What?
“Why are you recommending we push forward with the IVF now?” I ask.
“Let’s say we do the retrieval and get six quality embryos. You freeze and bank all of them. You decide in three years you’re ready to do the transfer but two are badly degraded by the freezing process. That leaves you four possibilities—two attempts if you use two of the embryos on each IVF. Worst-case scenario, neither yield a successful pregnancy and you lose your ovary in the meantime. At that point, your only options are your banked frozen eggs from two years ago, which yield an even lower success rate than embryos. Should those prove unviable, you’re down to using donor eggs fertilized with your husband’s semen.”
I don’t want to even begin to try to sort out the emotions stirring as I consider that last possibility.
“The upside to proceeding with the IVF now is figuring out if you need to have a repeat egg retrieval before the opportunity is no longer there.”
Dr. Paschall isn’t saying it but he must think I’ll lose my ovary soon. That’s the only reason he’d push for this. “If we don’t move forward, we’re putting all of my eggs in one basket and hoping it doesn’t get dropped.”
“Yes. Quite literally.” Dr. Paschall peers up at the sonogram picture and then back to me. “If having children of your own is important to you, I wouldn’t recommend waiting.”
“If we decide to do it, how soon are we talking?” Sin asks.
“Your wife will require stimulated IVF. It’s a two-week cycle from the time you begin medications until the egg collection. Once the eggs are fertilized, we will choose the best two after three days and the transfer will happen at that time.”
A tiny little ball of life will be placed inside me seventeen days after the start of the medication. No. Make that two microscopic little beings. That’s unbelievable. And completely nuts.
“Go ahead and make the appointment. Take the next week or so to think it over and make a decision. You can always call back and cancel if you decide you don’t want to go through with it.”
As we leave the clinic, my emotions are all over the place. I’m thrilled all hope isn’t lost but I thought we’d have more time. I have tasks to do first—important things a baby will hinder.
Sin gives my hand a squeeze. “Hello? Earth to Bleu.”
“I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I said we should talk. About this. How about over lunch?”
I’m not sure I can handle a big meal. “What about a coffee and pastry instead?”
I’d love to have one of Starbucks’ new chestnut praline lattes but we settle for the first café we come upon. We choose a lonely table near the back in hopes of privacy for this conversation I think neither of us wants to have.
I sip my caramel latte. When it burns my tongue, I set it aside to cool.
“Not good?”
“I can’t be sure. I think it may have scorched my taste buds.”
“How’s your pumpkin bread?”
I nod. “Good.”
“I’m not sure how you’d know. It looks like all you’ve done is pick at it.”
I don’t know. I can’t recall tasting the few bites I’ve taken. I’m too preoccupied. “I don’t have much of an appetite.”
He reaches across the table and covers my hand with his. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I’m not sure how to put my feelings into words when I’m incapable of sorting out what’s happening in my head. And heart. “The consult didn’t go as I expected.”
“Agreed.”
Good. At least we’re on the same page.
“I’m thrilled we weren’t told a pregnancy was a hopeless cause.” Now here comes the part where I must choose my words carefully. “But I’m terrified of doing this so soon. We’ve only been married six weeks.”
“I feel the same. I’m very happy Dr. Paschall believes we have a chance but I wasn’t expecting him to advise us to proceed so quickly. I thought we’d do the retrieval now and implant in a year or two.”
He looks as uncertain as I feel. I see it in the lines of his forehead, in the way his lips turn down at the corners.
“We aren’t ready to do this, are we?” I ask.
“No.” He releases my hand and sits back in his seat. “But are we prepared to let what might be our only chance at having a child slip through our fingers because it’s sooner than we’d like?”
The timing is horrible. “Unfortunately, we aren’t blessed with the luxury of waiting until we’re ready. It seems it’s now or possibly never.”
It feels as though my life revolves around an inconvenient schedule due to circumstances out of my control. It’s disheartening.
“I need time to think about this. I can’t decide today.” And probably not tomorrow, or even the next day.
“I say we enjoy our day together and talk about it after we’ve had time to adjust to the idea.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter Twelve
Sinclair Breckenridge
Bleu’s never been to London. In fact, she’s pretty much never been anywhere so I thought she’d be excited to see the sights. Although her camera is hanging around her neck, she hasn’t taken a single picture. She’s too absorbed by what I can only assume is an internal battle—probably the same one I’m struggling with. I know because she’s paying far more attention to the infants and children we pass than any of the iconic places we’re visiting.
We browse the gift shop at The Tower of London after finishing our tour. We make the circle and end up in the children’s section. She picks up a royal guardsman teddy bear from the shelf. “He’s cute.”
I disagree.
I’m Scottish, so for me, it’s a symbol of oppression. Our conflicts with England are centuries’ old and still run deep. I’ll never be a fan of anything representing the English. I avoid this place. I wouldn’t be here now if the Assisted Reproduction Centre didn’t have the highest successful pregnancy rates in IVF.
Bleu wasn’t reared here. She doesn’t understand how many Scots feel toward our southern neighbors. But she’ll come to know since she’s going to spend the rest of her life in Scotland.
She studies the toy another moment before returning it to the shelf. She almost looks regretful about it. “Do you want the bear?”