In dr. Vroit’s clinic in Guayaquil, there were fewer visual images of God or the Virgin, because Catholicism takes a less slightly less materialistic form there, but the practitioners did pray. at every aspiration, Nancí, a laboratory biologist, would appeal to God “to allow us get the number of eggs we need and that we get good results.” she would pray before each aspiration. “I have Christ in the labora-tory,” she told me. “Whenever I go to do a procedure, I ask that he enlighten me to do things well.”
In Dr. Vroit’s clinic in Guayaquil, visual reminders of God—the crucifix, the Virgin’s image—are notably scarce, yet prayer is woven into every technical gesture. At each egg‐aspiration procedure, Nancí, the laboratory biologist, pauses her pipettes and centrifuge to petition Christ for a sufficient yield of high‐quality oocytes and a successful outcome (p. 9). Her declaring, “I have Christ in the laboratory,” she evolves the lab bench into a sacred workspace, inviting divine guidance to sharpen her skills and protect the fragile gametes. This engrained, less materially excessive form of Catholicism shows that faith in God’s assistance need not rely on statues or icons; rather, it lives in the practitioners’ hands, their words, and their rituals. In doing so, Nancí’s devotion does more than dispel uncertainty—it reorients the entire scientific endeavor toward a shared moral economy, where lab protocols and prayer become co‑equals in the quest to create life.