The Two Week Wait (27 page)

Hmph, thinks Cath. That sounds like a dig. Were Mike and I that bad? She refrains from rising to it, and says, ‘I reckon it’s Rich’s sperm. To have all of them fertilize is
amazing. Then again, he always was good at performing under pressure.’ She is proud of him.

‘True,’ her mother laughs. ‘It’s likely not all the embryos will survive though, isn’t it? I thought that was why they try to collect so many eggs in the first
place.’

‘That’s right.’

‘So what do they do if more than two make it? I hate to think of those poor little embryos just being thrown away.’

As if the staff at the clinic just sling them in a bin bag, honestly. ‘They don’t do that, Mum, or they won’t with us, anyway.’

‘Really? They give them to someone else?’

‘God, no,’ says Cath. Does Judy really consider this an option? If only her mother was more au fait with the Internet, she could have researched this. Cath sighs. ‘We can
freeze them.’

‘Ah.’ A pause. ‘Really?’

‘Yes. They’ll transfer the healthiest, but we might have more than one or two good ones, so depending on the quality, we can have them put by in case we want to try again.’

‘Is it really OK to freeze an embryo?’

‘They’ve been doing it for years. They look at them under a microscope and choose the ones most likely to survive the procedure.’

‘I can’t imagine it does them much good being frozen and then thawed.’

Sometimes her mum can be so old-fashioned. ‘You freeze fish and eat it,’ reasons Cath.

‘It’s hardly the same. I find it extraordinary you can bring something back to life like that.’

‘It’s mind-blowing – these days, you know, they can even fly frozen embryos across the world and then use them.’

‘Good Lord.’

‘Though the chance of pregnancy with frozen ones isn’t quite as good, still it gives us more options.’

‘Next thing we know, we’ll be freezing people and bringing them back to life . . . ’ Judy laughs again. ‘Maybe I should freeze your father. How long can you keep these
embryos frozen for?’

‘In some places it’s up to ten years, though our clinic keeps them for five.’

Cath can almost hear her mother’s mind whirring. ‘And the lady who gave you her eggs, is she happy with all this?’

Cath mutters, ‘She’s fine.’ She has a nagging concern that their donor could withdraw consent to use her embryos at any time, even once they’re frozen, right up until
they’re transferred into Cath’s womb. But she’s not going to give her mum any more reason for pessimism. Of course implantation may not work; she and Rich may need a subsequent
cycle, even cycles – though how they’d afford that Lord knows. Cath pushes her worries away. Imagine if it
does
work, she thinks, we could even have another child – a
sibling, in a year or two, using a frozen embryo from their donor . . .

Now wouldn’t that be the most amazing thing ever?

‘Mum?’

‘Darling, is there something the matter?’

‘We’ve lost three of the embryos,’ Cath sniffs.

‘Oh love, I’m so sorry.’

‘The woman from the clinic rang earlier to tell us.’

Cath is sure she must be thinking,
I did warn you
, but that she’s too kind to say it. She pictures Judy at home in her kitchen, biting her lip. She wishes her mum was nearer.

‘You’re due to go in tomorrow, aren’t you?’ says Judy.

‘Yes.’

‘So what happened?’

Cath fights back tears. ‘Apparently Mrs Donoghue – she’s our embryologist – came in this morning and checked under the microscope and they’d’ – she
gulps – ‘died.’

‘Oh love, I wish I was there to give you a hug. Where’s Rich?’

‘He’s here. He’s on the other line. But he’s got to go into work in a bit. There are all sorts of nightmares going on there, too.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah, more redundancies. He’s OK, but he’s had to lay off two of his staff, it’s horrid.’

‘That’s a shame . . . It sounds like you could do with company, and poor Rich. Though you’ve still three embryos left, haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’ Cath wails, ‘But what if they die too?’

‘Is that likely?’

‘They thought all six looked all right in the beginning and now these have gone. So the others could easily not make it.’

Judy hesitates, then says, ‘Wouldn’t it be better for them to put them into your womb now, then? I still can’t believe the best environment for nurturing an embryo is a test
tube.’

‘It’s not a test tube. It’s a Petri dish.’

‘Whatever. It’s hardly the same as inside you. What does Rich think?’

‘He’s speaking to the clinic now. Hold on – he’s just finishing – sorry, Mum, can I call you back?’ And before Judy can protest, Cath rings off.

