“I’m sorry,” I said, sitting down on the sofa beside him, because I couldn’t just walk away and leave things like this. We’d never talked to each other this way. Ever.
“I honestly didn’t know you were unhappy,” I said. “I promise I’ll try to lighten up, and I’m sure I’ll feel better after the ultrasound, when I finally know what’s going on. And maybe you’re right. Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me, and we just haven’t gotten lucky yet.”
Even as I spoke the words, I didn’t believe them, because my intuition had been poking at me for a while now. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong with me. I was only saying these things to smooth things over between Wes and me, because I didn’t want to go to bed angry.
“Let’s just forget about it, okay?” he said. “I’m sick of discussing it. And I don’t want to talk about our sex life either. It is what it is.”
Still in shock from this abrupt change in him, I rose from the sofa. “All right then. I’ll leave you alone.”
I walked out and he didn’t follow, nor did he come to bed that night. He fell asleep on the sofa with the television on, and that’s where he stayed.
The following morning, while we were getting ready for work, he apologized for the things he’d said, but his mood remained irritable and standoffish. I didn’t understand how he could become such a different person overnight. It was like suddenly being married to Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.
At the same time, I worried that it was my fault—that I had been too preoccupied lately and had missed all the signals. That my husband wasn’t happy and I’d been too self-absorbed to notice.
We didn’t speak to each other at work that day. Not once. Not even during lunch hour, which used to be the time when we met up for a chat, and flirt or sneak a kiss in the teachers’ lounge if no one was around.
That night, when Wes slid into bed, he shut off the light right away and said, “Let’s just take a break from trying this week, okay? Since you’re not ovulating anyway.”
“Okay,” I replied, feeling hurt and rejected as he turned his back on me and pulled the covers up to his neck.
Suddenly, a crushing fear came down upon me as I remembered how I had felt on the day I watched the paramedics wheel my father into the back of the ambulance. My life had fallen apart in a matter of hours and there had been no warning.
Was that what was happening now? Was the good in my life about to be torn away?
I told myself I was being paranoid and overly sensitive, and I just needed to give Wes some space. I wasn’t the only one who was worried about never having a family. He wanted children, too—as badly as I did—and I suspected he was tired of always having to be my rock.
I resolved to make more of an effort not to be pessimistic about our fertility issues, and I hoped that when I had more information from Dr. Walker—and hopefully a game plan—the pressure would ease off both of us.
The next day, I suggested to Wes that we go to a movie, which we did that night, and I also raised the idea of going away for March break in the spring. I thought it might be fun to start planning a trip somewhere exotic and romantic. Somewhere we’d never been before. Maybe a Caribbean cruise or a trip to Mexico? We could invite Angie and Scott to join us.
Wes seemed to like the idea, so it provided us with something to talk about, other than our problems conceiving a child.
* * *
On a more positive note, the ultrasound the following week did not reveal any unusual growths or tumors in my feminine parts, so that was good news.
And Dr. Walker turned out to be a lovely female OBGYN who made me feel at ease as soon as I entered her office.
She was young and pretty with long red curly hair—not much older than me—and she was the kind of person who was born to be a physician, for not only was she incredibly knowledgeable, she was also kind and caring. In the first five minutes, I felt as if I could tell her anything and confess my deepest fears. I sensed that she would be understanding and sympathetic, and offer helpful solutions.
She was completely transparent and told me what to expect at every turn from that moment on. Not only did she tell me what we were going to do, she told me why we were going to do it.
“So now that we’ve determined that there are no growths visible from the ultrasound,” she said, “we need to look for any lingering effects from that fall you had when you were fourteen. Unfortunately, that kind of scarring wouldn’t show up in the ultrasound.”
“How will we look for that?” I asked.
She leaned back in her chair in a relaxed fashion, as if we were two close friends having coffee together, and said, “I’d like to book you in for a hysteroscopy and laparoscopy. These are scopes we can do to determine if your fallopian tubes are open wide enough for your eggs to pass through each month, from your ovaries down to your uterus. In your case, there’s a chance that the trauma and surgery that occurred when you fell from the horse might have resulted in some scar tissue that’s created an obstacle course for your eggs.”
I blinked a few times. “Will I be awake for the scope?
“No, we’ll put you under, and it’s a very simple procedure. We’ll make a tiny incision right here.” She showed me the spot near her own belly button. “And then we’ll go in with the scopes and inject some dye into the tubes to see if they’re clear.”
“What if I do have scar tissue?” I asked. “What if my tubes are completely blocked? Is there any cure for that?”
She smiled warmly at me. “There are all sorts of options for every scenario, Claire, and we’ll work through it together, I promise. In terms of what I think we might be dealing with here—if that old trauma is truly what’s causing your difficulties in conceiving—how we treat it will depend on how much scarring there is. If there are only minor adhesions, we can clear it up during this procedure. Fertility drugs may or may not be needed.”
“What if it’s not minor?” I asked.
She spoke matter-of-factly, as if she weren’t concerned in the least. “Then, there are still other options.”
“Like what?”
