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PART ONE
WINTER
Chapter One
PIPPA
15 December blog post
The Hopeful Years
It starts with sex – a lot of sex. Making babies is good fun in the beginning, but after three years of trying, the novelty wears off. Trust me, I know…
Pippa Green’s hands hovered over the laptop. Did she really want to open up her life like this?
She rested back on the sofa and stared at the flashing cursor willing her to make a decision.
She’d always fancied having a blog but never found anything she could write about.
Now she finally had and she was getting cold feet because what she wanted to share was so personal.
Yet, it was something she felt passionately about, plus she thought it might be helpful, allowing her emotions to flow through her fingers.
Cathartic. Anyway, she was only using her first name, wasn’t plastering a photo of herself on the internet, and who was actually going to read it?
It was just a journal, except it was online.
She took a deep breath and continued typing.
I’ve always wanted a family and I’ve never really been career-minded.
To me, a job is just a job, but having a baby would mean everything.
Clive and I got married three and a half years ago and we started trying on our honeymoon (we stayed at The Sarojin in Khao Lak, Thailand – so amazing!).
I thought I’d be pregnant and a mum before our first anniversary, but that wasn’t meant to be.
It didn’t happen by our second or third wedding anniversary either.
So here I am, three years and eight months later, thirty-four years old, about to embark on IVF.
It’s daunting, but finally, after a year of tests and referrals, we’re actually doing something.
So yes, this blog, The Hopeful Years, is going to chart my journey of hope, from infertility to becoming a mum – at least, in a perfect world that’s what I dream will happen.
Who knows, we might be that lucky.
Pippa clicked save and logged out of WordPress.
She would sleep on it, read it in the morning and then decide if she was brave enough to press ‘publish’.
After all, it was highly unlikely that anyone would stumble across her blog.
At the very least, she felt better for getting her thoughts and worries out, plus Clive had suggested it was a good outlet for her to channel her feelings, because goodness knows, she had a lot of those right now with what was about to happen.
Tomorrow was a huge step, off to the fertility clinic for their planning appointment. It was the beginning. Pippa finally felt that there was hope, however slim.
* * *
Pippa ran her hands down the creases of her stripy skirt and took a deep breath as they sat down with the nurse at the Bristol Centre for Reproductive Medicine.
How had it come to this? All the fun of trying to get pregnant had evaporated once medical intervention and blood tests, scans and sperm samples, had become involved.
Getting pregnant should be the easy bit, surely?
Pippa’s friends seemed to have no problems; in fact, a couple of them didn’t even have to be in a relationship and they got pregnant.
At least it felt that way. Starting IVF was daunting, the unknown a constant worry, but they were being proactive and brave, and she and Clive were in this together.
Pippa had been brave first thing this morning too, putting The Hopeful Years blog live and publishing her first post.
‘Pippa? Pip, honey? Did you get that?’ Clive squeezed her arm.
‘Do you want me to show you again?’ the nurse asked.
Pippa switched her focus to the nurse. ‘Yes please, sorry.’
The nurse picked up the little bottle, pierced the top with a needle and drew up the liquid. ‘You then take a good pinch of skin on your stomach, plunge the needle in and slowly inject it. Simple.’
‘It’s the making up of the stuff that worries me,’ Pippa said, looking at the bottles of powder and liquid lined up on the desk in front of them.
‘You’ll be fine,’ the nurse said. ‘There are instructions with it, and after a couple of goes, you’ll be a pro. Have you been on the forum? Lots of ladies have said how much it’s helped them, going through a treatment cycle with other women. It might be worth taking a look.’
‘I’ll do that, thanks.’
With the planning appointment over, and the instructions on how to do the injections floating around Pippa’s head, she and Clive thanked the nurse and made their way back along the corridor and through reception to the main doors.
There were a few other couples waiting, as well as one or two women on their own.
Most looked like they were in their mid- to late-thirties.
She wondered about their stories and how far along with their treatment they were.
Perhaps someone in this room was actually pregnant and waiting for a scan to confirm things.
Pippa shivered as they left the warmth of the fertility clinic and stepped outside.
A blast of icy air wrapped itself around them.
She tucked her chocolate-coloured snood further into the neckline of her coat and pulled on the matching hat that contrasted with her dark blonde hair.
Clive hooked his arm through hers and they set off towards the car park, leaving a trail of frozen breath behind them.
‘You’re very quiet, Pip,’ Clive said once they reached their car. ‘How are you feeling about it all?’
Pippa slid onto the passenger seat and buckled up her seat belt. ‘That the situation sucks, but at least we’re finally doing something positive.’
Clive turned the ignition and drove out of the car park. ‘You never know, in a few months’ time, you might be pregnant.’
Somehow Clive had managed to remain calm and positive throughout the whole process; Pippa hoped his go-with-the-flow attitude would rub off on her when they actually started the treatment.
Still, for her own sanity, she didn’t want them to get overly optimistic.
She bit her lip and looked back towards the hospital as they drove out of the main gate.
‘They keep stressing that there’s no guarantee of it working. ’
‘Yeah, but at the same time they’ve given us a sixty per cent chance of it being successful. That’s way better odds than if we just keep trying naturally, which we should still do anyway. As much as possible.’
Pippa smiled and rested her hand on Clive’s thigh. ‘Maybe we should go see Georgie while we’re in Bristol.’
‘You feel up to that?’ Clive took a left at the traffic lights and headed towards Bradley Stoke instead of home to Bath.
Pippa nodded. ‘Yeah. Don’t worry, I won’t have a meltdown when I see Daisy. I promise. I feel good about things. I know IVF might not work, but at least now we have a chance of having a family.’
