Chapter Eleven
My relationship with Wes took a turn for the better when I came home from my appointment with Dr. Walker and told him everything she had said. We talked over the dinner table where he apologized again for the way he had behaved that other night, and he promised it wouldn’t happen again.
“You didn’t deserve that,” he said. “You’re the most amazing woman in the world. I was a total jerk and I know it. I guess I just hit a wall.”
I told him I understood, because it was a stressful situation.
I then assured myself that it was an ordinary, run-of-the-mill rough patch, and no marriage was perfect 365 days a year. There were bound to be ups and downs and I couldn’t let every speed bump send me into that dark place where I feared everything I loved was going to be suddenly ripped out from under me.
And though it was usually Angie I talked to about our struggles to conceive a child, I had also been confiding in my sister, Bev. I had told her about my argument with Wes, which had left me heartbroken and confused that night.
Although Bev didn’t have the same insights Angie did about these types of marital stresses, Bev was supportive. She was my sister and she loved me. We had been through a lot together and I knew she always had my back.
Maybe that’s why it came as a surprise when she didn’t show up at the hospital on the day I was scheduled to have my scope. It was a week before Christmas, and she had told me earlier that she would be there.
When the day finally arrived, all I received from her was a text, where she apologized for not being able to come, but she didn’t say why. She merely said “good luck,” which I found strange and worrisome. I tried to call her but she didn’t answer her phone.
Wes, on the other hand, was there at my side, dutiful and supportive as always.
My mother came by as well, which I appreciated when I woke up and was wheeled out of recovery. It was good to have my husband and mother in the room with me when Dr. Walker entered with the results.
* * *
Dressed in blue scrubs and running shoes, her curly hair pulled back in a ponytail and a stethoscope slung around her neck, Dr. Walker said hello to Wes and my mom. Then she asked if I wanted to be told the results in private.
The question sent dread into my core.
“It’s fine,” I told her. “My mom and my husband will need to hear it eventually. So they might as well hear it from you.”
“Okay.” She took a seat in the chair next to my bed just as a man in a Santa Claus suit walked by outside the door.
“Ho Ho Ho!”
It was an odd moment under the circumstances, but this was the obstetrics floor and there were new mothers with babies in many of the rooms. I tried to take Santa as a good sign.
Dr. Walker smiled and rolled her eyes playfully. “We’ll be seeing that guy every day for the next week. He comes every year and he’s very jolly.”
“That’s nice,” I said.
She nodded and continued. “So, I suspect that what I’m about to tell you about the procedure won’t come as a total surprise, Claire. I’ve gotten a sense that you’ve had some suspicions for a while.”
I swallowed uneasily and said, “Yes.”
“Well.” She kept her eyes fixed on mine as she let out a breath. “You were right. Now that I’ve had a chance to see how things look, it’s no wonder you’ve been having trouble conceiving. Your tubes are completely blocked.”
I shut my eyes and tried not to panic. It was not the news I had wanted to hear, yet it gave me some peace of mind to know that there was, in fact, a real problem, and that I hadn’t been imagining it, as Wes had suggested. And Dr. Walker was here to help.
I tried to sit up straighter against the pillows, while my mother and Wes stood against the far wall.
“You mentioned a while ago,” I said to Dr. Walker, “that if there was scarring, it might be possible to clear the way during the procedure.”
She sat forward in the chair with her elbows on her knees, her hands clasped together. “Yes, I did say that, but in your case, I’m afraid it wasn’t possible. The scarring is too severe. We wouldn’t have been able to fix things.”
My throat closed up, but I swallowed hard because I didn’t want to cry. There would be other options. She had told me that in her office weeks ago.
“So…what has been happening to my eggs each month if they can’t travel down my fallopian tubes? Where do they go?”
Dr. Walker gave me the facts. “They simply get absorbed into your body.”
“I see.” Clearing my throat, I formed my next wary question. “So where do we go from here?”
My mother and Wes said nothing, and part of me wished my husband were more involved in this conversation. I wished he had been the one to ask that question.
Dr. Walker laid her hand on my wrist. “You and your husband should definitely take some time to think about all this, but in my professional opinion, your best option is IVF. There are no guarantees, of course, and it’s important that you keep that in mind, but I see no reason why we can’t try for that. You’re completely healthy in every other way. You’re a good candidate, Claire.”
Her words filled me with elation, because at least now, I had a fighting chance and science was on my side. There was a fifty-fifty success rate for women my age. She had told me that in her office and I had confirmed it in my online research.
Thank Heavens! Now we knew what the obstacle was, and there was a clear detour we could take around it.
How I loved the miracle of modern medicine in that moment—and the fact that I had an amazing specialist on my side. A brilliant woman who had the tools and expertise to help us.
I grabbed hold of her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you so much, Dr. Walker. I can’t tell you how happy you’ve made me. This is the best Christmas present ever. And if I have a girl, I want to name her after you.”
Dr. Walker laughed. “That is so sweet, Claire. But really, that’s not necessary. You should name your child whatever you want. I won’t hold you to that promise.”
I realized, when my mother began digging through her purse for something, that she was laughing and crying at the same time, searching for a tissue. This was such wonderful news!
Wes, on the other hand, had been checking his phone. When at last he met my gaze, he shook his head as if to clear it, then he moved around the bed and took hold of my hand.
“At least now we know,” he said, glancing briefly at Dr. Walker and giving her a nod, which I took to mean a quiet thank you, even though I was dismayed by how uninvolved he had been during the entire conversation. It left me feeling cold inside.
“Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!”
We all glanced up as Santa Claus walked by the door again, ringing his bell.
Wes smiled at me then, and patted my hand. “’Tis the season to be jolly,” he said with a lightness in his tone that did not ease my concerns.
* * *
Not long after Dr. Walker left my room, I pulled out my cell phone and texted Bev.
Hey, it went well. Dr. Walker figured out the problem and we’re going to deal with it. Things are looking up.
She texted me back: That’s great. I’m so relieved. When do you get to go home?
I quickly thumbed a reply: They’ll be discharging me this afternoon. Do you want to come over for supper so I can fill you in? Wes is coaching a basketball game until nine.
Bev didn’t respond right away, and I found myself picking up my phone and checking it every few seconds, wondering what was going on, because something felt off.
Then I started to wonder if I was becoming paranoid about everyone in my life, constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I knew where those feelings were coming from, and I didn’t want to go through my entire life expecting everyone I loved to fall on hedge clippers.
At last, a message came in: Sure. What time? I’ll bring food so you don’t have to cook.
I typed my reply: Great. How about 7:00?
Sounds good. See you then.