She sat forward. “Well…we can consider IVF.”
“In vitro fertilization?” I was actually thrilled to hear her speak of it, because I had been reading up on it and I had a good feeling about it.
Dr. Walker nodded. “I take it you’re familiar.”
“Yes, I’ve been doing research. It’s when you harvest the woman’s egg and inject the father’s sperm to fertilize it. Then you put the embryo back into the woman’s uterus so that the egg can implant there.”
“That’s right,” she replied, looking impressed. “But with IVF—just like in a natural conception—not every embryo implants successful and results in a pregnancy. For a woman your age, it’s about a fifty-fifty success rate. That’s why we try to enhance those odds by freezing surplus embryos so that we can try again later if the first one doesn’t take.” She smiled at me. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We don’t even know if that will be necessary. We need to get a look at your fallopian tubes first. Then we’ll be able to formulate a plan. I’m going to try to get you in before Christmas.”
We chatted for a few more minutes, then I stood up, feeling rejuvenated and far more positive than I had in months. I felt as if Dr. Walker was an angel sent from heaven, delivering a big, fat basket of hope to my doorstep.
I couldn’t wait to go home and tell Wes. It had been a while since we’d done anything celebratory together. I decided to pick up a bottle of wine on the way home and cook his favorite meal.
Chapter Eleven
My relationship with Wes took a turn for the better when I came home from my appointment with Dr. Walker and told him everything she had said. We talked over the dinner table where he apologized again for the way he had behaved that other night, and he promised it wouldn’t happen again.
“You didn’t deserve that,” he said. “You’re the most amazing woman in the world. I was a total j
erk and I know it. I guess I just hit a wall.”
I told him I understood, because it was a stressful situation.
I then assured myself that it was an ordinary, run-of-the-mill rough patch, and no marriage was perfect 365 days a year. There were bound to be ups and downs and I couldn’t let every speed bump send me into that dark place where I feared everything I loved was going to be suddenly ripped out from under me.
And though it was usually Angie I talked to about our struggles to conceive a child, I had also been confiding in my sister, Bev. I had told her about my argument with Wes, which had left me heartbroken and confused that night.
Although Bev didn’t have the same insights Angie did about these types of marital stresses, Bev was supportive. She was my sister and she loved me. We had been through a lot together and I knew she always had my back.
Maybe that’s why it came as a surprise when she didn’t show up at the hospital on the day I was scheduled to have my scope. It was a week before Christmas, and she had told me earlier that she would be there.
When the day finally arrived, all I received from her was a text, where she apologized for not being able to come, but she didn’t say why. She merely said “good luck,” which I found strange and worrisome. I tried to call her but she didn’t answer her phone.
Wes, on the other hand, was there at my side, dutiful and supportive as always.
My mother came by as well, which I appreciated when I woke up and was wheeled out of recovery. It was good to have my husband and mother in the room with me when Dr. Walker entered with the results.
* * *
Dressed in blue scrubs and running shoes, her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail and a stethoscope slung around her neck, Dr. Walker said hello to Wes and my mom. Then she asked if I wanted to be told the results in private.
The question sent dread into my core.
“It’s fine,” I told her. “My mom and my husband will need to hear it eventually. So they might as well hear it from you.”
“Okay.” She took a seat in the chair next to my bed just as a man in a Santa Clause suit walked by outside the door.
“Ho Ho Ho!”
It was an odd moment under the circumstances, but this was the obstetrics floor and there were new mothers with babies in many of the rooms. I tried to take Santa as a good sign.
Dr. Walker smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. “We’ll be seeing that guy every day for the next week. He comes every year and he’s very jolly.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
She nodded and continued. “So, I suspect that what I’m about to tell you about the procedure won’t come as a total surprise, Claire. I’ve gotten a sense that you’ve had some suspicions for a while.”
I swallowed uneasily and said, “Yes.”
“Well.” She kept her eyes fixed on mine as she let out a breath. “You were right. Now that I’ve had a chance to see how things look, it’s no wonder you’ve been having trouble conceiving. Your tubes are completely blocked.”
I shut my eyes and tried not to panic. It was not the news I had wanted to hear, yet it gave me some peace of mind to know that there was, in fact, a real problem, and that I hadn’t been imagining it, as Wes had suggested. And Dr. Walker was here to help.
I tried to sit up straighter against the pillows, while my mother and Wes stood against the far wall.
“You mentioned a while ago,” I said to Dr. Walker, “that if there was scarring, it might be possible to clear the way during the procedure.”
She sat forward in the chair with her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. “Yes, I did say that, but in your case, I’m afraid it wasn’t possible. The scarring is too severe. We wouldn’t have been able to fix things.”
My throat closed up, but I swallowed hard because I didn’t want to cry. There would be other options. She had told me that in her office weeks ago.
“So…what has been happening to my eggs each month if they can’t travel down my fallopian tubes? Where do they go?”
Dr. Walker gave me the facts. “They simply get absorbed into your body.”
“I see.” Clearing my throat, I formed my next wary question. “So where do we go from here?”
