Baby Trap Page 2

  So the first month after I stopped taking it, when I didn’t get my period at the allotted time, I thought, bloody hell, that was quick! I’m pregnant already. Out with the pill, nookie a couple of times a month, and hey presto – Mum’s the word!

  I rushed off to the chemist to buy a pregnancy test with a goofy grin plastered all over my face, grabbed the first one I saw, and zoomed back. Throwing my bag on the floor, I ran up the stairs to the bathroom like an Olympic-medal-winning hurdler and tore open the protective cellophane wrapper, ripping the box in my excitement.

  I pulled out one of the two sticks, peeled off the outer foil, and was about to pee on it when I realized I had to actually read the instructions to make sure I was getting it right:

  1) Wash your hands with soap and water before removing stick from foil wrapper.

  Oh, crap, too late! Well, I only touched the holding end, not the bit you pee on, so that should be OK.

  2) Remove testing stick from foil wrapping.

  Yes, I know about that part.

  3) Sit on toilet.

  Well, duh! I’m not going to wee on it in the middle of the bathroom floor! Hurry up, get to the good bit.

  4) Ensuring the stick is pointing downwards, urinate directly on the end of the plastic stick using a midstream sample.

  What does that mean?

  Note: Midstream sample means you should let out a bit of urine first, then collect the sample mid flow.

  Right. Got it. I think. How do you know exactly when midstream is? It’s not like I’ve got an invisible bladder wall I can see. This is getting complicated.

  5) Urinate for 5 seconds only.

  Easy peasy.

  6) Place the test stick on a flat surface. You will see a line in the control window. (See figure 2.)

  OK.

  7) Read your results after 2 minutes. If you have two vertical blue lines in the test window, you are pregnant. If you have a single vertical line, you are not pregnant.

  And I was off. Hopefully collecting midstream flow, although it wasn’t until I’d finished my wee that I realized I was a bit on the early side, but I figured I was close enough.

  Knickers and jeans pulled up, I stared at the stick with my heart threatening to explode out of my chest.

  Maybe I shouldn’t look at it. Was it the same as a watched kettle never boiling? Did a watched pregnancy test never shout PREGNANT! I gnawed on my lower lip and looked away, but as if by some kind of magnetic pull, I felt my neck pinging back round to stare at it.

  I checked my watch.

  One minute.

  I tapped my nails along the sink. A faint blue line appeared in the test window.

  Come on, come on. OK, maybe I should explain now that patience has never been my thing. I was even born early.

  Right, not looking now.

  I turned my back on it and stared at the wooden floorboards so hard my vision blurred.

  I checked my watch again.

  Two minutes.

  Hurrah!

  I swung back around and stared at the stick.

  Bollocks, crap, fuck!

  A single blue line. That meant I wasn’t pregnant. Unless…

  Unless I’d messed it up somehow. Yes, that was it. I’d messed it up. I’d need to use the other test stick to try again, but I was all weed out.

  Damn.

  Six glasses of water, forty-five minutes, and a test stick later, the result was the same.

  So I wasn’t pregnant this month, but that was OK. Whether it took one month or two months didn’t really matter. I mean, it was going to be pretty easy to get pregnant, wasn’t it? After all, when I was around fifteen my mum was always telling me how easy it was, and how I should make sure I used a condom, as well as the pill (in those days there wasn’t so much info about STDs and safe sex, so the additional willy armour was only required to ward off unwanted sperm). And, if possible, she said I should use a chastity belt, too. According to Mum, you just had to touch a boy’s bits and you’d get pregnant. That little saying was drummed into me constantly. And that’s pretty much what the sex education teacher told us at school. Although now I know they were trying to scare our young, sexually active minds, which is a good thing, but honestly, how hard could it actually be to conceive? Millions of women around the world must be achieving it every second.

  Karl breezed in from work that night and gave me a kiss on the cheek as I was in the converted garage that I used for my beauty business. ‘Thank God it’s Friday.’ He tugged at his tie to loosen it. ‘This week at work’s been manic.’

