by Amanda Aksel
“Shit! Sorry, puppy,” I said and finally felt the plastic case in my hands. “Gotcha!” I’d expected it to be Telly, of course, but it was . . .
“Ginger,” I said, smiling. The adorable, will-talk-you-to-death friend I hadn't chatted with all year.
“Marin! Oh, my God, how are you? I've missed you. Are you doing well? Of course you're doing well. What are you doin’, girl?”
I waited a moment, making sure she was done. “Hey, Ginger. I'm good. How are you?”
“Uh-mazing! I have so much to tell you, please say you’ll meet me for brunch tomorrow. Please, please, please! I’m just dying to catch up with you.”
I usually worked on Saturday mornings, at least for a couple of hours, but the book did say, sleep more, stress less. An easy Saturday brunch sounded like a perfect way to stress less. I wanted to hear what she was up to, but I wasn’t thrilled about having to go into my whole story. Maybe I wouldn’t have to. I had plenty of news to share without going into my fertility journey. I needed to stay positive, that was part of the stress-less idea. Plus, she could talk enough for both of us. I might not even have to say a word. I could just sit back, sip my orange juice, and chow down on eggs benedict.
“Sure. I would love to.”
We met at Zazie not far from my house. She waited for me at an outdoor table. The sun glistened off her freshly dyed hair, which was darker these days—more of an auburn brown. Very mature look compared to her usual light ginger-colored locks. She screamed when she laid eyes on me, squeezing all the air out of my lungs when she hugged me despite her teeny-tiny frame. Her bust line was noticeably bigger since the last time I’d seen her. Must’ve gotten an upgrade from her last surgery.
“I'm so glad you're here, I'm starving!” she said and flipped open her menu, closing it only a second later. “Done!” She laughed.
I took a quick peek, even though I knew I wanted eggs benedict. It wasn’t exactly on the You CAN Get Pregnant diet so I’d let it be the last ham I’d eat until after the baby.
“Would you like to see the drink menu?” the waiter asked after taking our orders, his face as cheery as Ginger’s.
“No thanks,” I said, at least abiding by that rule from the book.
Ginger gave me a strange look then politely waved him off. “You're not getting anything. Brunch is all about mimosas.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you pregnant, Marin Johns-Young?”
Well, there went not talking about the fertility journey. Had our culture become so alcohol-centric that when a woman chose not to drink it automatically meant she was pregnant? So annoying. I wanted to be angry at the notion, but then again, the only reason I wasn’t having a mimosa was due to pregnancy-related reasons. “No,” I said. “But James and I are trying for a baby.”
She screamed again and quickly covered her mouth. All of the outdoor patrons shot curious looks our way and I discreetly tucked my hair behind my ear. “That is so awesome. Oh, my God! How long have you been trying? Do you have names picked out? What about schools?”
“Wow! I mean, schools? We haven't even gotten pregnant yet.” What was with all the enthusiasm? After all, she was way too cool to ever want to be a mom. Did Ginger secretly love babies? Was she a wannabe-mommy too?
She slammed her hand against the table. “Marin, don't be crazy. You have to get your unborn kid on the list for Richmond as soon as possible.”
Richmond? Was that a private preschool? “How do you even know what that is? I don't even know what that is.”
She leaned in, grinning so big I thought she would burst with happiness. “I also have a reason for not drinking.”
I leaned in. “Wait? Are you and Jon trying for a baby too?”
She giggled. “No, I'm pregnant, silly!”
My smile fell flat on the ground. Pretty sure the waiter stepped on it when he brought my coffee. I must’ve looked so stupid gawking at her the way I was.
Ginger tilted her head. “Did you hear what I said?”
I shook my head, blinking to regain my focus. “Wait. Did you just say you were pregnant?”
She clapped her hands. “Yes! Isn't it awesome?”
Her? She’s having a baby? In what universe did Ginger get pregnant so easily while I’ve been shooting myself up with hormones like a fertility junkie? I forced an amused sound that was half delighted and half I-don't-know-what-the-hell-is-happening-to-my-life. “Yeah. That’s great. I had no idea you even wanted to have a baby.” Damn! I should’ve ordered that mimosa.
