Chapter Text
Date: 2245 FST
Clinic for Obstetrics and Gynecology, Jaleyl City, Raal Province
Dr. Shanik turned the viewscreen so that the information referenced could be seen by the young woman sitting across from her. She had discovered over the years that it was easier to receive certain unpleasant diagnoses if her patients could see the evidence for themselves, even if they didn’t entirely understand it.
She glanced at the girl’s name again. Maat t’an su Lhai.
“Lhai. With regret I must inform you that the genetic disorder detected in this embryonic scan is untreatable. I have consulted with specialists at the Vulcan Medical Institute in Shikahr. There are no current genetic reengineering protocols for treatment in utero nor any remedial therapies post-partum.”
The young woman blinked at the numbers and symbols on the viewscreen but otherwise gave no indication the news affected her one way or the other. Ideally a Vulcan strives for such mastery, but in Dr. Shanik’s experience, this lack of any reaction seemed troubling.
“Developmental aberrations will accelerate quickly in the second stage of pregnancy,” she continued, “putting your own health at significant risk. Surgical termination is recommended as soon as it can be scheduled.”
“I understood medication to be the prescribed course.”
“Not in this case.”
The case was one of the rarest genetic disorders Shanik had ever come across, and then only as an obscure reference in a medical text. In fact, when she’d contacted the genetic facility at the VMI they dismissed her diagnosis before even looking at her results.
“Your equipment is likely outdated,” they’d told her. “Sufficient for a practice in Jaleyl perhaps, but not as exacting as what is available in our facilities.”
“Which is why I have contacted you,” she’d replied.
They promised to run the screens themselves and get back to her. But she’d had to contact them twice afterwards, the second time as a terse reminder that termination needed to occur before gestation passed the one hundred and twenty days marker. “Later than that, “she stressed, “and it will unnecessarily traumatize the mother.” By the next afternoon they’d responded in a tone quite different from the previous condescension.
Her results were correct. Would the young woman be willing to travel to Shikahr for the abortion procedure? Or barring that, would she agree to release the fetal remains for research purposes?
Research scientists could be somewhat… ghoulish.
In the end, it proved a moot point. A representative for the Ministry of Health contacted her almost immediately after the scientists from the VMI. Under no circumstances would the fetal remains be given over to research. Termination must take place in a clinical setting to ensure all tissue was expelled and disposed of properly. A medical examiner would be present to make certain the fetal remains were dispatched thoroughly.
If the Ministry of Health felt the need to get involved, that meant, somehow, this tiny fetus with a rare genetic disorder was seen as a threat to public health.
She looked again at the young woman’s intake information: Employed as a shop assistant. Mother deceased. Father currently residing in T’Seret. No partner or bond-mate listed.
“You may wish to inform the other genetic donor.”
“No,” Lhai replied.
“That is your prerogative. It would, however, be advisable to have a family member, or colleague present to escort you home afterwards.”
“I will make arrangements.”
“Schedule the procedure with the reception desk. Within the next ten days. No later.”
Maat t’an su Lhai nodded and left the room.
^^^
This part of Jaleyl seemed comparatively new, built on a well-ordered grid with well-marked signage that made it difficult for Lhai to get lost no matter how hard she tried. If she somehow got turned around trying to find the public transport station, then her reason for being late to work would not be a lie.
Even the mere thought of standing behind a counter filling orders made her sleepy.
Now she’d need to arrange time off for this… other thing as well. Her supervisor would not be amenable. She had so many absences recently they’d given two of her regular shifts to T’Ria.
This morning she’d received a notice from the housing co-operative reminding her of a “prolonged lapse in performing her share of those household duties integral to her dwelling agreement.” If she did not fulfill her responsibilities within the next three days, it would be considered a breach of contract and due cause for removal.
She could lose her job and her apartment and a bean sized fetus all at the same time—
Suddenly overcome, she flopped onto a bench next to a tall blue door and leaned against the warm wall to illogically worry her situation.
Abortion had been the logical course even before the diagnosis. She knew Ahyan would never be a reliable co-parent. He’d been a most unreliable friend. She’d even gone to the chemist shortly after finding herself pregnant to acquire the medication. But then, suddenly, he was dead. Stepped off the Zharkur Canyon bridge as if stepping off a pavement. None of his friends could tell her why. It made little sense. Two of his pieces had been accepted by a prestigious gallery in Vulcana Regar. Perhaps he thought he’d reached the pinnacle of his achievements and there was nothing left. Or more likely found himself unwilling to channel his strange, mad fire into the productivity required for success.
Inside her was a small spark of that fire. She wanted to keep it alive though it made no practical sense. When Dr. Shanik delivered the diagnosis, her mind became a white space. She should have asked more questions.
What genetic disorder still existed that could not be fixed by modern medical science? Science could grow new teeth, new eyes, new brain cells. Program viruses to devour tumors. Her own cousin’s severe spinal deformity had been fixed in the womb. Science could detect potential anomalies in the genetics of parents and take preventative measures before they’d conceived offspring.
How could her baby have the only disorder in the world that could not be fixed by science?
Grief roiled up suddenly beneath her solar plexus, caught in her throat so that she couldn’t take even a single deep breath to calm herself. Two people walked by her, politely averting their gazes. She covered her head but wanted to scream at the sky.
Her sense of time slipped away, head bowed, wrapped in woe. No idea how long she’d been sitting when a touch on her shoulder had her on her feet.
A man with a weathered face pushed back the hood of his robe. “Are you in need of a healer, child?”
She opened her mouth to say no, but he peered at her with such compassion her soul cracked open. She began to weep.
“Come in, come in,” he said, opening the tall blue door, “your sorrow is safe in my house.”
He was a sarda, a priest, and used no other appellation. A small glyph of Oekon was embroidered on his collar, that was all. He brought a soft cloth to wash her face, fed her, poured tea for her as she poured out her story and after she’d done it, he sat still a moment, eyes closed, hands folded in his lap.
“I have a question for you to consider, Maat t’an su Lhai,” he said.
She took a breath, acquiesced.
“If Okeon, unifying force and maker of all things, has arranged the shape of your fetus, can it truly be called disordered?”