‘Wasn’t it?’ She blinks tears away and smiles. ‘Though I’ve never needed the loo so badly in my life.’
‘Let’s count to a hundred,’ says Adam, and begins.
At seventy-four, Ian returns and gives a thumbs-up.
‘Right, you can go to the loo,’ says Dr Hassan.
‘I won’t wee it out?’ says Lou.
‘No, you won’t. The embryo is up way beyond your cervix,’ says Dr Hassan.
The nurse moves a wheelchair to the side of the bed. ‘Pop yourself on here and I’ll take you.’ She wheels Lou to the cubicle and says, ‘Almost all women go to the toilet
straight afterwards.’
I’d like to meet the woman who doesn’t, thinks Lou.
* * *
‘Will it hurt?’ says Cath, lying back on the bed. She’s taken off her skirt and shoes as instructed.
‘It’s completely painless,’ says Dr Hassan. ‘Like a smear test.’
Well, you’ve clearly never had one of
those
, thinks Cath.
‘How long will it take?’ asks Rich. He seems nervous, edgy. For once, Cath is surprisingly calm. At least she is
doing
something, not in limbo.
‘About fifteen minutes, that’s all.’
Such a critical part of our treatment and yet so swift, thinks Cath.
‘I wondered if you would like to help insert the embryos?’ says the doctor to Rich.
‘Oh, er . . . yes,’ he says. Dr Hassan shows him how to hold the catheter, and Cath sees Rich’s hands are shaking. It brings the significance of what they are doing home to
her; in these few moments her husband is helping to impregnate her with potential new life. She watches his face so as to focus not on the clinical surroundings, but on the two of them: their
relationship, their love for one another, their unborn child. She sends a silent wish up into the heavens, to a Higher Power she doesn’t wholly believe in but doesn’t reject either.
Please God, please, may one of these little embryos implant in my womb. Just one is fine, please . . .
She turns her head so she can watch the screen, then the embryologist takes a photo of her uterus and it’s over; the deed is done. She lets out a long breath as the catheter is extracted,
smiles at Rich, who moves to stand close by her, and reaches for his hand. He squeezes her palm so tight in return it hurts.
Wow. What an experience that was. It takes her a few minutes to gather herself and come back to earth. Eventually she becomes vaguely aware she needs the loo. But she is also conscious of
something else, some
one
else.
On impulse she asks, ‘Did you do our donor’s transfer today as well?’ although she knows perhaps she shouldn’t. She glances at Dr Hassan to see if she’s disarmed
him. It seems not; he doesn’t appear to be a man who is easily fazed.
‘I did,’ he says. ‘It went very well.’ His manner communicates that he won’t be drawn further.
I wonder how many embryos she had transferred? thinks Cath. Was someone by her side, and did she find the experience this affecting, too?
* * *
‘How was it?’ says Anna.
‘Incredible,’ says Lou, tucking her mobile under her chin so she can continue dusting.
‘I can imagine.’
‘Adam and the people at the clinic were brilliant.’
‘Oh, I’m so pleased it went well. So where are you now?’
‘At home.’
‘Resting?’
‘Mm.’ Guilty, Lou pauses, cloth in hand. She is sick of taking it easy; lying around is not her forte. ‘They said not to go mad or anything, but I don’t have to stay in
bed.’
‘So no running, then.’
‘No,’ Lou laughs. For a comparatively new friend, Anna knows her very well. She refrains from confessing she went jogging early this morning, before the transfer. ‘I had to
stay horizontal for a while in the clinic, but now I can move about like normal.’
‘And it won’t dislodge if you stand up?’
‘I’ll just check it hasn’t popped out onto the floor.’ Lou examines the carpet, even though Anna can’t see her. She’s still high from the excitement of the
experience, can’t resist joking.
‘I suppose that’s a stupid question.’
‘Not at all. I do have to take these pessaries to help the embryo embed.’
‘It’s not embedded already?’
Anna knows less about pregnancy than I do, thinks Lou. I guess that’s inevitable. ‘No. That’ll be a few more days yet. We’ve got what they call the “two week
wait” to get through, that’s the real key.’
‘I’ll keep everything crossed for you,’ says Anna.
