I'm not claiming to be an expert on anything related to in vitro fertilization, fertility, pregnancy, motherhood, or having a love life, career, or family. I just do a lot of research. I hope you enjoy!
The Beginning
She'd always wanted to be a mother, had always loved kids. She was pretty good with them, too; if Emergency Medicine hadn't been so appealing, so incredibly challenging and rewarding, she would have gone into pediatrics. Sometimes she regretted not choosing pediatrics, or at least not doing a fellowship; that way, she could fulfill her child caring quota without having to actually have them herself. At least, that's what she occasionally told herself when she was feeling particularly overwhelmed by her nonexistent work-life balance.
Kerry had chosen emergency medicine, though, and had put the dream of motherhood on hold all throughout medical school and residency; though she was married for a good chunk of that time, it never truly felt like a good time. Her husband hadn't been interested in having children, either, at least not yet. Little did he know that would end up being his only chance…
Mark Greene was the one who had reignited her desire to start a family. First, of course, it was simply seeing he and Elizabeth with Ella, seeing how happy they were and that light in their eyes. Then, it was his final sentiments to her: don't let your work become your life, Kerry. She'd gone home and thought long and hard after he told her that. Finally, it was his death. It had hit her harder than she'd thought it would. Of course, part of it was because of their friendship, even if it was buried under years of disagreements. But part of it was also how much of a wakeup call it had been. Mark had been thirty-eight years old when he'd died, only two years older than her, and something inside kept reminding her of all the things she would have died without accomplishing had it been her with the inoperable, untreatable brain tumor. At the top of that list was raising a child.
There were a lot of reasons that Sandy wasn't sure about their ability to raise a kid.
She knew that she and Kerry had very different childhood experiences. In addition to the obvious disparities that their nine year age difference imposed, her and Kerry's childhoods had very few similarities: Kerry was an only child of two white protestants while Sandy was one of five children in a Latino Catholic family; Kerry grew up all over the world, but Sandy had never lived outside of Chicago; Kerry read books, Sandy played sports; Kerry's parents were wealthy, well-educated, and radically democrat, a stark contrast to Sandy's working class, immigrant parents who had never even entertained the thought of voting blue since they became citizens.
And then, of course, there were the differences in who they were as adults. There were a lot of those. A lot. On a basic level, they were at pretty different places in their lives. With nearly ten years between them, they were at very different points in their careers: Kerry had been a senior physician at the hospital for over six years and had administrative experience while Sandy was still moving up in the ranks at the fire department. Less superficially, their personalities were relatively different. For instance, Kerry had a hard time getting things off her chest: she bundled everything up and tucked it away in a faraway corner of her mind, then let the troubles and annoyances in her life build up until it either exploded or imploded. Sandy, on the other hand, was straightforward: if something bugged her, she'd tell you right then and there. That difference had always been the hangnail of their relationship, and Sandy wasn't sure how it'd translate to them raising a child together.
Of course, they shared a lot of similarities, too. Just as Sandy had told Kerry after that other ER doc, Mark Greene, died: the two of them spent their days putting out the fires, the problems, that were constantly threatening to consume other people. Sandy did it physically, combatting flames and pulling kids and moms and dads from burning buildings and all of that, while Kerry took a little less literal but just as important approach. That's what made them so compatible, Sandy thought: their undeniable need to help others, their shared thirst to right all of the wrongs, the high they got when they saved a life. Those were the things that were the most basic part of their individual identities—way down on a molecular level—and that was why they understood each other so well.
So while the differences in both who they were and how they were raised scared the shit out of Sandy when they first started talking about having a kid, she also knew that they had in common the one thing that made she and Kerry who they were; that passion, that healer-and-rescuer's complex, was what would make them good parents.
Sandy was sure of it.
"And you'll be able to handle the extra weight? With your hip?" Sandy asked comfortably. She and Kerry were sitting across from each other on the living room couch, both dressed in as few clothes as possible while still being presentable enough to meet the take-out guy from their favorite Chinese restaurant; despite it still being early May and nine o'clock at night, it was disgustingly hot. Even Wrigley, the mutt that was formerly known as Stinky and always had a surplus of energy, was lounging exhaustedly on a nearby chair.
That morning as they lay in bed, Kerry brought up the topic of having a baby. It wasn't the first time it'd come up in conversation, but that morning had been the first time Kerry had really sounded serious about it. Obviously they couldn't really discuss the idea that morning, with them both having to get ready for their shifts, but Sandy had been thinking about it all day and had composed a mental list of the many questions and concerns. She'd already asked the how and when, confirmed the who, and didn't consider herself dense enough to not have a pretty firm understanding of the why. Now, she was getting down to the finer details.