  Karl had recently been promoted to regional sales manager for Cussler Telecommunications, a company that supplied phone lines, internet, and satellite TV.

  ‘So what shall we do tonight? Meet Amelia and Dan down the pub or get a greasy Chinese takeaway with a bottle of wine?’

  ‘Don’t mind,’ I sighed, busying myself as I tidied away wax applicators, nail varnish, and massage oil.

  ‘You’re quiet. What’s up?’ he said.

  ‘I’m not pregnant.’ I pulled a face at him.

  He looked at me, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ‘It’s only been a month.’ He held his arms open and I stepped into them.

  ‘I know. But I was convinced I was pregnant because I was late. And those skinny jeans I bought last month were getting tight.’ Although that could be from scoffing too many chocolate Hobnobs. Since our corner shop had a special offer on at the moment of buy one packet get one free, I’d kind of overindulged a smidgen. In my defence, I’d like to say that I’d thought it was a food craving at the time and perfectly acceptable, instead of downright gluttonous.

  ‘It’s not going to happen overnight.’ Karl rested his chin on my head. ‘So what if it takes a few months? It’s not the end of the world. You’ll see, this time next year we’ll probably be celebrating Cecil’s first birthday.’

  ‘Cecil?’ I snorted, managing a smile. ‘We’re not calling our kid Cecil!’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right. Cuthbert is much better. Or Tarquin.’

  I gave him a playful punch to his arm. ‘Esmerelda.’

  ‘No way! Guinevere.’

  ‘Marlene,’ I giggled, then sighed into his shoulders. ‘OK, you’re right. So what if it takes a couple of months.’

  ‘That’s because I’m a man and we’re always right.’

  ‘Don’t push it.’

  ‘Anyway, we’re both young and healthy. Probably all you need to do is relax and stop thinking about it, and it will just happen.’

  ‘Well, that’s easier said than done,’ I huffed. ‘And what if something’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong! In fact, why don’t we get a quickie in now to prove it?’ He slid his warm hands up the back of my jumper, stroking his fingers up and down my spine.

  ‘Ooh, I like your style!’ I said as his fingers probed the underneath of my bra, and our clothes were suddenly a jumble on the floor. ‘Wait!’ I pulled apart before things got too heated. ‘We need to do it where I can put my legs comfortably in the air afterwards.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Well, I was talking to Amelia the other day and she told me her sister said you need to stick your legs in the air after sex so that the sperm has a better chance of swimming up your fallopian tubes.’

  ‘You’re going to do a handstand after we have sex?’ he chuckled. ‘Kinky! That puts a new slant on bedroom acrobatics.’

  ‘And no oral sex anymore,’ I said, pulling a disappointed face.

  ‘For me or you?’

  ‘Me. Apparently saliva can negatively affect sperm.’ I tilted my head, thinking. ‘On second thought, maybe you shouldn’t have any, either, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘Damn.’

  ‘Double damn.’

  ****

  But deep down I couldn’t shake the sneaking suspicion something wasn’t all it was meant to be in fertility land. I knew the instructions on the pill said to always use additional contraception until you
started your next month’s dose if you were sick, had the squits, or accidentally missed one. In fifteen years, I’d had food poising several times (with both projectile vomiting and squits involved – a double whammy), I’d missed a lot more than one dose of it in all that time, and one month I’d even missed a whole two weeks’ worth when Karl and I went on holiday and I forgot to pack them. And never once in all that time did I use a condom.

  For the next six months we were having so much sex I thought his willy might actually fall off from overuse. Lounge, kitchen, bedroom, hallway; plus an adventurous phase in empty fields and woods, which soon stopped when I ended up getting a tick on my bum. (That was highly embarrassing going to Accident and Emergency to get it removed, especially when the first doctor had never been faced with a bum-tick before and had to consult a plethora of doctors before I could finally get it extracted. And it was bloody painful!)

