Inconceivable (21 page)

While I was working my shift at the basketball shoot, it hit me that life right then was nothing more than a grind. I had now just a couple of places of refuge. One of those was home, where Carolyn and I could be blunt.

And I could escape in coaching, where I focused completely on the team. That spring at championships, Ryan turned in the
third-best time for a runner in his age group ever in the Diocese of Toledo. I could tell that he was doing great and that his best days as an athlete were still ahead. Drew registered CYO championships in the 1600 and 800. As I stood along the fence in each race and they came up the final stretch of the track, I had goose bumps of pride in my boys. After each race, when I went up to Drew and Ryan and congratulated them on their amazing performances, it probably meant more to me than it did to them. Searching for any bit of evidence that things were the same for our family, that we had shielded the boys from this mess, I took their success to be a good indicator.

I also took solace from knowing we would soon be on a trip to Florida that would offer us a needed break. I had a conference to attend there that would allow me to bring Carolyn and the boys. The couples who were coming from work already knew our situation. And we didn’t have to tell those from other firms who didn’t know. Carolyn and I were looking forward to leaving behind the complexities of home and relaxing for a few days.

CAROLYN

As we packed for Florida, I was happy we were going to get away from the prying eyes and whispered remarks of our small town. Among the couples from Savage & Associates on this trip was Sean’s coworker Dan and his wife, my good friend Linda. Linda is my Jewish sister. Really, she’s more like my Jewish mother, but she’s not nearly old enough to be my mom, so sister fits. Linda was easy to talk to and never minded listening to me moan and groan about my life. I appreciated that she didn’t tell me to look on the bright side. As soon as I told her about my pregnancy, she quickly became my “go-to” girl. She always gave me the blunt truth, with no sugarcoating and no attempts to avoid the subject. We both agreed that my situation “sucked.” Plus, with Linda, I could laugh.

The last night of the trip was a formal dinner that the boys were
happy didn’t include them. They were old enough to fend for themselves and were hoping to take a trip over to the Magic Kingdom. It seemed like only yesterday that we were riding the Tea Cups with them and pushing them around Epcot in strollers.
I want to go with them
, I thought. A night in the amusement park sounded much better than a cocktail hour and dinner with people we barely knew. Savage & Associates wasn’t the only firm invited to this event. I pulled out my black maternity wrap dress and squeezed my tired feet into my heels anyway.

Luckily, as we entered the ballroom of the Grand Floridian, I spotted Linda immediately.

“Thank God you’re here. Do we have a table?”

“Yes. We’ll all sit together.” Linda had tipped the chairs of a table for eight, reserving it for us, in the corner of the ballroom.

“I need a drink!” she said.

“So do I,” I joked.

Linda rolled her eyes.

“I’ll have one for you,” she said.

After she got her wine, we joined Dan and Sean, who were talking with some couples we didn’t know. As I stood sipping my water, staring at the floor, the topic of conversation turned to my pregnancy.

“Congratulations. What number is this?”

I had no idea who this person was, so no explanation was required.

“Number four.” I smiled.

“Oh. We have four too. How old are your other children?”

“Fourteen, twelve, and sixteen months.”

“Oh my. Boys, girls?”

“Two boys and a girl.”

“Do you know what this one is?”

“A boy.”

“Oh, a third son. That’s what I have! Boy, boy, girl, boy! You
are going to love having a little guy full of energy running around. I bet his big brothers are excited.”

“Yes.”

Oh, how badly I wanted Drew and Ryan to celebrate the birth of a little brother and Mary Kate to have a playmate for life. With the birth of this baby, I would be reaching my lifelong goal of becoming a mother of four. I momentarily basked in my happiness. That only lasted for a few seconds before reality crept back in.

“Does your daughter understand that a new baby is coming?” the woman continued, shaking me out of my daydream.

“No. She has no idea. She just thinks Mama has a bump for her to sit on when I haul her around.”

We all laughed because that was true. MK had developed a perch on top of this little guy. I think she thought he was a built-in bench.

“Will this be your last? Do you think you’ll be done after this?”

I could hardly believe I was navigating the conversation. It was absurd to think that I was pretending to be excited about a pregnancy that was ripping my heart out. Linda quickly saved me.

