Out of respect for Easton, I kept my distance. And by the lack of communication, he was doing the same. Hopefully, it was only until after today’s appointment, and maybe then we could try to find our way back to normal.
These last two days without any contact had driven me half crazy. Easton had become someone I looked to for comfort and support, and not to have him there was as if someone had stolen my safety net. After spending far too much time pondering the entire situation, I decided that maybe our lack of communication was a good thing—a test of wills, teaching me a valuable lesson where Easton was concerned. That didn’t stop my mind or my heart from hurting. They both missed him terribly. The brighter side—at least they finally agreed on something.
Though, that wouldn’t help with the questionnaire I was trying to fill out. Question after question about medical history, psychiatric history, and family life. After signing my name on the last page, I tossed the clipboard and pen aside and turned my eyes to the eggshell-colored walls with bright white trim and serene paintings that hung from them. A water cooler tucked in one corner and a tall, silk plant in the other. I fought off an annoyed giggle, thinking my mother would have a coronary or at least a bad case of hives if she saw that. Every plant or bouquet she ever bought had to be fresh. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.
I should have let Leeza come with me. At first, I’d asked her to be there, but yesterday, I told her I wanted to go alone. Naturally, she argued with me. Tried to convince me she should be there for moral support. But I’d held firm. She was probably in the parking lot waiting for me to either call her and tell her to come inside or for me to come rushing out the door.
Neither of which I was going to do.
If my sister was there and saw how nervous I was, she might have lectured me to give this more time and a whole lot more thought.
Maybe that was exactly what I needed—more time. This experience should be a happy time, where we finally put the stress of not being able to conceive naturally behind us. To have high hopes that we’d come out of this grueling process nine months later with a little one, and not the current dread I had lingering in my chest.
“Lilly Crenshaw-Gibson,” a nurse called.
“Yes.” I stood then walked toward her.
“Hi, I’m Vanessa. I’m one of the nurses here. Right this way, please.”
I followed Vanessa down a brightly lit hallway toward the doctor’s office.
“May I.” She held her hand out, and I gave her the clipboard. “You can go on in and have a seat.”
“Thank you,” I replied nervously, my hand fidgeting with my purse strap.
Vanessa followed me into the office and handed the paperwork to the woman sitting behind the desk.
This room was a complete contrast to the waiting area. It had an enormous corkboard hanging on the left wall dedicated to a slew of babies and their families, birth announcements, first birthdays, there were even a few graduation photos. Your typical matching bookcase filled with books, pictures, and a few knickknacks, which made up the majority of the back wall. What made me smile was a wicker basket arrangement of fresh white daisies and yellow roses sitting at the corner of her desk. Taking a final panoramic glance of the room, that was when I decided I liked her. I hadn’t even said a word to this woman yet, but I liked her.
“Welcome. Please have a seat.” The woman, who I guessed to be in her early- to mid-fifties gestured to the leather chairs. “I’m Doctor Hardy. It’s nice to meet you, Lilly,” she said kindly.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I replied, smiling politely before sitting on the edge of the seat and tucking my hands between my thighs. Just because I liked her didn’t mean my nerves had settled. They were anything but settled.
“Shall we get started?” Dr. Hardy lifted a pair of red-framed glasses to her face and opened a yellow file folder. Instantly, my mind thought of sunshine and Easton. “I’ve looked over your medical records. Everything looks good, no issues for concern at the moment. I’m also familiar with your husband’s history, and he had no medical concerns, either.” She met my eyes with genuine sincerity and offered her sympathies. “I’m truly sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you.”
Two months ago, I would have never accepted those words so easily. But now, I understood and was beginning to appreciate the kindness shown to me.
Doctor Hardy sighed softly and removed her glasses, carefully setting them on her desk. She folded her hands across the top of her desk and leaned in an inch. “Lilly. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s been like for you, losing your husband at such a young age and so suddenly.” The grip on my hands tightened. “Have you sought counseling at all?”
I shook my head and replied, “I haven’t.” Maybe I should have taken Leeza’s advice the first time she had suggested it.
