THIRTY-FIVE: Precaution
"This is utter madness." The doctor repeated with a mix of disbelief and disgust for the umpteenth time, even as he prepared the modified hypospray and double-checked the dosage.
"I'm a very good friend." Dagmar repeated patiently, also for the umpteenth time. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap, her legs swinging idly as she waited patiently on the examination table.
"Barbaric. Are we back in your Terran Dark Ages? Shall I perform surgeries with shoddy metal scalpels now? Use a club over the head for anaesthetic?"
"Still being a good friend."
Dagmar was in the middle of the hormone treatment necessary for donating fertile ova. She wasn't too clear on how the process went back in her time, having never done anything of the sort then, but the newer technique seemed to involve gradually increasing certain hormones, resulting in the hyper-stimulation of her ovaries and an increased production of eggs, or so it had been explained. The effect was more or less like creating a false menopause of sorts, followed by ramping up her egg production (and fertility, by association) and then the final stage would involve triggering ovulation, during which the matured eggs could be harvested.
A few more injections, and Dagmar would be ready for the final part of the process. It was equal parts exciting and terrifying. In the past, needles had been used to extract ova, and from what Dagmar had gathered that part of the process hadn't changed much.
The physician assigned to her particular case found the entire affair mortifying and barbaric. The two nurses brought in to assist him had been all but sworn to secrecy, though Dagmar wasn't entirely sure either of the females would have spoken of the matter voluntarily anyway. Most of the visits had involved everyone staring in different directions and clearing their throats awkwardly.
As the hypo-spray was pressed against her neck none-too-gently, one of the nurses delicately inquired, "Have your symptoms worsened?"
By symptoms, the nurse meant hot-flashes, mood swings, some slight bloating, pain in the general area of her ovaries, near-constant headaches, and infrequent insomnia.
"The headaches are getting worse, and I'm still experiencing some pain and tenderness." Dagmar reported, as coolly and professionally as she could. That sort of demeanour seemed to help make things less awkward. "My sleep schedule is still all over the place, but I'm coping. Beyond that, I haven't noticed anything else."
The doctor was recalibrating a scanner to handle her human physiology as the translator spoke. The scanner beeped and whirred, as per usual, and Dagmar tried not rub at the spot on her neck where she had received the hormone dose. She'd never get used to the technology of this time, not fully – even now, she was struck at how different things were. The memories of her childhood seemed like something from another lifetime…
"As usual, your readings are as within the expect ranges." The Andorian doctor made a show of sighing and scowling in disapproval. "Now get out of my office before I lose my last meal. Return in a week, if I can still stomach this affair."
"Of course." Dagmar nodded, not at all offended. Her doctor was a particularly grumpy man, as Andorians went. He dealt with the awkwardness of her treatment by being grumpier than usual, even to his own nurses.
Dagmar pondered her progress as she left the clinic and made her way home. Truthfully, she felt pretty awful. Her lower abdomen was tender and bloated, her moods were tending towards moping lately, and her breasts were tender enough that even the most lightly lined bras were uncomfortable. She slept poorly at best, and not at all at worst, assuming she could find a way to take the edge off her constant headaches. When Dagmar wasn't mopey, she was irritable – despite her best efforts, she'd snapped at Thelen the other day for no reason. There were bags under her eyes dark enough to be mistaken for very sloppily applied makeup, and her appetite was either non-existent or ravenous. It was a nightmare.
The hot-flashes, at least, were easy enough to deal with. All she had to do was ditch her bio-thermal clothing until it passed; as it turned out, living on an ice planet could be very convenient in that respect.
It doesn't matter, Dagmar told herself as she punched in the access code to her apartment's front door and stepped into the comparative warmth of her home. Just a little longer, and the whole thing would be done and over with. She could ship off the eggs and go back to being her normal self soon, and wouldn't that be a relief.
Still, Dagmar felt no small amount of trepidation when she remembered that an Andorian doctor with more theory than practical experience with humans was going to be shoving a needle into her ovaries… and there were three ways that could happen – through the vagina, the bladder, or just straight through her abdomen. None of those sounded particularly appealing, and the more Dagmar thought about it, the more anxious she felt. Anxiety, with her mood swings, quickly turned into something like panic and panic bled into irrational anger or depression more often than not.
It was just her hormones, making everything worse – Dagmar knew that, knew that it probably wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be, but damned if she wasn't terrified anyway.
