by Hodge, Sibel
‘I’m tired. I’ve had a busy week at work,’ he whispered.
‘Didn’t you hear the bit about the low success rates?’
‘Of course, I did.’
I folded my arms, watching him carefully. ‘What did they say, then?’
‘Er…they said we had a thirty percent success rate.’
‘You’re only saying that because I told you the same thing the other night.’
‘Stop worrying, Gina. It will work.’ He gave me an encouraging wink.
As we filed out, several members of staff were handing out letters to everyone with their respective first appointment dates. Ours was in four weeks.
On the way out there were coffee, tea, water, and biscuits laid out. Some of the couples hung around to chat to each other.
A skinny couple helped themselves to coffee in the queue in front of us.
‘Oh, great, they’ve got green tea,’ I nudged Karl.
Skinny Girl turned around and smiled at me. ‘You’re on the green tea, too?’
I nodded. ‘Yes, although I draw the line at drinking wee.’
She pointed at me, grinning. ‘That weird tribe in Africa, right? Yeah, I read about them, too. Can’t say I’ve tried that one myself yet.’
‘No. Yuck.’ I grimaced.
‘How long have you been trying to get pregnant?’ Skinny Guy asked us.
‘Nearly two years,’ I said, realizing how weird it was that instead of introducing ourselves first, we struck up a conversation based on how long we’d been trying for a baby. In some ways, it was reassuring to know there were so many people out there in the same boat, but in another way, it was even more depressing.
‘Five years for us,’ Skinny Girl said with a grim smile. ‘IVF’s our last hope.’
Five years? Five years of intolerable waiting. Five years of fertility purgatory. Two years already felt like five thousand. What would five years feel like?
‘Are you worried about Herman Munster running the show?’ I asked. ‘I’m nervous enough about the IVF already, and he kind of freaked me out a bit.’
Karl chuckled.
Skinny Girl rolled her eyes at me. ‘That’s just what I was saying to my husband.’ She jerked her head in Skinny Guy’s direction. ‘Wasn’t it?’
Skinny Guy nodded.
I did a mock shiver. ‘Creepy.’
‘I know!’ Skinny Girl said. ‘Still, they’ve got one of the best success rates in the country.’
‘It’s nice to meet someone going through the same thing,’ I said, suddenly feeling an instant solidarity between us.
We all shook hands.
‘So if you’ve been trying for five years, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve done to try and get pregnant?’ I asked her.
‘Well, I’ve done the usual things like yoga and acupuncture.’
My hand flew to my chest and I nodded vigorously, sensing she was a kindred spirit. ‘Me, too!’
‘Well, Gina makes me walk round in boxers that are ten sizes too big.’ Karl put an arm around my shoulder.
‘You, too?’ Skinny Guy pulled a face. ‘They’re so uncomfortable!’
Karl and Skinny Guy nodded knowingly at each other.
Skinny Girl’s head tilted to the side, thinking. ‘The weirdest thing we did was a pagan fertility ritual at Stonehenge.’
‘Wow!’ I threw Karl a see-it’s-not-just-me look.
‘We nearly got arrested.’ Skinny Guy raised an eyebrow. ‘She made me prance around wearing a white sheet up there. It was so embarrassing.’
‘Then there was another time we had sex at the Cerne Abbas Giant,’ Skinny Girl said.
That’s the fertility god I told you about in Dorset with the humongous willy, chalked out on a hillside.
I made a mental note to try both of her suggestions if the IVF didn’t work out.
‘What about you?’ Skinny Girl asked me.
‘Well, let me see…’ I tapped my lips. ‘I’ve feng shui-d the house.’
‘Which actually meant completely wrecking the house and rewiring the TV.’ Karl frowned at me.
‘I didn’t wreck the house!’
‘You cut that really nice tree down in the front garden, and we had to take the original Twenties floorboards up in the lounge so we could run the TV wiring under them to the opposite side of the room.’
