Melancholy Sea

Mentions of infertility

Verbal insults disguised as affable compliments were spoken on an August night. Dazzling white light spread throughout the area where amateur people lounged as they practiced their backswings for ten dollars a bucket. Vacant slots in a busy schedule permit an evening rendezvous at the local top golf. Away from pending emails and oblivious partners.

Esme swung at the golf ball, sending it soaring into the air and letting it get lost with the others that littered the field.

“I think I’m improving.”

“Definitely the farthest you've gone,” Jade commented.

Esme settled the golf club back into her husband’s cart bag and sat down across from Jade. Iced lemonade is perched on their table, cooling them down from the high-temperature summer. Jade's eyes shifted around the room, watching others fail to hit their golf balls and catching snippets of casual conversations. Her leg bounced uncontrollably under the table. Her hand was fidgeting with her phone, turning it on, her finger hovering over the gallery app. She glanced at Esme, who was mindlessly eating some of her cheese fries.

"Hey, look at this." Jade pushed her phone toward her, watching as the blue light reflected in her friend's glasses. A black and white picture illuminated her screen. An oval of black space settled in the center of a vast gray, but it was the small white-shaped bean that captured her attention. Esme leaned forward, enlarging the picture in disbelief.

"What?"

"I’m pregnant!"

Her mind attained her words like rainwater finally falling into a lake. Her arms seized her in a hug as words of congratulations slipped from her lips, though her mind advised her to smile.

"How far along are you?"

“Three months!” Joyous Jade’s voice was detailing the information about how she found out about her pregnancy.

Strained were Esme's cheeks from holding her smile for so long. Discreetly, she sipped her lemonade to relax her face. Now she understood why Jade didn’t order a beer. Their light conversation continued, though Esme’s mind was infested with an unattainable fantasy.

The last two years passed by like ships, slow and steady cruising through hectic waves. Each month her cycle ends, negative pregnancy tests fill her life and her husband consoles her in their bathroom. She made her first OB-GYN appointment in January. She sat timorously, the gray office walls offering no comfort, and her brain couldn’t fathom the informational posters. Her palms were damp like wet grass, her fingers fidgeted with the hems of her skirt, and her voice quivered as she spoke to her doctor about her concerns. She answered all follow-up questions and complied with the doctor's instructions. She rolled up the sleeve of her sweater to get her blood drawn and pressure checked, then laid down for a pelvic ultrasound. Esme assumed her recent weight gain was just her eating out too much, her irregular periods were blamed on her job for causing her stress, and the excessive hair and acne growth was a genetic curse. But her doctor called it Polycystic Ovary Syndrome.

Esme’s mind staggered as the doctor counted the number of cysts on her ovaries. Twelve in all. Tears rushed down her cheeks like running water while a warm grasp encased her hand. The doctor handed her tissues, allowing her to take a moment to herself to process the new information about her life before briefing her on available treatment options. But Esme was too stunned to process anything. Her worst fears materialized into existence. And the doctor's words confirmed that she was the problem as to why they couldn’t enjoy a day at the park as a family of three. Esme perceived the diagnosis as a flaw that needed to be fixed. A little tinkering and all would be well.

Long talks unfolded with her husband, Renaldo, as they figured out what to do next. He too got tested. Only he got the praise for having such strong swimmers. Relief escaped her body at the news, but she couldn’t help but let an envious feeling linger when she began to feel the weight of their problems on her shoulders.

The fertility treatment began in March. The daily shots of hormones began to bruise her stomach, and the number of checkups increased, leaving her with a patched arm and a hazy mind. Her diet changed in favor of foods and fruits that could improve her fertility. But none of it seemed to have helped. For months, each treatment cycle ended with Esme crying from shame in Renaldo’s arms. Words of encouragement were all he could offer when the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth treatments failed.

Renaldo witnessed Esme’s light burn out. He noticed her swollen eyes each time she walked out of the bathroom after ending a call from their doctor or her reluctance to go out with friends or have a date night. She didn’t sing when he played her favorite song and refused to shower. Instead, she found sanctuary in her bed. The blankets draped over her like a hug, the pillows were stained from relentless tears, and the quietness of the room welcomed her mind to subdue. She was a wrecked ship sinking into the waves of her own melancholy. And Renaldo knew one way to get her back.

Long talks turned into fights as he pleaded to stop the treatments. He argued for alternative options that didn’t involve pressure on her body or even asking her to imagine a childless future. A prospect in which he found solace because, after all the trying months, he realized Esme was all he wanted in life. And any future with her would be euphoria.

After an agonizing year, the two agreed to end all treatments. Esme struggled to let go. She felt like someone was missing in her life, though she had never met them before. The desire to know them is what kept her up in the middle of the night. Social media became a place that tested her strength. Baby pictures from family and friends to pregnancy announcements would appear in her timeline. She reached the age when everyone around her was embracing the gift of motherhood but her. Yet she still hoped for a miracle to transpire.

“Want to see my mother's reaction? It was priceless.”

“ Of course!”

Jade’s screen played a video of her mother gasping as a scream echoed out of the small speaker. Esme yearned to be in her friend's position. To announce such a joyous pregnancy that would invoke glee from her loved ones. She smiled and commented appropriately as her heart sank down again into her melancholy sea. Envious of Jade whose eyes gleamed like stars as she spoke about the plans for her baby, like the color of the nursery walls and the ideas she had for a maternity shoot. Her teeth clenched as Jade’s phone played another video, this one of her husband's reaction.

Esme forced an awe when he cried. 

Some feelings wouldn’t stay dead when a lingering sense of shame arose within her chest. She knew she couldn’t create that happiness for Renaldo. She yearned to be in Jade’s position.

" I’m so happy for you, Jade." Esme beamed. The lie hung in the air like ivy vines hanging on a red stone wall. Beautifully masking the malign nature of her comment