Running Out of Eggs

This is a story that I wrote for a writing contest ... The title must be "Running Out of Eggs" and the story must be less than 1,000 words, so here goes:

“No!” Jeanette said a bit louder than she intended. “There must be another answer. How conclusive is this test?” she asked the nurse on the other end of the telephone line.

“There is always a chance that the blood work is wrong, we've seen it happen before, but our facilities have tightened their guidelines and practices so that a positive reading for hormone imbalance is pretty accurate.”

“This can't be,” Jeanette was still floundering for an answer to her inability to conceive. She is only twenty-seven years old and this faceless person on the line was telling her that she was running out of eggs, “early menopause” they called it.

“I'm sorry,” the nurse said.

“Is there something we can do differently?”

“Dr. Jennings would like to see you to discuss the options. What day works best for you?”

The two women worked out the details as Jeanette continued to try to accept the devastating information. As she hung up her fiance, Bill, came in from the garage. He saw the look on Jeanette's face, he knew something was wrong, pulling her into a greasy hug he let her collapse into him as he thought of a million things that might be causing the distress on her face.

“Is it your mother?” he asked as he pulled her hair from her face and wiped a tear away.

“They said I'm in early menopause,” Jeanette shrieked and fell deeper into his hug, letting the scent of his aftershave and grease envelop her.

“Oh, Jesus, Honey, there are things they can do to help us conceive, right?”

“I don't know, Doctor wants to see us next week. Oh, why can't I just run to a store and get more eggs if I'm running out?”

“Honey,” Bill tried to stifle his laughter, “what would they call a store like that, Hormones R Us?”

Jeanette didn't see the humor in his response, if anything it seemed to infuriate her. “That question didn't need a response, Bill, especially a sarcastic response!” She pulled away from him and stormed to her bedroom. In a rage she tore through the room, throwing out the calendar she had so carefully kept denoting her menstruation cycle. She took the mercury laden thermometer that told her when she was ovulating, broke it in half, slicing at her arm like a chef dicing meat she quickly tore through her skin with the thermometer. Crying she watched as the blood ran down her arm, she knew then that there was more wrong then running out of eggs.

Bill stayed in the kitchen, fearful of the rage he had just seen. Then he heard the sobs and knew that he had no choice but to respond to the wild cries emanating from the master bedroom. When he ran to the room he saw her, covered in blood and with wild eyes. For the first time he realized that he was no longer just a psychiatrist, he was the fiance and lover of a soon to be patient. He could fix her though, after all, it was just a tiny bit of self-harm. All he had to do was hide the fact that she had lost control over her fear of being barren. He wasn't worried about hiding it from her family, they would never figure it out, yet his colleagues would see it at the Christmas party in two days.

Checking Jeanette over Bill realized she would need stitches on some of her wounds.

“Why, Jeanette?” he cried out. “Why would you do this to yourself? Have you any idea at all what mercury poisoning can do to you?”

“Oh, like it really matters?” she shot back. You know that I have always dreamed of being a stay at home Mom. A homemaker, how can I make a home with no family in it?”

“You don't even know the doctor's suggestions, you have no idea what our options are,” he said as he dabbed a towel to her oozing arm. But he had a sinking feeling that she wouldn't be around for her doctor's appointment next week.

“It doesn't matter, nothing matters anymore.” She pushed past him and headed out of the room, down the hall into the spare room they had dreamed of making a nursery. Flinging open the closet she tore through the items for their future as parents. Hugging a pile of brand new infant clothing to her chest as she bled upon them, she ran to the sewing room, where she grabbed her scissors and tore the garments to shreds. She no longer heard Bill's words, all she could hear were the voices in her head. “Worthless, you are nothing, you will never be anything, you can't even get pregnant right!” The voices continued to shout over Bill's pleading her to let him help her.

Finally, she succumbed to exhaustion and Bill was able to get her to the hospital as she dozed on the way. Good thing, he thought, as he drove to a psychiatric hospital seventy miles from home. This is the only way I can keep this from leaking out to my partners.

As Bill pulled into the hospital driveway Jeanette mumbled, “I imagine I will never see you after today?”

“You're so right, Jeanette, I'm just that shallow,” his comment was sarcastic, but it was lost on her. Yes, I'm shallow at times, but not shallow enough to let go of the women I love over her illness, whatever that might be.