I waved a dismissive hand. ‘I endured a nightmare yoga class that practically gave me a broken nose. I talk to the Universe. I wear crystals in my knickers. I’ve drunk weird concoctions that tasted like boiled up jock straps. I’ve spent a fortune on tarot text lines. Oh, yeah, and I did a fertility spell.’ OK, now that I said all that it did sound slightly insane, but obviously I wasn’t the only one on the baby trail doing weird stuff, which made me feel a whole lot better.
I glanced at Karl who didn’t know about half of it. He shook his head at me silently.
‘Really? I was thinking of doing a fertility spell,’ Skinny Girl breathed with excitement. ‘What did you have to do?
‘Well…’ I put my head conspiratorially towards hers as Skinny Guy and Karl started talking about football.
The Baby Trap
Karl was late for work in the morning and grumpy as he hunted for his keys, which wasn’t a great start to the day, because my body was telling me that I was going to ovulate soon. I didn’t want him in a bad mood because we’d need to have sex today, and again in two days to maximise any chance I had of fertilization. This would probably be the last month we had to conceive naturally before we started Herman’s IVF treatment. One last shot at natural fertilization. I didn’t think there was much chance, but the hope was still there, lurking under the surface.
‘Where have you hidden them?’ he said through a mouthful of toast.
‘Hidden what?’ I wandered into the converted garage where I did my beauty treatments and flicked on the overhead spotlights.
‘You know.’ He followed me in and gave me an accusing look, like I’d hidden them on purpose.
‘If I knew, then I wouldn’t be asking, would I?’ I said.
‘My keys. I can’t find them.’
‘They’re probably in the usual place by the front door,’ I muttered, scanning my appointment book. Did I really have eight Brazilian waxes booked in today? Now I’d spend all day looking up other people’s lady gardens instead. How was that for messed up karma? Maybe Poppy was right about all that stuff. Before all this baby-making business started, I’d always loved my job. There was something fulfilling about being able to make people feel better and more confident about themselves. An upper lip wax here, eyebrow plucking there, a manicure. Now, I couldn’t care less about it anymore. What good were perfect nails and hairless legs to me when I couldn’t get pregnant?
‘No, I looked there,’ he huffed.
Why did I always have to sort everything out? No wonder I was stressed all the time. ‘Maybe I accidentally mistook them for my hormone tablets and swallowed them,’ I snapped, rolling my eyes at him.
‘You haven’t even started the hormone injections yet for the IVF. Are you getting moody already?’
‘NO!’ I rammed a tube of wax into the heater, my hormones standing to attention, ready to do battle, at the very mention of their name.
‘Really?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘You could’ve fooled me,’ he growled, striding back into the kitchen.
Thank God men didn’t have to go through fertility treatment. The whole population would be wiped out! But then it dawned on me that all this intolerable waiting to be a dad, and the worry about the upcoming IVF, must be hard on him, too. Men didn’t like to show their feelings like women, did they? They didn’t talk about such emotional things to their mates. I knew he was bottling it all up inside, trying to be strong for me. All the frustration, anger, and stress that I was going through, he must be feeling, too. There was no doubt that the IVF would be an intensive and invasive procedure. If the tables were turned, and I had to watch Karl go through everything that was involved, I
think it would tear me to bits, so I was pretty sure he must be feeling the same. Even though I felt we were being a bit more proactive by starting IVF, now it seemed like the stakes had just got a whole lot higher, and the odds of winning were a whole lot lower.
****
I’ve now seen enough lady gardens to last a lifetime. Luckily one of my Brazilians wanted a Hollywood instead, which broke the monotony of the afternoon slightly, but managed to put me off my dinner. I couldn’t get the thought of big lady gardens out of my head, especially since mine didn’t seem to be flourishing at all. Still, at least it meant I’d have enough to pay for more gold-plated ovulation kits this month.
‘Why don’t we get a takeaway?’ Karl’s voice made me jump as I stared into the depths of the kitchen cupboards, trying to tempt my appetite back.
‘Huh?’ I swung round to face him.
‘Curry or Chinese?’ He rummaged around in the drawer where we kept the menus.
‘Only if it’s organic Chinese.’ I grinned at him.
