by Rosie Nixon
I noticed the date at the top of an email – almost nine months ago – confirming my appointment for the embryo transfer that week. As I tried to focus on the email, my mind wandered back to that day…
It was a warm day, and as I walked the short distance from the Tube to the IVF clinic, I almost wished I’d worn a dress. I felt clammy and sweaty in all the wrong places; a toxic mixture of nerves and hangover; a bag of jitters. But I didn’t want the physician implanting my little embryo to think I had dressed up for him or her. I wanted to be bland today, just another patient, just another cervix – the whole thing was shameful enough; imagine if they knew what had happened last night? So I wore my staple blue skinny jeans and a thin grey T-shirt. Subconsciously I thought that tight trousers might somehow hug my body and encourage the embryo to stay put and stick. I’d run out of time to shave my legs anyway; it had ended up being a rush just to make myself look and feel presentable, before hurrying across London in time.
After paying for the procedure and completing all the paperwork, signing my name several times against a signature for a representative from the embryology team, the reality hit me as the nurse asked me one final question:
‘Is there any chance you might already be pregnant today?’
‘No,’ I replied, my heart rate speeding up. She barely looked up as she noted down my response and passed me a pee-stick anyway. I went to the toilet and took the test. I noticed my hand was shaking as I tried to aim on the stick. For a moment I wondered if this whole thing was a good idea. My heart pounded in my chest. But as a second line failed to appear on the stick, confirming I was not pregnant, I took a deep breath and returned to the consultant’s room. I had come too far to change my mind now.
I was then asked to remove my underwear and change into a clinical green gown. None of the romance involved with having your knickers pulled down in a moment of passion with the man of your dreams. A flashback swept across my mind.
As I lay there, half naked, my legs in stirrups, I stared at the ceiling while the doctor delved around my uterine cavity and a sonographer made encouraging chirps by my side.
At last my discomfort was broken by the sonographer announcing: ‘Super. Well done, Lucy. I’m very pleased with how the transfer has gone. So all that’s left for you to do now is get dressed and go home and rest. You don’t need to do anything in particular, just take it easy for a few days – try to avoid any sharp jolts, speed bumps, sex – and then you can get back to normal life. Stick to the rules of course.’
She handed me a sheet of paper with a list of things that it was sensible to avoid if you might be pregnant, including caffeine, alcohol and raw fish. I put the paper straight into my bag. I knew it all already. She placed a hand on my shoulder to stop me getting up just yet. ‘Wait at least twelve days before taking a pregnancy test. Here’s one for you.’ She produced a long, unmarked white box from a draw and handed it over. ‘Do you know how to use it?’
I nodded; I’d done more than my share of pregnancy tests over the years.
‘We’ll call you back after fourteen days anyway for a blood test, to double-check the result. If you can’t wait that long, you can come in for a test at twelve days and we’ll give you the result then.’
She smiled. ‘Everything looks good on screen, so now we just have to hope your body will do the rest. Do you want to go and see Amelia?’
‘No, I’m good,’ I shook my head resolutely, refusing the counselling session again. ‘But thanks.’
‘You take care and we’ll be in touch.’
She handed over the papers in an unmarked envelope. And that was it. In under an hour, in a very matter-of-fact, clinical way, we had just, potentially, made a baby.
I got dressed quickly, keen to leave the clinic as soon as possible. Stepping back into the roasting sunshine gave me a little lift; I felt warm in my jeans, my cheeks still flushed both from the procedure and the alcohol still in my body. It was hard not to feel like a piece of meat in there. But I had done all I could do now; it was time for Mother Nature to pick up the reins, and although hungover, heaven knew I’d given her a reasonable head start.
I hailed a cab – the Tube was far too hectic for my head to cope with again today – and on the journey home I tried to distract myself from wondering whether I felt any different already.
