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Authors: Ann Lewis Hamilton

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BOOK: Expecting: A Novel
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Laurie

Dr. Julian wasn’t surprised when none of the tests revealed anything. “With a high percentage of miscarriages and infertility issues, we never find the exact problem,” he tells Laurie and Alan.

Not especially reassuring. Laurie was hoping he’d say something like drinking iced green tea three times a day would do the trick.

Alan has some motility issues. “Slow swimmers,” says Dr. Julian. Probably not directly related to the miscarriages, but Dr. Julian will monitor the next pregnancy closely, starting with the conception process. “To make sure you have the best chance of getting pregnant and
staying
pregnant, with no worries.”

No worries. Laurie wants to laugh.
What
would
that
be
like?
she wonders.

“It’s not as if we’re moving into the heavy-duty stuff,” Dr. Julian says. “No in vitro. At least not yet.”
Is
he
making
a
joke?
Dr. Julian doesn’t seem to have a great sense of humor. And he’s too old for his jazz patch. You’re only allowed to wear a jazz patch if you’re under twenty-five or play an instrument. Dr. Julian gives them a booklet about “the next step.” It’s called “Everything You Want to Know About IUI.” Laurie isn’t sure she wants to know anything about IUI (intrauterine insemination), especially after Alan starts making jokes about it.

“Insemination Under the Influence, ha-ha,” Alan says. They’re driving home from the doctor’s office and Alan is chipper. He’s been very chipper lately, and she wonders if he is covering up his anxiety about another potential pregnancy.

“Insanity Under the Influence.” Alan grins at Laurie. She manages a small grin back.

“Do you want to have lunch?” Laurie asks him. “Grace found a Greek place near our office. They have great chicken souvlaki and grape leaves. We could go over everything Dr. Julian talked about.”

“I’d love to. But I should get back to Palmer-Boone. Everything goes to hell when I’m not there. Rain check?”

She looks at him, imagines his face with a jazz patch. “Rain check,” she says.

“Great.” Alan frowns. “Okay, IUI. Hmmm, I can’t think of another one. Come on, your turn.”

***

At the Hidden Valley office, Grace flips through the IUI booklet and tosses it on the desk. “Yikes, this looks grim. But it’s probably effective.” Emilie has come with her today; she sits on the floor and plays with a Duplo zoo set. Hal is in the office checking over things with his partner, Ian. Grace gets down on the floor beside Emilie and makes a zebra bounce on Emilie’s hand. Emilie giggles and Grace giggles back. Their matching copper-colored curls bounce on their heads and Laurie smiles. They are so clearly mother and daughter.

“There’s nothing wrong with doing fertility stuff and looking into adoption at the same time,” Grace says to Laurie.

“Yeah. Alan and I talked about adoption back when we were dating.” She doesn’t say anything about Alan’s recent fear of meth-addicted birth mothers.

“It still might work out that way. I know an adoption attorney in West Hollywood. He’s supposed to be very good. Or you could check out some online sites, see what’s out there.”

“I guess I could,” Laurie says, hesitates. “IUI, in vitro—yuck. Does this mean I’m going to turn into Octomom?”

“I hope so. Then you could get a reality series. And I could be on it as your best friend. Tetramom, is that when you have ten?”

“I think ten would be dectuplets. But I’m not sure that’s medically possible.
Ten
, can you imagine?”

Emilie gets up and runs over to Laurie, hands her a giraffe. “Meow,” Emilie says.

Laurie pulls Emilie into her arms. “I don’t know what a giraffe says. I think they snort or grunt.”

Emilie thinks. “Grrr.”

“I’m not sure that’s right either.” Laurie attempts a giraffe sound. Emilie looks at her, puzzled.

“Woof,” Emilie says.

***

Alan has a late meeting at Palmer-Boone, so Laurie makes herself dinner, and after wasting time looking at sandals on Zappos, she finally decides to visit adoption sites. She’s surprised to see so many; obviously there are plenty of people looking for children. She goes to one site and clicks on the section featuring “Parents Looking to Adopt.” They contain photos and “pick me” letters to potential mothers-to-be.

