殘忍而美麗的情誼:The Kite Runner 追風箏的人(106)

“Sometimes, it takes a while,” I told Soraya one night.
“A year isn’t a while, Amir!” she said, in a terse voice so unlike her. “Something’s wrong, I know it.”
“Then let’s see a doctor.”
DR. RoseN, a round-bellied man with a plump face and small, even teeth, spoke with a faint Eastern European accent, some thing remotely Slavic. He had a passion for trains--his office was littered with books about the history of railroads, model locomotives, paintings of trains trundling on tracks through green hills and over bridges. A sign above his desk read, LIFE IS A TRAIN. GET ON BOARD.
He laid out the plan for us. I’d get checked first. “Men are easy,” he said, fingers tapping on his mahogany desk. “A man’s plumbing is like his mind: simple, very few surprises. You ladies, on the other hand... well, God put a lot of thought into making you.” I wondered if he fed that bit about the plumbing to all of his couples.
“Lucky us,” Soraya said.
Dr. Rosen laughed. It fell a few notches short of genuine. He gave me a lab slip and a plastic jar, handed Soraya a request for some routine blood tests. We shook hands.
“Welcome aboard,” he said, as he showed us out.
I PASSED WITH FLYING COLORS.
The next few months were a blur of tests on Soraya: Basal body temperatures, blood tests for every conceivable hormone, urine tests, something called a “Cervical Mucus Test,” ultrasounds, more blood tests, and more urine tests. Soraya underwent a procedure called a hysteroscopy--Dr. Rosen inserted a telescope into Soraya’s uterus and took a look around. He found nothing. “The plumbing’s clear,” he announced, snapping off his latex gloves. I wished he’d stop calling it that--we weren’t bathrooms. When the tests were over, he explained that he couldn’t explain why we couldn’t have kids. And, apparently, that wasn’t so unusual. It was called “Unexplained Infertility.”
Then came the treatment phase. We tried a drug called Clomiphene, and hMG, a series of shots which Soraya gave to herself. When these failed, Dr. Rosen advised in vitro fertilization. We received a polite letter from our HMO, wishing us the best of luck, regretting they couldn’t cover the cost.

“有時生孩子需要花一點時間。”某天夜裏我對索拉雅說。
“一年了，可不是一點時間，阿米爾！”她冷冷說，聲音完全像變了一個人，“肯定有問題，我知道。”
“那麼我們去看看大夫。”

羅森大夫大腹便便，臉蛋圓潤，一口細牙齒相當整齊，說話稍微帶點東歐口音，有些像斯拉夫人。他對火車情有獨鍾——他的辦公室到處都是跟鐵路歷史有關的書籍、火車頭模型，還有各種照片：鐵軌上的火車穿過如黛青山或者橋樑。他的桌子上方懸掛着一條標語：生命如火車，請上車。
他替我們出謀策劃。我先做檢查。“男人簡單些。”他說，手指在紅木辦公桌上輕輕敲打。“男人的管道就像他的頭腦：簡單，很少出入意外。你們女士就不同了……這麼說吧，上帝造你們的時候花了很多心思。”我懷疑他是不是碰到每對夫婦，都要扯這套管道理論。
“我們真幸運。”索拉雅說。
羅森大夫大笑，不過笑聲聽上去很假。他給我一張測試紙和一個塑料罐，要求索拉雅定期做血檢。我們握手作別。
“歡迎上車。”他說，請我們出去。
我通過了測試。
接下來幾個月，索拉雅不斷做檢查：基礎體溫，抽血檢查每一種所能想像得到的荷爾蒙，某種叫“子宮黏液測試”的檢查，超聲波，更多的血檢，更多的尿檢。索拉雅還接受了“宮腔鏡”檢查——羅森大夫將顯微鏡插進索拉雅的陰道，進行檢視，他沒發現異常。“管道很乾淨。”他一邊脫掉橡膠手套，一邊宣佈。我希望他別這樣稱呼——我們又不是浴室！檢查統統結束之後，他解釋說他無法解釋爲什麼我們懷不上小孩。而且，很顯然，這並不罕見。這叫“原因不明性不孕症”。

接下來是治療期。我們服用一種叫“克羅米芬”的藥物，索拉雅還定期給自己注射“尿促性素”。這些全沒效，羅森大夫建議我們考慮體外受孕。我們收到一封來自“健康維護組織”的信函，措辭禮貌，祝我們好運，並說恕不替我們支付那筆費用。