Chapter Eight
Wes and I started out by booking an appointment with my family doctor, who assured us that we had done the right thing to wait a year before coming to see her. She explained that it’s not uncommon for couples not to conceive right away. But often, they grow antsy after only a few months, in which case she advised them to keep trying and come back after a year if they still weren’t pregnant.
I laughed. “Actually, I wanted to come after three months, but Wes convinced me to keep trying a little while longer.”
Dr. Melanson smiled at him. “Don’t fault her for being a keener.”
He reached for my hand. “I never would.”
Dr. Melanson regarded us both for a few seconds. I had the distinct impression she was gauging the strength of our relationship, and whether or not we were having sex in the first place. Which we were.
She wheeled her chair forward a bit and picked up her pen to take some notes in our file. “Let’s get right down to it then.” She turned her eyes to me. “First of all, Claire. Do you have regular periods?”
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s like clockwork every month, and I’ve been taking my temperature to figure out when I’m ovulating. I read that it happens between day ten and seventeen of the cycle.”
She nodded and wrote that down. “Very good. Clearly you’ve been educating yourself.” She glanced back and forth between the two of us. “And how often do you have sex?”
I blushed, and Wes grinned sheepishly at me.
“I’m not here to judge you,” Dr. Melanson said. “And all of this is strictly confidential. I just need to know the facts.”
I took a deep breath and sat up straighter. “Usually about three times a week. Sometimes only twice if we’re busy at the school. But when I’m ovulating, we make sure to do it every other day.”
“Excellent,” she said, noting that in the file.
Dr. Melanson then asked us a few more detailed questions about our sex life, which I won’t repeat here. Eventually she moved on to explain what we should expect from these appointments, and what would happen next.
“First, we’ll deal with you, Wes, and get a sperm sample. Incidentally, just so you know, we’re not here to point fingers at either of you. Statistically speaking, one third of couples have an infertility problem involving the male, while one third of the problems involve the female, and another third involve both. So that’s why we need to examine each of you, individually.”
“Interesting,” I said, pleased to hear that Wes and I were on equal footing, at least statistically.
Dr. Melanson seemed a bit distracted as she wrote something down on a separate sheet of pink paper, which she handed to Wes. “This is a requisition for you to provide a sperm sample. You can do that in the next few days. The instructions are on the sheet and there’s a number to call. And Wes…I’d like to see you back here in two weeks for a complete physical.”
“Sure,” he said, taking the sheet of paper from her.
“What about me?” I asked. “Aren’t there any tests I should be taking? Or are there some fertility drugs we should be looking at?”
Dr. Melanson rose from her chair and handed me a sheet of paper as well. “Let’s take this one step at a time. For now, I want to get your blood work done, Claire, and I’d like to book you in for a physical as well. But I would like to have the results of Wes’s sperm test before I see either of you again. Why don’t you book separate appointments on the same day two weeks from now? I’ll have more information then, and we can figure out how to move forward. In the meantime, just try to relax and keep doing what you’ve been doing.”
Wes and I stood up.
“Thank you,” I said as we walked out.
When we reached our car, I threw my arms around Wes’s neck, because I felt elated. Even though we had no information yet, I was grateful that someone was going to look into our situation, medically, and figure out what was wrong, if anything.
At the same time, I was still impatient. I wished we didn’t have to wait two whole weeks before we could return for our physicals and get the results from Wes’s sperm test. I wanted things to move much faster than that.
* * *
After two weeks twiddling my thumbs, waiting in suspense to return to the clinic for back-to-back appointments, the day finally arrived.
Wes was called in first, so I was forced to sit and wait a little longer. It was torture.
Finally, he emerged from the examination room and sat down beside me.
I closed the thriller novel I’d been trying to read and held it on my lap. “Well?”
“It went great,” he told me.
“Really? What did she say?”
He leaned closer and spoke softly. “That my sperm count is off the charts, and motility is terrific. Everything looks really good.”
I let out a breath and sat back. “Phew. That’s a relief. So at least we’re all good on your end. One less thing to worry about.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine, too.” Wes pulled out his phone to check his messages. “And if there’s anything wrong, they’ll be able to help us. Like you said, you might just need to take some fertility drugs to increase our chances. Or maybe this is the week we’ll get lucky and they’ll be referring us to an obstetrician on the next visit.”
He said that because I was ovulating this week. We had done it twice the night before, and I was hopeful, as always.
A nurse entered the waiting room and called my name. I rose from my seat and shoved my book into my purse.
“Wish me luck,” I said to Wes as I followed the nurse into the examination room.