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CHAPTER 22

On Wednesday morning, Sheldon has them both up and out of bed at the moment the clock hits 7 AM. Always a slave to some form of routine, she isn't the least bit surprised to find him efficiently bustling her through the everyday tasks involved with preparing oneself to face the day. She declines his offer to assist her with a morning bath and makes due with a washcloth, a bar of soap, and a seat in front of her bathroom sink. It's not that she doesn't trust him to help her; it's just that she would prefer to have the plausible deniability of drugs running through her system when it happens. Maybe she should fill that prescription after all.

She vacillates between enjoying his company and being annoyed by his hovering. It feels amazing when he brushes her hair, but when he tries to brush her teeth, she nudges his side with her elbow and shoos him into the other room. That is a task she can accomplish on her own, albeit left-handed. She flosses her teeth with a stick flosser, relieved that she got a chance to get that done before Sheldon could approach her with string floss and a crazed look in his eye.

Amy has never been anything other than fully independent as an adult. Her need for help in her current condition has been difficult to accept, particularly in the personal ways that have been required thus far, and particularly so soon after her privacy was violated by a stranger. Finding out that her captor had good intentions has not erased her memories of being afraid. She is confident that Sheldon is doing his best for her, and she's grateful to him for it. In retrospect, she's certain that she would not have been able to let her mother or her friends assist her to the same degree.

By 8:30 AM, she is dressed and fed, and she sits on the sofa while Sheldon putters around in her bedroom. Waking up with him this morning was a surreal experience, but nowhere near to the extent that falling asleep with him had been.

He had sat down on the bed a considerable distance from her, wearing his sexy plaid pajamas. Though he seemed hesitant at first, he did move under the covers in short order, and they laid together in silence. Every minute or two she could feel him slide an inch closer to her, until his hand was close enough to brush up against the side of her own. The contact was welcome, and she returned the gesture by giving his hand a little squeeze. When she did so, he turned to her and promptly pulled her into a hug.

The warmth of his embrace and his familiar baby powder scent enveloped her, and it was undoubtedly one of the most comforting moments of her entire life. She knew that she should let him go, that she shouldn't get too attached, but of course it was far too late for that because she has been attached to him since the day she met him. When she found the strength to try to pull away from him at last, he held on tight and whispered to her, chastising her to keep her wrist elevated. Lying flat on his back, he gently moved her injured wrist to rest against his chest and shoulder. This left the other side of his chest as a convenient natural pillow, and she finally gave in and stopped fighting the temptation to cuddle the man.

As tired and comfortable as she had been, sleep still did not come easily. She reminded herself more than once that there's nothing overtly sexual about a hug, but her stupid body kept flooding her bloodstream with useless, lustful hormones anyway. His mixed signals over the past day dominated her thoughts. He was being so physically affectionate and insistent that she had everything wrong in her letters, but at the same time, she'd rarely seen him so regretful as he had been when he confessed to kissing her. In her bed, cuddled in his arms, she had felt her hopes rising once again in spite of her doubts.

Amy thinks she might've fallen asleep on him for a significant portion of the night, but Sheldon has been too polite to bring it up or to offer any complaints about it this morning. In fact, that might be the most surprising aspect of her first day with him acting as a caregiver. Pulled from his normal routine, his apartment, and his beloved job, she wouldn't have expected him to be able to adjust with the ease that he has shown thus far. He doesn't handle change with any kind of grace whatsoever, but aside from rearranging the items in both her kitchen and bathroom cabinets for 'improved efficacy', he has been adapting to her small world quite well.

Whatever his reasons are for staying by her side, she figures that she might as well enjoy his company while she has it. He may simply feel sorry for her, but at this point, even pity-based snuggles feel pretty darn good. She is unsure of what to make of his attempts to defend their romantic relationship last night. Frankly, she had thought that the lack of date nights and mandatory physical contact might be appealing to him as they revert to friendship. Perhaps it is the idea of a permanent change in their status quo that is causing him to resist.

Still, since her return, she has been met with his unflinching kindness and seemingly boundless amounts of non-mandatory affection. It's baffling in the extreme, and given the trauma of recent events, the drugs of yesterday morning, and her addled, post-concussive thought processes, she wonders sometimes how much of this is even real. Maybe she's in some kind of delusional, hallucinatory, waking dream state. Of course, if this were all some idealistic fantasy in her mind, she's not sure why her brain would continue to send her signals for the aches and pains of her injuries, not to mention the painkiller induced constipation. That seems implausible.