* * *
‘I’ll just bring the car round while you rest up for a few more minutes,’ Rich says to Cath. They’ve driven to the clinic this time, so that Cath
doesn’t get bumped into or have to stand for too long on public transport. Even though they have been told that there’s no way the embryos can drop out, neither Rich nor Cath is quite
convinced.
On the way to the NCP on Weymouth Mews, he makes a call. ‘All done, Judy,’ he says.
‘Thank the Lord. I’ve been thinking of you the whole day.’
It must be difficult being 200 miles away from your daughter at a time like this, he thinks. ‘It went really well. We’ve even got a photo to show you.’
‘Have you really? How exciting. This modern technology never ceases to astonish me.’
‘You and me both.’ He’s half inclined to tell her he found the experience moving, but is too shy to admit it. Occasionally he finds Judy a little intimidating; it’s not
her specifically, rather her relationship with Cath. They are so close; revelation is part of the dynamic between the two of them. And whilst he is used to having intimate conversations with Cath,
he isn’t comfortable confiding emotionally in Judy.
‘How many did you transfer, then?’
‘Two, in the end, both good quality, apparently. And we froze the third, just in case.’
‘The one that wasn’t quite as high a grade?’
‘That’s right.’
There is a moment of silence. He knows what she’s thinking: If neither of these two work, the odds of the frozen one taking are surely pretty slim. And what then?
The two week wait
, Cath types into the search bar on the forum. Several threads come up. She clicks on the most recent.
I’m just back from the clinic so today is the first day of the 2WW – how easy should I take it, do you guys think? Louloubelle
Hi Louloubelle, Welcome to the most nail-biting, knicker-checking, twinge-and-pain-analysing time ever – the culmination of the roller coaster of IVF
that everyone calls the Two Week Wait. Good luck! Rainbow Girl
Louloubelle, Some ladies take a fortnight off and do very little, others not. During this period a lot of women are on progesterone pessaries and some have
additional injections. Both help to maintain the lining of the womb, so the embryos can get snuggled in and hopefully implant into the lining. Neither should prevent you from gentle activity, but
don’t go overboard. By the way, if you had a blastocyst embryo transferred you can do a test a little sooner than day 14 – on day 10–12, as the embryo is more developed by the
time it is put back inside. Shadow
Hi again, 24 hours have passed and I can now fully comprehend the obsession of the Two Week Wait! I have been experiencing slight period type cramps and
presumably this is normal? Is the bloated feeling normal too? Louloubelle
Hi Louloubelle, I’m a bit ahead of you and after egg transfer I also had period type cramps and felt bloated, so yes, this IS normal. Take care and try
not to stress – easier said than done, I know. Mia
Morning all, I am only at the start of the 2WW and the stress of waiting and wondering is driving me insane! I wondered should I be feeling symptoms of early
pregnancy yet? Any insights greatly appreciated. CathM
The cursor flashes back at Cath. Now what? If she sits anticipating a reply she could be here for hours. She’d best find something new to do; the house is cleaner than
ever, the lawn mown, the hedge neatly clipped. This time of hoping and praying is agony, made worse because she knows that worrying will only make the outcome she is so desperate for even less
likely.
* * *
Ouch. Lou flinches. I could swear that’s a twinge.
Immediately she feels a rush of hope – could that be the embryo implanting? Or maybe she’s about to start her period. Which on earth is it? She’s online checking her emails;
she could take a quick peek at the forums, see if someone can illuminate her. There appears to have been a further discussion about the two week wait that very morning. The most recent response is
particularly resonant.
Hi CathM, I so know what you’re going through! I’m a few months ahead of you so I’ll pass on what I found out. During the 2WW you assume
you’ll feel something to say ‘YES’ you’re definitely pregnant, but the trouble is you won’t necessarily get lots of symptoms straight away. As the day of egg
collection is classed as the day of ovulation, you then need to allow 6–10 days after this for the embryos to implant (this is down to God). Once implanted, your embryo is not suddenly going
to produce mountains of hormones – these will build up over the coming weeks, during which time you can expect various symptoms. I think we are all so desperate for some sign that our
imaginations run wild. So we analyse every cramp, moment of tiredness etc. What follows is a list of the signs of early pregnancy:
Temperature drop on implantation day
Implantation bleeding or spotting – a slight pink or brown staining on average 6–10 days after ovulation
Lower abdominal cramps
A positive urine pregnancy test as early as 10–14 days after ovulation. The more sensitive the test, the earlier it can read as positive (but
don’t bank on it!)
