In a Moment

by Caroline Finnerty

  After the first year of trying went by and nothing happened, she began to despair. Emma had never for one second envisaged that she would be in this situation. She had spent most of her teenage years, and her twenties too, praying she wouldn’t get pregnant and it had all been a waste because here she was in her thirties, desperate for a baby, and couldn’t get one.

  It was made worse by people forever asking when they were going to start a family like it was something that they had control over. They would say things like they had been married now for quite a while and surely they would be hearing the pitter-patter of tiny feet soon – or that they shouldn’t leave it too long, time was ticking and all that. Or the worst were the women who already had children who intimated that women like Emma were selfish for putting their careers first by waiting so long to have kids. Their insensitive comments cut to the bone and would leave Emma biting her tongue in rage.

  She had bought sticks that pin-pointed when she was ovulating and her whole bookshelf was stuffed full of fertility books. But it still wasn’t happening for them. So she researched some more and clung to any new nugget of information that she heard would improve their chances of conception. She had changed both their diets: leafy greens were in, alcohol was out. She examined her discharge with a new level of interest. She had become a pregnancy-test addict; instead of shopping for new face creams like she used to, now when she was in a pharmacy she would wander straight to the shelves that had the pregnancy tests to see if there were any new products on the market since she had checked there last month. She knew every brand there was and could even rank them in order of their level of detection. Before she got out of bed every morning, she would reach out to the bedside locker to feel for her thermometer so that she could track any temperature shifts which might indicate when she was ovulating. Days were counted down each month until they reached the all-important ovulation days and then sex was almost timed to the hour. Then the days were counted afterwards to see how early she could do a test. She could divide every month in two: there were the days before ovulation and the days of waiting after. No matter how many times she warned herself not to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help it, and whenever her period arrived she would feel wretched, as a black cloud descended over her. She would spend the next few days in a deep depression until she pulled herself together with the hope of another month. She had become obsessed with trying to conceive.

  It was made worse by the fact that all around her people seemed to be getting pregnant by just mentioning the word ‘baby’. Women who she worked with, relatives and friends, the lady who worked in the deli beside the office – it seemed like everyone was pregnant except her and if she heard one more throwaway remark about how “it happened first time” she thought she might either hurl herself at the person in a fit of rage or dissolve on the ground crying – she wasn’t sure which. She constantly found herself asking why them? Why were they having such difficulty conceiving a child when every schoolgirl just had to look at a sperm and could get pregnant? Or she would see mothers who sat around drinking in the pub all day and letting their kids entertain themselves and she would have to stop herself from walking up to them and telling them they didn’t deserve to be parents. She felt as though she was going round the bend from the whole ordeal. She had always been in control of every aspect of her life and she felt panicked by the fact that this was the one area she had no control over, no matter what she did.

  Adam had been terrific throughout; he was her rock even though she knew that some months it must have been like living with a time-bomb. He never complained, although he must have been feeling a bit taken for granted in his role as a sperm-donor. Whenever she was feeling low, he encouraged her to keep going.

  It was Adam who had suggested that after two years of trying with no success they should go to their doctor. He had finally said the words she had been dreading. For so long she had managed to convince herself that they were okay, that they didn’t have a problem. She had felt defeated. She was always able to sort out her own problems; she didn’t like having to resort to anyone for help. But she’d been in denial for too long and she knew he was right. So, despondently she had agreed with him that it was time to hand control over to someone else.

  The first doctor they had gone to see was from a different generation. He was reluctant to refer them for tests, fobbing them off with the line that they were “still young” and “had only been trying for a few months”. Only a few months? She had shown him her ovulation charts and he had taken them in hand and peered at them over the rim of his glasses like she had just handed him some new-aged mumbo-jumbo that he had no time for.

  They came out deflated. It had taken a lot of courage to get to the point of telling someone about their problems but they were just back to square one again. So Adam had suggested that they should go to a different doctor. They had chosen a female GP this time and, in contrast to the first doctor, she listened intently to what they were saying, taking notes all the while. She took them seriously and had immediately referred them for tests at a fertility clinic but warned them that the clinic was located in Dublin Maternity Hospital. Emma had to smile at the irony of this – talk about rubbing it in.

  A month later, as Emma walked down the corridors to her appointment, she couldn’t help staring at the massive bumps on the women all around her. She was fascinated by them all. Some were perfectly rounded like basketballs that were somehow attached prosthetically onto the women’s abdomens, while some were just massive. It was amazing how big they actually got. She watched as one heavily pregnant woman struggled to get off a chair until her partner eventually gave her a hand up; she hoped that she and Adam would be in that situation some day. Another woman sat stroking her bump absent-mindedly while flicking through a magazine, oblivious to the strange woman who had fixated her gaze on her. She wouldn’t allow herself to get upset; she told herself that she would be back here soon with a bump big enough to hold a baby elephant.

