Chapter 61

Dr. Weissman’s nurse called four days later.

“Am I pregnant?” I asked on the telephone, failing to hide my excitement.

I couldn’t sit still waiting for the answer. I still hadn’t gotten my period. I must have been pregnant.

“Dr. Weissman set up an appointment today to give you the results of the tests,” the nurse said. “Can you be here at one-thirty?”

“Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”

There was a moment of silence before the nurse said, “I’m sorry, but he needs to give you the results in person.”

“Okay, I’ll be there. One-thirty. I’ll be there.”

When I hung up, I was not happy. It was a simple yes or no answer. Why did I have to go to his office? He probably just wanted to charge me for another visit. No, not Dr. Weissman. I had been going to him for years and my mother even longer. Uh oh. Maybe there was something wrong with the baby growing inside my body.

I could hardly eat any lunch worrying about my pregnancy. I picked at the food. I was nauseous. Nauseous? Pregnant women were nauseous.

I took the bus to Dr. Weissman’s office and sat in the waiting room looking at all the pregnant women. I passed the time trying to guess how many months pregnant they were. Also, looking at one at a time, I wondered how they performed in bed. Did they like sex like me and fuck their husbands with passion, or did they just lie in bed and let their husbands get them pregnant? The latter was how I had always envisioned my mother in bed.

“Mrs. Nimo, the doctor will see you now.”

I turned toward the voice and looked at the receptionist who had called my name. She gave me a weak smile and went back to doing whatever she had been doing with the papers on her desk. I got up and went into the doctor’s office. Dr. Weissman looked the same as always, except he had a different tie on. He may have been a good doctor, but he had lousy taste in ties. This one was uglier than the last one. It was covered in penguins.

Dr. Weissman’s eyes were on me as I entered. “Julie, please sit down.”

I did.

“The tests came back,” Dr. Weissman said.

“Am I pregnant!”

“I’m sorry, but you’re not.”

My shoulders slumped. “Couldn’t you have told me that on the phone?”

“We did other tests as well,” Dr. Weissman said. “It’s something I wanted to do years ago, but your mother said no.”

“What kind of tests?”

Dr. Weissman hesitated. He placed his clasped hands on his desk. It looked like he was squeezing them.

“I was always concerned about your menstrual cycle,” Dr. Weissman said. “Now I know why your periods are not regular. You have something called polycystic ovarian syndrome or PCOS.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a hormonal imbalance caused by the ovaries. It’s why your periods are not regular.”

“So my periods aren’t regular. Now I know why. Big deal. But why aren’t I pregnant? My husband and I have a lot of sex and he doesn’t use a rubber. I should be pregnant by now.”

“There’s something called anovulation. It’s when an egg doesn’t release from your ovary during your menstrual cycle. You need an egg to have a pregnancy. If you have PCOS, your ovaries produce unusually high levels of hormones called androgens. This causes your reproductive hormones to become imbalanced. People with PCOS often have erratic menstrual cycles, missed periods, and unpredictable ovulation. Chronic anovulation is a common cause of infertility.

I had never liked Science in school. I liked English, some History, the romantic parts, and Home Economics, but not Science. So I wasn’t really listening to the technical jargon and didn’t try to understand it. But one word stuck in my brain.

“I’m infertile?”

“Yes,” Dr. Weissman said.

“I can’t get pregnant?”

“I’m sorry. No.”

“But I want children.”

“You can adopt.”

“I want my own.”

Dr. Weissman placed his elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his clasped hands. He stared at me. I saw the pain in his eyes. I should have told him that I understood so that he wouldn’t have to say anything more, but I didn’t understand. So I just stared back through watery eyes.

“That’s not possible. Not with your PCOS. I’m sorry.”

He waited for me to say something, but I sat there staring at him, immobilized by shock, and grief.

“Talk to your husband about it,” Dr. Weissman said. “Discuss what your next step will be. But adoption is your only choice if you want children.”

With slumped shoulders and head hung, I trudged out of Dr. Weissman’s office. I didn’t walk to the bus stop. I wandered aimlessly without thinking about anything other than my infertility. That I couldn’t have children. My world had imploded. The life I had dreamed of was gone. I walked through the streets, bumping into people I didn’t see.

Tires screeched.

A horn blasted.

I looked up. I was in the middle of the road, the bumper of a work truck inches from my thigh. The driver was screaming. I shook my head to clear it and rushed to the sidewalk. The driver gave me one last honk and the finger before speeding away.

I looked around. Got my bearings. I recognized the movie theater not far from my apartment. I walked the rest of the way home.

When I entered the lobby of my apartment building, Kirk’s back was to me. He was waiting for the elevator. I walked up to him and stood at his side. He turned, recognized me, and smiled.

“No groceries so you must have gone out for some fun,” he said.

“Huh?”

“You’re not pulling your groceries behind you so you didn’t go grocery shopping. That’s when I usually run into you. But no groceries so you must have gone out to have some fun. Did you?”

Fun? I had just been told the worst news of my life. Tears formed in my eyes and my bottom lip quivered. I couldn’t talk.

The smile on Kirk’s face evaporated. “Julie, what’s wrong?”

The tears streamed down my cheeks. Kirk pulled my head to his chest and held it there. I sobbed, wetting his shirt. The elevator dinged, notifying us of its arrival. The doors opened and a workman carrying a toolbox waited. When we didn’t move out of the way, he stepped around us. Actually, shoved us as he passed. As he left the building, he glared at us over his shoulder.

Kirk pulled me into the elevator and pressed the button for our floor. The elevator lurched. I lost my balance so Kirk caught me. I cried into his chest all the way to the sixth floor. He then guided my almost comatose body to my apartment door.

“Should I come in?” Kirk asked.

I shook my head and searched inside my pocketbook for the keys. Kirk waited in silence and then snatched my bag from me. He looked inside, shoved the contents around, and came out with my keys. He didn’t ask. He used the key to open my door. He dropped the keys back into my pocketbook and held it out to me. I took it without saying anything, without thinking.

“Is everything okay?” Kirk asked.

Everything was not okay. I would never have children. My life was shattered. A part of my future had been ripped from my soul. I didn’t answer. I walked past Kirk and headed directly for my bedroom. I was almost there when the door closed. My pocketbook slipped from my fingers as I dived onto the bed, sprawled out with my feet dangling over the side.