in other situations. ‘God’s delays are not necessarily God’s denials.’ Right?”
“That’s right. And that was true, wasn’t it? A little surgical help from Dr. Amann…what was it called? A varicocoelectomy? Yeah, that was it. And here we are, five years later, with Jennie and John.”
Peg gave a tired little chuckle. “I remember when it looked like we’d never have any children even after Dr. Amann,” she said quietly. “After your operation. Months and months after when I still wasn’t pregnant. I remember us deciding that if we weren’t going to have children, we could still have fun. So we booked our trip to France on the QE 2 .”
She looked over at me with a sad smile. “God, that was a great trip. Remember? A week on board ship and then two weeks in France. One week in Normandy and the Loire valley and the second week in Paris. I remember we couldn’t afford the trip, but we figured we’d have the rest of our lives to pay for it. Then we came home; and three, four months later, I’m pregnant with Jennie.”
“Four months later,” I said. “We came home from France near the end of July, and you went to the doctor the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. I remember that because they said you wouldn’t have the test results until Friday since the next day was Thanksgiving. And I was pissed. I wanted to know so badly.”
“That’s right,” Peg agreed. “I’d forgotten about that. You really were pissed.”
We looked at each other for a moment in silence, each of us again wondering how we had come to be here.
“Maybe we should take another trip to France on the QE 2 when you get out of here,” I suggested, happy to have come up with a way to push aside the gloom that had started to build—the gloom that always seemed to hover over us these days, right at the edge of our every thought, day after day, ready to wash over us at any moment for any reason. “Would you like that?” I asked.
Peg looked at me for a long time before answering. It seemed as if she were trying to read my thoughts, trying to judge if I were serious or simply pretending to be optimistic for her sake.
Apparently unable to decide, she sighed deeply, looked down at her hands and then over at me. “Maybe,” she finally replied. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”
I waited for her to add something, but instead she seemed to lose interest in what we had been saying, and she turned to look out the window again, deep in thought. I watched her, wondering where she was at that moment and what she was thinking, knowing that the forces of gloom were winning.
When she spoke again after several minutes of silence, she spoke without looking at me, still staring out the window, as if I weren’t even there. “I wonder if I’ll ever see my babies again,” she said matter-of-factly, without emotion.
“Peg! Come on!” I shouted.
She turned away from the window to look at me.
“What a terrible thing to say! Why would you ever say something like that? Look at how far you’ve come. If you’ve made it this far, chances are good you’ll make it all the way. It’s just a matter of time, Peg. We just have to be patient. Have to give Dr. Werner and his people time to turn this thing around. That’s all.”
She nodded quickly, as if she were trying to shake off the thoughts that had led her to ask the question in the first place. Then she began to smooth the sheets nervously with both hands, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know. I know you’re right. I just have to be patient. I keep telling myself that. I really do. Hour after hour. Day after day. It’s just that I miss them so much, John. You have no idea what it’s like to lay here and know my babies are out there with someone else. Not me. And to wonder if the last time I’ll ever see John was in our kitchen the afternoon I went to Huntington Hospital. Or if the last time I’ll ever see Jennie was when you brought her up to see me that night. You can’t
“That’s right. And that was true, wasn’t it? A little surgical help from Dr. Amann…what was it called? A varicocoelectomy? Yeah, that was it. And here we are, five years later, with Jennie and John.”
Peg gave a tired little chuckle. “I remember when it looked like we’d never have any children even after Dr. Amann,” she said quietly. “After your operation. Months and months after when I still wasn’t pregnant. I remember us deciding that if we weren’t going to have children, we could still have fun. So we booked our trip to France on the QE 2 .”
She looked over at me with a sad smile. “God, that was a great trip. Remember? A week on board ship and then two weeks in France. One week in Normandy and the Loire valley and the second week in Paris. I remember we couldn’t afford the trip, but we figured we’d have the rest of our lives to pay for it. Then we came home; and three, four months later, I’m pregnant with Jennie.”
“Four months later,” I said. “We came home from France near the end of July, and you went to the doctor the Wednesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. I remember that because they said you wouldn’t have the test results until Friday since the next day was Thanksgiving. And I was pissed. I wanted to know so badly.”
“That’s right,” Peg agreed. “I’d forgotten about that. You really were pissed.”
We looked at each other for a moment in silence, each of us again wondering how we had come to be here.
“Maybe we should take another trip to France on the QE 2 when you get out of here,” I suggested, happy to have come up with a way to push aside the gloom that had started to build—the gloom that always seemed to hover over us these days, right at the edge of our every thought, day after day, ready to wash over us at any moment for any reason. “Would you like that?” I asked.
Peg looked at me for a long time before answering. It seemed as if she were trying to read my thoughts, trying to judge if I were serious or simply pretending to be optimistic for her sake.
Apparently unable to decide, she sighed deeply, looked down at her hands and then over at me. “Maybe,” she finally replied. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”
I waited for her to add something, but instead she seemed to lose interest in what we had been saying, and she turned to look out the window again, deep in thought. I watched her, wondering where she was at that moment and what she was thinking, knowing that the forces of gloom were winning.
When she spoke again after several minutes of silence, she spoke without looking at me, still staring out the window, as if I weren’t even there. “I wonder if I’ll ever see my babies again,” she said matter-of-factly, without emotion.
“Peg! Come on!” I shouted.
She turned away from the window to look at me.
“What a terrible thing to say! Why would you ever say something like that? Look at how far you’ve come. If you’ve made it this far, chances are good you’ll make it all the way. It’s just a matter of time, Peg. We just have to be patient. Have to give Dr. Werner and his people time to turn this thing around. That’s all.”
She nodded quickly, as if she were trying to shake off the thoughts that had led her to ask the question in the first place. Then she began to smooth the sheets nervously with both hands, and her eyes filled with tears. “I know. I know you’re right. I just have to be patient. I keep telling myself that. I really do. Hour after hour. Day after day. It’s just that I miss them so much, John. You have no idea what it’s like to lay here and know my babies are out there with someone else. Not me. And to wonder if the last time I’ll ever see John was in our kitchen the afternoon I went to Huntington Hospital. Or if the last time I’ll ever see Jennie was when you brought her up to see me that night. You can’t
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