After a few minutes, Sheldon emerges from her room with her purse in one hand and her right orthopedic shoe in the other. Plopping down next to her, he sets the shoe on the floor, which makes it easy for her to slide her foot into it by herself. It's a small thing, but she relishes every opportunity for self-sufficiency.

"Are we going somewhere?" she inquires.

"Yes, we've got to get you to your doctor's appointment. It's a short ride, so I don't expect you'll require any additional medication. I've scheduled our morning routine with an extra fifteen minutes of buffer time to account for your slower walking pace, but we really ought to get moving."

That's weird. Amy doesn't remember having an appointment scheduled for so soon after leaving the hospital. Nevertheless, her brain hasn't been processing information under ideal circumstances as of late, so it could easily have slipped her mind.

She is pleased to find the journey out to her car to be easy compared to what she remembers of the previous morning. A good night's sleep has done a great deal to improve her sense of balance. Even so, Sheldon keeps his arm wrapped around her back to guide her way, probably remembering how wobbly she had been a mere twenty four hours ago.

The car ride is quiet, Sheldon being overly-precise behind the wheel. He proves to be as capable of a chauffeur as he has been the past day as a live-in nurse, and he doesn't even mix up the pedals. When he flips the turn signal at the entrance to the medical building, Amy reads the sign and turns to stare at him, suddenly aware that his silence has not been due to a desire to optimize safety while operating a motor vehicle.

She grits her teeth and asks, "Sheldon, what are we doing here?"

He sets the parking brake and then looks up at her in his innocent, boyish way. "You got a reminder call during your afternoon nap yesterday, and I didn't want to wake you. I can't say I'm surprised you forgot about booking it, given the chaos of the past few weeks."

Chaos is as good a word as any, she supposes, and she certainly had forgotten all about her reproductive endocrinology appointment. Still, the thought of going in and dealing with the subject of her advancing infertility is not appealing right now, especially not with Sheldon here.

"I'm sure I can reschedule," she offers.

"Why would you want to do that?"

She looks at his incredulous face, wondering why it isn't obvious to him. "It's not a good time."

He glances at his watch while reaching for the door handle. "It's true that we'll be late if we stay out here gabbing. We'd best get moving."

"Sheldon!" she grabs his elbow. "I'm not talking about punctuality. I'm saying that this might not be the best moment for me to try to deal with my… reproductive issues. It's not exactly a priority."

He looks at her askance. "Of course it's a priority. I know we haven't had a chance to discuss this yet, but my research into premature ovarian aging shows that we'll have considerably more options the sooner we take action. This is no time to procrastinate."

At that, he exits the vehicle, leaving a stunned Amy just a few seconds to think while he rounds the car to come assist her. The only thing that rings over and over through the synapses of her injured brain is his peculiar usage of the pronoun 'we'.

—-

Sheldon is thankful for handicap-accessible automatic door openers. Not only does it make it easier to escort Amy into the building, it also means that he can push the button with his elbow, preventing him from having to put his hand on the germ-infested surface of a medical establishment.

In the waiting area, he stands with Amy while she checks in, and when they go to sit, he opts to remain standing by her side. Those cloth covered seats and arm rests can't possibly be disinfected well enough to suit his standards. Amy keeps giving him funny looks, and she does it again when he rummages in her purse for the travel bottle of Purell that he has stashed away there. He transfers it to his pocket for maximum convenience. It's unlikely that he'll be able to avoid touching anything for the entirety of his time here.

Amy's phone dings a text message alert from within her cardigan's pocket. She is able to wiggle the device out with her uninjured, non-dominant hand, and Sheldon squints to read the screen from above her head. It's Penny. She and Bernadette want to stop over at her apartment to have lunch with her later today. That would be convenient. He doesn't want to leave her home by herself, but he needs to have a chance to get back to 4A to gather materials to present as evidence in their relationship trial. At the very least, he will need to collect the engagement ring and the letter he wrote.

A medical worker calls Amy's name at her precisely scheduled appointment time of 9:15, and the accuracy of it settles Sheldon's nerves. This doctor may yet prove worthy of aiding them.

