by Amanda Aksel
I pushed him back a little. “James, the neighbors.”
“I have to have you now,” he said, kissing my neck.
“Well, open the door.” I twisted the knob, but it was still locked. James took out his key and slipped it inside, turning the door fast. Holly and Noom had agreed to take care of Marvin that night, so we were all alone. James slammed the door shut, and with the bang I noticed my buzz had worn off. Must’ve been the breezy walk home.
“What’s wrong?” James asked.
“I think I need another drink,” I said, biting my lip and gripping his collar in my fists.
His eyes shot open. “Another drink?”
“C’mon! I’m not drunk enough. Let’s do this right.”
James gave me a playfully annoyed glance. “Yeah, I guess I could go for another drink too.” He tossed his keys on the entryway table and headed for the liquor cabinet.
“Whoa, hold on!” I said, marching behind him. “I don’t want you getting too drunk. That could be a problem later.” I glanced down at his pants.
“I think one more will be fine,” he said. “But thanks for lookin’ out.”
While James shook up martinis in the metal shaker, I turned on the stereo and found some sexy R&B tunes from 1998. I lit a few candles and started the fireplace. It was about to get real hot in there. I danced in the living room, swaying my hips to the music, tossing my hair, touching my thighs and running my hands up my body.
“Whoa, what’s goin’ on in here?” James asked, carrying our two cocktails.
I smirked and took one of the glasses. “Dance with me.”
He took a long sip of his drink and started moving to the beat. James and I didn’t dance often, mostly when we were being silly or at weddings of course, so it was nice to see that he had some smooth moves. I moved closer and he wound his arms around my waist, pulling me into him, pressing himself against me. I sipped my martini frequently, and by the time the song was over, my glass was half empty.
James chugged the rest of his and put his hands on my face, resting his thumbs on my cheeks. His warm mouth met mine and the taste of sour apple liquor hit my tongue. I gently pushed him away, walking him back toward the couch. He plopped down and I took a big gulp of my cocktail and set the glass on the end table. The sexy R&B hits of the nineties were still rockin’ on the stereo. I swayed my behind in front of him and slowly pulled the top of the dress down my shoulders. James leaned back on the couch, grinning like he was unwrapping his most wanted gift. The dress fell at my feet. My lacy black bra didn’t leave much to the imagination so I didn’t think there was much point in keeping it on either.
“Baby, you are so hot,” James said, slurring a little.
I lowered myself over, straddling him. He kissed me and placed his hands on my back, rubbing his fingers all the way down. I tore open his shirt. The snap of ripped thread was hot. Who cared if his shirt was ruined? His kiss didn’t skip a soulful beat. Within seconds, his shoes, socks, and yes, pants were on the floor along with my G-string. I climbed back on top of him, letting the pleasure of him rush through my entire body. He nibbled at my neck and shoulders and I grabbed his soft hair on the back of his head, holding on like the reins of a wild ride.
Making love to my husband was never boring, but this time it felt like we were new, crazy about each other. I grinded against him as he moved his hips, already close to the finish line. In fact, I ran over that line two more times before he did that night. And even though we made love again and again afterwards, he was never able to fully catch up to my wins.
A week later, we were still riding our drunken love high. We’d had sex almost every night since, something we hadn’t done since before we moved in together. I wondered if it would be enough to get me pregnant. But just in case, we were starting another round of IUI.
“Hey, baby!” I said when he returned home on a Saturday afternoon.
He held a reusable bag in his grip and shook his head as if he were shaking off a traumatic experience. “Hey.”
I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
He walked over to the dining room table, setting the bag down, then pulled out its contents. “I just got back from the pharmacy. It was not cheap.” He seemed surprised, considering we had already paid for those prescriptions before. Then again, I was the one at the pharmacy having sticker shock the last time.
“How much?” I said, wondering if our insurance had changed its coverage in the last month. I grabbed the receipt. Nope, same as before.
“A lot, but it’s all here,” he said, unloading the last of it. And it was, even the extra folic acid supplements and boxes of tissues I asked for.
I gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the best.”
The second insemination was, as Dr. Pia said, textbook. But we found out later that even though everything was in place, the stars had not aligned and the pregnancy test was negative. Again. We took the news better, holding our heads high, ready to try again as soon as we could. With back-to-back treatments, the whole process became a lot less romantic. And our passion for one another had cooled down too.
The evening of my last shot before the third insemination, I noticed something different in James’ eyes. Those past few months I had been a lot more sensitive, sometimes seeing things that weren’t there, hearing harsh tones that were never uttered. But something was different.
“You okay?” I asked.
James looked up and flashed a half smile as if he were hiding something. “Yeah, of course. I’m good.” He stood and dumped the syringe in the biohazard container.
I soothed the fresh sting of the injection on my belly, though I was really getting used to it. I rose off the couch and followed him into the kitchen. “You look . . . defeated. Did something happen at work?”
