Fifteen minutes later, out of breath from running and with a sweat glistening on her brow, Shelagh arrived at Patrick's clinic in the maternity home. The waiting room was empty, and her husband's office door was ajar. She breathed in, composed herself, and knocked on his door. Patrick opened the door immediately. Shelagh instantly noticed a tired, strained look across his face, as though he had been up late into the night. She opened her mouth to apologise for her lateness, but he began first.
"Good morning Mrs. Turner" he said in the same tone to which he addressed his patients "I wasn't expecting you so soon."
Shelagh stared at her husband with a look of confusion. "What do you mean Patrick, I overslept, I'm late, I'm…"
"Tired, hormonal and hung over" Patrick finished her sentence for her "And out of breath too, you shouldn't have run, you know you need to be gentle with your lungs."
Shelagh's cheeks blushed a deep scarlet and her eyes dropped to the floor, not daring to look at her husband, who she could sense was examining her with his piercing eyes she usually could not stop looking at. After a moment she said "Why didn't you wake me?"
Patrick suddenly dropped his doctoral manner and placed his arms round her waist, resting a hand on her lower back. She flinched slightly. Not only was she still feeling delicate there, but also, since her diagnosis, she had found being intimate with Patrick more difficult.
"I didn't wake you, my dear, because I saw the state which you came home in last night."
Shelagh suddenly pulled away from his grasp. She backed several paces across the room, stopping only after colliding with the corner of the desk. Wincing with the pain, she looked fearfully up at Patrick, expecting to see rage and shame in her husband's eyes. "I'm sor…" she began, but saw a beaming smirk appear across Patrick's face, which suddenly gave away into a mighty guffaw. Shelagh did not know what to say or do. What on earth had happened last night? "Patrick" she begged "Please…tell me…what…what happ…what is so funny?" She felt tears' welling up at the corners of her eyes, though she could not tell which emotion was causing them.
Patrick composed himself, biting his bottom lip to try and prevent himself giggling like the young midwifes did. "I haven't seen anyone come home in that state since my first year at medical school, after Simon Matheson tried to convince us that he could drink a whole keg of beer in one night. He managed 12 pints before falling off his chair into the bust of the landlady and it took four of us to carry him back to our digs. He was so out of it that it took us an hour to get him up to the top floor and into bed. He slept until 6 the next evening, and looked completely out of it for two days!"
Shelagh blushed a deeper shade of crimson. "You sat up waiting for me? What time did I get home?"
"The five of you arrived at about 1 am"
"The five of us?"
Patrick nodded.
"What happened to me last night?" she nervously inquired "Did I fall off my chair and have to be carried home?"
"You didn't fall off your chair, no" Patrick responded, moving towards her to take her hand "But the girls did have to carry you home, and then I carried you up to bed." Shelagh didn't dare look at him.
"Trixie and Jenny said that you all had a good time, perhaps just a few too many cocktails."
He paused "Were they nice, the cocktails?"
"Yes, very" she said almost too quickly "Well, they were very um…different to the Horlicks and tea that I'm used to drinking with the girls."
"Well that's alright then, I'm glad that you had a good evening"
"But, aren't you cross with me?" she said, desperately looking for some reassurance "For getting…" She paused "Drunk" She shuddered at the sound of the word leaving her mouth. "For being late?"
"No I'm not" Patrick replied, stroking the back of her hand "It's been a quiet morning so I've managed, before you start worrying about that." He eyes met hers and he smiled. "And anyway, who am I to lecture anyone on being late?" A weight was lifted from Shelagh's shoulders, he wasn't angry with her. Another thought then crossed her mind.
"Patrick, you said I was tired, hung over and…" she steadied herself "Hormonal. How?"
"I'm a doctor"
"But…"
"Oh and Cynthia said, you were, a little emotional last night. In vino veritas?"
"I don't remember." She sucked her bottom lip for a moment. "Patrick."
"Yes."
"I'm having a cycle, the first one since…"
A small smile crept across Patrick's face. Shelagh continued.
"Does this mean that?" her voice broke off. Her eyes widened and her bottom lip trembled very slightly.
"It means that you may be ovulating again" Patrick said, readopting his bedside manner "It is possible, but not certain."
"Is there a way to be certain?"
"We could always, try, to find out."
Shelagh looked at him with the same coy shyness that she used to look at him when he showed any affection before they married. Patrick suddenly realised that he had overstepped the mark.
"Only if you want to, if you're not ready"
Since the diagnosis, Patrick had become acutely aware that Shelagh was not herself. Throughout their marriage he had never forced her to do anything in bed which he did not want to, and although she was not always forward in instigating their love making, she had always been willing to accept his advances. Until now though. A week or so after the operation, he had wrapped his arms round her one night and she pulled right way, nearly falling out of bed in the process. "Not yet Patrick" she had told him. They had not made love since. Even out of the bedroom, she had been noticeably uncomfortable in his arms, and her kisses were not the same.
"Patrick, I'm sorry I haven't made love with you for so long." Her voice began to tremble again. "The possibility of infertility made me feel like the act was wrong."
"How could it be wrong?" Patrick said, taking both of his wife's hands. "I have never felt anything so right."
"God gave us this, this, activity, to make children. Without the possibility of children, I felt guilty for enjoying being with you. I have spent many hours in prayer trying to reconcile myself"
Tears began rolling down Shelagh's pale cheeks. Patrick brushed them aside with the back of his hand.
"I want to find out, I want a baby with you more than anything else in the world, but I'm not ready to try again yet."
"I would never make you do anything that would hurt you or make you uncomfortable" Patrick said, moving his hands from hers to her elbows. "I couldn't even undress you last night in case it upset you when you found out." He paused. "We won't just yet then. We can see how your cycles go, and if all is well and when you are ready, we can try again."
Shelagh looked at Patrick with the most warmth and affection that she had felt in a very long time. What had she done to deserve to be married to such a wonderful, caring, thoughtful and compassionate man?
"I would like that" she murmured and gently snuggled herself into him. He held her softly, placing delicate kisses into her hair.
"Now then, how is that hangover Mrs Turner?" he said cheekily.
"Horrendous" she giggled back.
"I'll make some coffee and get you some cold water, are you sure you are in a fit state to work this afternoon?"
"I'll be quite alright Dr Turner"
He kissed her forehead and then rubbed her abdomen. A wave of flutters radiated from the pit of her stomach. He left the office to make the coffee and a smile beamed across her face. "I love you Patrick Turner" she thought.