She was scared enough to have asked Thelen to go with her to the appointment in question. Surprisingly, the security officer declined. It wasn't his place, he'd said, and then he'd mumbled an apology and something about Shral and foolishness, and then something about how the whole thing was a very inappropriate topic. His face had flushed a deep purple, and his antennae had been flicking and writhing with anxiety. The poor Andorian had been so uncomfortable that Dagmar had ended up apologizing profusely for even mentioning it.
A Human would have gone with her.
It was a stupid thought, but Dagmar couldn't quite get it out of her brain. It popped up when she lay awake at night, trying not to cringe at her colourful imagination. It skittered across her forebrain when she was trying to work and rapidly grew irritable and frustrated. It lurked in the back of her mind when she was trying to meditate.
A Human would have gone with her even if he had been uncomfortable. A Human would have understood how terrified she was.
Thelen didn't even want to hear about the procedure or why she was scared, his cultural taboos were so deeply ingrained. He grew flustered and short-tempered the one time Dagmar had tried to explain, and she'd avoided bringing it up since.
Shral… Dagmar hadn't really talked to Shral. She'd mentioned the date of the procedure, that she wouldn't be available to work then and such, and that she was nervous. It had been off-hand and vague, and Shral hadn't said much in response beyond acknowledging her comment. Still, he watched her more carefully than he had before the hormone treatments had started. He observed the tenderness of her movements, how she tried to avoid bending at the waist much because her lower abdomen was so sore, how she barely touched her food some days and couldn't seem to get enough on other days. He watched it all – and maybe Dagmar was going crazy, but sometimes she thought she could detect a faint note of concern in his manner.
Still, Shral said nothing.
Eventually, her own anxiety prompted Dagmar to finally, finally approach Shral mere days before the procedure was set to take place. She was a bundle of nerves when she didn't have her work to focus on, and in the darkest hours of the evening her imagination came up with scenarios that would put most horror movies to shame. Thelen couldn't overcome his cultural taboos, and Dagmar honestly couldn't find it in her to be angry with him for that, but she needed to be able to call on someone if something went wrong. Shral would just have to be that person.
Not, she rushed to reassure herself, that something would go wrong. It was just a precaution. Better safe than sorry and all that.
"Shral," She began hesitantly, approaching the aide discreetly as they both left the Embassy at the end of their respective shifts. It was early in the evening, but not so early that too many people lingered about. "I need to ask you something."
Shral paused for a moment, and then gestured for her to step into a side room with him – something for which Dagmar felt no small amount of gratitude. This would be an awkward conversation as it was, if the encounter with Thelen was any indication; it was better done in private than in a hallway.
"Speak." The aide's offer to hear her out was typical of Andorian interactions, taking charge of the conversation as the superior in rank. The familiarity of the interaction was surprisingly comforting.
"I'm going to- that is, the procedure," The translator began, watching the Andorian aide for signs of irritation or discomfort. "It's set for two days from now."
In the face of Shral's blank neutrality, discomfort might have been preferable. He gave absolutely no indication of understanding why she would approach him on the matter, and his tone was just edging towards the cooler temperatures as he prompted, "And?"
Better just get it over with, Dagmar told herself as she took a breath. "I'm… worried. Really, really worried. And…"
Shral said nothing. His antennae remained curved forwards slightly in polite interest, neutral and blank as a painter's virgin canvas. This was not especially encouraging at the best of times, but Dagmar found it particularly disheartening just at that moment. He really wasn't making this easy for her – and, worse, he didn't even realize it, most likely.
"Look," Dagmar forced herself to get on with her request already and stop prolonging this awkward encounter. She braced herself internally, closed her eyes, and said it in a rush, "If I need help –after, I mean- can I call you?"
Silence answered her, and the xenolinguist found herself cracking open an eyelid to find out why.
The expression that met her gaze was nearly incomprehensible. The body language of the aide was utterly neutral, loose in his dark leathers and very still, but his antennae flicked occasionally in agitation and his features were… surprised? Shocked? Dagmar wasn't sure, and that uncertainty made her even more anxious.
"This… procedure." Shral began carefully, as if tasting the word and finding it sour. His verdant eyes did not quite meet hers, but in his face she saw none of the irritation Thelen had shown her. That, at least, offered a small reprieve from her anxiety. "Frightens you?"
Dagmar nodded, struggling not to fidget with her gloves.
"I see."
And then, "We shall speak in two days."
The Terran woman nearly went boneless with relief as the aide all but swept out of the side-room.