He put his hand gently on my cheek and the corners of his mouth struggled to turn up. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
I reached for his hand and squeezed it in mine, my eyes pleading with him, even though he barely looked at me. “James, just tell me.”
Our eyes finally met, then he dropped his head. “I just feel like we’re doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. It just feels . . .”
“Crazy,” I said and he nodded. “I know. I feel that way too. But there’s lots of people who do what we’ve done and feel how we feel and now they have healthy children. And that doesn’t seem crazy. It seems worth it. Plus, you know what they say, third time’s a charm!”
James mustered his most convincing smile, but I knew behind it, he was growing weary.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Third Time’s A . . .
James wasn’t the only one getting sick of the whole baby-making job. We finally talked it out one evening over tacos. And while we still wanted to have a baby, we decided that if the latest treatment didn’t work, we would take a break for a couple of months. After all, it was already April, so we had officially reached the sixteen-month mark of trying. By the time our third IUI results arrived, the bruises at my injection sites were mostly faded, but the emotional bruises from the past year would take a little longer.
I beamed with hope when we returned to Dr. Pia’s office. James didn't let go of my hand for a single second. His felt clammy in mine, and his lips trembled every time he tried to smile. We really needed a win.
“Third time’s a charm,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Hello, you two,” Dr. Pia entered the room. “Nice to see you both again.”
“You too,” James said.
She sat at her desk showing off her pretty white teeth and I just knew that the news had to be good. How could it not be?
“How have you been feeling?” she asked me.
“Good. Why? Should I be feeling something else?” I asked in the usual eager yet anxious tone I took when I was in her office.
She gave a tight-lipped smile and shook her head. “No, I just want to see how you are before we get into the results.”
> “Thanks, but we just want to get right to it.” I showed her my crossed fingers. “Third time’s a charm!”
She glanced between both of us and the ticking resounded again. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick! Her smile fell into a crooked frown. “Marin. James.” She took a deep sigh. “The IUI was unsuccessful. I'm so sorry.”
“Oh,” James said, lowering his head.
I couldn’t speak, but my legs were prepared to take me far, far away. The rollercoaster was getting to be too much. Hopes up. Hopes down. When would it end?
“Marin? Are you all right?” she asked.
My eyes met hers and I could tell that she was truly sorry, but sorry didn't bring us a baby. “I'm fine. Thank you, Dr. Pia.” I stood up and held out my hand for hers. “We decided to take a break so we'll call you when we’re ready for the next step.”
She shook my hand and as soon as she let go, I hurried outside the building, wishing the sun would disappear behind the clouds and rain would fill the sky. It wasn't long before James found me.
“You okay?” he asked, knowing that I wasn’t.
But I said, “Yeah, you?” Even though I knew he wasn’t.
He sighed deeply. “Yeah, I’ll be okay.”
The ride home was silent and it was the first time since we’d started the journey that I didn’t shed a tear after a negative test. I stared out the window, looking up at the array of buildings as we passed by. My hand found the bottom of my belly and I thought of that song Baby Mine, and still not a single threat of tears. Maybe somehow I had used them all up and I could never cry over a negative pregnancy test again.
Marvin waited patiently near the front door when we got inside the house. He whined, raising his paw. “I'm gonna take him for a walk. You wanna come?” James asked.
I shook my head. “No, think I'm gonna go for a run.”
The days of my early thirties consisted of running daily, much like many other San Franciscans. But since starting fertility treatments and changes in my counseling practice, I was pretty sure I’d run fewer times than I’d had negative pregnancy test. I headed straight for the park with nothing but my clip-on Nano and house key. Lap after lap around the Panhandle, and I was no closer to peace, comfort, or clarity.
Thinking of all the conditions needed to make a baby, it was a damn miracle anyone got pregnant. And yet, women got pregnant every day without even trying. By accident even, like Telly. I was a good person. James was a great person, and we were so ready to be parents. We deserved to have a baby, and yet the universe had decided that the two of us were unworthy of such a miracle. What kind of bullshit was that?
The longer I ran the more the anger turned to sadness, but by the fourth lap there were still no tears to show for it. Maybe James and I weren’t meant to be parents. We couldn’t complain. Life was pretty great with just the two of us. We could pick up and go when we wanted, sleep in if we wanted, stay out late. Maybe it was a sign that I needed to keep my life the way it was. Besides, I had enough patients for two full-time counselors. The more I thought about it, the more I saw that my life wasn't really conducive to being a mother, at least not the type of mother I’d want to be. I remembered a quote from a book I read last winter. It said, “If you want to have something, you need to be something.”
Maybe that was the solution. Maybe I needed to be a mother in order to become a mother. If I were a mother, what time would I get up in the morning? What time would I come home? What about the weekend? How would I spend money? How much would I really work? Maybe I needed to make the space for a baby so the baby would have room to be in our lives.
After I returned home and showered, I stood in front of our dresser mirror and read our dry-erase marker inscription.
I love my wife.
I love my husband.
We love our baby.
