organised way tidied up the living room and crawled into bed, aiming to stay awake until Spencer got home from visiting his brother down at Helensvale. She tried to meditate, to stop thinking about anything at all: next weekâs schedule, Ellen and Izzyâs comments about her being âupperâ, how Nadine had managed to spill a drink on her favourite cushion. Admittedly, sheâd offered to pay to get it dry-cleaned, but Xanthe just wished her tidda wouldnât get pissed every time they got together. As she tried to block everything from her mind, she ran her hand over her belly and started getting maudlin.
She was thirty-nine; even with IVF she only stood a fifty-five per cent chance of a live birth, not just a pregnancy. Was it even worth the effort? What would Spencer think? Could they afford it? Theyâd only broached the subject briefly, but this week sheâd started researching for the first time. Why couldnât she just fall pregnant like other women did?
3
DAMNING DISCLOSURES
I t was an overcast but warm Easter Saturday. The city was peaceful but the tiddas were all in different states of emotional chaos. Izzy was feeling nauseous; she wasnât sure if it was from being pregnant, or because sheâd decided she was finally going to tell her closest friends she was âexpectingâ. She needed support, help and advice, and she needed to be reassured that whatever decision she made would be supported by her friends. She needed wisdom from the women she trusted most, and women who had already had children, or at least thought positively about having children. She hoped she could count on her tiddas, because she would need the courage to tell her mother and advice on whether or not to tell Asher at all. In the meantime, Tracey had left so many messages on her phone, Izzyâs voicemail was full.
Veronica was cleaning the house, trying to pass time and not think about the meaningless life she felt she now led.She had taken her anti-depressants, which helped to a degree, but she often fell back into her negative way of thinking. She hated taking the pills. Being married to a doctor, sheâd seen and heard about enough women over the years who got sucked into what they thought was helping them, and in some instances was nothing more than a placebo. She was walking every day to clear her head as much as possible, but she just couldnât stop crying.
Xanthe and Spencer were post-coital, bodies entwined, physically united, but their thoughts couldnât be any further apart. Xanthe wondered why they werenât talking about IVF when sheâd broached it a number of times, but knew Spencer was probably more concerned about the next monthâs State of Origin match. Spencer stroked Xantheâs hair and dozed back to sleep.
Meanwhile Ellen woke up in her new flat with a six-pack lying next to her in bed. His hairless butt faced upwards, the word âRockstarâ tattooed in red ink stretched across the biggest bicep sheâd ever seen. The electrician, known only to her as âThe Sparkyâ, had come over on Thursday afternoon to do some wiring in the bathroom, and hadnât left since. Iâm reno-dating , she thought to herself.
Nadine sat on her back veranda watching the kids and Richard work in the vegie patch â there were now a dozen pumpkins she had no idea what theyâd do with. Pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, roasted pumpkin, dip, soup, curry, what else? Was there a pumpkin cocktail she didnât know about or should invent? She observed the action through dark glasses, with blurry vision and a pounding head â anormal Saturday morning for her. Although only a passenger, Nadine wasnât really looking forward to the long drive into Paddington, and hoped they made a good Bloody Mary at Eurovida.
âI just donât understand why he doesnât want to talk about IVF as an option.â Xanthe was on the verge of tears as the
She was thirty-nine; even with IVF she only stood a fifty-five per cent chance of a live birth, not just a pregnancy. Was it even worth the effort? What would Spencer think? Could they afford it? Theyâd only broached the subject briefly, but this week sheâd started researching for the first time. Why couldnât she just fall pregnant like other women did?
3
DAMNING DISCLOSURES
I t was an overcast but warm Easter Saturday. The city was peaceful but the tiddas were all in different states of emotional chaos. Izzy was feeling nauseous; she wasnât sure if it was from being pregnant, or because sheâd decided she was finally going to tell her closest friends she was âexpectingâ. She needed support, help and advice, and she needed to be reassured that whatever decision she made would be supported by her friends. She needed wisdom from the women she trusted most, and women who had already had children, or at least thought positively about having children. She hoped she could count on her tiddas, because she would need the courage to tell her mother and advice on whether or not to tell Asher at all. In the meantime, Tracey had left so many messages on her phone, Izzyâs voicemail was full.
Veronica was cleaning the house, trying to pass time and not think about the meaningless life she felt she now led.She had taken her anti-depressants, which helped to a degree, but she often fell back into her negative way of thinking. She hated taking the pills. Being married to a doctor, sheâd seen and heard about enough women over the years who got sucked into what they thought was helping them, and in some instances was nothing more than a placebo. She was walking every day to clear her head as much as possible, but she just couldnât stop crying.
Xanthe and Spencer were post-coital, bodies entwined, physically united, but their thoughts couldnât be any further apart. Xanthe wondered why they werenât talking about IVF when sheâd broached it a number of times, but knew Spencer was probably more concerned about the next monthâs State of Origin match. Spencer stroked Xantheâs hair and dozed back to sleep.
Meanwhile Ellen woke up in her new flat with a six-pack lying next to her in bed. His hairless butt faced upwards, the word âRockstarâ tattooed in red ink stretched across the biggest bicep sheâd ever seen. The electrician, known only to her as âThe Sparkyâ, had come over on Thursday afternoon to do some wiring in the bathroom, and hadnât left since. Iâm reno-dating , she thought to herself.
Nadine sat on her back veranda watching the kids and Richard work in the vegie patch â there were now a dozen pumpkins she had no idea what theyâd do with. Pumpkin scones, pumpkin bread, roasted pumpkin, dip, soup, curry, what else? Was there a pumpkin cocktail she didnât know about or should invent? She observed the action through dark glasses, with blurry vision and a pounding head â anormal Saturday morning for her. Although only a passenger, Nadine wasnât really looking forward to the long drive into Paddington, and hoped they made a good Bloody Mary at Eurovida.
âI just donât understand why he doesnât want to talk about IVF as an option.â Xanthe was on the verge of tears as the
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