Then we were all set to commence our round-the-clock riding when, unexpectedly, Luke got an opportunity to buy his own accountancy practice, which would give more security than we’d ever dreamt of. But we needed a bank loan and by the time we were on top of the repayments, both of us were thirty-eight.
During those years of Waiting For The Right Time, I was mostly happy, often very happy. I loved being clean, I loved my husband, I loved my job, I had a busy, fulfilling life full of great people.
But there were still agonizing spells of doubt. About once every six months, I’d ring Nola and ask, ‘Should we not just chance it and hope for the best?’
Her answer – always – was to Golden Key it: if we were meant to have children, we’d have them. ‘You want guarantees but that’s not going to happen. You have to learn to live with uncertainty.’
‘But what if I’m too old?’
‘But what if you’re not? Dr Solomon says you’re looking good – honestly, I feel like I know that woman as well as my own doctor – and you’ve got to remember that you’re not like other people. You can probably have everything you want, so long as you wait. If you launch into it all at once, you could bring your whole life crashing down on your head. Too much stress puts you in danger of relapse.’
The mere suggestion that I might ever relapse made me huffy – there was no chance! – but she was right that I didn’t want my life to be a bodge job.
Luke tended to agree with Nola. ‘Babe, look at our lives! A lot of plates are spinning here. If one falls, so will some of the others. If you get pregnant now, you’ll have to stop working, at least for a few months, and we just don’t have the money.’
If we’d had an accident with contraception, we’d have gone ahead and had the baby. But there were no accidents. And that, in its way, was telling me plenty, I decided.
However, the day did finally dawn when we were both qualified, our college loans had been repaid, Luke had a small but solid business, doing personal accounting, tax returns, etc., and I’d finally been made a staffer in Hope House, a rehab facility in New Jersey.
‘Look at us!’ I declared. ‘Adulting like no one’s business!’ Then, seized with anxiety, ‘What if we’ve left it too late? What if my ovaries have shut up shop?’
‘What if they have?’ Luke asked. ‘We have a good life. Don’t we?’
‘Luke … if you’re having second thoughts, now would be a good time to mention it …’
‘Not having second thoughts,’ he said.
So I came off the pill, downloaded an ovulation app, bought a thermometer and drew up a sex schedule.
Being me, with my penchant for dramatics, I was convinced that it had worked the very first month. ‘I feel pukey. And my boobs feel sore.’
‘Your period isn’t even due for three more days,’ Luke said.
‘Yeah, but …’
He was right, of course. I wasn’t pregnant that month. Or for many more.
Seven or eight months in, Luke found me crying because – once again – I’d got my period.
‘What if it never happens?’ I asked him.
Gently he said, ‘We can have a good life without kids.’
But by then, I was obsessed. ‘We can’t. I’m going to look into IVF.’
His face became solemn. Shake and his wife Melanie had spent tens of thousands of dollars on IVF which hadn’t worked. They had just got divorced.
‘In the meantime,’ I said, ‘the sex will continue until morale improves.’
It had taken over a year of sex that had become more and more stressful but here I was, finally pregnant!
Excitement battled with fear. I wanted to be the best mother there ever was and the thought of failure was terrifying.
‘So what do we do now?’ Luke asked. ‘You should see a doctor!’ Then, ‘Am I patronizing you? You’re not sick, you’re pregnant.’
‘Hold on there. I’m not sick, no. But … like, I’m pregnant. I want special treatment. Cushions for my lower back, that sort of thing.’
His laugh was loud. He was so good at pure joy.
‘But I guess I have to decide how to’ – I quoted what I’d heard other women say – ‘“take control of my birthing experience”。’
Minimizing medical involvement in childbirth was very Brooklyn. Also very NA. Nearly every woman I knew was vocal about their right to choose where and how they’d give birth. Home birthing was popular. My New York sponsor, Olga Mae, had planned to have her baby in a beautiful ceremony with her partner and two children in an orchard in upstate New York, but the day she went into labour, she got stuck in gridlock traffic on her way to Stone Ridge and Baby Carter ended up entering the world in RBS Furniture Liquidators in the Bronx.