She sees a photo of a young, fresh-faced couple, Brian and Rachelle. “Our Midwestern roots and values will make family our priority. Thank you for considering us.”

Brian talks about his wife: “Rachelle teaches preschool but will quit her job to be a stay-at-home mom. She loves cooking and Rollerblading and quilting.”

Rachelle says Brian works as an EMT, likes camping, and is one of eleven children. “He
adores
big families,” she says.

“We appreciate your selflessness and courage in making this decision. Blessings to you.”

Laurie looks at Brian and Rachelle’s photo again.
If
I
had
an
extra
baby
to
go
around, I would send him to you,
she thinks.

Mike and Melody. Mike teaches fourth grade; he enjoys working for Habitat for Humanity and playing with his dog, Whiskers. Melody teaches piano and the church youth choir. “Having a child would be a dream come true.”

Other couples talk about their infertility journeys. Lost pregnancies. The sadness is carefully hidden behind the photos people choose to accompany their letters. Women dressed in sweater sets, men wearing crisp khakis, sitting close to their wives. Posed in front of fireplaces with Christmas stockings or outside on the deck. (“We’ve already babyproofed our pool!”) Views of mountains, green backyards with swing sets ready to be used. Couples with giant sunny smiles. Pick us!

Laurie understands their desperation.
I
bet
after
you
took
the
photo, Rachelle and Melody, you crawled into bed and pulled the covers over your head. Because you think nobody is ever going to pick you. All the swing sets and church choirs in the world won’t get you a baby.

Laurie sees a photo of another couple. The woman is pretty but very overweight. In Ivy’s personal statement, she talks of recently having gastric bypass: “I need to be as healthy as I can. To be a good mother.”

Poor Ivy. What pregnant sixteen-year-old girl looking at pictures on an adoption website would select an overweight woman?
I
don’t want my baby raised in a house of Ho-Hos. I want my baby to have model-thin,
People
magazine

beautiful
parents
. Unless the young girl looks closely at the hope in Ivy’s face—and if she keeps reading, she’ll see that Ivy and her husband Andy have a house not far from Denver, three acres of land, and two dogs. Ivy is a nurse, Andy owns a small construction company, and they love music and nature and books. Ivy likes Shakespeare, especially
The
Tempest
. She’s put her favorite lines at the bottom of her letter:

How many goodly creatures are there here!

How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world,

That has such people in’t.

She doesn’t hear Alan come home. He bends over her shoulder and looks at the computer screen. “What are you doing?” he asks her.

“Adoption sites. Pick-me letters.”

Alan frowns. “Pick-me letters?”

“People post letters and hope pregnant women will select them to raise their children.”

Alan checks out a photo of a young, athletic couple standing beside triathlon bikes. “Do we have to buy triathlon bikes?”

Laurie taps the screen. “Allison and Reid love triathlons. They own a vineyard. He’s a volunteer firefighter. She runs the local food bank.”

“Huh,” Alan says.

Laurie nods at him. They are both thinking the same thing. Alan speaks first. “Who would pick us?”

Laurie pretends to type. “Alan and I have been married for five years. Infertility has made us cranky with each other, and we might be too set in our ways to be good parents. I work for a local blog called Hidden Valley, which sounds much more exciting than it is. Would you like to visit a man who has a shoelace collection?”

“Shoelaces could be interesting.” Alan takes over. “My job. VP at a large company, job security slightly questionable, downsizing can happen like that.” He snaps his fingers, turns to Laurie.

She smiles at him. Pretends to continue to type. “We used to go to church, but we’re a little pissed off at God these days.”

“We’d make great Satanists though,” Alan says. Then looks serious. “Should we buy a vineyard?”

“I don’t want to write a pick-me letter, Alan.”

“I don’t want to do a triathlon. We would make great parents.” He corrects himself. “We
will
make great parents.” He heads for the kitchen. “Are there leftovers?”

“Yes.” Laurie will look at Ivy’s page again, think good thoughts.
You’ll get your wish, Ivy. Hang in there.

***

Alan crashes early and Laurie picks up Dr. Julian’s IUI booklet.
Here
goes.
She begins to read.

Artificial insemination, or AI, is the process by which sperm is placed into the reproductive tract of a female for the purpose of impregnating the female by using means other than sexual intercourse.

