Will and I had been married for almost three months when Will raised the idea of us making a baby. In typical Will fashion, he brought the topic up unexpectedly and in a tone of casual sarcasm that disguised the actual gravity of the subject and masked the deep thinking that had preceded it.
It was Treen that started it, actually, and quite without meaning to. She'd been late getting in from dinner with a new bloke she'd met online. It seemed to have been more successful than her typical night out, from which she usually returned earlier and less optimistic than this. While she'd been out, Will and I had been happily minding Thomas, who was sound asleep by the time Treen flounced in. I'd teased her a bit about what she, a young single mother, was thinking being out so late and Treen, being in excellent humor, had responded by sticking her tongue out at me and practically dancing upstairs. Once she was out of earshot, Will had joked about how if she kept this up, she'd be up the pole again. We'd had a good laugh at that; at least at first we had, but then Will had gone rather serious and started to look a bit wistful. When I asked him what was wrong, he said something about how that was not necessarily a bad thing, being up the pole. And then he'd smiled, a smile that was both very happy and also rather sad, and he'd said, "Sounds rather grand, actually, don't you think, Clark?"
We'd made our way to bed soon after and had not spoken any more about it. Later though, as I lay awake, listening to Will's steady breathing and feeling thankful for it, I got to thinking about what he had said. And about how much I loved Will Traynor, and how wonderful it was to be married to him. Then I started thinking about how much fun Will and I had when we were minding Thomas. One thing led to the next and then I was not only thinking about those things, but about what Will had said and, more importantly, about how he'd said it. And the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. So…I did some research.
And I found that, yes, quads can father children and, even with Will's injury, it was possible; it would not be easy, but we could do it. Or at least, there was a chance we could. There were some obstacles in the way, obviously, but it was possible. The traditional way was unlikely to work, and even IVF was a long shot because, as I learned, Will's injury made it quite likely that his sperm would always have low motility, which made it very difficult for them to fertilize an egg. I could go on with the various details and potential problems, but rather than bore you with the details, let us just say that our best option was something called "Intracytoplasmic Sperm Injection," ICSI for short.
Not knowing how to broach this subject with Will, and worrying about how he might respond to it, I spent the better part of the next couple of weeks agonizing over a variety of plans for bringing it up; everything from preparing a special candlelight dinner to presenting him with a neatly organized folder of information printed off the internet. To say that I was relieved when Nate raised the subject for me is an absurd understatement.
We were sitting in the garden, Will in his chair, me beside him on the bench, with Nate sitting on the ground before us. We'd finished lunch and Nate was telling us a funny story about the weekend he'd spent with his sister and her rather large brood of children when he just casually asked us, as if it was a completely normal question he was asking of an absolutely typical couple, "Now that you're legal, do you two ever think about churning out a rugrat or two?"
It was a good thing I'd finished my meal, because I almost choked on my tongue when he said it, but Will just smiled (in a way that made me wonder when I thought back on it later if he had put Nate up to the question) and he said, "You know, Nathan, that's a fine idea. What do you say, Clark?" I stared at them both dumbly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response for what like a very long time, but then I managed to sputter, "Perhaps." They exchanged a look at this and both burst into laughter, which raised my temper and kick-started my ability to speak. I began by telling them both to shut it and then, when they did, I realized Will was serious. From there, our conversation got easier; in fact, it all just kind of, flowed. All the thoughts I'd been trying to figure out the best way of sharing all just tumbled out.
I told them about my research. Nate nodded and concurred that ICSI seemed like a good way to go, then he excused himself from the conversation with a polite ruse about having to go wash up the lunch dishes. Will agreed about the ICSI, casually revealing that he'd done some research as well and that he'd even gone so far as to have had some tests done and that, yes, this did indeed seem to be our best option. But, Will said, it was important we discuss it, because ICSI does carry an increased risk of birth defects and, perhaps, he said, we should consider a sperm donor. This was a great idea, I'm sure, for many couples, but not for us. I was emphatic about not wanting to go that route; this was something I wanted to try to do with Will, literally, so that was the only way I was even going to talk about it. Will seemed concerned, but at the same time, pleased. By the time Nathan rejoined the conversation, Will and I had our minds made up.
The doctors told us we had a fifty/fifty chance of conceiving, at best. The motility of Will's sperm, or more accurately, their lack of motility, concerned the doctors, as did Will's overall health; and, since I'd never conceived before, they advised running a battery of tests on me before attempting anything. Will and I took all of their advice into consideration and decided to move forward with the ICSI without the tests. Within two months, miraculously, I was pregnant.