Inconceivable! Read online

  “Of course. I’m interested in hearing what she has to say about you.”

  “It’s kind of a team effort, you know. I can’t get pregnant on my own.”

  I tried to be patient with him, but it wasn’t easy. I think it was the sight of Adela’s emerging bump that nudged John’s emotional barometer; since December, he randomly asked questions about our efforts to get pregnant. Him: Do you think we’re having enough sex? Me: I think sex every day definitely hits the mark. Him: Tell me again why you take your temperature every morning. Me: To track my basal body temperature so I know if I’ve ovulated.

  I checked the time on my phone. Ten minutes after six. An alert flashed silently on the screen, telling me I had a new message from Kendra27. I read the first few words: “Good luck at the doctor…” I quickly darkened the screen and flipped my phone so it was facedown. I worried what John would think about me sharing a few details about my situation with a woman I’d “met” through an online infertility discussion site.

  There was a short knock and the door opened. A petite woman with dark hair and a sizeable baby bump walked in. She extended her hand to each of us. “I’m Dr. Dreesen. It’s nice to meet you both. Tell me what’s been going on.”

  I explained to her I’d gone off birth control pills in December 2013, less than a month before we were married. “I think Dr. Cloutier’s office sent you my records. I saw him late last summer, and he didn’t think anything was wrong. He told us to keep trying. What’s not in my chart is that in early December, the day my period was due, I did a pregnancy test. I saw two lines, but the second line was really faint. About an hour and a half later, I did another test. It was negative. The next morning, my period started.”

  John squeezed my hand. Oh right. I’d never mentioned the tests to him.

  “Was your period heavier than normal?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “How long are your cycles typically?”

  “Usually twenty-eight days. I was about five days late last July.”

  “Do you have any pain with your period?”

  “I went on the pill in high school to help with cramping. Since I went off the pill, I’ve had some pain, but I just take medicine for it.”

  “How about during sex? Any pain then?”

  John shifted in his chair. I knew this was way outside his comfort zone.

  “No. Well, sometimes a little, but not enough that we have to stop.” Another tidbit I’d never shared with John.

  “And not bad enough that she’s ever told me about it,” John said, looking past me to the doctor.

  “Hatty, I’ll give you a minute to undress. I’d like to do an exam and we’ll also draw blood. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  When she was gone, I got undressed and for the first time, my nakedness didn’t stir a reaction from my husband. He sat there looking uncomfortable, nervously checking his phone.

  My frustration with his emotional distance boiled. “Are you expecting a call?”

  “No.”

  When Dr. Dreesen returned, she completed the exam, and then drew blood from the crook of my arm. “We didn’t want to ask someone to stay late just to get your blood.”

  She and I watched the red liquid snake its way through the tiny tubing attached to the needle in my arm. She slid the needle out after filling two vials and covered the tiny bleeding spot with a bandage.

  “Hatty, you can get dressed. John, since we’re doing a fertility work-up, we’ll need to check your sperm count. We’ll look at the morphology and motility―the shape of the sperm and how well they move.” She opened a drawer and took out a plastic cup with a sealed lid and blank label.

  “Take this in the bathroom…”

  “I’m sorry. I need to go.” John left the room.

  You’ve got to be kidding me? I just went all spread-eagle for this lady and you can’t pop some off into a cup?

  Dr. Dreesen and I didn’t speak for a couple of seconds. I sat under a sheet on the exam table, my legs cold and my face burning in anger and embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I think this is all very strange for him. It’s weird for me too.”

  “This process is overwhelming. Take this container with you. Perhaps you can convince him to do it at home. Just don’t use any lubricants or saliva. After you have the ejaculate in the cup, put the lid on and place it in your bra. You’ll need to keep it warm against your body and bring it to the office right away. Do you think you can do all that?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ll get it done. Thank you for your help.”

  “My nurse will call and schedule a follow-up so we can review the results.”

  That night, I lounged on the couch in our den with my laptop open. I was reading up on the best food to eat when you’re trying to get pregnant. I paused momentarily to give my two cents on whether Kendra27’s pregnancy test looked positive. After the requisite five minute wait, she’d snapped the plastic case apart and pulled out the test strip. (This had become one of my go-to moves, too, when I thought there might be a hint of a second line.) With the strip exposed to fluorescent lights in her basement, she’d taken a photo. Then, she ran the snapshot through several different filters, and posted the results on the discussion boards. You had to hand it to the sepia filter. It made faint lines on pregnancy tests look bold and solid, the kind of positive result I dreamed about getting.

  I really liked Kendra27, even though I knew her only through the online community. She said she lived in Virginia near D.C. I told her I was an ex-pat living in Europe. That’s about all I could reveal. So few people knew what was going on with our attempts to get pregnant. Tilda was a part of the inner circle, and so was Astrid. She scheduled the appointments, and most importantly, kept me secretly supplied with embarrassing quantities of pregnancy tests. Our royal guards knew about our appointments with Dr. Dreesen, but John and I trusted them. They knew everything about John’s family and said nothing.

  “What are you doing?” John crept up behind me and I nearly jumped through the ceiling.

  “Nothing! Just reading.” I started to close the laptop lid.