“You know, I didn't either. But Jon wanted one so I stopped taking the pill and bam! Pregnant after two months. Who knew I was so fertile? But now that I have this little baby growing inside of me, I think it's a girl, I want to name her Felicity, like the show, I love that show, but yeah, I love the idea now. Being a mom is like going to be the best thing I ever did.”
I couldn’t believe she was pregnant. She didn't even want a baby. It wasn’t fair. So much for a stress-less brunch.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I gave her a tight-lipped smile, nodding. Surely at any moment, my head would’ve exploded from lack of oxygen as I was certain I hadn’t taken a breath since I last spoke. “Yeah, of course. I’m great. Don’t I look great?” I clenched my jaw and gave her the toothiest smile ever.
“Yes, you always look great.” She winked. “So tell me, tell me, tell me. How’s the baby-making process going? Are you enjoying all the ovulation sex?”
I dabbed my white napkin along the beads of sweat that had formed near my hairline. Not knowing how to tell her that ovulation sex had been replaced with trigger shots and insemination syringes, I grabbed my water glass and sucked at least half of it down.
“Wow, you’re thirsty,” she said.
I raised my brows, my lips still glued to the rim of the upturned glass. Finally, I set it back on the table and took a deep breath. I could do this. Her pregnancy didn’t negate the fact that I would eventually have a baby. Or did it? “We’re just, you know . . . having sex and waitin’ on the positive test.”
Ginger squished her penciled-in eyebrows together. “Are you keeping track of your ovulation calendar? You don’t want that sperm going to waste the rest of the month.” She giggled.
I gripped the edges of the table, gnawing at my bottom lip. How stupid did she think I was? I could calculate my ovulation times of the month in my sleep. I took a deep breath. She wasn’t a snide person at all and I knew she didn’t mean anything by it. “Yes . . . James and I have been very diligent. No time or sperm to waste.”
“Good. Oh, my God. I’m so excited for you guys. If you get pregnant soon then your baby will be almost the same age as mine. I’m due in September. Did I mention that? Close to Labor Day. Isn’t that funny?” She crinkled her nose with a big smile.
My knuckles were as white as the tablecloth and I swallowed a dry lump in my throat. “Hilarious!” I said in a high-pitched tone.
“Ohmigod, I have to show my most recent sonogram. You can totally tell that she’s gonna have Jon’s nose.” Ginger pulled her phone from her snake-skinned designer bag and a moment later, flashed the grainy black-and-white photo of her unborn fetus in my face. My cheeks grew hot and tears prickled at my eyes. I gulped back another lump in my throat.
“Yeah, I can totally see it.” My voice cracked and I did everything I could to cover it with a big, happy smile. I stared at the photo of the little baby growing inside my friend, wishing that I could share a similar photo with her. But I couldn’t. Not then. Maybe not ever.
She lowered the phone onto the table face down, her mouth falling in a frown. “Marin, are you sure you’re all right?”
I looked into her dark, beautifully almond-shaped eyes knowing I couldn’t hide my fresh tears with a happy smile or even a lie about my allergies bothering me. “I’m sorry, Ginger. I um . . . I think I need to go.” My voiced cracked harder than my heartbreak and I began sobbing while I dug in my oversized purse for my wallet.
“Oh, my God
, Marin. What’s wrong?” I could tell by her tone that she was genuinely concerned. As much as I wanted to break down, I didn’t want the entire restaurant to see it. I peeled the white napkin off of my lap and set it down, then tossed enough cash on the table to cover my bill and most of hers. I jetted out of there as fast as my legs would carry me. With my head down, I made it to the street, unable to control the sobbing mess that I was.
“Marin!” Ginger’s voice called from a short distance behind me. I didn’t look back, just kept walking. “Marin, wait!” She was catching up, the clack of her heels hitting hard against the pavement. Had I made a pregnant woman run after me?
