So anyway, there we were. One failed attempt behind us, but we knew that lots of people had problems and there was no guarantee that IVF would work the first time. We had agreed to try again, somewhere else, and in the meantime we tried to put it behind us and get on with our lives for a while before starting all over again.
Before we were married, I would go and spend a few days with some members of our group spinning etc. for three days. It was a nice little break in the summertime, and R was happy for this to continue.
So when our brother-in-law phoned one evening to say that he was arranging a boys’ holiday away inIrelandand that he’d like R to come too, as he had done in the past, of course I said yes. Like me it was something that they had done when he was single, and it never occurred to me that I should even try to stop him! And after what we had been through, and with him supporting me all the way, I knew that he could do with a break where he could relax with his mates.
So it was all arranged, and the day arrived. I knew that it would be strange being apart for so long for the first time since we were married, but I had arranged for my three best friends to come round on the Saturday for lunch and to stay for afternoon the day before R was due to come home, so I had something to plan for and arrange. One of them was bringing her son; he was a lovely bundle of fun and I was really looking forward to them all being there. We could have a salad lunch and I’d do a pud (or two) and then we could sit outside in the sunshine.
Suddenly, after a flurry of ironing and packing on the Sunday morning, his transport had arrived, and there he was, gone, to a destination hundreds of miles away. He was looking forward to taking some long walks and visiting old haunts and striding out through the Burren and other places of geological interest. He’d be in his element! And it would do him good.
I really missed him, but kept myself busy and enjoyed being at home, tootling about doing homey things and catching up on odd jobs that I never seemed to have time for during the working week. Tuesday morning arrived and it suddenly dawned on me that I was ‘late’. Only by a day of course, which meant nothing. But the next day there was nothing, either.
It was a bit strange, but, well, two days late wasn’t unusual, was it? I’d been working hard, and what with being off work as well I expected that my hormones had just forgotten what day it was! Yes, that was it. It was bound to catch me out in the middle of the night. But no, it didn’t. I felt so full of energy the next day. I felt more alive than I had done for – well, for as long as I could remember, actually. I couldn’t ever remember feeling this good! Not for years, anyway. I couldn’t be, could I? Surely not!
Should I do The Test? I had two ready; I’d had them ready for a long time. I could do the test and phone R, and – but wait. He was hundreds of miles away, enjoying himself, carefree, laughing with the lads, walking in the sunshine, up hill and down dale.
I didn’t want to give him News over the phone, because he might worry and feel that he ought to cut his holiday short and come home straight away. Besides which, if it was good news, I wanted to see the joy in his face when I told him.
And the other thing was that, of course, I not only wanted him to be the first to know – I wanted us both to know at the same time, watching for the blue line on the test stick. He would probably not have minded missing that bit if I’m honest! But still, he would have been close by.
And, yet another thing – The Girls were coming on Saturday! It would have been such a struggle not to have told them Good News!! And that wouldn’t have been fair on R, not to tell him firsts.
So I decided to do nothing. It could wait until Sunday, and meanwhile I would somehow manage to steer the conversation away from babies on Saturday.