  The only trouble was, the more we had sex, the more my periods were getting further and further apart. Sometimes it would be every two months, sometimes four, so I didn’t have a clue when and if I was actually ovulating.

  There was only one thing for it: the Internet. Google became my new best friend. Every spare chance I got I was on there looking up fertility stuff. Some of it blew my mind...

  Cervical Mucus:

  Cervical mucus is a good indicator that ovulation is about to take place. In order to maximise your chances of getting pregnant, timing intercourse around ovulation is essential. Your mucus lets you predict your most fertile time.

  As you reach ovulation, your cervical mucus changes in consistency so that it is much more sperm-friendly. During your monthly cycle the mucus changes from dry and sticky, to creamy, to wet, to a raw egg white consistency, then back to dry and sticky again.

  When it reaches the raw egg white stage ovulation is approaching. This is the most productive time to have sex.

  You can check your mucus by inserting a clean finger into your vagina. If it is very wet and stretches between your fingers and resembles raw egg white, ovulation is just around the corner.

  What the fuck! How had I been walking around for thirty-three years with egg white up my fufu and never even noticed? Did every other woman in the world know this secret except me?

  Basal Body Temperature:

  Charting your Basal Body Temperature can determine if you’ve been missing the ideal time to get pregnant. Examples of charts can be found on fertilityfriend.co.uk.

  Once you have a chart, you need to get a digital thermometer designed to measure your Basal Body Temperature.

  1) You need to take it at the same time every morning (give or take 30 mins).

  2) Very important! You need to take your temperature before you do anything else. You cannot walk around, sit up, drink, eat, talk. The minute you wake up, you need to put the thermometer in your mouth.

  3) Very important! You need at least 3-4 hours constant sleep before taking your temperature. If you’ve had interrupted sleep, or a late night, it may make the results inaccurate.

  4) Record your daily temperature on your chart.

  Ideally, you should record your temperature throughout your entire cycle.

  This method is a great way to see when and if you’re ovulating, but it doesn’t predict ovulation. Your BBT will only rise and remain higher after ovulation has taken place.

  Ideally, you should make love every other day around ovulation.

  OK, I got that. It kind of made sense. So all I needed was a thermometer and I was good to go.

  Ovulation Predictor Kit:

  There are only a few days in a woman’s cycle when she can conceive. Ovulation Predictor Kits are used in the same way as a pregnancy test and work by detecting the Luteinising Hormone levels in your urine. When ovulation approaches, the LH levels spike, which is called an LH surge. Approximately 24-36 hours after the surge, ovulation takes place.

  When you detect the surge, you will probably ovulate within 24 -48 hours. To maximise your chances of getting pregnant, you should ideally have sex within 24 hours of detection. Sperm can survive for 1-5 days, depending on conditions.

  Omigod, this was getting harder and harder. I didn’t know I only had two fertile days every cycle. How did anyone ever manage to get pregnant at that rate?

  Female Biology:

  When a woman is born, she has over 1 million eggs in her ovaries. By puberty, she’ll only have around 300,000 left. Only 300 of these will mature and be released during her reproductive years.

  Uh-oh, this is getting worse and worse. What was the point in having 1 million eggs when you’re born if you’re not going to use them then? How stupid was that? It was like winning the lottery but never being able to spend the money until you reached ninety. I stared at the screen as a sliver of dread danced down my spine. The chances of getting pregnant were getting slimmer and slimmer. Had my ovaries already shrivelled up like a couple of dried old prunes?

  I switched the computer off then before I found out something even more depressing.

  ****

  In between a pedicure on Mrs Omeroyd, whose feet looked like pigs’ trotters, and a Brazilian wax on Stella, I rushed off to the chemist for supplies.

  I spent an hour perusing the different kits and thermometers. Was one better than the other? Should I get a more expensive kit? How many would I need? Worst case scenario, if my period was coming every four months, I’d use around sixty strips per cycle.

  I loaded up two boxes containing thirty per box and took everything to the checkout.

