After the doctor implanted three embryos into my uterus twenty-two years ago, which took only minutes and unceremoniously concluded months of in vitro fertilization procedures, I asked, Now what? He told me to avoid sunbathing and hot tubs, and in ten days, I should know if I was pregnant. That’s it? Shouldn’t I lie down with my legs up a wall? Stay away from trampolines? He shrugged and shook his head. Just relax and wait.
Although we lived in Edmonton, we had been patients of the Regional Fertility Program in Calgary, one of the oldest assisted reproduction clinics in Canada and one recommended by our Edmonton infertility doctor, whose name, no lie, was Dr. Cumming. At thirty-seven, I was told if I transferred three embryos, my chances were 30 to 40 percent. If all three started growing and it was too much for my five-foot-two frame, I could undergo “selective reduction,” a risky procedure where a fetus is aborted. We agreed to three and prayed we wouldn’t have to...
Lisa Gregoire has written for newspapers and magazines for thirty-five years. She has twice won gold at the National Magazine Awards.
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