He peered at the menu. ‘Yes, it says here organic sweet and sour chicken and organic spare ribs. They also do organic spring rolls.’
I flopped down on the chair at kitchen table and sighed. On the surface, it looked like I had everything I could want. A gorgeous husband who had a well-paid job. My own career as a beauty therapist. A lovely three-bedroomed house in a quiet part of town. We were both healthy. But one thing was missing, and it was something vital to me. I was giving the appearance of living my life, but my heart was only beating to become a mother. ‘You know I’ve been sticking to this organic diet. People with fertility problems are more likely to get pregnant with no foreign or artificial products entering their bodies. I’m supposed to be putting only one-hundred percent natural ingredients into my body.’
‘Ha! You don’t say that when I’m sticking my product into you.’ He smirked.
I giggled. He could still make me laugh, even after ten years together. Was that enough to get us through this? Sometimes I wasn’t sure. I studied him for a few moments as my mind wandered, and a horrible thought popped into my head. If I had to make the choice between a baby and him, I would choose a baby. That sounds really horrible, doesn’t it? It’s nasty, irrational, and so desperately fucked-up, but that’s how I felt at that moment. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to bits, I was just…oh, I don’t know. Bored, angry, depressed, anxious – take your pick. Exhausted, probably, by the rollercoaster of conflicting emotions that follow a cycle of treatment. Overwhelmingly angry at the world and the unfairness of everything. Worried and stressed about the IVF. Disappointed in the fact that I used to be happy, and now I could only focus on one thing.
‘Gina?’
‘Huh?’ His voice brought me careening back to the present.
‘I was just saying that one Chinese won’t kill you. Everything in moderation: that’s what I always say.’ He paused. ‘And you promised me that you wouldn’t get so obsessed about all this baby stuff anymore.’ He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my hair.
‘I know, but it’s easier said than done,’ I mumbled into his shoulder.
It wasn’t the same for him. He didn’t get the same kind of feelings as me, which literally took over your brain and consumed it, like a maggot munching away.
‘And I hate to tell you this,’ I started, ‘but it’s that time of the month again when we have to do it. I’ve got my cervical mucus.’
I felt his shoulder stiffen beneath me.
And, to be honest, I probably felt the same as him. The last thing I felt like doing at that moment was having precision sex. Again. But needs must.
I lifted my head up and gazed into his dark brown eyes, trying to summon up some sort of arousal.
‘Urgh! Do you have to keep going on about your mucus all the time? God, it makes me glad the no oral sex rule applies.’ He pulled a disgusted face. ‘Dining room, bedroom, kitchen table?’ he asked in a monotone voice.
God, this is what we’d become. ‘Well, the kitchen table’s not great for keeping my legs in the air afterwards. It’s a bit uncomfortable. Lounge floor?’ I suggested, then took a step back and studied the hurt in his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I know this is difficult for you, too. All this pressure to perform.’
He pulled me back into his arms, stroking the back of my head. ‘Well, all this rushing about, having sex to order doesn’t exactly inspire any fun in the romance department,’ he sighed. ‘And it’s not just that. I hate seeing you go through this month after month, trying to keep your hopes up, only to see them dissolve when you don’t get pregnant again. It makes me feel…I don’t know…useless, I suppose. I can’t make you happy anymore.’
I hugged him tighter. OK, I admit when I’m feeling at my lowest I did blame him sometimes for being unable to get pregnant. I know, I know, it wasn’t his fault. His sperm was in tip-top condition. It’s me who had the problem, so it was completely unfair of me to pass the buck onto him. I was the guilty one who couldn’t give him what he wanted – children. I was the failure. And I knew deep down it wasn’t his job to make me happy. Only I had the power to do that, but I was addicted to this obsession for a baby and that seemed to have totally whacked out my happy-ometer.
‘You’re caught in a trap,’ he murmured, his voice sounding strangely far away.
‘That sounds like an Elvis song,’ I said, trying to make light of the situation.
