Avalanche by Julia Leigh Read Free Book Online Page B

coast with her husband and two boys. I updated her on the latest sperm rejection. “Just use my hubby’s,” shesaid. “You can use it. I’ll ask him.” She asked then and there in the car. “Sure,” he said. “Why not.” It happened so quickly—their tremendous act of kindness.
    Because I live by the beach I have quite a few friends who volunteer as lifesavers. They are all strong swimmers who unlike me have mastered their fear of heavy swell and they can go out into the surf in all kinds of weather. One night I was at dinner with three lifesavers and I asked if anyone had ever actually saved a life. Yes, they had: one friend was strolling along an unpatrolled city beach in autumn when she noticed someone facedown in the water. Her first thought was—That’s a weird place to scuba dive. Then as she got closer she realized the person was in trouble. She raced into the water, fully clothed, and dragged the man back to shore. He wasn’t breathing. She did everything right—the mouth-to-mouth and CPR—and when he was taken away in the ambulance he was alive. She didn’t visit him in the hospital, never had any contact with him again. One of those things. The other two lifesavers had paddled out while on patrol to rescue those who were drowning.
    My sister’s husband began his visits to the clinic.
    He was assessed for eligibility, gave his medical history, went through an overview of the consent forms, did his various blood tests, a urine test. He gave a sperm sample and after it was tested he returned to give more that could go into frozen storage. The known donor sperm workup cost AU$930 (US$966). I never asked him for any details about how he managed ejaculating upwards into a cup. The clock for the quarantine period was set ticking. One thing: we waited for a month to get back the sperm analysis. This was a failure of communication. Things do slip through the cracks. The patient learns to be vigilant.
    Once the quarantine period had started the counseling began. My sister and her husband went to the clinic together and talked with a counselor about the legal framework of a donation and the implications for their family. What would they say to their two boys? What if I had a girl, would my sister feel jealous? It was a thorough process. A time was scheduled for the three of us to return together for a second group counseling session, something I dreaded. In our wildest girlhood fantasies about future husbands and babies (our wild-straight fantasies) we never imagined this scenario. In addition, mysister’s husband was required to do genetic counseling and undertake a series of genetic tests to identify any chromosomal abnormalities, cystic fibrosis or thalassemia (a disease of the red blood cells). Some results would take three to six weeks to come in. He asked his mother to draw up his family tree, a full family medical history, as required by the clinic. None of us realized the extent of what would be involved when we set out and he dispatched each chore with good grace. We joked about our family topiary.
    My sister called with some bad news. She’d been to a BBQ and her father-in-law had made it clear that he was strongly opposed to the sperm donation. “Over my dead body,” were the words he used. He worried about his grandchildren. The very concept of IVF did not sit well with him: “I’m sorry but it’s not right.” She said they were still prepared to go ahead if I really wanted but now it was harder for her husband, who had a close bond with his dad. “Thanks for letting me know,” I said. I was tiny. Dearest sister. Who wants to cause a family rift, who wants a child to be born in a storm? I chose not to go ahead and drank the brew of time wasted.
    I longed to ask Paul once more for his frozen sperm but knew it would be pointless. Our child clung to me like a ghost.
    One morning I woke up and noticed a tiny