“So what parks have you been too?”

And with that, the conversation took an appreciated turn. I glanced at Linda, who was rapid-firing questions at this woman to keep her from getting back to my pregnancy. I decided it would be best to excuse myself and go to the bathroom.

I opened the door to the handicapped stall, grabbed a paper toilet shield to protect my dress, attached it to the seat, and sat down.

Don’t cry. You’ll mess up your makeup. Stop it.

But it was too late. I grabbed a square of toilet paper to sop up my tears before my mascara started to run. I could hear the host ringing the bells indicating that guests should move to the ballroom for dinner. I took a few deep breaths and stared at my knees.

You are pathetic. Here you are, all dressed up, hiding in a bathroom stall, sitting on a toilet, your knees in your face, in the Happiest Place on Earth. Get a grip.

The women’s room door opened.

“Carolyn? Are you in here?”

It was Linda.

“Yeah, I’m here.” I stood up, pretending to finish my business by flushing the toilet, and came out of the stall.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I said as I washed my hands. “I’m fine. Now you know why I don’t go out anymore. I can’t do that day in and day out.”

“I get it. You did fine.”

I took a deep breath, and we left the bathroom together, her hand on my back comforting me in a gesture of sympathy and pushing me in an attempt to make me face my life.

C
HAPTER
13

Turning Toward Hope

CAROLYN

M
Y
L
ITTLE
M
AN WAS
a mover and a shaker, a person who was sure to make his way through the world no matter what blocked his path. I didn’t remember any of my other babies moving as much as this little guy. I would wake up in the morning, in those precious moments when my mind is opening up to the day, and feel him wriggling his way around, struggling to get free. I’d smile at the idea of him crawling down our hallway to his next adventure and finding something that caught his interest: a color, a shape, a sliver of light on a vase. That was the agony as we passed the halfway point in this pregnancy. Little Man was real to me, and every time I pictured him I could only see him in my arms or in our house tussling over a toy with Mary Kate. Every time I allowed myself to open to those happy ideas that sunny scene would end with a stab of despair.

He will not be toddling through your playroom, Carolyn. Stop this right now!

Yet I couldn’t stop. How often had I pictured our family of four children? He just seemed to fit here. Throughout my years of infertility, I’d had a recurring dream of being nine months pregnant and driving to the hospital to deliver the baby. In that dream I was happy, excited. Then I’d wake and think,
Damn, it was just a dream
. As the pregnancy progressed with Little Man, that dream came more frequently. Only this time, when I woke from it, I actually was pregnant. As the baby became more real to me, the horror of the delivery room scenario terrified me. I simply couldn’t think about it without tears.

For reasons I cannot explain, over and over again during the pregnancy I’d feel hope and joy yet seconds later find myself in the depths of sorrow. Several times a day I was swinging on this pendulum, as I had been when speaking to that woman at the party that night in Florida. My yearning for another child was so deep that the merest suggestion that my being pregnant was going to lead to this joyous event instantly set off happy thoughts and anticipation. Then I’d swing back the other direction on the pendulum, chiding myself for indulging that joy. As we came to the close of the second trimester, that despair was deeper than anything I’d ever felt.

My last shred of hope hung on the results of the DNA test. If the lab was so screwed up that it transferred the wrong embryo into me, there was a chance that its paperwork was off too, or that the way it filed the embryos was a jumble. Maybe when I got the DNA results I’d learn that these months of agony were misplaced emotions and this baby was really ours.

Finally the day arrived when the lab results appeared in the mailbox. I opened the unmarked envelope eagerly, unfolded the single piece of paper, and immediately directed my attention to the bottom line, where the numbers revealed the stark truth. There was 0 percent chance that this baby was ours. Not even 1 percent. I thought surely a little bit of my soul had crept into him. But I guess the DNA test couldn’t measure my contribution.

I folded the test, shoved it into my purse, and turned my attention to the wonderful distraction I had that day: buying Drew a suit for his eighth-grade graduation. My feelings were all mixed up as we fitted my growing boy, my young man, for his first real adult garment. We found a sleek black suit with pinstripes. The coat fit
well, but the pants needed to be altered because our ungainly son had a 27-inch waist and a 32-inch inseam. We had to special-order his dress shirt because he was a 14.5 neck with long arms, and he also needed dress shoes because he wore an 11, meaning he couldn’t borrow Sean’s size 9s. I reveled in pride as the tailor pinned his pants, thinking what a handsome young man Drew had become.

