shoelace. In my panic I zoned out what he was saying, concentrating on the lines in thefloor, trying to ignore the pounding in my head which was saying over and over again, This is when you get found out, this is when you get found out. I felt sick and hot and dizzy, I wanted so much to be somewhere else.
‘Beth, are you OK?’ Matt’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.
‘Fine,’ I said, and blinked. ‘It’s a bit hot in here. Sorry, what were you saying?’
‘I was just explaining that looking at your test results, I think you two have a really good chance of getting pregnant if we go down the IVF route,’ said Mr O’Brian, an avuncular kind of man who seemed to be almost as desperate as we were for us to conceive.
‘You do?’ I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Was it that easy? No mention at all of my previous gynaecological history and how it might impact on my chances? Just an explanation that I’d need to take fertility drugs, and then come back and have some eggs taken? I thanked the stars for Dr McGrath’s discretion.
‘Of course, it might not work,’ he added. ‘You do have to be prepared for that.’
‘Of course,’ we agreed, but hope is such a bloody awful little emotion, I knew we were both thinking the same thing. It’s not hopeless. We’re not hopeless. We can still do this. And for the first time I allowed myself an extra little thought: Maybe my past doesn’t matter after all .
‘Coffee to celebrate?’ Matt said to me as we left the hospital. We were both so excited we were practically flying. I was too dizzy to hear all the facts and figures, but the consultant felt we had a better chance than most of conceiving – everything was in good working order according to him. We just needed a little help.
‘I shouldn’t be drinking coffee now, should I?’ I said. ‘But I’ll have a juice with you.’
We found our way to a little coffee bar on the High Street and sat back, enjoying the feelings of elation washing over us. We’d had so much disappointment over the last few years, and even though I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and there were no guarantees, I wanted to enjoy this feeling. It had been a long time since I’d felt this hopeful about anything.
‘To us,’ said Matt, raising his cup of coffee against my orange juice.
‘To us,’ I said, ‘and to Foetus.’
We hardly dared to talk about the possibility of a real baby any more.
Matt leant over, and gently touched my stomach.
‘To Foetus,’ he said. ‘You know, I’ve got a really good feeling about this.’
I arrived at my desk a couple of hours later. I’d booked the morning off, claiming the dentist. I hadn’t told anyone at work about Plan Foetus as we’d taken to calling it. Hell, I hadn’t even told Doris and Sarah, though I’m sure they’d both guessed. They’d seen how broody I was when they were both pregnant. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, particularly when Sarah had had her second baby. Although I knew she’d had problems with sickness and things, she made it look so easy. Sarah seemed to be able to conceive at the drop of a hat, it didn’t seem fair. I couldn’t bear to let Sarah know how jealous I was, so I pretended to be nonchalant about having children. I’d been making out for ages that my career came first.
To be honest, that was true for a while. When I first metMatt, babies didn’t come into the picture. We were just so happy to be together, and I kept pinching myself that after kissing all those toads, I’d finally found my handsome prince. I didn’t want to spoil it with the patter of tiny feet. I assumed, you see, that Matt would be like all the other guys, and run at the first mention of babies. And having finally lost weight after years of dieting, I wasn’t too keen to put it all back on again. There was always the nagging doubt that Matt would only fancy me slim. I should have known better of course: he
‘Beth, are you OK?’ Matt’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way away.
‘Fine,’ I said, and blinked. ‘It’s a bit hot in here. Sorry, what were you saying?’
‘I was just explaining that looking at your test results, I think you two have a really good chance of getting pregnant if we go down the IVF route,’ said Mr O’Brian, an avuncular kind of man who seemed to be almost as desperate as we were for us to conceive.
‘You do?’ I let out the breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Was it that easy? No mention at all of my previous gynaecological history and how it might impact on my chances? Just an explanation that I’d need to take fertility drugs, and then come back and have some eggs taken? I thanked the stars for Dr McGrath’s discretion.
‘Of course, it might not work,’ he added. ‘You do have to be prepared for that.’
‘Of course,’ we agreed, but hope is such a bloody awful little emotion, I knew we were both thinking the same thing. It’s not hopeless. We’re not hopeless. We can still do this. And for the first time I allowed myself an extra little thought: Maybe my past doesn’t matter after all .
‘Coffee to celebrate?’ Matt said to me as we left the hospital. We were both so excited we were practically flying. I was too dizzy to hear all the facts and figures, but the consultant felt we had a better chance than most of conceiving – everything was in good working order according to him. We just needed a little help.
‘I shouldn’t be drinking coffee now, should I?’ I said. ‘But I’ll have a juice with you.’
We found our way to a little coffee bar on the High Street and sat back, enjoying the feelings of elation washing over us. We’d had so much disappointment over the last few years, and even though I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and there were no guarantees, I wanted to enjoy this feeling. It had been a long time since I’d felt this hopeful about anything.
‘To us,’ said Matt, raising his cup of coffee against my orange juice.
‘To us,’ I said, ‘and to Foetus.’
We hardly dared to talk about the possibility of a real baby any more.
Matt leant over, and gently touched my stomach.
‘To Foetus,’ he said. ‘You know, I’ve got a really good feeling about this.’
I arrived at my desk a couple of hours later. I’d booked the morning off, claiming the dentist. I hadn’t told anyone at work about Plan Foetus as we’d taken to calling it. Hell, I hadn’t even told Doris and Sarah, though I’m sure they’d both guessed. They’d seen how broody I was when they were both pregnant. I couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy, particularly when Sarah had had her second baby. Although I knew she’d had problems with sickness and things, she made it look so easy. Sarah seemed to be able to conceive at the drop of a hat, it didn’t seem fair. I couldn’t bear to let Sarah know how jealous I was, so I pretended to be nonchalant about having children. I’d been making out for ages that my career came first.
To be honest, that was true for a while. When I first metMatt, babies didn’t come into the picture. We were just so happy to be together, and I kept pinching myself that after kissing all those toads, I’d finally found my handsome prince. I didn’t want to spoil it with the patter of tiny feet. I assumed, you see, that Matt would be like all the other guys, and run at the first mention of babies. And having finally lost weight after years of dieting, I wasn’t too keen to put it all back on again. There was always the nagging doubt that Matt would only fancy me slim. I should have known better of course: he
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