My greatest dream

Clutching my husband’s hand tightly, we followed Dr. Rosen into his office. “Please, have a seat.”

I took the chair closest to the door, scooting to the edge. Searching the doctor’s face, I tried to guess what he was going to tell us. My heart fluttered in my throat. Adam squeezed my hand, drawing my attention to him. He looked as tense as I felt.

After two years of charting and pregnancy tests that were always, painfully negative, we’d sought a specialist. He’d told us IVF was our best shot.

For the last month I’d endured all manner of things. A surgery to remove a polyp, two and then three shots a day, another surgery to retrieve a disappointing three eggs, and then weeks of waiting to find out… Would we get our dream?

It all led to this moment.

I’d tried so hard not to hope. Tried so hard not to dream. But stuck firmly in my mind was an image: a small hand fisted around my finger, a red and wrinkly baby at my breast. I’d even started looking at the baby name sites. Daniel for a boy, Amelia for a girl. We’d call her Millie.

A smile tugged at me and my heart tried to rise, to soar.

The doctor’s words brought me back to the here and now. “Molly, I’m sorry but the embryos didn’t take. You aren’t pregnant. We can try-“

I stopped listening. My heart plummeted and my sinuses stung as I fought against tears. Heart heavy, I clutched at my abdomen, the barren and empty space that ached to be filled.

A tissue pressed into my hand and my husband’s arms went around me. I gave up. Burying my head in his shoulder, I cried over the death of my dream.