My heart sinks. Because I don’t like those odds.
Dr. Prescott must read my mind because she tries to reassure me. “This is why it is such great news that we were able to retrieve fourteen eggs today.”
Jax pulls his chair up next to the side of my bed and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips and placing kisses along each of my knuckles. “I’ve got faith in our little ones, baby. They’ve got this.”
It is quite possibly the exact wrong thing to say to me right now because my faith has been dwindling day after day since my diagnosis. It’s actually pretty astonishing that I had any left after the depression I fell into after my miscarriage.
“If you two don’t have any further questions for me, I’ll let you get some more rest and the nurse will be in shortly to go over discharge instructions.”
“Thank you, Dr. Prescott,” we both say in unison.
“You’re welcome. Have a great rest of your day,” she tells us before walking out of the room they gave me. Typically they have patients in a curtained off area, but due to my safety and confidentiality, Jax requested I get a room instead.
Once we’re alone, Jax rests his forehead on our joined hands. “Fourteen,” he whispers. Looking up, his eyes find mine. “You’re amazing, T. You’ve done such a great job.”
Even with his optimism, I can’t help the sense of dread that washes over me. This was my only shot at having children of my own. I’ve already been told that the chemotherapy I’ll be starting within the next week or two will likely lead to infertility. And I know there’s always adoption, and I’d honestly love nothing more than to adopt a child or several children someday, but it’s the fact that so much of my autonomy has been stolen from me already.
This just needs to work out—ithasto.
“It sounds like we’ll hear of our future family’s fate just as I’m about to start my first round of chemo. The timing is impeccable . . .” I say, my words dripping with so much sarcasm it’s a wonder there isn’t a puddle on the floor.
Jackson’s eyes search mine. “Taevin,youare my family.Youare my future. If we’re able to have children of our own someday through surrogacy, that will be amazing. If we’re unable to have children of our own and we adopt, that will be amazing too. If we decide we don’t want any children at all, I would still be the luckiest and happiest man so long as I haveyoubeside me.”
Turning away, I try to hide the tears threatening to fall as my lip quivers. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I face Jax once again. “I could never ask that of you, Jackson. You were meant to be a father. And I need you to promise me something.”
“Anything,” he replies without hesitation.
“If we have any viable embryos, and for some reason I don’t make it—if I don’t win this fight—I need you to promise me you’ll still go through with surrogacy.”
He shakes his head. “Apparently I won’t promise you anything because I won’t promise you that.”
“Jax—” I start but he just shakes his head, cutting me off.
“Listen to me, Taevin. While you’re busy fighting for your life, I’m going to fight for us—for what our life could be, for everything itwillbe. Trust me when I say I’ll never give up on our dreams. But there is no future for me without you in it. Now that we’ve found our way back to each other, I’m not letting you go. So together we’re going to fight like hell, baby. We have to—” He doesn’t finish the sentence, equal parts heartbroken and determined, but he doesn’t have to.
Tears well in my eyes as his words sink in, and all I can do is nod in response. Clearing my throat, I croak out a weak “okay.”
Jax sits up from his chair and brushes my hair out of my face before placing a delicate kiss on my lips. Cupping my cheek, he looks into my eyes and says, “I love you. You’ve got this, I know you do.”
His voice is sure, filled with unwavering conviction that I wish I could offer him right back.
I’m not even sure how I got here. One minute I was sitting in Jackson’s living room, and then when he left for his preseason camp this morning, I grabbed the keys to his SUV. It’s like I blinked and here I am at the church where all these years later my father is still a pastor, standing at the altar with tears streaming steadily down my cheeks.
Before I left, just after Jackson had gone, I got a call from my doctor’s office with an update on how many of our embryos made it to the blastocyst stage.
Never in my life have I wanted to curse God as badly as I do right now. Not even when He stole my mother from me far too soon. Not even when He so unforgivably took my baby.
If there’s one thing I’ve always hoped and prayed for in my future, it was to become a mother. And now, the ability to grow and carry my own child was stripped from me.Again.
After my miscarriage, I remember thinking to myself maybe that was God’s punishment for having sex before marriage—for not abstaining until we said our vows. Or maybe because we didn’t get married in a church and instead had a courthouse wedding. Or because of how terrified I was when I first found out I was pregnant. Or worst of all, maybe I just wasn’t meant to be a mother.
In hindsight, I could see that those weren’t rational thoughts. But when I was six feet deep in grief, unable to climb my way out, all sorts of irrational thoughts consumed me.
And here I am again, thinking illogically after asking the impossible of Jackson. I can’t believe I voiced my intrusive thoughts out loud. What I asked him to do if I didn’t make it . . . it’s unfathomable. Yet each night since my egg retrieval procedure, he’s slept beside me and held me against his chest as if I hadn’t asked the question of him at all.
“Why?” I hurl the question at the altar, falling to my knees. “Why me, huh? What could I have possibly done in this lifetime to deserve all you’ve cursed me with?”
Holding my head in my hands, I let the angry sobs wrack my body. I shake with fury as I mourn my body being ridden of my very female essence. I curse my body for failing me in more ways than one. Searing pain and invisible suffering accompanies my deepest sorrows for a life I envisioned but might never have.