  Once inside the clinic, she was greeted by a very cold-looking female doctor and Emma couldn’t help wondering how someone with the bedside manner of a fridge ended up in a job like this. After she had poked and prodded Emma and performed a battery of tests on her, she sat her back down and informed her that everything looked perfectly healthy. She actually seemed like she was peeved that Emma was wasting her time and when she told Emma to “relax” and that “she was still very young”, Emma could have screamed. Two years was a long time to keep having your hopes torn apart each month. She had expected more understanding from a fertility clinic.

  Adam’s sperm analysis had come back fine. His ‘swimmers’ were deemed healthy and his sperm count was actually above average. The clinic had termed it ‘unexplained infertility’. But instead of feeling relieved that physically everything was all right with the two of them, she didn’t, because she still was none the wiser as to why they hadn’t conceived yet. It was beyond frustrating. At least if there was a problem with one or even both of them they could pin-point it and then hopefully solve it, but now they were on their own again ploughing on through the dark, wondering if they were casting a net into a pool that didn’t have any fish in it or even if they were casting a net at all.

  And then in September she had felt the familiar cramping before her period was due and, utterly deflated, she prepared herself for yet another month of coming to terms with the fact that she wasn’t pregnant. That was it, she had thought, she couldn’t go through any more of this. She felt exhausted and worn out by the whole ordeal. When she realised that her period was two days late, her hopes had started to rise but she cautioned herself to stop with the false hopes. She had reluctantly done a pregnancy test but nothing showed up. She felt like kicking herself for being that stupid. Why did she keep on putting herself through it? Would she never learn? She picked up the stick, ready to throw it into the bin, but then she noticed something that wasn’t there a few seconds earlier. A very faint trace of a pink line had appeared besi
de the control. The more she stared at it the more she wasn’t sure if it was her eyes playing tricks on her or if there were actually two lines there. She wanted this so badly, was she starting to imagine things now? She looked at the stick again and there definitely was a second line. She immediately unfolded the information leaflet that came with the packet, even though she already knew it word for word anyway and, yes, according to it she was finally pregnant. She was pregnant. She clutched her tummy as tears of relief and joy fell down her face. It was so hard to take in; she was going to have a baby! They were going to have a baby.

  She waited for Adam to get home from work. She didn’t want to tell him over the phone but the excitement was killing her. When she finally heard him coming in the door, she tore down the stairs and thrust the stick into his hands. He had taken it from her, trying to comprehend what was going on, and then he looked at it.

  He stared at it, his eyes wide with hope. “So does this mean we’re . . . pregnant?”

  “Adam White, we are having a baby!” she had screamed.

  He had picked her off the ground and swung her around in circles like a child before gently putting her down again.

  “Sorry! I probably shouldn’t have done that. I just can’t believe I’m going to be a father!” He had said it over and over in shock and disbelief. “I’m going to be a dad! I’m going to be a dad!”

  “No, no, rephrase that, you’re going to be a great dad!”

  “God, I hope so.” The weight of the responsibilities that came with being a parent suddenly dawned on him. He felt daunted but excited at the same time.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine, we’ll be fine,” she said. “This baby is going to be so loved!”

  “Do you feel any different?”

  “No, not really, just a bit tired but I thought that was just because of work and the pitch for the Freeman campaign. I thought when you were pregnant, you would feel it, y’know? But I feel exactly the same!”

  “Well, that’s a good thing. God, I just want to run out and tell the world!”

  “We can’t tell people yet!” she said quickly. “You know what they say about the first twelve weeks . . .” Emma’s stomach did a somersault. She felt anxious even just thinking about it, as if by having bad thoughts she would automatically bring that fate on herself. “We should wait. I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “Okay then, I won’t breathe a word.” He laughed at her before hugging her close again.

  It was supremely difficult to keep it secret from their families and friends, especially from Zoe. Emma felt so guilty; she normally told Zoe everything. She was so afraid of tempting fate that she didn’t want to risk it, but she was rapidly running out of excuses as to why she wasn’t drinking or why she was too tired to go shopping after work like they normally did.

  The first twelve weeks were a nightmare. Morning sickness had kicked in the week after the test and the novelty of being pregnant had quickly worn off. From the moment she woke up in the morning she could feel her stomach churning and she would have to run out of bed to be sick. She spent a good bit of time in the toilets in work and even had to dash out of a client meeting. It only took something small like the smell of pesto or an overpowering perfume and she would feel nauseous. Her boobs felt as though they were on fire and her nipples permanently stood to attention. Plus she was utterly exhausted; she was asleep on the sofa before nine every night.

  It felt as though the weeks were dragging on and on. As she anxiously counted them down, she crossed them off the calendar, longing just to get to week twelve. Week twelve was the magical week where she could finally relax, but she wondered if her worries would stop there or if there would be a whole new set of worries to replace them.