  I nearly had a heart attack when the checkout girl said, ‘Sixty pounds, please.’

  ‘What are they made of? Gold?’ I asked, handing over some crumpled notes. Still, I’d only need this lot. Now I had the tools to predict ovulation, I’d be pregnant in no time. Simple.

  Green Tea and Baggy Boxers

  I was shopping with my best friend Amelia in town just before Christmas, stocking up on last minute pressies, when I had my first proper freak-out moment about the lack of action on the baby front.

  The shopping centre was swarming with mothers and children. Toddlers, teenagers, babies, everywhere I looked. I swallowed down a hard lump in my throat and blinked back tears as I pretended to be interested in Body Shop gift sets for Karl, socks (again) for Dad, and a new broomstick for my snooty stepmum, Lavinia.

  Who cared about all that material stuff anymore? I knew what I wanted for Christmas, but it just wasn’t happening. If I heard “Little Drummer Boy” blasting out of the shops sound system, along with all the other crappy Christmas songs, I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions.

  And why had all these calendar shops sprung up in every available empty space? All I’d done for the last eight months was chart things on calendars – daily body temperature, possible ovulation dates, egg white, when my bastarding period arrived, and how long my cycle was. I didn’t need a bloody reminder, thanks very much! It was like fate was taunting me. What if I was in the same position this time next year?

  ‘So what happened at the doctor’s yesterday? Did you get the results of your blood tests?’ Amelia asked as she perused a boxed set of beers for her husband, Dan.

  ‘Yes.’ I nodded glumly.

  She glanced up with expectation, her hazel eyes fixing on mine. ‘Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Is it good or bad?’

  ‘Bad-ish.’ I exhaled a deep sigh. I’d been taking my basal body temperature for six months now, and it was up and down more times than the price of petrol. Along with my irregular periods, and blood tests on days four and twenty-one of my cycle to check my hormone levels, it all confirmed I had an ovulatory dysfunction. ‘I’m dysfunctional,’ I said.

  ‘Oh, Gina.’ She put the beer back on the display shelf and wrapped me in a hug. ‘But they can do something about it, right?’ She pulled back, searching my face for signs of good news.

  ‘I have to have some more tests done. A scan to see if I’ve got polycystic ovaries, and an HCG test to check if my fallopian
tubes are OK. Then they’re probably going to give me Clomid, which is some kind of drug to trigger ovulation.’

  ‘And what’s the success rate with it?’

  ‘Apparently it can start ovulation in about eighty percent of women, and about forty percent of women get pregnant within six months of treatment,’ I said.

  ‘Well that’s great, then.’

  I nodded again and sniffed. I’d always been a glass is half-full kind of girl, but now I was starting to doubt everything. What if I fell into the sixty percent category who didn’t get pregnant?

  In the distance, I spied a cute baby girl in a buggy, dressed up in a reindeer outfit, complete with a reindeer headband that had waggly antlers poking out on springs. Her cheeks were pink from the stifling heat of the shop. As she threw a stuffed teddy bear out of her pram, giggling at it, her mum looked down at her with such an expression of pure love I had a sudden stabbing pain in my chest. I had to get out of there.

  I pushed my way through the crowds to the entrance and leaned my back against the cold brick wall outside, taking deep gulps of air.

  Amelia appeared by my side within seconds, a crinkled frown on her face. ‘It will work. I know it will, Gina.’ She nodded so much her black bob escaped from being tucked behind her ears and fell forward, framing her face. ‘You just have to be positive and relax. Stop thinking about it so much.’

  Yes, but that was easy for everyone else to say. It was all right for her and Dan – they’d never wanted kids. They were perfectly happy together with no new additions to the family, instead doting on their three cats, and nieces and nephews that they were glad to “give back” to their parents at the end of the day. Why couldn’t I be like that? Well, actually that was the old me. I was always adamant I never wanted kids. If any of our friends got pregnant in the past, Amelia and I used to have smug conversations about all the things we’d rather do than have kids…