Twelve weeks and some more had passed since Brett started taking Clomid. Santana had noticed a significant change in him. Everyone did. The once happy and calm Brett was now often short-tempered and snapping at people over minor issues.
Every time Santana tried to broach how he was feeling, Brett would quickly shut her down. His responses were curt and dismissive, and the warmth that had once characterized their conversations seemed to have dissipated. It only got worse after he came home from doing another sample. They were now waiting for the results, and the uncertainty was eating away at him. Santana had tried to reassure him, telling him repeatedly that it didn't matter what the results were because she loved him unconditionally. But it did matter to Brett. It mattered deeply.
Santana didn't know who to talk to about all of this. She felt isolated, unable to confide in her best friend. How could she tell Quinn that her brother had a medical issue and was facing infertility? It wasn't her secret to share, and yet the weight of it was becoming too much for her to bear alone.
One evening, after another tense dinner where Brett barely spoke and retreated to their bedroom right after eating, Santana sat on the couch, staring at the TV without seeing it. Her mind was swirling with worry and confusion. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her chest. She needed to do something, but what? How could she reach Brett when he had built such a high wall around himself?
As she sat there, the front door opened, and Brett walked in from the bedroom. He had changed into his workout clothes, his face set in a grim expression.
"I'm going for a run," he said shortly, not meeting her eyes.
"Brett, can we talk for a minute?" Santana asked, trying to keep her voice steady. "Not now, Santana" he replied, his tone sharp.
"Please, Brett" she pleaded. He turned to face her, his eyes flashing with frustration. "I said, not now" he snapped, and without another word, he walked out the door.
Santana felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She had to do something. She couldn't just sit back and watch as Brett spiraled further into himself.
The following evening ended in a raging argument. Santana had been preparing dinner when Brett walked in from work, looking more exhausted and defeated than usual. She tried to engage him in conversation, but his responses were curt and distant.
"What's wrong with you?" Santana finally snapped, frustration bubbling over. "I feel like I'm talking to a wall!"
"Maybe because I'm tired, Santana," Brett retorted, slamming his keys down on the kitchen counter. "I've had a long day."
"And you think I haven't?" she shot back, her voice rising. "I'm tired of you shutting me out! We're supposed to be in this together, but it feels like you're a million miles away!"
"I'm doing my best, okay?" Brett shouted, his face flushing with anger. "But it's hard when I feel like a failure every single day!" Santana's eyes blazed with fury. "You think you're the only one struggling? Newsflash, Brett, we're both in this mess! But at least I'm trying to keep us together!"
Before Brett could respond, Santana grabbed her wine glass and threw its contents over him, the red liquid splashing across his clean white shirt. "If you step one foot in that bedroom tonight, I will chop your dick off" she screamed, slamming the bedroom door shut behind her.
Brett stood there, stunned and soaked, his mind reeling from the intensity of their fight. Moments later, the bedroom door flew open again, and Santana stormed out, throwing his pillow at him. "Sleep on the couch!" she yelled, her voice breaking.
The next morning, they both arrived separately from work at Dr. Greene's office for Brett's follow-up appointment. The atmosphere was icy, the tension visible. Brett quietly said, "Hey," but Santana ignored him, muttering "asshole" under her breath. Thankfully, Dr. Greene called them in, breaking the awkward silence.
"Good to see you both," Dr. Greene began, her tone professional yet warm. She gestured for them to sit. "Let's review Brett's latest results."
Brett and Santana sat down, their eyes avoiding each other. Dr. Greene flipped through Brett's file and looked up with a measured expression. "There's a slight increase in motility," she said, looking at Brett. "It's a positive sign. I recommend you continue with the medication."
Brett nodded, but his mind was elsewhere, still replaying the fight from the previous night. Dr. Greene then handed them both a packet of information. "I think it's time we look at IVF," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Santana, this will be a tougher journey for you. Ovarian stimulation is an intense process, and your body will be pushed hard."
Santana finally looked up, her expression a mix of determination and fear. "What exactly does ovarian stimulation involve?" she asked.
Dr. Greene explained, "Ovarian stimulation involves daily hormone injections to encourage your ovaries to produce multiple eggs. We will monitor your progress with regular ultrasounds and blood tests. Once the eggs are mature, we'll retrieve them for fertilization."
Santana absorbed the information, her mind racing. She glanced at Brett, who was staring at the floor, his face a mask of worry and guilt. "And after that?" she asked, her voice steady but tinged with apprehension.
Dr. Greene continued, "After ovarian stimulation, we will proceed with oocyte retrieval. This is a minor surgical procedure where the mature eggs are collected from your ovaries. Brett will provide a semen sample, which we'll use for fertilization. Brett must continue with the lifestyle changes to improve the quality of the semen. Following fertilization, we will culture the embryos for a few days before transferring the best one or two embryos into your uterus. After the transfer, you'll need progesterone supplementation, which involves daily injections to support the uterine lining and increase the chances of implantation."
