Marissa nodded, this time in genuine agreement.

“I’d like to encourage you to give Resolve a call,” Linda continued. She handed a card with a telephone number to Marissa. “You might have heard of the organization. It’s a self-help support group for people with infertility problems. I think you would benefit from the contact. They talk about the same issues you and I have been discussing. It will be reassuring to realize that you are not alone in all this.”

Leaving the psychologist’s office, Marissa felt pleased that she’d made the effort. She felt a hundred times better about the session than she’d imagined she would. She looked at the card with the Resolve phone number on it. She even felt positive about calling the organization. She’d heard about it before, but had never seriously thought of calling, in part because she was a physician. She had always assumed that the main purpose of the group was to explain the scientific aspects of infertility to lay people. That Resolve dealt with emotional aspects of infertility was news.

Riding down in the elevator, Marissa realized she’d forgotten to ask Linda about Rebecca Ziegler. She made a mental note to do it at their next session.

From the Women’s Clinic, Marissa went to her pediatric group. Robert had been right. Her practice was in disarray. Given her frequent absences, her secretary, Mindy Valdanus, was being used as a “float” to cover for other secretaries who were on vacation. Marissa wasn’t surprised to find Mindy’s desk empty when she passed by on her way to her office.

On her own desk, Marissa found a pile of unopened mail as well as a fine layer of dust. Hanging up her coat, Marissa called Dr. Frederick Houser, the senior partner of the group. He could see her, so she went directly up to his office.

“I have an embryo transfer scheduled for tomorrow,” Marissa told her mentor once they were seated in the conference room. “It might be the last cycle if my husband has his way.”

Dr. Houser was an old-school physician. He was a large, portly man, mostly bald save for a ring of silver hair that ran around the back of his head. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and an ever-present bow tie. He had a warm, generous air about him that made everyone feel comfortable in his presence, from patients to colleagues.

“But if it is not successful,” Marissa continued, “and if I can smooth things out with Robert, we’ll try a few more. But no more than eight. So one way or another, I’ll be back to normal within half a year at most.”

“We wish you the best,” Dr. Houser said. “But we will have to lower your salary again. Of course that will change as soon as you start contributing significantly to the group’s income.”

“I understand,” Marissa said. “I appreciate your patience with me.”