One Good Egg: An Illustrated Memoir (27 page)

He returned to the topic at hand. “We have three good-looking seven-cell embryos, a couple of five—”

“Last time I had eights, two eights,” I interrupted.

“You are talking about the difference of one cell, a day or less of gestation.”

Three sevens. My locker number was 107. Lucky 7.

I looked at Lorene. “You okay with three?”

“I’m okay with three. I’m not okay with triplets, but I’m okay with three.”

“Freeze the rest?”

Lorene let me answer. “No, thanks.”

We’re done.

Outtahere.

This is it for us.

Sayonara and g’bye.

Lorene bent down and kissed me. All the trying would be over when I saw her again.

I wasn’t the least bit sleepy after the transfer, although I was committed to bed rest, looking forward to it, actually. I read my food magazines, got my meditation out of the way.

At 2:00 p.m., Boston IVF called to report that one of the five-cell embryos had fragmented, making it unsuitable for freezing.

A few minutes later, I heard a truck slow down and there was a knock at the door. The book!

Tour de Fetus

A week later
—one week down, one week to go until my pregnancy test—I was a nervous wreck. Once again, I was sure I was not pregnant. Once again, Lorene was sure I was. Her certainty was based on my revulsion to olives at dinner. I couldn’t convince her that I had simply eaten too much bluefish and would have found anything revolting. The test would tell.

We killed the last four days at my dad’s, shopping the wholesale craft show at the Philadelphia Convention Center for Lorene’s store, and we were back at Boston IVF, bright and early, for our 7:30 pregnancy test. We had come to know the two women who administered blood tests: the nice one and the one you really wanted to get. I got the nice one. She had me sit up straight and uncross my legs. Then she murmured something about drinking more water as she ran her gloved thumb up and down my veins. She finally finished up about the same time the other nurse dispensed with her third patient. “You’ll hear this afternoon,” the nice nurse called after us.

I was useless all morning. The review of the brain book in the March issue of Oprah’s magazine was just hitting the stands. I checked my Amazon ranking a dozen times over a couple of hours, watching it climb from 65,000 to 25,000 (knowing that anything over 500 really wasn’t worth talking about). I went to the bathroom twice to see if I was bleeding. At 10:30, I called Boston IVF to leave my cell-phone number so I could go out to buy a copy of
O
magazine.

My rank was up to 5,000 when I got back. Still no bleeding. No word on the pregnancy test. I called Boston IVF to let them know I was home. In another two hours, I switched them back to my cell phone, as I was getting ready to head in to the public broadcasting station to tape a fundraising spot I had written. Two minutes later, my cell phone rang in the kitchen. “Suzy, we have very good news, a very strong positive! We like to see hCG values between fifty and a hundred—yours was one hundred and eleven!”

I was ecstatic, all of a sudden jittery, quite possibly faint. I held on to the soapstone sink, just in case. The woman had instructions for me, but our cell phones always cut out in the house.

“Six week-ultrasound in March?”

“We count from Day 1 of your cycle.”
I was already four weeks pregnant!

After the call ended, I was still holding on to the sink, looking at the clock, debating whether I had enough time to stop by Lorene’s shop to tell her in person, and Meredith called. “I’m pregnant!” I blurted out, and heard how it sounded for the first time.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! All right!”

I interrupted, “Can you bring your
What to Expect
tomorrow? I have to go tell Lorene and get to WGBH.”

Lorene knew as soon as I walked in. She came out from behind the counter, arms outstretched. “I
knew
it. I told Ruthie, I had a vision in the shower; we’re having a boy! Wait,
very strong positive?
” Lorene said. “Is it twins?” Now she looked nervous.

“She didn’t say anything about twins, but you can call her. I have to go. They put me down for an ultrasound the morning I leave for book tour.”

“I’ll go buy
What to Expect
—”

“Meredith’s bringing it.”

Lorene’s face fell. “You told her first?” She went back to her stool and looked into her computer.

“I’m sorry.” I went over behind her. “She called . . . ” There was no acceptable apology, no do-over, no changing the fact, not one single satisfactory explanation.

Lorene was subdued at dinner. The nurse had assured her we weren’t having twins; she was still upset she hadn’t been the first to know.

I lay on my back in our bed. The winter covers felt heavy. I turned them down. Lorene pulled them back up.

I got the news I hardly dared hope for, the news I wanted for how many years, and I feel? Exhausted
. “Please,” I started. “This whole time I haven’t let myself get excited, please, let’s be excited now.”

“Sorry.” She hugged me. “Let’s call Steve!”

I felt awful I hadn’t thought of it myself. “What time is it there?”

“Is there a bad time to let him know he’s going to be a father? I don’t think so!” She handed me the phone.

Steve picked up. It was late morning, late for going to work even his time. “You just caught me, what’s up?”

“We’re pregnant!” He let out a shriek to beat all shrieks. Lorene was laughing again. “We’re going to be a family!”

First thing the next morning, I wrote to Mary Ann, our friend the nurse. She wasn’t the fourth, but definitely in the first ten to know.