I slowed my steps. A moment later, her hand was on my shoulder. “Marin, what’s happening?” Ginger panted between words. I curled my arms in and lowered my head, tears dropping like heavy rain. Her rail-thin arms wrapped around me, running her hand along my hair and my back. “Shhh,” she whispered in a there-there tone. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
I sucked back a huge cry and gasped a deep breath of air, my breath trembling as I exhaled. In a sweet, maternal voice, she instructed me to keep breathing. In and out. She breathed with me until I was steady enough to speak. “I thought I couldn’t cry about this anymore,” I said.
She tilted her head. “Cry about what?”
I swiped under my eyes and along my cheeks, catching the teardrops on my chin. “James and I are really struggling to get pregnant. We tried for a whole year and then we just finished three failed fertility treatments. The doctors say there’s nothing wrong, but we just can’t seem to get pregnant.”
Ginger pulled me in again. “Oh, my God. I had no idea. I’m so sorry for bragging about my pregnancy when you’re suffering so much.”
“No,” I said, pulling back and shaking my head. “It’s not your fault. I would totally be showing off sonogram pictures if I could. I can’t imagine how happy you and Jon must be. You’re gonna have . . . a baby.” And with that last word, I broke out into loud sobs once again.
“Okay, look at me,” Ginger said, jolting me a little, and I did my best to look at her. “You are going to get pregnant, okay?”
I wanted so badly to believe that somehow she had become the authority on it. “Okay,” I said, tearful.
“I’m going to tell you about something but I need you to keep an open mind because I think I know someone who might be able to help you.”
“Who?” I asked.
She gave me a stern look. “His name is Dr. G. He's a TCM specialist—”
“Wait, did you say TCM as in Traditional Chinese Medicine?” My tears stopped.
“Yes,” she said. “You know what that is?”
This time, I grabbed her for a big hug. “Yes! I was just about to go hunting for one and here you’ve dropped it right in my lap. Ginger, you’re an angel! Tell me about this Dr. G.” I wiped my face dry.
“So I'd been seeing Dr. G. for something else, but I think his treatments also helped me get pregnant so fast. He can totally do fertility medicine. I met some of his patients that got pregnant with his help.” Now it wasn’t just an idea, but she’d actually met real women who got pregnant with TCM. “It's not cheap, but way less expensive and probably healthier than other fertility treatments.” Ginger to the rescue again. Just like two years ago when she tried to help me get engaged.
“Can you tell me more over brunch?” I asked, nodding toward the restaurant I was so desperate to leave only ten minutes ago.
“Of course! Besides how cool would it be to have our kids around the same time? They could be besties!” Ginger smiled wide and we walked arm in arm back to our table for a much less stressful brunch. If Ginger’s kid were anything like her, my child would be lucky to be besties with them.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Chasteberry
When I got home, James and Marvin were nowhere to be found. I was so pumped that I started jogging in place in the living room then ran up the stairs to my desk. I shoved all my work files to the side and started googling the crap out of Dr. G., TCM. And damn did he have great reviews. I’d call to make an appointment first thing on Monday.
“Hello!” James yelled from the bottom of the stairs.
“Hey, baby! I'm in the office.”
A few moments later, I swiveled around in my chair. He stood in the doorway wearing navy-colored gym shorts and a heather-gray tank top. His freshly bronzed skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat. I bit my lower lip, almost completely forgetting about what I’d been doing just two minutes before.
“You working?” he asked. Working? I should’ve been working on him. Maybe later.
“No. Sit down, I want to tell you something.” I gestured to his desk chair on the other side of the room.
He wheeled it over and sat down. “Are you pregnant?” he asked, his eyes wide and tone raised to an excited pitch.
“No,” I said, hating that response. “But I will be. I had kind of a crazy morning.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
I let out a long sigh and shook my head. “I found out that Ginger’s pregnant and I totally lost my shit.”
“Uh-oh.” James cringed.
“Yeah . . . But it turned out to be great because Ginger recommended a TCM specialist that has helped women get pregnant.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Really? You mean like acupuncture?”
“Yes, that's exactly what I mean. You can read all about it in my new fertility bible.” I handed off my copy from my desk but considered buying another for myself.
He took the book and ran his thumb along the pages. “Okay, I guess we can try it.”