‘Mrs Donoghue says the three left are very good quality,’ Rich tells her.

‘They said that before.’

‘It seems that now she can see them even more clearly under the microscope. We’ve got two As and one A/B.’

‘Great! So – they want us to go in now?’

‘No, they still want us to wait until tomorrow.’

This is the opposite of her cancer diagnosis. Then, when the consultant discovered her tumours, it seemed he couldn’t get her into surgery fast enough. The experience was dreadful, but at
least she didn’t have to hang around. ‘My mum thinks it’s a good idea to go in straight away too. I’d much rather – the odds must be better, surely?’

Rich lets out a long breath. She knows she’s trying his patience. ‘I think the clinic know what they’re doing.’

But my mum’s so often right, thinks Cath. Doesn’t Rich realize?

*  *  *

‘I’m just calling to ask how our blastocysts are doing,’ says Adam. He’s at his desk at work and has a rare few minutes spare – two patients in a
row have failed to show.

‘You just beat me to it,’ says Ian. ‘Giving Lou a ring was next on my list.’

‘Oh?’ Adam’s stomach lurches. But Ian doesn’t sound concerned, and Adam decides he wouldn’t be so casual if there were a problem.

‘Yes indeed, but as you’ve called, I’ll tell you and you can let her know: they’re still going.’

‘All four?’

‘Yup, growing away, which is excellent. We’d usually expect to lose some between fertilization and implantation.’

‘And they’re all good quality?’

‘I graded them this morning and’ – there is a rustle of paper followed by click on a keyboard – ‘yes, you’ve got one A, two Bs and one B/C.’

‘Oh.’Adam is disheartened. He’s a high-achiever; anything less than a straight A falls short.

‘Well, if push comes to shove – if you excuse my phrasing’ – he’s
definitely
gay, notes Adam – ‘and they all make it through to blasto stage,
then we could use any of them. But as we’ve got one A-grade, I’m pretty convinced that’s our boy.’ Surely it would be unprofessional of Ian to express such optimism without
being almost certain? Cruel, even. Yet then he says, ‘So we’ll see you in the morning, 9 a.m. sharp. Though as I say to each of our clients, don’t count your chickens just
yet.’ And Adam is left hanging on the edge of uncertainty yet again.

Lou and Adam are sitting in the clinic reception. They’re early, and Dr Hassan, they are told, is running late.

‘Might be a good idea to have another couple of glasses of water while you wait,’ suggests the receptionist.

Lou has been diligently drinking herbal tea all the way up the motorway; by the time she’s finished a plastic cup of water from the cooler she is convinced she might burst. ‘I hope
Dr Hassan gets a bloody move on,’ she mutters.

Eventually the large white door to his consulting room opens and two women leave.

‘Sisters.’ Adam winks at Lou.

It seems ages until the doctor invites them through. He takes a seat, waves expansively at the chairs opposite and they sit down. ‘So, we now have three embryos,’ he says gently.

‘Three? But we had four yesterday,’ says Adam.

‘I’m afraid we lost the weakest overnight.’ His expression is sympathetic; he folds his fingers together, rests his chin on his hands. ‘But three is good, really. And
you’ve got one very strong embryo there.’

‘We only need one,’ says Lou, more to herself than Adam.

‘So now you need to decide if you’re going to use one or two.’

‘What do you think?’ Lou asks Adam.

Adam frowns. ‘Two, to give us more of a chance?’

‘But what if they both work? We’d end up with twins.’

Adam shrugs. ‘One each?’

But this is not what Lou would wish for. It is so much to take in, and after months of being able to take each step as it comes and mull things over together, they are being thrust into making a
crucial decision. She tries to assess the implications: carrying twins, a dual birth, the stress of two newborns, the demands of two toddlers, the expense of two schoolchildren, the mood swings of
two teenagers. She’s reminded of a film she watched with her father when she was small,
The Time Machine
. At one point a horrible humanoid monster aged from life to death at such speed
she could barely catch her breath. The scene terrified her – but then she could hide behind the sofa. Now she can’t run away.

‘What do other people do?’ she asks the doctor, hoping for guidance.

‘It varies depending on their age and circumstance,’ says Dr Hassan. ‘No two cases are exactly alike.’

No two embryos either, thinks Lou. But she doesn’t want choice and uncertainty. ‘What would you advise?’ she pushes.

‘I’d recommend just using the one,’ says Dr Hassan.