Part of me wanted to wash it off and the other part wondered if I ever could. We had agreed to take a break, but I didn’t want to give up on having our own baby. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
I had just finished blow-drying my hair when the doorbell rang.
“James!” I called out, but there was no answer. I rushed down the stairs and opened the front door. It was Holly, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, her newsboy cap, and holding a carton of coconut ice cream.
“I got your text,” she said, the corners of her mouth drooped along with her shoulders.
“Come in,” I said and she walked right into me, her arms open wide. I wanted to cry, right there on her shoulder, but my tears were yet again a no show. I didn’t feel like ice cream and neither did she, so we sat on my couch, holding mugs filled with hot cinnamon tea.
“How do you feel?” she asked, sounding more like my friend than a counselor.
I nodded, searching for the words. “I don’t know, actually. Sad, angry, tired, hopeless, and hopeful all at the same time.” I shrugged. “I feel probably what most feel in my situation.”
“Well, I have something for you,” Holly said and grabbed her canvas cross-body purse from the floor. She dug out a hardback book with a pregnant woman holding her swollen belly on the cover and handed it to me.
“What's this?” I asked, reading the title, You CAN Get Pregnant by Dr. Lindsay Forbes.
“Do you remember my friend from work, Corrine?” she asked.
I nodded, remembering when I met Corrine at my birthday the year I turned thirty-three. The birthday I was expecting a proposal with a ring but got a proposal with a house key. I turned the book over, reading the description on the back jacket.
“Her sister has the same condition I do and said this book was the reason she was able to get pregnant.”
“Really? Did she have the baby yet?” I asked.
Holly smiled. “Corrine’s nephew is almost two years old.”
I let out a small, semi-joyful laugh. It wasn’t the first time a book showed up in my life in the middle of a crisis. I’d had a history of uncovering material with so-called secret information, and I’d use it to manipulate my situation. It would always lead me astray. Holly had continuously warned me about those books, but she was giving me this one so perhaps it was different. A safe book that could help me get where I wanted to go. “Did you read it?” I asked, wondering how much she actually knew about its contents.
“Yeah, but . . .” She shook her head. “My condition is way worse. I don’t think I could deal with negative after negative after negative.” Boy, did I know what she was talking about. “I’m not as tough as you,” she said with a playful smirk.
I nudged her shoulder. “Yes, you are.”
“Nah. The doctors say I can’t . . . you know, so I’d rather not hold onto false hope. But, there’s still hope for you. I’m sure there’s something in here worth trying. Western medicine isn’t the only option.”
All my life, Holly had tried to share holistic, naturopathic ideas with me. I’d been resistant, especially since my family made their living with conventional, western medicine. Slowly but surely, I was catching up. I looked in her familiar brown eyes and knew she was in just as much agony over not being able to get pregnant as I was. I never once imagined we’d have this kind of shared struggle. But here we were, two wannabe-mommies and no babies. Her nose flared the way it did when she was on the verge of tears but wanted to fight them.
“Thank you,” I said, grabbing her hand and wishing that things could be easier for both of us.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Ginger’s Back
That evening, I curled up in my bed and opened up You CAN Get Pregnant. After about ten pages, I had already highlighted six paragraphs and quickly realized that I’d need more space for notes than the margins offered. I hurried to my desk in the other room and grabbed my steno pad, then jumped back into bed.
“Are you studying?” James asked when he walked into the bedroom an hour later.
I looked up and slid my glasses down my nose. “Kinda. This book is different than anything I’ve ever read on getting pregnant.�
� My attention returned to the pages.
“What is it?” he asked, sitting on the edge of our mattress.
I held up the open book. “This is how we’re going to get pregnant. You need to read this too.”
James stole the book from my hand and read the back cover. “You think this is the answer, huh?”
I gave him a wide-eyed stare. “Yes, it helped Holly’s friend’s sister get pregnant and she has the same condition that Holly has but not as bad. We don’t have any conditions, just bad luck, but I dunno. I just have a really good feeling about this.”
He smiled and rose to his feet, pulling me up with him. My notebook tumbled from my lap onto the bed. “Okay, let me know when you’re done and I’ll read it.”
“I will. Thank you.” I rested my hand on his face, rubbing my thumb against his prickly stubble. Would our baby have eyes as blue as his? Or just a hint of a widow’s peak like his? I kissed him and his hands pressed against my back, pushing me into him. I never finished the book that night, but there was a possibility that we had made a baby.
The next evening, I stayed late at the office finishing You CAN Get Pregnant along with twenty pages of notes and ideas. My head swam with the information as I walked home. The regime was simple:
Diet and Exercise
Sleep More, Stress Less
Traditional Chinese Medicine
It was going to take a lot of effort to follow You CAN Get Pregnant, but I was sure it wouldn’t have been harder than the IUI treatments. I couldn’t wait to get started.
My phone jingled in my purse and I reached deep inside it; nothing but my wallet, lipstick, and umbrella. I peeked in the dark purse and nearly tripped on a leash attached to a live canine tied outside of the health food grocery store.