"Well, it's definitely not going to be comfortable," Kerry began matter-of-factly, "and it's something I'll have to be careful about, but I don't see why it should stop me. Stop us. No pain no gain, right?"
Sandy's mouth tipped downward, "I don't want you to be in pain, Ker…"
"Some people live in pain, Sandy." Her words held no bitterness, anger, or self-pity. Sandy admired that. She always had and she was pretty sure she always would. "But if it does get to be too much, especially in the third trimester, I could I have an injection of cortisone."
Sandy nodded in satisfaction. She knew that Kerry understood her body better than she ever could, that even though it appeared to Sandy that she sometimes pushed herself too far and did too much, Kerry was the only one who could decide when enough was enough. It was just a matter of Kerry's perception of 'too much'…"And you'd think about taking it easy at work?"
Kerry's elegant eyebrows furrowed, her blue eyes narrowing at her wife. "Would you take it easy at work?" She replied, her tone not exactly malicious but noticeably more icy than it had been just moments ago.
"No, I wouldn't. That's why I'm not carrying it." Sandy was by no means angry, but she was a little annoyed with Kerry's defensive, knee-jerk reaction. God forbid the woman take a few less shifts when she's nine months pregnant… "I just want you to be healthy and comfortable and happy. You can't overdo it. At least not when you're pregnant."
Kerry kept her eyes narrowed at Sandy for a long moment before she relaxed and sighed audibly. "I know, and you're right. I just don't want…I don't want to be helpless, or seem handicapped. I've worked with enough pregnant doctors to know that, once that cat is out of the bag, everyone starts treating you a little differently. The nurses are the worst, of course. And it's not as if anyone really treats me like that now, but I'm just afraid that I'll suddenly be seen as this doubly fragile china doll. I don't want to do anything to perpetuate that."
Sandy considered what Kerry had told her; the psyche of the disabled doctor was one of the most messed up, convoluted, and confusing things she'd ever been exposed to. "They respect you, Kerry. Everyone respects you. That's why they treat you just like they would every other able bodied doctor." Sandy said, placing her hand on top of Kerry's where it rested on the back of the couch. Suddenly, there was a loud knock at the door. She gave Kerry's hand a squeeze then stood up. "They respect you now and I don't think anything, not even being pregnant, is going to change that."
Dr. Rydell's a dyke, Sandy insisted after the tall doctor with a salt-and-pepper crew cut left the examination room.
Kerry chuckled. Her gaydar had gone off when she'd first met the fertility specialist, too, but she figured it had just been the hair; though she'd been lucky to get it right with Sandy, her ability to detect lesbians within a five foot radius stemmed solely from her ability to discern short hair from long. Not exactly scientific—or even really logical—considering the fact that the two women she had been involved with had both had long, thick curls.
The couple was attending the fourth and final appointment they had to have before beginning the process of in vitro fertilization. Kerry had gone to the first three by herself, figuring it was pointless for Sandy to come watch her do something like get blood drawn or have a pelvic exam, especially when Kerry could schedule them to be right before, after, or during a shift.
The nature of this appointment, however, necessitated that they both be present. Today was the day that determined whether or not they could—physically and emotionally—proceed with the IVF treatments and attempt to conceive.
Kerry had released an enormous sigh of relief when Dr. Rydell said they could go ahead. She'd tried not to tear up, but for weeks she'd been entertaining the thought of not being able to proceed with it, and the news felt like a huge weight off her shoulders, so the tears fell. Of course, she thought after the initial relief had washed over her, they weren't pregnant yet. She knew, and Dr. Rydell reminded them, that the road they had ahead of them was going to be long, emotionally exhausting, and physically taxing.
Kerry turned to Sandy, Sandy grabbed her hand, and they both nodded.
They could handle it.
"Isn't that going to hurt?" Sandy asked, eyeing with concern the syringe in Kerry's hand.
Kerry looked at the syringe herself; she held these things every day but had never used one to inject herself. She shrugged, "It's not going into your stomach."
Lounging on their shared bed, Sandy shuddered, "That's still a damn big needle…"
Kerry chuckled. "It really isn't; this is a subcutaneous injection, so the syringe is only 31 gauge; considerably smaller than one used for an intramuscular injection, which tend to be between 22 and 25 gauge." She looked up from the syringe, "That's what I'll use for the hCG and progesterone."
"Your stomach is going to look like a pin cushion when this is all over…"
"And my hip;" Kerry remarked, "The hCG and progesterone go into the hip muscle."
"You mean your ass?"
"One and the same."
"That should be a good time…" Sandy responded, her voice coated lightly in sarcasm. She watched Kerry intently—the redhead was still standing in the middle of their bedroom, staring at the clear syringe cradled in her hand. "Are you going to use that or just stare at it?" Sandy teased. She didn't want to push, but she also wasn't sure how much longer Kerry could just stand there like that.