‘It’s our best shot.’
‘It’s our only shot.’
Pippa hated to sound defeatist, but it was the truth.
Their consultant had pretty much told them it’d take a miracle to get pregnant naturally, and after more than three years of trying – and they had been trying earnestly, with passion to begin with, followed by more methodical and pressurised ovulation tests – they had nothing to show for it apart from negative pregnancy tests and disappointment.
Adoption was something they’d briefly talked about, but they’d agreed to exhaust all other options before having a serious conversation about going down that route.
They fell silent; maybe Clive didn’t want to open up any old wounds by saying the wrong thing and setting Pippa off.
After all, she’d been an emotional wreck for the past couple of years and she’d be the first to admit it, although none of it had been helped by sitting on the sidelines while her half-sister Georgie had got pregnant and given birth.
Georgie lived in a detached new-build on the outskirts of Bristol with her husband, Nathan, and daughter, Daisy.
It had three good-sized bedrooms, a family bathroom, a study-come-playroom, and an open-plan lounge and kitchen-diner, but it was the complete opposite of where Pippa and Clive lived in Bath.
Theirs was a two-bedroom Edwardian terraced house packed with character and period features.
As she rang the doorbell, Pippa thought how she and Georgie had always been polar opposites, so their taste in houses, decor and indeed men would naturally be different.
‘Hey there,’ Georgie said as she opened the door and swept the fringe of her bobbed blonde hair away from her eyes. Daisy’s little hands were clamped tight to Georgie’s leg. ‘This is a nice surprise. Nathan’s not home yet though, Clive.’
‘Oh, that’s okay,’ Pippa said. ‘We’re not stopping long. Just thought we’d say hi as we both have a day off work and were in Bristol.’
Georgie beckoned them through the hallway and into the kitchen, with its sleek and shiny dark grey units and pale grey tiled floor.
‘How do you keep it so clean with Daisy around?’ Pippa ran her hand along the impractically white work surface.
‘I avoid cooking as much as possible and have a cleaner. Daisy, are you going to say hello to Auntie Pippa and Uncle Clive?’ Daisy tucked herself even further behind Georgie’s legs. ‘She’s a little shy of st— She’s all of a sudden got shy and silly. Typical toddler.’
Strangers. Pippa knew that was what Georgie had been about to say.
She hadn’t really been an aunt to Daisy since she’d been born eighteen months ago.
It had been upsetting to watch her sister go through pregnancy and give birth when that was everything she wanted, and too hard to see her with Daisy, so Pippa had coped by removing herself from the situation as much as she could, which hadn’t done anything for her relationship with Georgie, and even less so with her niece.
She was determined to change that now. The start of fertility treatment was the beginning of a new chapter.
‘Hey there, Daisy,’ Pippa said, holding out her arms. ‘You going to give me a cuddle? No? That’s okay – next time, eh?’
‘Cup of tea?’ Georgie asked, prising Daisy’s chubby fingers from her thigh. ‘Or coffee? Daisy, why don’t you run and get your toys from the playroom?’
‘Coffee would be great, thanks,’ Clive said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar at the end of the island.
‘Decaf for me, if you have it.’ Pippa leaned against the end unit and played with the tassel on the zip of her handbag.
Georgie raised an eyebrow. ‘Because of the treatment,’ Pippa explained, ‘I’m trying to be good, to do anything that might help.
No caffeine or alcohol and I’m attempting to cut out sugar. ’
‘Sounds miserable,’ Georgie said, dropping a decaf capsule into the coffee machine.
‘Well, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. Considering we only get one go at IVF on the NHS, I want to give us the best chance possible.’
‘But do you really think cutting out all the fun things in life is going to up your chances?’ Georgie poured frothy milk into the mug of coffee and handed it to Pippa. ‘I mean, girls get knocked up all the time after drunken one-night stands. Maybe you should get pissed.’
‘You don’t think we’ve tried that?’ Pippa tried to control the edge to her voice. She pinched the tassel on her handbag as annoyance at Georgie’s words flared.
Clive cleared his throat and shuffled on the stool. ‘I think what Pippa’s trying to say is we’re out of options. IVF is our only chance of having a biological family, and she – we – don’t want to jeopardise that in any way. Giving up caffeine and alcohol is a small price to pay.’
Georgie laughed. ‘Easy for you to say.’ She stirred Clive’s coffee and handed it to him.
‘I’m doing my bit, trust me. Pip’s got me dosed up on these vitamins to help boost male fertility.’
Daisy ran back in, pulling a truck loaded with wooden blocks, dolls and teddy bears. ‘Waha, waha, waha, waaaaahaaaaa!’
Georgie sighed. ‘It’s not easy: the sleepless nights, attempting to breastfeed, changing millions of stinking nappies and puked-on vests all the time. And then when they start crawling and walking they’re even harder work.’
Daisy flopped down on the middle of the kitchen floor and started pulling wooden blocks out of the truck, sending them skittering across the tiles.
‘I know it’s not going to be easy, Georgie,’ Pippa said. ‘But I can’t wait for all that. I would love to be suffering with morning sickness or be up all night rocking my baby to sleep. I want that more than anything.’
‘I’ll remind you of that when you get pregnant and are puking your guts up.’
‘When – if – that happens, then I’ll have as much right as any pregnant woman to complain if I want to.
I won’t be any different. All I’m asking is for you to not complain in front of me about lack of sleep because of Daisy.
Complain away to your friends or to Mum, I just don’t want to hear it when I’d do anything to be in your position. ’