Pressure Drop Read Online Free PDF

matter.” The phone buzzed. Dr. Crossman took a honey-colored pastille from a tin box on the desk and stuck it in his mouth. The phone stopped buzzing. “The appointment was made last week,” Nina said.
    â€œYes, I see it here,” said Dr. Crossman, sucking on the pastille. “But it’s been crossed out. The whole day is crossed out.” He turned the book around so she could see. “Moreover,” Dr. Crossman added, “this is not a fertility clinic. It is a research institute that takes human fertility as its subject.”
    â€œBut you do perform artificial insemination.”
    He pointed a finger at her. “On qualified candidates,” he said. His fingers were long, thin and freckled.
    â€œDr. Berry referred me.”
    â€œYes, I see that too. And I have nothing but respect for Dr. Berry. But he doesn’t decide if you’re qualified. That is solely up to us.”
    â€œWhat are the criteria?”
    â€œThey’re extensive. That’s what the preliminary interview is all about.”
    â€œCan we get started then? Since I’m here anyway.”
    Dr. Crossman felt his mustache with his long forefinger. The sight of the reddish hairs brushing the freckled skin gave Nina an inexplicable queasy feeling, reminding her of a time in early childhood when she had become nauseated while eating a baloney sandwich and listening to a story about a frog on the radio.
    Dr. Crossman looked at his watch, thin and gold, with no numbers. Perhaps that was why he spent such a long time studying it. “All right,” he said. “All right.” He went into the front office, returned with a file folder. Nina saw her name on it. He opened the file, leaned forward slightly in his chair to read it. His eyes moved back and forth. He looked every inch the careful and concerned physician, except for the party hat.
    â€œYou’re thirty-nine,” he said, not looking up.
    â€œThat’s right. Is there an age limit?”
    â€œNot carved in stone. It’s just one of the factors.” He took a pen from an inside pocket and wrote “39” on a blank sheet of paper. “Five feet eight,” he read aloud. “One hundred and thirty-seven pounds. Pulse sixty-two. Blood pressure one-twenty over ninety. General health excellent. Medical record good. Any major injuries?”
    â€œI tore ligaments in my knee once. Is that major?”
    Dr. Crossman glanced at her. “How did you do that?”
    â€œPlaying field hockey.”
    â€œDid you have surgery?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWho performed it?”
    â€œDr. Hunneycutt.”
    â€œWalter was a good man,” said Dr. Crossman, rising. “Retired now.” He came around the desk. “Let me see.”
    â€œSee what?”
    â€œThe knee.”
    Nina stared at him. “Does my knee have something to do with my ability to have children?” Dr. Crossman didn’t notice her stare; he missed the edge in her tone too.
    â€œWe have to know all we can about your general health,” he said. “It’s routine.”
    He stood over her. Nina raised the hem of her skirt an inch or two. Dr. Crossman bent over, peered at her scar. “Nice work.” He straightened, but before he did his gaze slid swiftly up her leg. Nina tugged her hem back down.
    Dr. Crossman sat back down at the desk, stuck another honey-colored pastille in his mouth, turned the pages of her medical record. He glanced up. “Both your parents are deceased?” The information seemed to make his tone more lively.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAny brothers or sisters?”
    â€œNo.”
    Dr. Crossman wrote, “No: P’s, B’s, S’s.” He underlined it. “Who is your closest living relative?”
    â€œI have some cousins in California.”
    â€œFirst cousins?”
    â€œDistant. I’ve seen only one or two of them, and that was years ago.” Dr. Crossman drew a