I had imagined the sensation of having a tiny foetus inside me so many times in recent years, when I had willed my body to be pregnant, only to face disappointment, over and over again. And now look. The synergy of what had happened last night was so bizarre. The last time I had had a fertilized embryo inside me I was 19. And now, twenty years later, I had a fertilized egg inside me with a real possibility of a successful pregnancy. This didn’t feel real. I closed my eyes and willed the taxi to get me home as quickly as possible.
Katie texted when I was in the cab:
Katie: All good? Hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything. Chocolate? Hummus? Kx
Me: All fine, the deed has been done. Going to get an early night. Call you tomorrow x
When I got home, I considered curling up on the sofa to watch TV, but my mind was scrambled and my ability to focus lost, so instead I climbed back into bed and under the duvet, setting down a large mug of peppermint tea next to me. I had only just managed to stop myself from popping two Nurofen and making a G&T in the kitchen, forgetting for a moment that I was meant to be off regular drugs and alcohol right now. Half of me was thinking what a fat lot of use this recently purchased Nespresso machine was going to be. The other half of me thought carrying on like I might be pregnant was futile. And I was desperate for coffee.
Of course, I hadn’t yet thought to stock up on decaf pods.
Back in the spare room, I took another slurp of tea, although it was barely warm now. Going through all this probably wasn’t a good idea right now. I gathered the papers up into a pile and pushed them into the folder. I was about to put it back in the cabinet when my attention was drawn to another folder. The label said: ‘Donor Docs’.
The sperm donor documents were filed alphabetically next to Oscar’s ‘Divorce Docs’. It seemed quite bizarre that two such momentous, life-changing events for us now amounted to a few pieces of paper sitting cosily alongside each other in the same cabinet. So close, yet light years apart at the same time.
I went through the pile, licking my finger and casting my eye over each piece of paper. There had been a consultant I particularly warmed to when I’d had my embryos frozen; she had sent me a very kind and supportive email, following the awful task of having to tell me that my eggs were of such poor quality, there was only a slim chance of one being successful. It was also following a consultation where I had opened up to her that I wasn’t quite sure when I would be able to use them anyway, because my ‘boyfriend’ didn’t want any more children. ‘Don’t lose hope,’ she had said at the end, ‘I know it’s hard to process right now, but there are other options. Looking for a sperm donor could be worth exploration.’ I remembered the pain anew as I read it.
There were a number of leaflets and letters from the sperm donor bank. Profiles of a few possible candidates. And then a long trail relating to the one I’d chosen, plus a lengthy signed contract.
There was a gap of three months between being told my eggs were poor before I was to return to the same clinic for the IVF procedure. Also inside the folder was the pregnancy test I had used at home and which had revealed the positive result. The little screen which once showed two blue lines had almost faded completely into an off-white now. I wondered whether it was crazy to keep something like that for sentimental value. For a while I had referred to it daily, such was the disbelief that this moment had finally arrived for me again.
Falling pregnant had been a lot to get my head around. Only Katie knew what I had been going through and she’d even offered to be there when I told my parents that the IVF had been successful, although I’d chosen to do it on my own and had ended up telling Mum on the phone.
My parents were conflicted in their emotions – on the one hand thrilled at the prospect of becoming grandparents at last, but on the other, tinged with the sadness of this substandard set up. I could practically hear my mother’s mind ticking over as she tried to fathom how she would explain this to friends at dinner parties. It was almost amusing.
One evening, about three weeks after I had the IVF, Oscar had offered to come round. I had been feeling a little low that day and did what I often did when I was feeling vulnerable – called him. I hadn’t been in the office for a few days, claiming to be ‘working from home’. I almost wanted to wrap myself up in cotton wool in those critical early weeks. Oscar and I weren’t together, and he didn’t yet know I was pregnant, but even hearing his voice on the phone was a huge comfort…
‘Everything all right?’ he asked urgently, the moment I answered the front door.
‘Yes,’ I sighed, ‘everything’s fine. Come in.’
