate tried to concentrate on the black and white images on the screen. They were unintelligible to her, but the technician studied them intently as she manipulated the probe. Finally, she gave a nod of approval. Kate felt the probe being withdrawn.

“Super. The follicle’s a good nineteen millimetres. Should be ready to rupture any time, I’d say.”