‘A baby trap. The only thing you can think about is getting pregnant, and I don’t want to see you crumble apart again if the IVF doesn’t work.’ He squeezed me tighter so I could feel the beating of his heart. ‘You’re not living anymore. You’re just existing.’
I sniffed as tears tingled in my eyes. ‘I know,’ I whispered into his neck.
‘So you need to have a back-up plan.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You need something else in your life to take your mind off it.’
‘Hang on a sec, I thought you were the one who kept telling me to be positive all the time. Thinking about a back-up plan before we even begin the IVF is like saying you don’t think it’s going to work.’
‘Not with you, it’s not.’
‘Huh?’ I frowned. ‘You’re not making any sense.’
He took hold of my shoulders and looked deep into my eyes. ‘I know you, Gina. Although you’ve been doing all these things to try and be positive that the fertility treatment will work, deep down you’re worrying about it all the time. I just think that if you try and come up with some back-up plan for the future, it will get your mind off it. Don’t they always say that as soon as people stop worrying about getting pregnant, it happens?
‘Well…yes, I’ve heard that happens a lot,’ I admitted reluctantly.
‘And it’s been proven that stress can negatively affect the outcome of IVF.’ He paused. ‘I know you’re not going to be fulfilled doing your beauty business anymore. You need to think about doing something that’s going to fill the hole if we can’t have a baby so you can stop obsessing and chill out a bit.’
‘Right. Like adoption, you mean, or surrogacy?’
He flopped down at the kitchen table, looking worn out. ‘I can’t do either of those things, Gina.’ His gaze slid away from mine.
‘What do you mean, you can’t? Won’t you even consider it?’ I glared at him.
‘I admire people who take on adoption, I really do. But it’s not for everyone. I’ve been reading up on it a lot lately. You have to be prepared for all sorts of things. There aren’t any babies to adopt in the UK, which means either taking on an older child, or trying to get a baby from another country.’ He stood up and paced the floor. ‘With an older child, most of them have been abandoned, abused, neglected, or institutionalised, and that can bring all sorts of emotional and psychological problems into it. And what about bonding issues? Attachment disorders? And some of the families still want access to the child, which would be incredibly difficult to cope with. The child would know we only adopted becau
se we couldn’t have our own baby, and I can only imagine how they’d feel about that.’
‘But we would adopt because we want desperately to be parents,’ I said.
‘That isn’t how they might see it. It’s like marrying someone you don’t love because the person you do love is taken.’
‘So we can adopt a baby from abroad, then.’
‘That can involve a whole set of other risks, and like surrogacy, we wouldn’t know the medical history of the mother accurately. There’s the possibility of the baby having foetal alcohol syndrome, brain damage, AIDS – so many things that you wouldn’t find out about until the baby was older. A lot of the babies are from poor countries, where there’s no proper pre or post natal care.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. ‘What if it all went wrong and we blamed ourselves? Or, even worse, the child?’ He shook his head. ‘No, I’m just not cut out to adopt.’
Deep down I knew he was right. Even though I wanted desperately to be a parent, I didn’t think I was cut out to adopt, either. I was terrified of ending up with a baby so psychologically scarred they wouldn’t even speak, or one who had a terminal illness. I knew Karl was worried about the paternity issue with surrogacy and all those possible problems. And if I was honest, I didn’t want Karl’s sperm to fertilize another woman’s eggs. I wanted them to have my genes to hand down to my baby.
The question is, what could possibly take the place of a baby for me? A cat? A dog? Hardly. A new career? Maybe. A fresh start somewhere else? God knows. Could I ever feel complete without a baby?
‘But what can I do instead?’ I whined, thinking maybe he had a point. Like Poppy said, it always seemed like when you really desperately wanted something in life, it never worked out. And yet, when you weren’t that bothered, it seemed to happen easily. Maybe I could fool my brain into thinking I didn’t want a baby and it would happen.
‘That’s something you have to figure out for yourself. It’s not like we can’t afford for you to do something different. I’m earning enough to support both of us while you figure it out. But I want my wife back.’ His voice took on an edge that I’d never heard before – a mixture of sadness and steely determination. ‘Promise me you’ll think about it.’