He helps Amy to her feet, and she turns to him and whispers, "You don't have to come back with me. If it's weird for you, you can wait out here."

"It's not weird," he replies, because it isn't. It puzzles him as to why she would even think so.

The two of them follow a nurse who directs them into a small room. The interior decor is dull and drab, containing not much more than an exam table, a desk with a stool, a sink, and two chairs. Amy opts to sit in a chair, and as soon as the nurse leaves, she points at the seat next to her and says, "Sheldon, sit."

Carefully keeping his hands confined to the safety of his lap, he sits on the very edge of the seat.

She sighs. "I can see that you're not comfortable being here like this."

"Yes, I prefer standing at these places. I don't like hospitals or medical offices. There simply isn't enough disinfectant in the world for what goes on at such establishments."

"That's not what I meant." She wrinkles her eyebrows and tilts her head. "You were fine at the hospital with me the other day."

"There is nothing about that situation that could ever be considered normal, and as a result, I would certainly not characterize my mental state at the time as 'fine'. I assure you, I have since scrubbed every nook and cranny of my person with your antibacterial bath soap."

"I, um, you're right," she admits.

That is one of his favorite phrases to hear from a person. He wishes he'd had his phone on to record it so that he could play it back as needed. Unfortunately, she soon ruins it by adding, "That wasn't a typical set of circumstances, but I wasn't referring to cleanliness. Sheldon, when I say that you seem uncomfortable, well, I just want you to know that you are in no way obliged to be involved in my medical problems, and—"

He holds up a hand to stop her from voicing any further malarkey. Her assumptions about him are once again out of line. Besides, surely she should be able to see that it's impossible for her to do this without him and vice versa. They don't clone people yet, and she only has one form of the requisite gametes.

"I'm not interested in this matter out of some sense of obligation. My motives are purely selfish. It may not be the right time yet for either of us, but someday we might want to do humanity a favor and procreate. It's not like I can do that without you."

She stares at him. "Technically, you can, even if I can't. There are billions of other women on this planet." Looking away, she adds, "I'm sure you could be happy with someone else."

He recalls something like that from her final letter, some warped piece of encouragement for him to look elsewhere for a more suitable mate. When she eventually looks back up at him, he catches her eyes and insists, "Amy, that's got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And I'm friends with Wolowitz and Penny, so I've heard some real doozies."

"Over the past five years, we have rarely spoken of the future, but when we did, the one thing you seemed interested in was the possibility of us having a child together. It looks like it may be too late for that, or at least too late for me. Anyway, it's perfectly reasonable for me to want you to have the best life possible."

"It's absurd for you to think that I could live my best life without you in the most prominent supporting role. I have done the math. I don't even need my whiteboard because it's simple. There's one of you, and you are it for me."

Her eyes blink several times in rapid succession until she swipes at them with her fingertips. She sniffles once or twice, pinches the bridge of her nose, and says, "I hate the thought of you missing out on the chance to have superior offspring. There should be as much of your genome in the world as possible, as far as I'm concerned. But me?" She shakes her head in the negative. "I'm… defective."

He folds his arms over his chest. "Well how about that? I thought I'd already heard the most foolish statement ever, but here you are, trying to top yourself only a few seconds later. Needing a little help from science doesn't mean you're defective, Amy, and even if you were, I'd want you anyway. You are so much more than a pair of ovaries. Stop being ridiculous."

A knock at the door interrupts their poorly timed discussion. A middle-aged woman walks in and smiles, but her grin fades as soon as she looks over at them. "Oh my. It looks like someone has been having a rough time."

Sheldon briefly wonders if she heard them through the door. When she introduces herself as Dr. Burke and inquires about Amy's wrist, ankle, and the small bandage near her hairline, he remembers that his girlfriend's outward issues are far more evident than their interpersonal turmoil.

With a shaky voice, Amy gives a woefully inadequate summary of her past week. He can't blame her for not wanting to give the full story, though.

"I'm sorry to hear about your accident. I hope you feel better soon, Ms. Fowler."

"Dr. Fowler," he corrects.

The doctor turns to him with a raised eyebrow, "And you are?"

"Dr. Sheldon Cooper, the boyfriend and optimal paternal candidate."

