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"Mark!"
One Man's Story of Fertility Success
By Mark Stackpole
my own name, and yet it was as if I had never heard it before. My heart skipped a beat or two. (It might have been three, because I did get dizzy.)
Yes, she had only said my name, but I heard so much more. I heard, "Your four years of waiting are over." Her voice said to me, "All of the charting, the varicocelectomy, the specimen cups, the trips to the clinic – it has all finally worked." With that one word, she told me that I was going to be a father.
I had imagined this moment for a long time. I sort of figured it would be like one of those pregnancy test commercials that we saw on TV – an anxious couple, all dewy-eyed and mushy-mouthed, waiting for the results while the cameras roll. Or maybe I'd be more like a crazed lottery winner, jumping up and down while screaming, crying and pulling my hair out. Heck, I half expected trumpets to sound and the skies to part.
In the end, I opted to simply stand there, eyes bulging, mouth hanging open in shock. I cannot confirm that I did not actually drool on myself. OK, not exactly a Hollywood-style reaction, but remember, this is a guy who only last month suggested naming a Clomid-induced cyst that had developed on his wife's ovary. (My rather unpopular argument was, "Hey, it's the only thing we've been able to grow in there.") The swing to actually having a baby on board was a profoundly dramatic one.
Plus, I had little time to prepare my reaction pose. I didn't even have the chance to finish reading the instructions before I heard the yell from the back of the house. I am convinced that Char didn't even wait to sit down in order to pee on the stick. A mistress of efficiency, my wife could not wait any longer to find out the truth. Even after we ran into each other in the hall, and I saw the glowing blue "+," I insisted on reading the instructions again.
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