  “Wait. What’s that?” He leaned over the back of the couch, pushing the lid open.

  He skimmed the messages from Kendra27. “Please tell me she doesn’t know who you are.” A low angry tone crept into his voice.

  “Of course not! I just need to talk to someone who understands how I feel because, apparently, you don’t get it.” Without warning, hot tears streamed down my cheeks.

  He walked around the couch and remained standing. “Maybe I don’t get it because you’re keeping secrets from me. Why didn’t you tell me you had a positive pregnancy test in December?” His nostrils flared.

  “Look, you do not know how it feels. It’s my body every month that screams, ‘YOU FAILED’ in big, red, angry gushes.”

  “But you had a positive test in December. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what? That I had a positive test for an hour and a half? I called Dr. Cloutier’s office when the second test was negative. The nurse said there was nothing they could do if it was a miscarriage.” I nearly choked on the last word.

  John sat beside me, wrapping me in his arms. He pulled me to his chest. “Shh. Look. It will happen. I know it will.”

  I tried to believe him.

  About ten minutes later after our mini fight, John went to the kitchen. While he was out of our bedroom, I snuck in and retrieved his mother’s journal. I took it to the den and slipped it under one of the couch cushions. When he returned, he kissed me goodnight before heading into our bedroom and closing the door. I waited about fifteen minutes before sliding the journal from its hiding spot underneath me.

  Flipping through the pages, a splash of red caught my eye. I stopped and went back to it. She’d written the entry in red ink. The slant of the handwriting made it look angry.

  September 21, 1988

  Why isn’t my body cooperating? My period came today with a vengeance. It was three days la
te this time, and I thought for sure there was a baby growing inside me. Leo says if I don’t get pregnant soon, I’ll have to take medication to move things along. I’ll do everything in my power to make this happen. He looks at me as though the waiting is breaking his heart. I can’t stand the thought of disappointing him.

  I flipped ahead, my heart pounding in my chest. It seemed John and I weren’t the first royal couple to experience fertility problems.

  December 30, 1988

  Happy (Almost) New Year! We’re in Phuket with Leo’s mum for the holiday. Such a beautiful country. I could live the rest of my days at this beach. I’m glad to get to relax before I begin taking the new fertility drug. Dr. Cloutier says it will boost my ovulation and dramatically increase our chances of conception. I’m so excited I could be pregnant and holding my first child in the New Year!

  John was born October, 1, 1989. I did the math and scanned the entries for late January until I found it.

  January 25, 1989

  It happened!!! We went to the doctor early this morning, and they confirmed I’m pregnant! I’ve felt cautiously hopeful the last few days because I’ve been ill in the morning and my period was due last Saturday. Leo was with me when the doctor delivered the news. I’ve never seen him look so relieved. The doctor said my due date is October 1, and I should come back in a few weeks for a check-up.

  Punctual from the start, John had arrived on his due date. That was the last entry in the book. I wondered if she had bought a new journal to track her pregnancy, and if so, where she’d squirreled it away.

  Maybe we’d also find a pill or procedure that would help us get pregnant. I felt hopeful as I thought about our next doctor’s visit. Dr. Dreesen would know why we weren’t getting pregnant, and she’d have a plan to fix it.

  I was lying in a funny position. My neck rested at an odd angle and my hands were splayed across my lower abdomen. The energy of life pulsed inside it. I slowly moved my hands over my skin. As though they were endowed with the power of ultrasound, my hands revealed the grainy picture of the baby growing inside me, projecting it onto the wall. I saw the little body in its reclining position. The flow of energy from my body to his showed up as a pulse on the ultrasound image. I felt so alive and so did my baby. What would happen if I reached inside my belly and touched it?

  At that thought, my eyes shot open. My hands were still moving across my abdomen. I’d fallen asleep on the couch. In a panic, I jumped up and searched for Princess Beatrix’s journal. I grabbed it and hid it under the couch before turning off the lamp and going to the bedroom.

  Tiptoeing to my nightstand, I opened the drawer and pulled out the plastic cup Dr. Dreesen gave me, the one intended for John. I set it on top of the table next to my glasses.

  Burrowed under the covers next to my husband, I rode a fresh wave of hope brought on by how real and vivid my dream had been.

  Instead of hopping out of bed, I stayed still, going through my plan one last time. John usually woke up shortly after I did, so I waited. In a few minutes, he rolled over toward me, moaned softly, and yawned. I migrated my right hand toward his side of the bed. It made contact with the front of his sweat pants, a thin barrier between me and the hardness underneath. We were facing each other, and at my touch, his eyes drifted open.

  “Good morning, wife.” A sweet smile spread over his thick lips.

  “There’s something I need you to do. And if you’ll let me help, it will be so much fun,” I said, encouraging him with my hand.

  He inhaled deeply. “I’ll do whatever you say.” His eyes closed in a moment of pleasure.

  My right hand stayed busy while the left reached over to the nightstand for the cup. Hatty 1, Infertility 0.

  John opened his eyes, catching a glimpse of the cup. “Okay?” I wanted him to acknowledge that he was on board with this.

