by Hodge, Sibel
With two energetic boys, it was unnatural for the place to be so clinically neat and tidy, and I’d seen Jayne and Wayne (ha ha!) telling the boys off if they so much as left a crumb on the top-of-the-range shiny marble breakfast bar. If I ever became a parent there is no way I’d want to stifle their natural urges to explore and play and have fun in their own environment by turning it into a show house for Ideal Home magazine. I wondered if Rupert and Quentin would grow up with an obsessive-compulsive disorder about cleanliness or, even worse, turn into serial killers from lack of cuddles and nurturing.
The boys were running around upstairs in their bedroom, screaming and shouting like they’d just had too many E numbers, and for once, Jayne and Wayne didn’t seem to care. Knowing them, they’d probably plied Rupert and Quentin with loads of fizzy drinks and chocolate bars just to get back at me.
‘Where’s Dad?’ I asked.
‘In the toilet.’ Lavinia crinkled up her nose, obviously finding the T-word distasteful. ‘Honestly, I’m always waiting for him. That man is so selfish sometimes.’ She smoothed down her glossy chignon.
Him, selfish? Oooh, the woman had a bloody cheek! I clamped my mouth shut before I said something I’d regret.
‘No baby yet, then?’ Lavinia eyed my flat stomach.
‘No,’ I grumbled.
‘Well, stop being so impatient. Honestly, you youngsters today are in such a hurry to do everything.’ Lavinia frowned.
‘I’m not being impatient,’ I huffed. ‘I’ve been trying for eighteen months and I’m not getting anywhere!’
Karl sloped off to see the boys before he could get a Lavinia-bashing as well.
Jayne nodded her agreement in the background as Wayne mumbled something about bringing the boys downstairs and made a sharp exit, too.
‘You should make the most of it while you can. Once you have them, you’ll never have any freedom, and life will never be the same again.’ Jayne waved a dismissive hand.
I stood, hand on hip. ‘Of course it’s not going to be the same again! That’s the whole point, isn’t it? I don’t want my life to be the same. I want to feel the unconditional, maternal love when I hold my baby for the first time and realize what an incredible miracle it is.’ I glared at Jayne, who probably didn’t have a clue what I was talking about since she didn’t seem to have a maternal bone in her body. ‘What I’d give up by losing my so-called freedom wouldn’t even compare to the joy and excitement of being a parent,’ I snapped, reaching boiling point now. ‘You should try it some time.’ Ew! How did she even have the nerve to complain about her wonderful boys when she was lucky enough to have them in the first place?
Jayne gasped and crossed her arms defensively. ‘And what would you know about it, seeing as you can’t seem to get pregnant?’ She arched a superior eyebrow. ‘Being a mother isn’t always a bed of roses.’
‘Of course it’s not, but I want to experience all of motherhood. The highs and the lows. It’s the most important job in the world.’
Jayne snorted. ‘No, being a barrister and trying high-profile murder cases is the most important job in the world. Being a parent is damned hard work with very little reward, and it’s not a proper job.’
‘Well, I guess that all boils down to your priorities in life,’ I said with disgust, narrowing my eyes at the selfish cow.
‘I hope you’re not always this snappy and grumpy.’ Lavinia raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me (an eyebrow, I hasten to add, that she didn’t get me to wax. Oh, no, instead she’d rather take her business to Pamper Me in the high street. Maybe supporting your family wasn’t in the Witches Codebook of Ethics). ‘Karl will get fed up with you and have an affair if you’re not careful.’ She wagged her French-manicured finger at me (yep, Pamper Me again!).
‘Well, thanks a lot for that cheery little thought, Lavinia,’ I said, desperately trying hard to fight the urge to stab both of them with my high-heeled boot.
Lavinia stood, scrutinizing me. ‘And look at the state of you. You’ve really let yourself go. Your hair needs a wash, your skin is pale and blotchy. Not a very good advert for a beauty business, is it?’ She let out a loud tut and ran a hand through her immaculate hair again to ram the point home. ‘Mark my words, young lady. Get a grip of yourself before Karl leaves you. No man appreciates a nagging, highly strung moaner,’ she said, conveniently forgetting that those words described her to a T.