‘Why’s that?’ Adam’s tone is gruff, combative.

‘You’ve got one exceptionally high-quality embryo here, and there is the best chance with that. The other two are not such good grade.’

‘But I can’t go through this whole process again if it fails,’ says Lou. ‘Haven’t we a better chance using two?’

‘We can always freeze the two others,’ says Dr Hassan.

‘Though we’d still have to pay for another cycle,’ she panics. ‘I couldn’t afford it.’

‘Maybe I can help if we have to do that,’ says Adam, with barely a pause. ‘I’ve got some savings,’ he whispers to her, though naturally Dr Hassan can hear.

Lou feels colour rising to her cheeks: she’s touched and embarrassed.

They look at each other, then at Dr Hassan.

‘So it’s one, then?’ the doctor confirms.

‘One,’ they say in unison.

Lou lets out a long breath, relieved at their decision.

‘Lovely.’ The doctor unfolds his fingers and relaxes a little also. ‘So, next . . . I wondered if you’d like to come in this time?’ he asks Adam. Lou is taken
aback, but before she can gather her thoughts, Dr Hassan says to her, ‘You’ll be awake the whole time, and we can cover you up no problem. It’s purely that this an event we find
prospective parents really like to share.’

Adam checks her reaction.

She nods. ‘OK.’

‘If you follow me then, Lou, someone will come back and get you, Adam, when she’s ready.’

The doctor takes Lou to the same theatre she was in before, where a nurse greets them. ‘Now, if you just slip on this gown’ – Lou doesn’t need telling, she is already
removing her tracksuit trousers – ‘and lie down here’ – she gets up on the bed and they help hoist her legs into the stirrups – ‘we’ve a few minutes of
preparation.’

Minutes?! Never mind enjoying the experience with Adam, Lou is extremely uncomfortable. Forget your bladder and concentrate on what they’re doing, she tells herself. You’ll want to
remember. She peers over her breasts and down her body. The nurse is wielding a long cotton bud.

‘I’m just going to clean your cervix,’ the nurse explains.

The sensation is similar to a smear test. As she’s rearranging Lou’s gown, there’s a tap on the door.

It’s Ian, brandishing a clipboard. ‘I need to check a few details.’ He confirms her blood group, then holds up a form. ‘This is for you to read afterwards. Shall I slip
it in your rucksack?’

‘Please.’

‘There’s just one other thing, Lou,’ says Dr Hassan. ‘Would you like Adam to help me with the transfer or would you prefer me to do it?’

Lou agonizes for a moment, appreciative that Dr Hassan has asked her this while Adam is absent. He’s clearly a sensitive man. Again she has the feeling her body is public property; she
needs to safeguard something of herself. ‘Actually . . . if you don’t mind . . . I think I’d prefer you to do it. Is that OK?’

‘Sure,’ he nods.

Instantly she feels guilty, but there’s no opportunity to talk it over, for just then there’s another knock and Adam joins them. This is hardly intimate, Lou thinks. She closes her
eyes for a second, and an image of Sofia flashes before her. We could have done this in the privacy of our home, she thinks; plenty of women do, with a needle-less syringe. We could have made it
romantic, possibly even erotic. At the very least we could have had a giggle.

Then Ian says, ‘I’m just going to bring through your embryo,’ and as he edges through the door at once she is back in the here and now, appreciating how phenomenal it is.

An embryo: their embryo; the first few cells of their baby are here!

‘We’ll scan your uterus while the embryo is going in,’ explains Dr Hassan. ‘That’s why we ask for you to have a full bladder – it acts like a lens so we can
see. You can watch too. Look.’

There is a monitor above Lou’s head. The picture might be black-and-white and fuzzy; the scanner pressing her belly might be making her need to pee even more, but it is astonishing. She
glances at Adam: he is stock-still, transfixed by the screen. She can see tears glistening in his eyes.

‘So . . . ’ says Ian, bending down, ‘ . . . he’s in a tiny air bubble, going in now . . . ’

He might be a
she
, protests Lou silently on behalf of the child. Then she’s caught up again in how moving this is. What an honour to be able to witness these precious moments. She
can feel herself welling up, too.

Presently, Ian stands up. ‘I’ll triple-check it’s gone from the catheter under the microscope. Only a couple of minutes more . . . ’ He leaves the theatre.

Lou lies legs apart, trying not to move.

Adam comes to her side. ‘That was amazing.’ His voice is hoarse.