  When the twelfth week of Emma’s pregnancy finally arrived, they made their way nervously to the hospital for their first scan. That morning before their appointment, Emma couldn’t stop imagining all kinds of awful scenarios. No matter how many times she tried to force them from her mind, they would pop back in again. What if there was no heartbeat? What if the baby had stopped growing? Or the most ludicrous was: What if she had just imagined the whole being-pregnant thing in the first place?

  The doctor had tucked some tissue into Emma’s waistband and then spread the cool gel on her tummy. They didn’t dare breathe as they watched the grainy image appear on the screen beside them. They looked anxiously at the doctor’s face and back again to make sure everything was as it should be. As he moved the probe across her abdomen they saw a dark outline appear on the screen. It was their baby. It had quite a large head, a long bony spine and little arms and legs that moved in rapid jerky movements. It was tumbling around the place in its own little world, oblivious to the people watching in from the outside in amazement. She couldn’t believe how much it was moving and yet she couldn’t feel a thing. He let them listen to the heartbeat, which was rapid like the sound of horses galloping over arid land.

  “Congratulations, guys, everything looks perfect. Your baby has a very strong and healthy heartbeat.” He zoomed in on the heart and they watched the tiny organ pulsing away with life. Emma felt a tear roll down her cheek in awe of the moment.

  “Would you like to know the sex?” the doctor asked.

  “No!” Emma said. “We want it to be a surprise,” she added quickly.

  “Okay, well then you’d better look away for a minute while I check the leg measurements.”

  They laughed as they turned their heads to the side while the sonographer had a detailed look at that area.

  Coming out of the clinic they had both been overjoyed and so proud of their baby for growing so well and for being strong. Adam had squeezed her hand tight and they had laughed at themselves – if they were this proud already, imagine what they would be like when the baby was born? They were relieved that they could now start to relax and enjoy the pregnancy.

  Emma had said that they were finally able to start telling people. They had made the trip around to the houses of their parents to announce the news. As expected they had all been overjoyed, Emma’s parents having long suspected that they had been having difficulties because they knew how set on having a baby Emma had always been.

  Then they had driven over to tell Zoe and she had cried, which set Emma off again too.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to be an aunt!” she had said over and over.

  Emma didn’t bother pointing out the obvious that, technically, she wasn’t but she would be as good as an aunt to the baby.

  * * *

  The pregnancy had seemed to stretch on forever. Emma, an impatient person by nature, wanted to hold her baby now. Now! She reckoned nature was flawed. Why did it need to take forty weeks? Surely the process could be speeded up into four weeks? She watched what she ate – lots of fruit and vegetables and red meat to keep her iron levels up – she did yoga twice a week and tried to walk most days. She looked forward to every scan and getting a glimpse of the wonderment that was taking place inside her, like a child waiting for Christmas. She had felt the first movements, like little flickers of a taut elastic band being stretched, and then those movements getting stronger until they were full-blown kicks.

  Once she reached the twenty-week mark, she consoled herself that she was halfway there, but if the second half was as slow as the first half then she was in trouble. And if she had thought her worries would ease after the first trimester, she soon learnt that they were only just beginning. Was the baby moving enough? Why was he or she gone so quiet? Had she felt kicks yet this morning?

  As she got bigger and her baby’s space became more confined, she could feel the head move underneath her hand if she pressed into her side and sometimes when she was lying in bed at night they would watch as her bump raised itself into a point as their baby stretched out its elbows or knees, they weren’t sure which.

  Like all eager first-timers they had everything bought and ready to go – the buggy, a cream wicker Moses basket – and her hospital bag was
packed. Drawers already overflowed with cream, white and yellow Babygros. Tiny knitted cardigans and bootees hung waiting in the wardrobe and although it would be a while yet before the baby would sleep in his or her own room, a polished mahogany cot stood in the centre of the decorated nursery. Adam had attended all the antenatal classes with Emma. She’d had a list of questions about what to expect in labour and Adam had taken notes when the midwife giving the classes told them about the main signs of labour and how far apart the contractions should be before they should go to hospital. Eager for information, they had read all the pregnancy books and researched the parenting forums to try to learn what lay ahead of them in the coming months.

  She counted down the days until she was due to go on maternity leave. She was big and awkward, the size of a small house as she kept telling people, and her bump sagged down from its weight. She wasn’t sleeping well at night either. A combination of her sheer size and a mixture of excited nervousness made her tired. Her brain didn’t fire as quickly as she was used to and she wasn’t able for the fast-paced environment of A1 Adverts, the endless standing up presenting pitches and pandering to their clients’ needs. She had other things on her mind now. So it was with relief when her last day in work finally came around. Emma packed up her desk, accepted a small presentation from Maureen and her colleagues, and ran out the door as fast as her swollen legs would carry her.

  Adam had been waiting for her outside in his car as he had done every day for the last few weeks as she began to get too big for the rush-hour squash on public transport where people would avoid making eye contact with her so they wouldn’t have to offer her their seat. She threw her handbag into the back seat of his car because there was no room for both her and it in the front.

  She had lowered herself into the car when she suddenly felt tightness all across her bump.