I rolled my eyes at her, about to let them both have it, when the boys both yelled and ran into me like a couple of out-of-control rockets, hugging me around the waist, thankfully ending the rant from Lavinia. ‘Aunty Ginaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!’
Karl appeared and we were bombarded with questions.
‘What are we going to play tonight?’
‘How long are you here for?’
‘Are you staying until tomorrow?’
‘What about Cluedo?’
‘Can we play cards?’
‘Rupert, Quentin, come along now. Sit down and behave for your Aunty Gina and Uncle Karl,’ Jayne said with a wicked glint in her eye, probably hoping they would do neither.
Rupert and Quentin looked at each other and, surprisingly, sat down quietly like a pair of little choirboys.
‘How are you, love?’ Dad crept up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder as the others left and got in the car. I hoped he hadn’t heard my little outburst earlier. As much as I didn’t particularly get on with Lavinia and Jayne, I didn’t want Dad to be in the middle of a family feud.
I gave him a half-hearted smile.
‘You’re looking tired.’ He rubbed my shoulder.
‘Well, all this fertility stuff is taking its toll. This is the last month of the Clomid. I should find out any day whether it’s worked or not.’
He gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘Just think positive.’
I looked up glumly. ‘It’s not easy. If it doesn’t work, we’ll have to try IVF.’
‘I’m sure everything will work out in the end,’ Dad said as Lavinia poked her perfectly coiffed head through the door.
‘Come on! You’re lagging behind, as usual.’ She threw him a disapproving look.
He turned to face her, a flash of anger in his eyes. ‘I’m talking to my daughter, and if you have to wait an extra five minutes then so be it. Unlike you and Jayne, I do consider parenting to be the most important job in the world.’
Yay! Go Dad!
A red flush crept up Lavinia’s neck and she disappeared back outside.
‘Women!’ Dad shook his head, then hugged me and smiled fondly at Karl before slipping out the door to enjoy a night of covens and spells.
I looked at Rupert and Quentin, who were sitting at the kitchen table like little cherubs, eyeing the Cluedo board with excitement.
‘OK,’ Karl said, taking off his coat and rolling his sleeves up. ‘We’re in for a fun-fest, little guys.’
We sat down opposite Rupert and Quentin and got out the board.
‘Can I be Captain Peacock?’ Quentin asked.
‘I want to be Colonel Mustard!’ Rupert said.
‘You can be anyone you want to be.’ I grinned, dishing out the pieces.
An hour later, we were on to Monopoly. Karl had his arm draped around Quentin, explaining the finer points of why he should buy the expensive Mayfair. Their heads were close together as Quentin looked up at Karl with hero-worship adoration. Karl ruffled his hair and they gave each other a high five.
My stomach clenched. He would make such a good dad it almost broke my heart to see it. I could clearly picture him kicking a football around with our little boy for hours on end; see him running around the garden with our son on his shoulders, who was squealing with delight. And if we had a girl, I envisioned him holding onto her hand for dear life as she took her first steps, or taking her to dancing lessons, sitting in the front row of her dance recitals, cheering her on.
‘We never get to play games with Mummy and Daddy,’ Rupert’s voice broke into my daydream. ‘They’
re always too busy.’
Quentin looked up at me with huge eyes and a wistful smile. ‘I wish you were our parents. You’re so much fun.’
‘Well, if we were your parents, we wouldn’t have as much fun time to spend with you like we do now,’ I said, defending Jayne and Wayne (ha ha!), because it seemed like the right thing to do.
‘But you never tell us off,’ Rupert said.
Karl and I both chuckled.
‘That’s because we’re your aunty and uncle,’ Karl said. ‘If we were your parents, we would tell you off sometimes, too. It’s different when you all live together. Sometimes we get on each other’s nerves when we live with each other. Gina definitely gets on my nerves sometimes.’ He raised an eyebrow at me and grinned.
