Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 20

CAROL GIRARD

Carol had been in a good mood all week. She and Doug had impulsively gone out for a wonderful Thai dinner last night, she’d had some encouraging conversations with her online group, and her knitting skills were improving daily. She was looking forward to her class the following day, the fourth in the series. In the last three weeks she’d begun to really enjoy knitting and tackled it with the same energy and enthusiasm she brought to everything in her life. Her first blanket had been a bit flawed; it had a few uneven stitches, so she’d donated it to the Linus Project and bought the yarn for a second one. She had much better control of the yarn’s tension and was pleased with how this new blanket was turning out.

Carrying in the mail, she set it on the table. An envelope addressed to her was on top and Carol recognized the married name of a college friend who’d moved to California. She tore open the envelope, excited to hear from Christine. It didn’t take her long to discover that it wasn’t a letter as she’d hoped, but a birth announcement.

In that instant, Carol’s good mood spiraled downward. She caught her breath and sank into a kitchen chair as she read the details about Christine’s infant born just two weeks earlier on May 27th. A baby boy, the card said.

Christine was the kind of woman who did everything according to a predetermined schedule. That included marrying the perfect man, getting pregnant exactly when she’d planned to, and then delivering a healthy baby.

Carol swallowed hard. Few people would understand the depression she felt at that moment. Only her online friends could fully appreciate her feelings.

Carol sat staring at the wall as she tried to overcome her sense of inadequacy and frustration. She was genuinely happy for Christine and Bill. Yet at the same time, she wanted to pull her hair out and scream at the heavens—demand to know why she wasn’t pregnant. Why her body didn’t function the way other women’s bodies did. These were all questions she’d asked herself dozens of times, questions she’d asked every expert she’d met, and still she had no answers.

Eventually she would have a baby. Carol had to believe that. But it was taking so much longer than she’d ever imagined. The waiting was the most maddening. She had to wait for the medical appointments with the specialists. Then she had to wait for the tests, wait for the treatments and wait again for additional treatments. They weren’t pleasant experiences, either. Forget about privacy and modesty. Forget about everything except this compulsion to have a child.

Carol’s periods had become far more than a monthly nuisance; it was as if her whole world centered on her menstrual cycle. And when they did start, her heart broke and she struggled with the bitterness of disappointment.

Every month that passed—every period that came—was like an hour chimed off by a grandfather clock. At best she had only twelve opportunities a year to conceive and if she wanted a second child or possibly a third, God only knew how many more years that would take.

Carol knew a lot of her friends thought of her as obsessed and moody. She was. But she was also afraid, so terribly afraid.

Making love with Doug had taken on a routine quality. Sex on schedule. And then the frantic wait, the frequent visits to the bathroom, just to check. Had her period started? And when it did …

This IVF had to work, it just had to.

If only someone could give her a definite answer. If only Dr. Ford would tell her and Doug one way or the other whether they could ever have a child. If his diagnosis was negative then they’d learn to deal with it, make adjustments, make other plans.

Instead he allowed them to hope and twice now, they’d plummeted into despair when the IVF failed and she’d miscarried. Twice they’d recovered, willing to try again, willing to do anything and everything, sacrifice all, for a baby.

Carol rubbed her eyes and stood to put on water for a cup of tea—decaffeinated, of course. She’d begun to avoid so many foods for fear they would hinder conception. Her grocery list read like an inventory list for a health food store. Some experts felt diet was critical; other medical professionals disagreed. Carol wasn’t taking any chances. She was going to try anything that might help her stay pregnant.

In so many ways it felt as if her entire life was on hold. She’d left a promising career, went to the best doctors, ate all the right foods, listened to all the motivational tapes and repeated the mantras she’d learned. She had to believe her mind could control her body and that the sheer force of her determination would eventually give her what she wanted most.

Filling the teakettle with water, she set it on the burner and sat down again while she waited for the water to boil. A short handwritten note from Christine caught her eye. Carol hadn’t noticed it at the bottom of the birth announcement. Christine’s lovely cursive said: “I haven’t heard from you in so long!”

There was a very good reason for that. Carol’s friendship with Christine wasn’t the only one she’d allowed to lapse. She’d ignored many of her close friends, mainly because the struggle to get pregnant demanded so much energy. Most of the women she knew were already mothers, and her friends with children socialized primarily with other friends who had children.

Carol and Doug had less and less in common with these friends, whose lives seemed to revolve around babies and playgrounds and birthday parties. If that wasn’t bad enough, there were often lengthy discussions that excluded them. Conversations about schools or day care, about tantrums and teething problems.

Then there were the so-called friends who dismissed their difficulties, who trivialized her desire for a child. One heartless woman in the office had laughingly suggested Carol was welcome to raise one of her four. Other people wanted to comfort her by saying it wouldn’t be long now and modern medicine was so wonderful that within a year’s time she was sure to be pregnant. Well, she wasn’t, and the most horrible fear of all had taken root. There might never be a baby for her and Doug. She could hardly bear it, but she’d rather face the truth than continue like this.

The kettle whistled and she slowly stood and poured the boiling water into the pot. She couldn’t allow such negative thoughts to invade her mind. That only made things worse. She had to believe. She couldn’t let a birth announcement do this to her. God had given her a sign. She had to believe, push aside all negative thinking. She had faith….

The door opened and Carol whirled around, surprised to realize it was so late. “Doug! Is it that time already?” She tried to sound cheerful but knew she’d failed.

“You okay?” he asked, studying her.

“Of course.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Did you have a good day?” she asked, returning her attention to the teapot.

“Sure. It was fine.”

Doug immediately zeroed in on the mail. He walked over to the table and discovered Christine and Bill’s birth announcement. She watched his face as he read it, and wanted to cry out in pain at the longing she saw in his eyes. After a moment he set it aside as if it were a matter of only the slightest interest. She knew otherwise.

“They had a boy,” she said, fighting to keep the emotion out of her voice.

“So I see.”

It should’ve been them, she wanted to scream. They should be the couple mailing out birth announcements. They were good people. They had a strong marriage and they’d be wonderful parents….

The infertility was a constant stress on their marriage. Doug had dealt with as much of the indignity as she had. The semen collection in a bathroom off Dr. Ford’s waiting room, the post-coital examinations—all of this was dreadful for him.

People assured her that one day they’d laugh about it. Carol didn’t think that was possible.

“I’m almost half done with the second baby blanket. I have another class tomorrow afternoon.”

Her husband nodded and grabbed the newspaper, heading for his favorite chair in the living room.

Carol wanted to shout at him to talk to her. Instead she bit her tongue and began preparing dinner, a meal she had no appetite for.