We were sat on my sofa having just ordered a Thai takeaway. My mind was ticking over as Oscar was flicking through Netflix, trying to find a series someone had been raving about, but he couldn’t remember the name of. He gave up, moved to the coffee table and set about opening the bottle of red wine he had brought round. When he passed a glass to me, I knew I couldn’t keep the secret any longer. I just blurted it out.
‘Afraid I’m not drinking,’ I said, pushing it away. ‘I’m pregnant.’
He looked at me in shock. To be fair, it was a huge bombshell – both the pregnancy and the fact I wasn’t drinking wine. His eyes widened. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Yes, Oscar, I am. I’m just a few weeks gone, so it’s still very early days.’
A moment passed. ‘Wow, Lucy, this is big news.’
I smiled weakly.
‘I had no idea you were so keen… still so keen to get pregnant.’ He said it slowly, still processing my news.
‘I’m 38, with no baby-daddy prospects,’ I said measuredly. ‘Of course I want children – a child. You know this Oscar. But I didn’t think it was going to happen any time soon, so I had to go for it. I froze some of my eggs and I had IVF. It appears to have worked.’
I said it in a matter-of-fact way on purpose, wanting to make light of it. Even though there was nothing light about it at all.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Okay, so far,’ I said, ‘A bit more tired than usual, perhaps.’
‘Were you going to tell me?’ Oscar asked, turning the conversation back to himself, somehow making it sound like he’d been hurt in the process.
‘I’m telling you now aren’t I? I didn’t tell you before, because I know you’ve got a lot on your plate with your own family and we’re not together. Remember?’
He looked crestfallen, and for a moment it riled me slightly. ‘You made it quite clear to me that you don’t want any more children, Oscar – you broke up with me over it – so I figured you didn’t need my IVF plans cluttering up your life.’
He paused.
‘Can I ask who the father is?’ He sounded dejected, which took me by surprise. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that he might jump to the conclusion that I’d miraculously found a man willing to make a baby with me in the last few months.
‘You can, and it’s no one I know – I went the anonymous sperm donor route. I chose from a list of distinguished characteristics: high IQ, a clean bill of health, tall and as close to Channing Tatum’s looks as possible. It was all very scientific really.’
He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘So it will be just like me then.’
I smiled. His joke had released some tension.
Oscar seemed fascinated by the anonymous sperm donor and asked if I thought I’d ever want to discover who the father was. I had thought about this a lot at the outset and decided that I wouldn’t want to find out, but that if my child wanted to know, when the time came, I would support them. I hadn’t ticked the box on the consent form which ruled that out entirely. I believed they should have the choice, wherever it led. And I’d be there to support them in that journey. I waivered as I recounted this to him, adding that I imagined it might get complicated one day.
I must have given something away, by the way I told Oscar all this. He gave me a funny look.
‘What are you thinking?’ I asked.
‘I’m trying to work you out.’
‘Work me out?’ I paused.
He had touched a nerve and he seemed to know it. I paused for a moment and a shiver ran down my spine. But again I decided to keep quiet and not tell him any more. This big secret sometimes felt like a fish bone lodged in my throat. It constricted my breath at times, but I didn’t know how to release it, or what the consequences would be if I did. It was a ticking time-bomb.
‘I guess it’s not exactly the way I dreamt of bringing a baby into the world – not knowing who its father is – but it’s my story now,’ I said at last. ‘Our story,’ I indicated my stomach, which so far wasn’t showing any signs of having a baby in there. ‘I wanted to be normal, but it didn’t happen for me.’
He sighed heavily, and I realized Oscar had taken this as a veiled dig at him.
‘Oh, I didn’t mean that I blame you in any way,’ I said quickly.
He placed a hand on my hair and tenderly stroked it and the side of my cheek.
‘You’re going to be the most amazing mother,’ said Oscar. ‘I’m here for you both.’
He pulled me in for a hug and I lost whatever control I had and leant into him. I hid my face as tears collected in my eyes.
We were glad of the new Netflix drama taking our minds elsewhere as we ate the takeaway together.