‘Hey!’ I gave him a playful swat across the arm. ‘Uncle Karl is right. When you’re an aunty or grandparent, you get to spend fun time with each other. Parents have the hard job.’ I swallowed to stop the tears forming.
‘But Granny Lavinia is so bossy. We don’t get to spend fun time with her, either.’
I was taking a sip of chamomile tea at the time and nearly splurted it out with laughter. I bet Lavinia wouldn’t like being called Granny.
‘Why aren’t you a mummy?’ Rupert looked up at me.
‘I…well…’ I could feel the tears threatening to burst. I glanced away so they wouldn’t see I was upset.
Karl put his arm around my shoulder. ‘It’s not always easy for people to be parents,’ he said to them, his voice cracking on the last word.
I grabbed his other hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back.
‘Sometimes in life, no matter how much we might want something, it doesn’t happen,’ Karl said.
‘What, like when I wanted a PlayStation for Christmas and I didn’t get it?’ Quentin asked.
Despite myself, I did smile at that. If only it could be that simple.
‘Something like that,’ I said, holding my arms out for a hug. They both rushed over to get an Aunty Gina special cuddle.
I rested my head on the top of theirs, kissing their hair, which smelt of shampoo and little boys, and I didn’t want to let them go.
Five hours later, my period arrived.
Decisions, Decisions
Eight days later, I was sitting in Dr Dye’s office again. The model fufu had been relegated to the shelf at the back of his desk. Maybe someone had used it as an offensive weapon, after all.
‘Well, the next option is IVF,’ he said.
I nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, I know that. I want to start as soon as possible.’
‘We don’t carry out IVF in this clinic, but there are plenty of fantastic facilities available. You can be referred for two IVF treatments through the National Health Service, and the waiting list for that is at least a couple of years. Or, you can be referred as a private patient to a fertility clinic or hospital.’
More nodding. ‘Yes, we’d like to go private. Can you suggest anywhere? Where’s the best one? What are the chances of getting pregnant? How long will it take?’ I rattled off.
He held his hands up with a slight smile to fight off my bombarding questions. ‘It will be up to you to choose a clinic. You can look on the Internet and research which one suits you best. There’s plenty of information available to help you choose. Some clinics have a better success rate than others, so that’s something you’ll need to consider. You’ll also have to think about location. There will be numerous scans and appointments during the treatment so you’ll want to be fairly local to the clinic, unless you’re going to stay somewhere close by.’ He pulled out some headed paper and started scribbling. ‘I’ll write you a referral letter to take with you.’ He handed it to me.
I took it, trying to make out what is said. Did all doctors have to pass a class in gobbledygook, random scribbling before they passed their exams? I peered at the scrawl harder, pretty sure I could make out the words, “ostrich,” “kebab,” “football,” and something that looked Chinese. No wonder there were cases of people having the wrong body parts operated on. How would anyone have a clue what the doctors’ notes said? Scary!
‘And here’s a website address that will be helpful for you.’ Another random scribbling.
I took that, too, but at least it was legible. ‘Right.’ I stood up, feeling a sudden gravity pull towards my PC and Google. I put my hand out to shake his.
‘Good luck,’ he said.
‘Thanks.’
‘Oh, and Gina,’ he said as I was swinging his door open. ‘Just relax and be positive.’
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.
****
Armed with a green tea, I switched on the computer. My first stop was the website Dr Dye had given me of the HFEA, who are the governing body for fertility treatment. It had a really nifty search facility to check out success rates of treatments and the location of the clinics. I decided to look in the London area because we were in easy reach of the train station. And since it only took half an hour to get to King’s Cross, I figured another half an hour on the tube and I could probably be there, so London clinics worked out the closest.
Next, I looked at success rates of live births from IVF. The majority of them were around an average of 30% for women under thirty-five, and I just fell into that category.