Kerry glanced up. "Do you want to do it?" She asked timidly, holding out the syringe.
"No, not really…" Sandy admitted, shaking her head. "Do you want me to do it?"
Kerry's head fell to the side as she considered it. "Uh, no, probably not."
Sandy scooted over so she was sitting on the edge of the bed across from where Kerry was standing. Their gazes connected for a long moment, blue eyes piercing brown ones. Even without speaking Sandy knew that it wasn't the actual needle that Kerry was afraid of, nor was it the substance that the syringe held. Rather, it was the implications of inserting that needle and pushing the drugs, how that action was going to influence their lives, that was making Kerry hesitate.
"We're going to have the best kid ever, Ker." Sandy said, rising from the bed to stand directly in front of Kerry. "The smartest, cutest, funniest, greatest kid. And we're going to be great parents."
Releasing a deep breath, Kerry nodded, encouraged by her partner's words. Still, she didn't make any move to inject herself.
Sandy stepped forward, now standing close enough for Kerry to be able to feel her warm breath on her face. "The sooner you do it, the sooner we can get into bed."
"Into bed? It's only lunchtime…" Kerry asked naively. After a moment, her eyes widened and a sly smile graced her lips, "Oh, into bed."
"These next few months are the last time we'll be able to have sex whenever we want, ya know?" Sandy explained, her voice low.
Kerry gave her a small smile. "Well if that's not incentive I don't know what is…" She let her lips connect to Sandy's only for a quick second before she stepped back towards their en suite bathroom. Quickly, she cleaned her skin with an alcohol swab and, with one more look at Sandy, emptied the syringe of Lupron, a hormone suppressant, into her stomach.
Kerry worked throughout the beginning of the IVF cycle. It was impractical and unnecessary to take time off, especially considering the responsibilities she had to take over in light of Robert's recovery and the impending arrival of the new medical students. Sandy insisted that she should take it easy, that she should cut back on her shifts and have someone else pick up Roman's slack, but Kerry couldn't—didn't want to—do that. She didn't need to, either.
So, Kerry worked. She continued to pull her regular shifts and cover Romano's meetings and administrative responsibilities throughout the first, three week round of hormones. At first she was worried about keeping it all on the down-low, not letting anyone in on her secret, but it didn't turn out to be as difficult as she'd imagined. Really, all she had to do was slip away from whatever she was doing for a few minutes between eleven and twelve every afternoon, duck into the restroom, give herself a quick injection, and then she was right back in the thick of it. No one noticed anything was off, or if they did they certainly didn't say anything.
Those three weeks went by quickly; most of the time, Kerry felt no different than she had the month before. That all changed, however, when the time to tackle the next step of IVF came.
"Hey, sleepyhead…"
Kerry blinked a few times, taking in her surroundings as best she could without her glasses on. She soon realized where she was and why she felt like she'd been punched repeatedly in the stomach. Egg retrieval. "Hi…" her voice was raspy and throat was dry from the time spent anesthetized. "How many did they get?"
Sandy smiled, tapping the top of Kerry's hand. The number seven was written in purple sharpie.
Kerry grinned sleepily; it wasn't an excessive amount, but it was better than nothing. It was hope. It was a start.
Kerry sighed. It was only 11 A.M. and she'd already finished her five newest medical journals and that day's Sun-Times. Now, she was watching that ridiculous talk show with a deep sense of disdain accumulating in her chest. God, she thought after a few minutes, these women are terrors. Still, she had to admit she kind of appreciated the light, fruitless things they were talking about; it was a nice break from real life.
Her abdomen still ached. She'd been told and had read that the egg retrieval was typically the most uncomfortable part of IVF, but she hadn't known the discomfort was going to last more than a couple days. Now, three days post-retrieval, she felt nearly as horrible as she had when she woke up from anesthesia.
Kerry was simultaneously watching some Latino actor's interview and allowing her mind to wander when Sandy ambled in. Kerry had woken up at eight that morning but had allowed Sandy to sleep in; the firefighter had worked the second half of a twenty-four the day before and was exhausted. So instead of waking her, Kerry had carefully slipped out of bed and into the living room to relax with Wrigley, a cup of tea, and her medical journals. Now, as her wife approached, Kerry could smell the rich vanilla scent emanating from her hair. She smiled reflexively; that soft, warm smell had become her favorite.
"Really, Kerr? You're watching this crap?" Sandy asked, leaning over her partner. "You must really feel bad."
Kerry tilted her chin up so she was looking at Sandy's face upside down. "Mm…you smell so good."
Sandy kissed the crown of Kerry's head before coming around to sit on the coffee table. "How are you feeling?" Her voice was piqued with concern.