Amy coughs, so he taps her on the back a few times like his mother used to do to comfort him when he was ill. He hopes that she isn't getting sick on top of everything else that has gone wrong recently. It's a real risk, given how much time she has been spending in these germ factories.

"I see," Dr. Burke says, and she offers a handshake to him as well. Begrudgingly, he accepts it, figuring he can sneak his hand into his pocket and apply some clandestine hand sanitizer soon enough.

She sits at the desk with a small laptop and clicks a few buttons. "Dr. Fowler—"

"Please, call me Amy."

"Of course. Amy, I've looked through the labs we received from your gynecologist, and I do concur with his assessment of your condition. What I want to do today is go over some of the options that are available to you."

"Okay."

"Obviously, the most pressing question is whether you wish to someday have biological children."

He is surprised when Amy hesitates before responding, "Quite frankly, I have no idea. I'm not sure if that's what I want at this time, or ever, but having the option taken from me this early is upsetting, to say the least."

The doctor nods. "That's understandable, for sure. If it is of interest, we do have procedures that allow us to harvest some amount of ova. You are not yet at the point of complete ovarian failure, so this has a fairly good chance of success. Even if you aren't prepared to undergo IVF at this time, we can store the frozen ova until such time as you make that decision."

She gives a quick glance to Sheldon before refocusing on Amy and adding, "It appears that you have a father in mind, and as such, you may want to choose to store fertilized eggs instead. Admittedly, pregnancy rates are much higher when fertilized cells are frozen, but you would need to be quite confident about the father you want if you choose to go that route."

He looks at Amy, but she is staring at her knees, so he addresses the doctor instead. "How soon can we start?"

"Oh, well, that's going to be up to Dr. Fowler." She turns her head and continues, "Amy, the process can be lengthy, and while I know it is an important decision to make, I do recommend acting soon if you want to keep this particular option open. The first step would involve four weeks of contraceptive use to suppress ovulation and put your body into a known, steady hormonal state. At the end of that time period, there would be two weeks of hormone injections, culminating with an egg retrieval procedure."

Sheldon really wants to have a say in all of this because it affects him just as much as it does her. Still, he understands why this part must ultimately be Amy's decision. Besides that, it would be awkward for him to interject his opinion, to try to explain in front of the doctor that if Amy doesn't have children, then it won't be possible for him either.

"What if I decide not to do it?" she asks. Her eyes dart to his, and she stares at him while she corrects herself. "What if we decide not to do it?"

"That's an option too, of course. We can go over your choices for hormone replacement, and if you eventually want children, adoption or egg donors will still be available at a later time."

"Could Amy still conceive in the traditional manner?" Sheldon asks.

He watches Amy's cheeks turn dark pink, and she starts coughing once again. After he pats her on the back a few times, quieting her down, the doctor answers, "It's possible, but that possibility will be diminishing more and more rapidly. In my professional opinion, it is not a wise gamble to take with the time that her ovaries have left. And from what Dr. Fowler has indicated, she may not be prepared for a pregnancy at this time."

It's quiet for several long seconds before Amy speaks again. "I have to admit to being overwhelmed right now. I don't know what to think." She looks over at him and repeats herself, "I don't know what to think about anything."

Dr. Burke nods. "I can certainly sympathize. It's unfortunate that your condition does rush things along, but regardless of what path you end up choosing, it wouldn't hurt to begin with contraceptives at this time. If you opt not to continue with the hormonal injection stage, we can move in another direction, but if you do end up wanting to proceed with egg retrieval, then you will be happy you started the clock on these initial four weeks."

After a few more seconds of silence, Amy voices her agreement. "Okay, let's do that."

At her decision, Sheldon breathes a sigh of relief. Accepting this opportunity is the right thing to do, without a doubt, because it gives them the most freedom for the future.

The doctor smiles as well. "It's a fine place to start. I'll send a prescription request to the pharmacy we have on record for you. As one additional point of concern, while you're mulling things over, I'd advise you to also go over your insurance coverage. California has an infertility insurance mandate, but policies do vary. The only real drawback to going through with this process is the possible financial burden."

"That's not a problem," Sheldon interjects, not wanting that concern to weigh on Amy at all. They both look at him, but he only has eyes for one of them. "I'm happy to cover the costs for whatever we need."

—