‘It means that you are unlikely to conceive naturally, but are a good candidate for IVF,’ Niall explained.
Eilidh sank back in her chair and smiled with relief. ‘Thank God,’ she murmured. ‘I was terrified you were going to tell us it was hopeless. That getting pregnant was impossible for me.’
‘It doesn’t mean I can promise you a pregnancy,’ Niall continued. ‘Sometimes, no matter what we do, women still fail to conceive. And sometimes they conceive but are unable to carry the pregnancy to term. I don’t want to paint a negative picture, but you should be prepared.’
But Niall suspected even as he said the words that Eilidh and Jim weren’t really listening. Like so many couples, they couldn’t bring themselves to think about the possibility of failure. ‘That’s why,’ he added, ‘we suggest you make an appointment with our counsellor. You don’t have to see her but I would recommend it. She’s excellent and is there should you need to talk to someone neutral at any time through this process.’
Niall couldn’t prevent another glance at Robina. Sure enough, her eyes had widened in surprise. When they had first started experiencing problems in their marriage, she had suggested a counsellor. But he had refused. The thought of airing their dirty linen to a stranger was just too much. If she had truly loved him, they should have been able to sort things out themselves. Now he wondered if he should have agreed.
He took the couple through the process; how the clinic would take control of Eilidh’s cycle and give her drugs which she would need to inject every day for roughly ten days. In addition, Eilidh would have to come in for regular scans of her ovaries as well as blood tests.
He went on to describe the side effects of the drugs and didn’t mince his words when he explained the more unpleasant aspects of the treatment.
‘Are you sure you want to put yourself through this, love?’ Jim asked his wife. ‘I didn’t think it would be so…awful for you.’
Eilidh looked her husband straight in the eye. ‘What does it matter if we get a baby at the end? I’ll be all right. I can do anything as long as I have you!’
They smiled at each other and Niall felt a flash of envy. If only he and Robina could share their troubles in the same way.
‘Once your ovaries are producing enough follicles and are at the right stage,’ he continued, ‘we take you to Theatre and you’ll be given a sedative. We remove as many eggs as we can from your follicles and then we will use Jim’s sperm to fertilise them in the lab. At that point the fertilised eggs become embryos. Depending on how many fertilise, we will make a decision on when to put one, or two, back. Either day two, three or day five. Are you following me so far?’
Eilidh and Jim nodded mutely.
‘How do you decide whether to replace one or two embryos?’ Jim asked.
‘Essentially it’s up to you. The HFEA, the UK regulatory body for fertility clinics, recommends that only one embryo is replaced at a time. That’s because twin pregnancies carry a greater risk of complications. However, the chances are smaller of one embryo implanting successfully. We’ll go over it again when we get closer to that time but, as I said, the final decision will be yours.’
Jim and Eilidh nodded sombrely. ‘I think we’d like to know more before we decide how many embryos to have put back,’ Jim answered for them both.
‘Good decision. It’s a lot to absorb in one go,’ Niall said gently, ‘but you’ll be seeing one of our specialist nurses on a regular basis. They will be only too happy to answer any questions you may have as we go along, and they have stacks of literature that you can take away with you. Does that sound okay?’
‘Does it hurt—I mean the bit where you take the eggs?’ Eilidh asked.
‘It can be uncomfortable,’ Niall admitted. ‘That’s why we sedate you. But, I can promise you, you won’t remember a thing about it afterwards. You might be a little sore for a couple of hours, but we’ll give you something for the pain.’
He spent a few more minutes going over the same ground with the excited couple before he called in Mairi, who would be co-ordinating their treatment.
‘Mairi will answer any other questions you might have,’ Niall assured the couple, ‘but if you ever want to speak to me, you have my number.’
‘Thank you, Dr Ferguson.’ Eilidh was beaming and two bright spots of colour stained her cheeks. ‘I know there’s a chance treatment won’t work, but you have given us hope. That’s all we can ask for.’
When the couple had accompanied Mairi from the room, John made to follow, but Robina stopped him. ‘We’ll pick them up later through their treatment,’ she said, ‘but in the meantime, let’s give them some privacy.’
When John left the room in search of some coffee, Robina turned to Niall. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘you kept everything very simple. I’m sure our viewers will appreciate that.’
Niall smiled wryly. ‘It’s the way I speak to all my patients,’ he said slowly. ‘My God, woman, don’t you know me at all?’
And there was the rub. She didn’t really know him or, for that matter, he her. Niall had always thought they would have the rest of their lives and had looked forward to years and years of learning about the complicated, complex woman who had agreed to become his wife. Instead, he thought bitterly, it had all started to go wrong almost as soon as they’d married. Truth was, things hadn’t being going well even before the miscarriage. He had been so busy at work, and Robina’s new career in the media had taken off like a bullet. At first he had shared her excitement about the job, even though it had meant postponing the honeymoon, which had somehow become permanently postponed.
He hadn’t realised how little he would see of her. How much her new job would take her away. Then when, to the delight of both of them, she had fallen pregnant, it had seemed that everything was going to work out fine. After the series finished she would take time off to prepare for their child. At last they could begin to be a family. But, boy, had he got that wrong! Whilst he’d assumed she’d spend less time at work, she had worked even harder, determined to establish her career before the baby arrived.
Two days before she had miscarried they had argued bitterly. Robina had returned home from London looking exhausted. She had barely managed to find the energy to eat and Niall was worried that she was losing weight.
‘You need to slow down, Robina. You can’t keep working at this pace.’ He tossed the words down like a gauntlet.
‘I will, soon. C’mon, Niall, you and I both know that pregnancy isn’t an illness. In Africa, women often keep working until days before the baby is born.’ She touched him gently on the cheek, but he grasped her hand and held it in his. He knew if he allowed her to touch him, he’d end up wanting to take her to bed. God knew, that was the one thing that was still okay, more than okay, between them.
‘You can’t keep burning the candles at both ends. You’re working on the show then on your book and they still want you to do public appearances. It’s too much.’
‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t think I should do the show?’ she retorted, a dangerous glint in her deep brown eyes.
‘Yes, that’s what I’m saying. It’s all too much. And what about after the baby is born? I thought we agreed you’d be staying at home to look after it and Ella.’
‘Did we?’ Her eyes deepened and her full, generous mouth tightened. ‘Is that why you married me, Niall? To provide a full-time mother for your child and any other children you might want? Because, and let me make this clear, I am not Mairead. I’m not the kind of woman to give up her career just to submit myself to my husband’s wishes.’
‘Leave Mairead out of this,’ he responded furiously.
‘But