“I’m glad you used the word ‘we’ because you have to come too. Your reproductive health is just as important as mine. And according to this book,” I jabbed my finger at the cover, “you’ll have to make some other changes too.”
“Such as?”
“Your diet. You really need to cut out red meat and soy products; no more estrogen-producing foods for you. At least until we get pregnant.”
“I can go without soy, but c’mon, red meat? Meat makes me feel like a man.” He flexed his bicep as if the red meat was the sole reason for his sexy brawn.
“Seriously, even after we watched that documentary about the cows?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Marin, I'm a country boy. I grew up around slaughtering cattle, chickens, and stuff like that.”
“You need to give it up. Please? For our baby,” I said, cradling my arms, holding our imaginary baby. Because it was still just in our minds.
“Okay,” he said, rising to his feet and he kissed the top of my head. “No red meat, no tofu. Anything else?”
“We’ll talk more once you’ve read the book. I’ll make an appointment with this fabulous Dr. G.”
I didn’t want to waste any more time, so I walked to the vitamin shop on Cole Street with a list of all the supplements I needed to get my body into tiptop shape for a baby. Small capsule bottles lined the shelves, while herbs and tinctures were stacked against the walls. I’d never shopped for more than a multivitamin at the grocery store before. I had no idea where to start.
“Can I help you?” asked a woman wearing a white blouse and a nametag that read Stephanie.
Oh, thank God. “Actually, yes. I need to pick up a few things.” I glanced down at the scribble on my purple sticky note. She leaned forward, looking attentive. “Do you carry Progesterone cream?”
“We sure do,” Stephanie said, and waltzed past me to the far wall. There were only four to choose from so I grabbed the most expensive one.
“Great, thanks.”
“Anything else?” she asked.
“Yeah, I have a list here,” I said, showing her the sticky attached to my finger.
Stephanie, my vitamin tour guide, read over the list then smiled. “Trying to get pregnant?"
I shot her a wry look. “Is it that obvious?”
She laughed. “It is by your list. My sister
tried for over a year. She took all kinds of supplements and pre-natals. I let her use my discount.”
“Oh, that's nice,” I said, wishing I had a sister who could get me discounts on vitamins. My brother could only help me if I had breast cancer, a favor I hoped never to cash in.
“C'mon, I’ll show you the rest.” She took my note and I followed her around the four corners of the store, checking off one supplement at a time.
“So, your sister. Did she ever get pregnant?” I asked.
“Yep, after two rounds of IVF. She was thirty-six.” She looked proud to say that after much heartbreak her sister finally gave her a niece or nephew. I wondered if her sister ever read You CAN Get Pregnant.
I thanked Stephanie for her help and her hope, and walked out of there with a bag of primrose oil and chasteberry, to name a couple, and a seventy-dollar receipt.
When I got home, I sat the bag down on the island in the kitchen. James, curious as ever, went digging through the reusable bag.
“Did you get the good stuff?” he joked, examining the bottles one by one. “What’s chasteberry?”
I shrugged. “It’s supposed to help balance my hormones and make me more fertile.”
He tilted his head. “Chaste means virgin and it’s supposed to help you get pregnant?”
“The name doesn’t matter. What does matter is that if you stick with me, we'll be pregnant in no time.” I smiled and kissed his cheek.
“Mmm, why don’t you pop some of this chasteberry and we’ll get started right now?” He slipped his finger in the top of my pants and tickled my skin right below my belly button.
I grabbed the bottle and spun the top open, sending my husband a sexy wink. “I like the way you think, Daddy.”
That Monday morning, I woke up an hour earlier than usual. It was time to start my new healthy, baby-making lifestyle. I downed a glass of lemon water, then rolled out my yoga mat for meditation and sun salutations. Afterwards, I blended kale, spinach, bananas, and chia seeds. Pretty yummy for a veggie smoothie. Instead of coffee, I filled my travel mug with green tea and got to the office before eight a.m. I wanted to be the first to call Dr. G.'s office after it opened. Once my clock hit eight, zero, zero, I dialed with lightning speed.