A sperm sample will be provided by the male partner, obtained through masturbation or the use of an electrical stimulator.

An electrical stimulator? Dr. Julian didn’t say anything about that. Unless he told Alan when Laurie wasn’t around. Except Alan would have mentioned it to Laurie; something like that isn’t the kind of thing Alan could keep secret. Is “electrical stimulator” some man code for “super hot hooker woman who works at the fertility clinic?” Maybe they hire women to come in and give hand jobs. When Alan and Laurie arrive for the IUI, the receptionist will ask Alan, “Will you be masturbating or using the electrical stimulator?” And she’ll wink at Alan to let him know who’s waiting for him in the special room.

When using intrauterine insemination (IUI), the sperm must have been “washed” in a laboratory and concentrated in Ham’s F-10 medium without L-glutamine, warmed to 37˚C.

Ham’s F-10 medium. WTF? Everything is technical—the spontaneity, the joy of getting pregnant is long gone. When Laurie and Alan first decided it was time for a baby, they’d performed a “burning of the diaphragm” ritual even though it didn’t exactly burn up when they threw it in the fireplace—it smoked and shriveled up in an icky way. A bad omen?

Will IUI work? Or will they have to go back and do it again and again, and eventually they’ll move on to in vitro where
both
of them are absent from the process? They won’t even be in the room when the baby is conceived. And when that fails—it’s time to take the picture by the fireplace and start writing their pick-me letter.

***

Laurie’s mother arrives from Reno for the weekend and they go to the beach because her mother says it’s important to see the ocean at least once a year. “To remind you how big the world is,” she explains, pointing to the horizon. “Practically infinite.” Laurie’s mother looks out at the ocean for a long time, as if she’s recharging her batteries.

“Okay, we can walk now,” she finally says. “Keep an eye out for good-looking men, older than forty, younger than seventy.”

Laurie’s father died when Laurie was in high school, and she’s encouraged her mother to date, but her mother has been reluctant until recently.

“Forty?” Laurie says. Her mom is in her late fifties and looks good for her age. Very good. But
forty
?

“I waited a long time before getting back in the dating game.” Her mother nods at a handsome blond man standing with his surfboard. “Check out that six-pack.”


Mom
.” Is it better if her mother
doesn’t
date again?

“So when’s the IUI?”

“Next week. I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

“To dream the impossible dream…” Laurie’s mother starts to sing and Laurie laughs. Her father used to play his
Man
of
La
Mancha
record over and over, and he’d sing along, driving everyone crazy until Laurie’s mom threw the record away.

“I still miss Daddy,” Laurie says. “But not that song.” She’s sad her father never saw her graduate from high school or college. Or met Alan. Or got to be a grandparent.

“You could talk to somebody,” her mother suggests. Her mother has worked as a social worker for most of her life and she’s a big advocate of therapy.

“I can handle this.”

“It’s okay if you can’t.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

Her mother shakes her head. “You’ve always said that. My daughter, Miss Independent. Everything’s fine, I can handle it.”

“I can.”

“Sometimes it’s okay to lean on people.”

“But I don’t need to.”

“You sound like your father.”

“Don’t worry about me, Mom.”


That’s
the impossible dream,” her mother says. “When you’re a mom—and I’m sure you will be—you’ll worry
constantly
.”

***

The night before the IUI, Alan has a screwdriver with dinner. “Vitamin C reduces sperm agglutination,” Dr. Julian had told them. “Whoa, I’d hate to have agglutinated sperm.” Alan waved his hands in the air in mock despair, and Dr. Julian gave him a look like he was an idiot. “That means your sperm sticks together, not good for fertility,” Dr. Julian said.

Laurie gets Alan’s favorite red velvet cupcakes from the bakery down the street and he has two—sugar is bound to super-
super
charge his sperm, right?

“Screwdrivers, cupcakes? Suppose I barf?” he says. “Does that mean when the baby’s born we’ll have to give him a barf-related name, like upchuck? Upchuck Gaines.”

He’s trying too hard, that’s what’s going on
, Laurie decides. “Are you scared?” she asks him.

BOOK: Expecting: A Novel
10.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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