30 percent? Yikes! That was so low.
I sat back in the chair, staring at the screen, checking and double-checking to make sure I’d got that right. Yep, I had.
I always thought IVF had a really high success rate, so this was a shock to me.
God, the odds weren’t looking good.
I narrowed it down to two clinics and then checked their waiting times. Even though I was going private, there was still a big queue of hopeful couples out there. One of the clinics had a waiting time of five months. The other was three months. Two months was an eternity in the life of a desperate, infertile woman, so I phoned the latter – Guy’s and St Thomas’ Assisted Conception Unit.
‘Hi, I’d like to book an appointment to start IVF treatment,’ I told the girl who answered the phone.
‘OK, if you can just give me your details, please. Name and address?’
I rattled them off.
‘Doctor’s details.’
‘Dr Dye.’
I couldn’t be sure but I think she suppressed a snort.
‘Are you NHS or self-funding?’ she asked.
‘Self-funding.’
‘And what fertility treatment have you had to date?’
I told her everything that had happened in the last eighteen months. God, had it really been that long? What if another eighteen months went by and I was still childless?
No. Be positive, Gina. This will work.
‘So when can I make an appointment to see a consultant?’ I asked.
‘First, I need to send you out an information pack with a list of fees and a questionnaire. When we get that back, we’ll allocate you onto our next patient information evening, which explains all aspects of treatments.’
Oh, God. More waiting? ‘Can’t I just make an appointment now? Do we have to go to the information evening?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ she said in a sympathetic tone. ‘IVF is very demanding, both mentally and physically, and we want to make sure all prospective patients understand the treatment cycles in detail.’
I let out a small huff. ‘When’s the next one?’
‘Three weeks. I tell you what, I’ll pencil you in for that date, and when we get the forms back, I’ll send you a confirmation letter.’
‘Great! What date is that?’
She told me and I marked it on the calendar that I was sick of looking at. Three whole weeks.
****
Karl and I lay in bed that night, me with my head on his shoulder, curled up in the crook of his arm, Karl gently stroking my back.
‘A thirty percent chance of success is nothing.’ I stared through the darkness at the ceiling as thoughts about the IVF whizzed through my head like a tornado.
He sighed.
I glanced up at him. ‘What?’
‘For once, can’t we have a conversation that doesn’t revolve around having a baby?’
I tutted. What else was there to talk about? This was the most important thing in the world.
We were silent for a few minutes.
‘It’s just that this is really important so we need to talk about it.’ I carried on anyway. ‘I mean, thirty percent? I still can’t get my head round that.’
He groaned, knowing I wasn’t going to shut up. ‘It’s better than, say, a five percent chance.’
‘What if it doesn’t work?’ I gnawed on my bottom lip, thinking about the prospect.
‘Stop being negative. You need to think more positive, Gina. If you think it won’t work, then it won’t. It’ll be like a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
‘You’re right. It will work. It will work. It will work,’ I said.
‘That’s more like it.’ He kissed my forehead.
‘But what if it doesn’t?’
‘Gina!’
‘What?’ I said in mock surprise.
‘Shut up. I’ve got a busy day at work tomorrow and I need some sleep. Stop over-analyzing every little thing all the time.’
As he turned over, I sent a silent message to Zelda. Maybe she’d talk to me.
Hey, Zelda! Are you awake?
Nothing.
Pssssst. Zelda, can you send me a sign that this is going to work? Go on, just an itsy bitsy sign to let me know. If you’ve got time, of course. I know you’re probably busy out doing Universey things. Go on. I’ll do anything you want in return.
Still nothing. Not a squeak in the floorboards or a rattle in the central heating pipes as an acknowledgement.
Look, here’s the thing. I know I’ve been a hyper, impatient, slightly insane pain in the arse lately, but I just want this so badly. Soooooooo badly. And I deserve to be a mother. I’d make a great mum. Karl would make a fabulous dad. So if you can send me a sign that it will work then I’ll be able to relax like everyone keeps telling me.