She nodded. “As part of this process, it is highly recommended that each individual seek counseling. This is not something to take lightly, and it is so much more than having a baby.” I nodded, letting her know I understood. If I were taking this lightly, I would have been pregnant already. “I’m sure you have a list of questions. I’ll try to answer as many as I can and as best to my knowledge, but there’s a lot to consider here.”
“I’m aware and understand just how involved this process is.” I swallowed over the lump in my throat.
For the next thirty minutes or so, we discussed the different avenues and approaches that were available to me. Went into further detail about my and Tyler’s medical histories as well as some questions she had regarding my answers on the questionnaire.
Sitting there, my mind spun with the mile-long list of questions that began disappearing one by one. I wish I had written them down instead of trying to remember off the top of my head. Coming partially prepared should have been my first sign that I wasn’t completely prepared and needed more time. Then I reminded myself that all I was there for was answers. Decisions could come later.
But if I’m not prepared, how am I going to get the answers I need?
“Since the military initiated their pilot program, there has been an influx of interested persons in cryopreservation. In my professional opinion, their deciding factors are running on pure emotion rather than doing their research, and I’d hate for this to be the case with you.”
I took a second to absorb just exactly what she was saying.
“Before coming here, I did some research on it. I also have my sister for moral support. She had asked me a few questions that could pose concern, but really, I’m here today to get answers. I knew I would need time to think this through.”
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s incredibly important to have the people who are close to you help guide you through this.” She paused for a second. “Then there are other things to think about, the unpleasant possibilities.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, there are a few things actually. Cost is always a concern for most.” I nodded even though it wasn’t a concern for me. “Have you thought about what you would do if you decide you no longer wanted go through with the procedure? Would you offer Tyler’s gametes for research or would you want them disposed of?” I sat there with a blank face and the air evaporating from my lungs. “Then there’s the option of offering it to another recipient.” My lips parted, but she held her hand up. “Please, let me explain.” I nodded, hoping I wouldn’t faint. As selfish as it may be, there was no way in hell I would let another woman carry Tyler’s child. “Assuming Tyler’s parents are still living, this would give them the choice, should they want it, to seek out a surrogate.”
Well, that was the hardest proverbial slap to the face I’d ever felt. Not once did I think about Roger and Sue Gibson. What if they wanted a grandchild, someone to carry on the Gibson name? This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.
“I never thought of that,” I whispered as shame filtered through me. I had only been concerned with my feelings and wants. “By any chance, did Tyler have an opinion with any of that?”
“No. He made it very clear that all decision making be left up to you.”
When I finally let it all sink in, a sarcastic chuckle bubbled in my chest. God, was I a fucking joke to actually be considering all of this? This is the kind of shit that was made for a reality show or some talk show that thrives on twisted life events. This kind of thing surely didn’t happen in real life. Right?
I could see it, Easton sitting beside me, offering his never-ending support. Bright stage lights beaming down on us while the host asks all sorts of sordid, demoralizing questions, making a mockery of Easton and me on live television.
The kicker would be that they would have found out somehow that Tyler never died. That he was alive and well. Explain in explicit detail how his jet was shot down in the middle of the Indian Ocean and he miraculously survived on some deserted island. Only to have him enter from left stage with an exotic Eastern Indian woman by his side and a child in his arms—his child. Our eyes would lock, emotions would rise, and I would die inside all over again.
In my heart, I knew Tyler was gone and never coming back. If there were even the slightest of chance that he might still be alive, he would never have visited my dreams. Never would have given me a sense of false hope. He loved me too much to put me through that kind of turmoil and heartache.
My head started to swim, and my stomach roiled, thinking I was going to be sick. With all the answers I could handle, I searched the office for anything that would tell me the time, wanting nothing more than to leave.
“Lilly.” Dr. Hardy pushed a couple of pamphlets across the top of the desk toward me. “I’d like for you to look these over. There’s a lot of information that could be helpful to you. Please consider contacting one of the therapists. Their numbers are in each brochure. Each one of them specializes in these types of cases and would be of great help to you. You don’t have to do this alone, Lilly.”
I appreciated the sincerity in her voice.
“Thank you.” I reached for the information and nervously tucked it into my purse. “I appreciate your time and all the information you’ve shared.” I stood, and Dr. Hardy followed with her hand held out. I shook her hand, thanked her again, and walked out.