  He sighed, then smiled. “Let’s do it.” He brought me close. Our lips converged moments before he moaned. Then, he whispered, “Anything for you.”

  e have your results.” Dr. Dreesen sat down behind her desk, looking at the computer screen, which she kept turned away from me and John.

  “Your sperm count is well within normal ranges. The motility is good and the morphology is also normal. So, no problems there.”

  Relief washed over John’s face. At the same time, I must have turned green because I knew the blame rested on me.

  “Hatty, all of your labs were normal. There are no areas of concern at this point.”

  “But how is that possible if I’m not getting pregnant?”

  “We call it unexplained infertility. We just don’t know what’s preventing you from conceiving.”

  “Can I ask a blunt question? Am I too fat to get pregnant?”

  “You’re not fat. You’re in the upper range of what’s normal for your height and build. Compared to most women in Toulene, you have a larger frame, but your weight is fine and it’s not impacting your fertility.”

  “What happens now?” I worked to keep panic out of my voice.

  “Well, we have several options. I can do what’s called a hysterosalpingogram or HSG test. We flush a special dye through your fallopian tubes and use X-ray equipment to watch how well it flows. It’s a way to see whether your tubes are blocked.. Sometimes, this diagnostic procedure can remove tiny obstructions that may be interfering with the egg getting to the uterus and increase fertility.”

  “That sounds like a reasonable next step.” This is where my online obsessing paid off. I knew exactly what she was talking about with the procedure she described.

  “There’s another option I want to discuss. The last time you were here, you said you went on the pill in high school to ease menstrual cramping. You also mentioned that you sometimes have pain during intercourse. All of this may point to endometriosis. That’s where the tissue that normally lines the uterus grows in the abdominal cavity. For some women, the presence of this tissue interferes with ovulation or impacts the quality of the eggs. A laparoscopy allows me to make very small incisions in your abdomen and see if there are any structural issues.”

  “What are the other options? I don’t want Hatty to go through that kind of surgery.” John rubbed my back.

  “We can also try several cycles of assisted reproductive techniques. Hatty would take an ovary stimulating drug. She’d use an ovulation predictor kit at home to pinpoint when she’s about to ovulate. Then, you’d supply us with your sperm so we can prep it and transfer it into Hatty’s uterus.” It was all business as usual for Dr. Dreesen.

  “I appreciate knowing our options. Could we also just keep trying on our own and see what happens?” John looked a bit pale.

  “Of course. Why don’t you discuss how you’d like to proceed? When you’re ready, give my office a call.”

  We thanked Dr. Dreesen and left. When we arrived at Langbroek Palace, John went into the study and shut the door.

  I walked onto the balcony outside our second story bedroom. I shuddered in the cold of January’s early evening air as I gazed over the back lawn. The air was brisk, and twilight had slipped its orange-red mantel over the daytime sky. I pulled the chunky sweater tighter around my body, closed my eyes, and listened. There was the dull roar of traffic outside the fence that separated our grounds from the public street. I heard the low mewing of the cat. He was a gift from John for our one year anniversary. As I picked up Booters and turned to go inside, I paused at the sound of a child’s laughter. It was like half hearing a secret hastily whispered in a crowded hallway. So soft and brief, I wasn’t sure I’d heard it at all.

  ohn sent the cue ball cracking into a big cluster at the far end of the table, scattering the balls in all directions. His father stood back with his cue stick in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. Leopold had invited us to Belvoir for dinner, and suggested a game of billiards afterward. It was a pleasant ending to a day that brought a flicker of hope: I’d had an HSG that morning and both of my tubes were clear. I was thrilled and relieved.
Maybe the very act of sending liquid shooting through my tubes would improve our chances of conceiving. I’d read multiple stories online about women who got pregnant the cycle after their HSG.

  Energized by my new optimism, I sipped hot tea in a comfy chair by the window; I ditched alcohol altogether in case it was having a negative impact on my fertility.

  “How did it go with Dr. Dreesen?”

  John looked at his father, unsure what to say. Someone couldn’t keep a secret. So, Leopold knew what we were doing? Awesomesauce.

  “It went fine. She ran some tests, and there are no obvious problems. She offered some advice and options for how we might move forward.” John sounded non-committal, casual.

  “You know, if things don’t work out, you two will have to get a divorce.” Leopold took a final swig of his beer and I nearly did a spit take. I caught myself before any tea left my mouth.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I blurted.

  John stared down his father. “She has no idea what you mean and I can’t believe you’d say such a thing in front of her. Hatty, there’s an antiquated section of our legal code that makes it possible for male members of the royal family to initiate a divorce or have their marriage annulled if the wife can’t conceive. But you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I’m not worried. I know you love me. Leo, you can take that law and shove it right up your ass.”

  John’s father took a step toward me but directed his words at John. “I bring it up only because I did everything in my power to make sure your mother got pregnant with you so Granny and I never had to have this conversation.”

  “I don’t understand,” John said, his hands gripping the cue stick. He’s going to break it.

  “I took your mother to see Dr. Cloutier, and he gave her a new fertility drug. The next month, she was pregnant with you. I suggest you and Hatty do whatever is necessary to fulfill your obligations to the people of Toulene.”