Santana nodded, taking in each step. "How long does this process usually take?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The entire IVF cycle, from the start of ovarian stimulation to embryo transfer, typically takes about six to eight weeks," Dr. Greene explained. "The success rate varies, but for women around your age, it can be as high as 40-50% per cycle. It's important to remember that multiple cycles may be needed to achieve a pregnancy."
Santana and Brett exchanged a glance, a silent communication passing between them. They both knew the weight of the decision ahead of them. Dr. Greene noticed the silent exchange and spoke softly, "You can go away and think about what you want. I also recommend seeking a couples therapist for support through this process."
Brett finally spoke, his voice tentative. "How soon could we start?" Dr. Greene smiled reassuringly. "Around four months. If we start now." He looked at Santana, his eyes filled with concern and love. "It's your body, it's fully your choice. If you want to take some time, that's fine."
Santana smiled, feeling a mix of relief and determination. "No, let's book in for four months." Dr. Greene nodded, making a note in her calendar. "I'll book a time, but, you will need to come in on day three of your menstrual cycle."
Santana nodded, absorbing the information. Brett stood up, shaking Dr. Greene's hand. "We'll see you in November then."
As they left the office, the tension between them was still there. Brett tried to talk to Santana, but she was still angry from the argument the previous night. She walked briskly to her car, got in, and drove back to work, leaving Brett standing in the parking lot.
The drive back to work was a blur for Santana. Her mind raced with thoughts of the upcoming months, the treatments, and the toll it would take on her body and their relationship. She arrived at her office, barely aware of her surroundings, and sat at her desk, staring blankly at her computer screen.
Her coworker, Lisa, noticed her distress and came over. "Hey, you okay?" Santana forced a smile. "Just a lot on my mind."
"Want to talk about it?" Lisa asked gently. Santana hesitated, then shook her head. "Thanks, but I think I just need to process some things." Lisa nodded understandingly and left Santana to her thoughts.
Meanwhile, Brett drove home, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness. He knew Santana was angry, and he wanted to make things right, but he didn't know how.
As the hours passed, Santana's anger began to simmer down, replaced by a deep sense of sadness and fatigue, the strain of their situation was taking a toll on both of them. She knew they needed to find a way to support each other through this, but she wasn't sure how to bridge the growing gap between them.
Later that evening, Santana arrived home to find Brett still on the couch. She paused in the doorway, watching him for a moment before speaking. "We need to talk." Brett looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and apprehension. "I know."
Santana sat down next to him, taking a deep breath. "It's not just about the argument. It's everything. This whole process is going to be hard on both of us, and we need to find a way to support each other."
"I know," Brett said, his voice filled with regret. "I just feel so helpless sometimes. Like I'm failing you."
"You're not failing me," Santana said softly, taking his hand. "How are you failing me?" she asked, her eyes searching his. He shrugged, looking away. "Nothing has changed," she told him.
"It has though," he almost argued back.
Santana's eyes flashed with frustration. "What's changed other than the fact that you're pushing me away and hurting me?"
"I'm not hurting you," he said defensively. "Yes, you are, Brett," she said, tears rolling down her face. "I'm the one that's hurt Santana."
"Maybe you were right," she said bitterly. "Maybe all of this," she gestured around the room, "was a mistake."
"Mistake?" he repeated slowly, nodding. "So what, you're just going to give up on us and me because I can't have children?" She shook her head, poking a finger into his chest. "No, I'm not, but you already have."
"No, I've not," he argued back.
She looked at him like he had grown an extra head. "We've not been on a date in over four months, we haven't had sex in that time either, some nights you don't come to bed, you don't talk to me, sometimes, for days or reply to my texts. So yes, you are. You're free to go, Brett. I'm not going to stop you if your heart's not in our marriage."
The words hung heavy in the air between them. Brett sat there, his mind racing, trying to find the right words to say. But all he could feel was a deep sense of failure and loss. How had it come to this?
"Santana," he said quietly, his voice breaking. "I don't want to give up on us. I love you more than anything."
"Then act like you love me," she told him, her voice steady but full of pain. "I've moved my whole life, away from my friends and support system to be with you. I left my job for you. I didn't marry you just to have children. I married you. I love you because I want to spend my life with you. But right now, even that is a stretch to think of because I don't want to spend my life with someone who doesn't want to spend time with me."
Brett stared at her, his heart pounding. "Are you breaking up with me?" he asked in shock. "No, umm... no," she said, but he could see the conflict in her eyes, and it hurt him more than anything.
"I think I need to have a break," she said finally, her voice trembling.
"A break from me?" he asked, his voice filled with pain.
She nodded, and he felt a sharp, crushing ache in his chest. "I'm sorry," he said, almost begging. "Please don't go. I need you."
Before he could say anything else, she turned and walked to the bathroom. He heard the water running as she filled the tub for a bath. He stood there, feeling helpless and lost, watching the door close behind her.