A handsome face hovered above me. I saw his lips moving. I wanted to talk, but my throat didn’t work. I felt weak and just needed to sleep. I closed my eyes. Over the next hour, I was aware of voices and sirens, footsteps, the cold air outside, men’s hands on me, a flashlight in my face, Vera’s voice, pain in my groin, wetness in my pants. At the hospital, they wheeled me down the hall.

“One, two, three,” said the ambulance men as they transferred me from a cart onto the bed. There were IVs and tubes and tests. They interviewed me over and over. What day is it? Monday. Who is the president? George Bush.

Nurses helped me take off my clothes and get into a gown. They hooked me up and drew blood; they poked my tummy and checked my eyes and ears and mouth. They looked up my nose and checked my temperature. Someone asked for my regular doctor’s name. I said Dr. Salovich, but he was the fertility doctor. I struggled to think of another doctor I’d seen. They said not to worry, they’d find out.

The doctors and nurses all looked alike. Each nurse had a different job, which they announced when they entered the room and rubbed sanitizing foam on their hands.

“Can I have a drink of water?” I asked one of them.

“Not yet,” she said. “We’re gonna check you out first. In case you need surgery.”

“Surgery,” I mumbled, hoping somebody would explain.

“I’ll get you some ice chips,” the nurse said.

A different woman walked in and sat on a stool next to my bed. She wore a white coat with her name embroidered on it. “I’m Dr. Sheldon,” she said. “You can call me Alice if you like.”

I stared at the blue pens in the pocket of her coat and the stethoscope around her neck.

“This is Mark.” She nodded at the young man beside her. He had a laptop on a wheeled cart, and he stood behind it, typing. “He’s gonna be taking notes, okay? Can you tell me where you are right now?”

“The hospital,” I said with a sigh. How long was this gonna take?

“That’s right. You’re at St. Mary’s hospital in Duluth,” she said. “How long ago did you give birth?”

“I don’t know. Thursday,” I said. It felt like a month ago. I needed to find Nell.

“Were there any complications?” She placed her hand on my forearm, gently.

“Well . . . I was a surrogate, so . . .” I wondered if I was in trouble.

She nodded, taking that in. “We’ll get to that. But I meant, were there any problems in the birth?” She used a sweet voice, low and calm, as if this were just a get-to-know-you session. “Everything go all right with the placenta, as far as you know?”

“I think so, yeah.”