When we got home, I was planning to call Shannon to discuss the test results. What I didn’t know was that the lab had also sent the results to the Morells, since Paul was tested as a probable DNA father. That night when the phone rang I saw that it was Shannon on the line.

“Well, the baby is ours! There’s no doubt about it now,” she said joyfully. “I guess you were right in insisting we do this. It is better to know.”

“Yes,” I said weakly. I had to be careful with my voice.

“You know, we didn’t want to do this test. We didn’t do an amnio with the twins. The risk was too great.”

“I know. We never did an amnio before either. This is a different situation, of course,” I said.

“Paul didn’t like doing the test. The whole thing felt creepy,” Shannon continued. “The lab he had to go to was in an unmarked office, and something about it made him feel like he was sneaking in through a back door.”

“Oh, I’m sorry he was uncomfortable doing this,” I said flatly. “I’m sorry he had to go through this.”

I’m sorry I have to go through this too.
I wondered if I should tell her how I was really feeling. I knew I couldn’t speak up without falling apart, and I didn’t think that would benefit either of us. If I cried, she might tell others that I was emotionally unstable, “a mess.” Or she might worry that I was having second thoughts about keeping the baby. Most important, if I cried, I might cause her to feel guilty. I knew she was struggling. I didn’t want to make her feel worse than she already did. That would be cruel. Nope, I had to stay quiet.

I ended the conversation by agreeing that I would undergo a 3-D ultrasound at twenty weeks so that Shannon and Paul could get a good look at the baby. I was dreading this event. We knew from my pregnancy with Mary Kate how vivid those images were. I wouldn’t be with Linda at Dr. Read’s office because they don’t have the right kind of equipment for 3-D imaging. I was glad that Sean would be with me for this ordeal.

Before I knew it, the day for the ultrasound was upon us, and as we entered the exam room I was struck by how dark it was and how it lacked the cheerful atmosphere of Linda’s “office.” I positioned myself on the table with a feeling of dread. There was a part of me that didn’t want to look at the screen, but I knew I would be unable to look away.

The technician spread the ultrasound gel across my belly, and before I could get too upset, up popped a perfect baby boy.

The tech was in a very sunny mood. She obviously loved giving happy parents a close-up of the baby they would soon hold in their arms.

“It’s a boy!” she said cheerfully, manipulating the wand to give us a glimpse of all of his dimensions. “Let’s count his toes. He’s got ten of them. And ten fingers too!”

I couldn’t stand it.

“I called ahead to explain our situation. You know this baby isn’t ours, right?” I said.

“Oh, of course,” she said, shaking her head up and down gravely. I thought she understood. She didn’t, though. Apparently, the sight of the baby swept her away.

“He’s got a perfect little heart, you can see that,” she said. Sure enough, there was the powerful pulse of his beating heart. She moved the wand around, scanning for something more until his beautiful face filled the screen. “What a handsome guy! And he’s got a beautiful head of hair, the little charmer.”

I looked at Sean trying to get a reality check, but it was clear that
he was as shaken as I was. Who could blame her? A baby is a joyful event, a cause for celebration that everyone except us could participate in, even strangers who would never see him again. Would we be strangers to this child too? No. That couldn’t be, because we were both hopelessly in love with this baby.

As I drove home from the ultrasound, resentment flooded my mind. I was so distraught, and I couldn’t see how I was going to rid myself of my toxic, bitter mood. I needed a break from this whole thing. I needed some time to concentrate on myself and my family, and in order to do this I was going to have to try to put Shannon out of my mind. I recognized that opening up communication with Shannon had made things harder, not easier. Shannon went on about her plans for her nursery, buying clothes for Little Man, and needing a new car in order to accommodate three car seats. I assumed that she meant no harm. She was just trying to reach out, but what she didn’t realize was that her innocent messages were causing me incredible sadness and bitterness. I needed to turn away to get to a better place. The only way I could do that was to pull back on my communications with her.