A positive blood pregnancy test about 14 days after ovulation
But you’re unlikely to have all these indicators, and everyone is different. Because most of the symptoms are directly related to the pregnancy
hormone, things like nausea and breast tenderness don’t usually appear until it has reached a sufficient level. This is about 1–2 weeks
after
you miss your period, so throughout
the 2WW there’s not much to look for. Infuriating I know! My advice to you would be to try not to think about it too much. Fill your days with activities that sustain you. I found my church a
great source of strength at this time.
God’s peace,
Rainbow Girl
Well, that’s put paid to that, thinks Lou, rubbing her abdomen. It sounds as if nothing is certain yet. She could drive herself demented looking and imagining.
That’s the problem with it being the summer holiday. She has too much time.
She closes the lid of her laptop. Enough is enough. She’s arranged to meet Karen at the allotment: if she delays any longer, she’ll miss the best of the day.
* * *
Fuff!
Cath blows dust from the top of the wooden carry case, blinks, and eases off the lid. The inside smells damp and mildewy from the loft.
Goodness, she thinks, admiring the intricate gold patterns decorating the shiny black body, this is such a beautiful object. How could I have neglected it for so long? It must be ten, fifteen
years since she’s used it. She catches herself reflecting that they don’t make them like this any more, so solid and weighty, crafted with such care, then laughs at herself for being
fusty.
It’s a hand-operated Singer sewing machine, a hand-me-down from her grandmother. The oak base is scratched, the chrome wheel needs a polish, and the workings would doubtless benefit from a
touch of oil, but the needle is still threaded. Carefully, Cath pulls a strand. It snaps in her fingers, perished.
Undeterred, she rethreads it with the new reel she bought a week earlier, carefully leading the cotton between the tension discs, into the take-up spring and down to the fork. She tugs the
thread in the bobbin – that seems OK – and she is ready.
But before she sits down, she must check – as she is checking at least every hour – that she has not started spotting. She’s glad Rich isn’t here to see her; she knows
she’s being obsessive, but she doesn’t know another way to be.
She goes to the loo, examines her knickers.
Nothing.
So far no period, no signs of implantation either. Even if the egg hasn’t taken, her body will have to expel it and the hormonally induced lining of her womb somehow . . .
Stop thinking about it!
she scolds herself. Hasn’t she just decided that today, instead of spiralling into cycles of worry as she has been doing, she’s going to follow the
advice of the woman from the forum and shift her focus?
She unfolds the pieces of fabric she laid out on Mike and Sukey’s living-room carpet and the sketch she made of her final design. Then she takes two of the squares, planned for the top
corner, slips the edges face together under the foot, pulls the thread taut and lowers the lever.
‘Now work for me, little machine,’ she says.
* * *
Karen is weeding around the runner beans and Luke is kicking a football, repetitively, irritatingly, against the high metal gate. Lou could offer to go and play with him –
she’s aware this is what he’s angling for – but although she is sympathetic to the fact he is bored, she doesn’t like to be manipulated by children, even Karen’s. She
and Molly are picking blackberries. Molly is down at four-year-old height, Lou at adult level; they each have a Tupperware container, though Molly’s is filling more slowly – a lot of
her harvest seems to be going in her mouth. The brambles are laden with sweet, ripe berries; time is of the essence.
A row of sunflowers blooms above them; the leaves are scraggy and drooping but the heads are huge and impressive. She and Molly planted a batch at Easter that failed, so they tried a fresh
packet at Whitsun, and they have fared better.
There are no guarantees in nature, Lou thinks, and begins to worry about pregnancy again. What if it doesn’t work and she needs another round of IVF?
It’s a gorgeous day and you’re in a lovely place with dear friends; why on earth panic about something that might – or might not – be necessary in several weeks’
time, she chides herself. What is wrong with revelling in the moment, making the most of where you are?