Oscar held me for an extra-long time as we embraced in the hallway before he left.
‘Do you need anything?’ he asked when we pulled apart.
If only I could tell him how confused a part of me felt; if only he knew what a mess it all was.
‘I’m fine, just going to take the doctor’s advice and be kind to myself. I’ll work from home for a bit, but they advise you carry on as normal, so I just have to hope for the best.’
‘Of course. Let me know if you need supplies.’ He was a generous man, Oscar. He might not be the most practical, but he was considerate and had the budget to facilitate anything I might need.
I smiled. ‘That’s sweet of you, but I’m fine.’
‘Okay, I’m here if you need me,’ he said. ‘I’ve got Evie and Ollie this weekend, but we could easily swing by if you want some company. We’re dog-sitting for Pippa too. You could join us on a walk. Otherwise, see you on Monday, Lucy,’ he said sweetly. ‘It’s your birthday if you hadn’t forgotten, so I’m taking you out for lunch, to Nobu, whether you like it or not.’
Dear Oscar. He hadn’t had the easiest time himself recently. He was a good, strong person, and he had given me space for the last six months because he knew it wasn’t fair when he didn’t want any more babies. But there was no denying we enjoyed each other’s company, and he was making a big effort to ensure we stayed friends.
‘Thanks, Mr Bright,’ I said, tears welling in my eyes.
I must have lost track of time and dozed off on the spare bed. I awoke to the baby kicking energetically and I propped myself up on my side. My back ached.
‘Ouch, you feisty little thing,’ I muttered, receiving another kick just as I rose up to sitting, one hand on my back, feeling like an elephant rousing from an afternoon nap.
I heard the key turn in the front door downstairs.
‘Lucy?’ Oscar called out, checking where I was. That meant it must be around seven o’clock.
‘Upstairs!’ I called back, trying not to sound as though I’d just woken up. I moved towards the desk and shoved the donor paperwork back into its file. ‘Been doing some tidying.’
‘Not like you,’ he exclaimed jokily. And then I heard him kick off his shoes and come padding up the stairs to find me.
‘Well, if you must know, I also fell asleep.’
I stret
ched backwards, giving my body a little reprieve, and made a mental note to check whether there was a drop-in yoga class I could make tomorrow. Yoga always helped me to feel calmer.
‘Nothing wrong with a little nap,’ Oscar smiled. ‘And I see nesting extends to filing. I like it.’ His eyes wandered to the open filing cabinet.
‘I was going to slim down the paperwork and ended up looking through some old bits and pieces,’ I explained, motioning to a folder sticking out of the drawer, the one containing his divorce papers.
‘Let’s put it all away now…’ Oscar pushed the file back down.
‘Right,’ I smiled, watching him close the drawer.
Chapter Seventeen
Aisha
Wednesday 12th May
Jason had been very quiet since we’d arrived at the fifth and final Baby Group meeting, a shorter evening session back in the room at the local church. It had been a battle getting him to attend it at all. I knew he was tired from work, but he’d behaved like a petulant teenager, asking silly questions about whether everyone else was going to be there, how long it would last and so on. I was so cross.
‘You can’t do this to me, Jason, not after last week,’ I had fumed, panic-stricken, as I practically forced him out of the front door.
‘I wasn’t well!’ he’d exclaimed, as if I was being ridiculous.
‘So what’s your excuse this time? What are you afraid of Jason – are you getting cold feet?’
‘It’s not that,’ he had snapped. ‘I’m just exhausted.’ He’d seemed on the edge, emotional.
I wasn’t convinced.
‘It’s Movie Night!’ Maggie declared enthusiastically, making small talk while we waited for the last two couples to arrive. ‘Baby Group-style. We are going to be watching a live birth and talking about the first few weeks as new parents.’
I immediately felt anxious about being made to watch something as intimate as a birth with a room full of people. I was easily embarrassed, and seeing full-scale nudity in this environment gave me sweaty palms.