"Better," Kerry shifted as she answered. She instantly regretted the movement as a sharp pain tore through the center of her lower abdomen. She drew in a sharp breath, alarming Sandy.
"What can I do?"
Kerry smirked, "Tell my ovaries to get control of themselves? And maybe refill this…" Kerry said, gesturing toward the empty 'Chicago Fired Department' mug that sat on the coffee table next to Sandy.
The brunette nodded. Much to her and Kerry's dismay, she couldn't control Kerry's ovaries. She could, however, get her some more tea.
When Sandy returned with the mug and a plate of dry toast, she set both on the coffee table and reclaimed her seat on the wooden surface. "Can I do anything else?"
Kerry started to shake her head—there really wasn't much either of them could do, given the nature of the beast. It was just a matter of waiting it out; waiting for the eggs to be mature enough to transfer back into her body, waiting to find out if any of them take, waiting for the confirmative blood test and ultrasound, waiting...Thinking better of it, Kerry stopped shaking her head and instead scooted over so Sandy could sit in between her and the arm of the couch. Once Sandy was next to her, Kerry placed a pillow in the other woman's lap then lowered her head and torso until she was horizontal to the couch and her head was resting comfortably on her partner's thighs. Sandy immediately understood what they were doing and relaxed into the couch, putting her feet up on the coffee table.
"Good?" Sandy asked, her voice soft.
Kerry nodded into the throw pillow. She was still felt like shit, but Sandy made it considerably more bearable. "Thank you."
Raking her fingers gently through Kerry's hair, Sandy smiled, "Anytime."
The pain abated on the fourth day and, coincidentally, the waiting ceased as well. Dr. Rydell's office called at 8 o'clock that morning, requesting the couple to come in that afternoon. The eggs were fertilized, mature, and ready to be transferred. It was go time.
"Everyone says these two weeks are the worst…" Kerry said to Sandy. She'd just had one fertilized egg transferred back into her body, the Valium had worn off, and the couple was in Sandy's car heading back to their apartment.
"'Everyone?' Who's 'everyone?'" Sandy asked—the five days after the eggs had been collected had seemed pretty bad to her and she wasn't looking forward to it getting 'worse.'
Kerry shrugged. "Books, the internet, pamphlets…you know. It's not bad physically, just mentally. A lot of waiting and worrying." Kerry sighed. "It's a good thing I'm going back to work. I think I'd go crazy if I had to stay home any longer."
Sandy nodded silently; she could tell, just from Kerry's tone, that she was more worried than she was letting on to be. Sandy was worried, too, but she figured that it was probably a different feeling when it was actually your body that the pregnancy depended on. If, God forbid, it didn't work, it would be Kerry that would feel the full trauma—physically and emotionally—of the failure. Of course Sandy would be upset—she wanted this baby just as much as Kerry did—but it would be different. It was different.
"Hey, Kerry—feeling better?"
"John, hi." Kerry momentarily turned from her locker to face John Carter then turned back, grabbing her stethoscope and double-checking the contents of her pockets. "I am, thanks." She couldn't lie to John's face.
"I don't remember the last time you were out sick—guess it caught up with you, huh?"
"Guess so…" Kerry nodded "How have things held up around here?"
The senior resident shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. "It's been hectic—too many GSWs, not enough staff, but no bioterrorism scares." John joked, "It's been a typical summer week. Glad you're back."
"Me too," Kerry nodded, closing her locker and heading out the lounge door. Over her shoulder, she called out one last thought, "And John, it wasn't bioterrorism!"
The young doctor waved off his boss' comment with a wry smile as he headed for the bay doors, "Yeah, yeah…"
The two weeks were, as promised, difficult. Kerry found herself keeping track of every move she made, everything she ate and drank, how much sleep she was getting and how much she was working. The only times she truly forgot about what was (hopefully) occurring inside her body was when she was either asleep or was in the midst of a trauma. Other than that, it was constantly on her mind. Constantly.
"You know that I love you no matter what, right?" Sandy asked quietly, placing her hand over Kerry's where it rested on the arm of the chair. They were sitting in front of Dr. Rydell's desk, waiting for the results of the blood test. Sandy knew that one of the biggest challenges Kerry had faced throughout her life was the need to succeed, to be the best. Kerry had mentioned that it probably stemmed from having been given up for adoption as a baby; the idea of not being good enough had been planted in her head when she was just a little a girl and, no matter what anyone said or what she accomplished, she was constantly trying to make up for it.
Kerry nodded, not trusting herself to speak without a shaking voice. She was terrified. Terrified that her body had betrayed her, that she hadn't taken it easy enough over the past two weeks, that she wasn't good enough…
The real question was, they both knew, if Kerry could still love herself…