My mother and Wes said nothing, and part of me wished my husband were more involved in this conversation. I wished he had been the one to ask that question.
Dr. Walker laid her hand on my wrist. “You and your husband should definitely take some time to think about all this, but in my professional opinion, your best option is IVF. There are no guarantees, of course, and it’s important that you keep that in mind, but I see no reason why we can’t try for that. You’re completely healthy in every other way. You’re a good candidate, Claire.”
Her words filled me with elation, because at least now, I had a fighting chance and science was on my side. There was a fifty-fifty success rate for women my age. She had told me that in her office and I had confirmed it in my online research.
Thank Heavens! Now we knew what the obstacle was, and there was a clear detour we could take around it.
How I loved the miracle of modern medicine in that moment—and the fact that I had an amazing specialist on my side. A brilliant woman who had the tools and expertise to help us.
I grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you so much, Dr. Walker. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me. This is best Christmas present ever. And if I have a girl, I want to name her after you.”
Dr. Walker laughed. “That is so sweet, Claire. But really, that’s not necessary. You should name your child whatever you want. I won’t hold you to that promise.”
I realized, when my mother began digging through her purse for something, that she was laughing and crying at the same time, searching for a tissue. This was such wonderful news!
Wes, on the other hand, had been checking his phone. When at last he met my gaze, he shook his head as if to clear it, then he moved around the bed and took hold of my hand.
“At least now we know,” he said, glancing briefly at Dr. Walker and giving her a nod, which I took to mean a quiet thank you, even though I was dismayed by how uninvolved he had been during the entire conversation. It left me feeling cold inside.
“Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!”
We all glanced up as Santa Clause walked by the door again, ringing his bell.
Wes smiled at me then, and patted my hand. “’Tis the season to be jolly,” he said with a lightness in his tone that did not ease my concerns.
* * *
Not long after Dr. Walker left my room, I pulled out my cell phone and texted Bev.
Hey, it went well. Dr. Walker figured out the problem and we’re going to deal with it. Things are looking up.
She texted me back: That’s great. I’m so relieved. When do you get to go home?
I quickly thumbed a reply: They’ll be discharging me this afternoon. Do you want to come over for supper so I can fill you in? Wes is coaching a basketball game until nine.
Bev didn’t respond right away, and I found myself picking up my phone and checking it every few seconds, wondering what was going on, because something felt off.
Then I started to wonder if I was becoming paranoid about everyone in my life, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I knew where those feelings were coming from, and I didn’t want to go through my entire life expecting everyone I loved to fall on hedge clippers.
At last, a message came in: Sure. What time? I’ll bring food so you don’t have to cook.
I typed my reply: Great. How about 7:00?
Sounds good. See you then.
Chapter Twelve
My sister and her dog Leo arrived on my doorstep that night with a warm, roasted chicken and pre-made salad from the grocery store, along with homemade frosted sugar cookies in a Christmas candy tin.
I invited them inside, and we sat down on the sofa to eat in the living room in front of the tree, with our plates on our laps and L
eo at our feet.
“Tell me exactly what Dr. Walker told you,” Bev said as she sipped her water. “I’m dying to know.”
I explained my prognosis to her—that what I had suspected all along wasn’t just in my mind. I truly was incapable of conceiving naturally.
“What did Wes say about it?” Bev asked. “Did he feel badly for doubting you?”
I inhaled deeply. “He already apologized for that, but he was strangely calm about the whole thing. It’s funny… I was weirdly overjoyed when Dr. Walker explained everything to me. It was just so nice to have a concrete answer and know what we were dealing with. And to learn how we could move forward. But Wes didn’t seem happy at all. He just seemed kind of…indifferent. Like he didn’t care. He barely seemed to be paying attention.”
I shook my head and poked at my salad. “I don’t know, Bev. I’m trying not to be paranoid, but I feel like there’s a sudden disconnect in my marriage.” I glanced up. “This past year definitely took a toll on us. Everything used to be so romantic and we were a team from day one, but somewhere along the line, he seems to have lost interest in having a baby, and it happened really fast. And he hasn’t told his family anything about our troubles conceiving. His mother doesn’t know, although she must suspect something.”
“He does love you,” Bev said. “I’m sure of it. He’s always been supportive, right?”
“He was,” I replied, “but that night when he came home and expressed his frustrations, it was like someone flipped a switch. He became this other person I didn’t recognize. It made me wonder if he’s been faking his love for me all along, and now that the going has gotten a bit tough with fertility issues, he suddenly wants out.”
Bev reached for the bottle of salad dressing on the coffee table. “I think it’s pretty typical,” she said, as she squeezed the last of the dressing onto her plate, “for infertility to put strain on a marriage. Especially in the bedroom. I’m sure you guys aren’t the first couple to feel this way. But at least now you know exactly what’s wrong, and you can start to enjoy your sex life again, with no pressure. Dr. Walker can help you start your family in her clinic, and life will begin to feel more normal at home. You’ll probably bond in a whole new way during that experience.”
The Color of a Christmas Miracle: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Color of Heaven Series) Page 5
