Marissa sat down on a dark green chair facing Linda’s desk. The woman was rather petite, with short reddish hair and a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her phone conversation was obviously with a patient, and it made Marissa uncomfortable. She tried not to listen. But it was soon over, and Linda turned her full attention to Marissa.

“I’m glad you called,” she said with a smile.

Almost immediately, Marissa felt glad too. Linda Moore struck her as being both competent and warm. Encouraged by Linda, Marissa soon began to open up. Although Linda saw patients with a wide variety of problems at the Women’s Clinic, Marissa learned that a good portion of her practice involved IVF. She understood exactly what Marissa had been going through, perhaps better than Marissa did herself.

“Basically, the problem is a Sophie’s choice,” Linda said halfway into the hour. “You have two equally unsatisfactory possibilities: you can accept your infertility without further treatment as your husband is suggesting and thereby live a life that is contrary to your expectations, or you can continue with the IVF, which will lead to continued stress on yourself and on your relationship, continued cost as your husband has pointed out, and continued stress for you both with no guarantee of success.”

“I’ve never heard it put so succinctly,” Marissa said.

“I think it is important to be clear,” Linda said. “And honest. And being honest starts with yourself. You have to understand what your choices are so you can make rational decisions.”

Gradually, Marissa began to feel more comfortable about revealing her feelings, and the surprising part was that by doing so, she became more self-aware. “One of the worst problems I have is that I can’t fix things myself.”

“That’s true,” Linda said. “With infertility it doesn’t make any difference how hard you try.”

“Robert used the term ‘obsessed,’ ” Marissa admitted.

“He’s probably right,” Linda agreed. “And it’s only made worse by the emotional ups and downs of IVF: the recurrent flipflop from hope to despair, grief to rage, and envy to self-reproach.”

“What do you mean by envy?” Marissa asked.

“The envy you feel toward women who have children,” Linda said. “The pain you might experience seeing mothers with kids in the grocery store. That kind of stuff.”

“Like the anger I have at the mothers in my practice,” Marissa said. “Especially those who I think are neglecting their kids in some way.”

“Exactly,” Linda said. “I can’t think of a worse practice for an infertile woman than pediatrics. Why couldn’t you have specialized in something else?” Linda laughed and Marissa laughed with her. Pediatrics was a particularly cruel field for someone in her circumstances. It probably was one of the reasons she’d been avoiding going to work as much as possible.