Spring Without Summer

By Gloria Kiteley

This novel, set in the 1970s when fertility treatments were in the early stages and mobile phones were not around to provide the convenience of contact we have today, is the story of Marrie, a young married woman who is desperate to have a baby. She is devastated when, after years of trying, tests show that this would not be possible. Could A.I.D. be the answer? Faced with this dilemma Marrie makes a decision of how to deal with the fertility problem. As happens in life, things don’t always go to plan, and Marrie falls into the trap of taking Valium to cope with the heartbreak, and then quickly learns how easy it is to become dependent on medication. But . . . perhaps she deserved what she got?

• Language: English
• Publisher: A H Stockwell
• Release date: Jul 16, 2019
• ISBN: 9780722349632

Book preview

SPRING WITHOUT SUMMER

Gloria Kiteley

ARTHUR H. STOCKWELL LTD

Torrs Park, Ilfracombe, Devon, EX34 8BA

Established 1898

www.ahstockwell.co.uk

Copyright © 2019 Gloria Kiteley

First published in Great Britain, 2019

Gloria Kiteley asserts the right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright holder.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is purely coincidental.

Digital version converted and distributed by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

Chapter One: Paper Days

Looking back Dave and I had a good wedding day. Aunties in posh hats and bright red lipstick, jolly uncles trussed up in best suits. The white dress, and the bouquet of red roses that I almost forgot on leaving for the church, but my dear father had prompted me saying, There are a few flowers you had better take, aren’t there Marrie?

Ten years ago, Dave and I became Mr and Mrs Edmunds. Dave, six foot tall, well built, his tight curly hair cut shorter than usual, made a handsome groom.

The following years passed slowly; Dave working in the factory on shifts, and me in the accounts office for a food factory. After ten years this had become a way of life; a routine with no escape.

We worked hard and had fun furnishing the house, choosing and buying each item piece by piece over the years.

We had until now enjoyed great holidays with friends, but they were now getting a bit thin on the ground, as, couple by couple, over the years our friends have had babies. This was now the root of our problem - we had not.

Dave and I had been going to the local fertility clinic for four years now, with no luck so far, and the tests going on and on. I had been on the temperature chart routine now . . . it felt forever. What a drag, but each morning I had to do it, just in case it might help the miracle happen. Each month the disappointment, the tears; the helpless feeling that I could go on like this forever and one day. The pain of not having a baby is with you day in, day out, night in, night out. The longest labour in the world.

My days in the office block, a tall modern building on the outskirts of town, looking out across the open country, had become numb and hard - hard in the sense that it is hard work just being there. Hours spent looking out of the window at freedom, watching girls go by with prams taking the baby out for a walk, go down town, do a bit of shopping maybe.

As I daydreamed out of the window I could see far in the distance, stood on a green hill, a homely white farmhouse. In my mind it was the home of small children, laughing and running in and out with muddy wellingtons on the wrong feet.

At lunch time the walk up three flights of concrete stairs to the canteen began to feel more like a prison route. Just to be greeted by soup of the day and battered cod.

On a grey March evening when I returned home from the office, a long buff envelope lay on the mat by the front door.

I opened it with trembling fingers, Is this the clinic? Yes, here we go; this is it. I spoke out loud to myself as my eyes rushed over the letter.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I slowly took in the details set out before me. ‘An appointment has been made for you on March the tenth at 11.00 a.m.’ it stated. A wave of excitement flushed through my veins. Jolly beans here we go, the dye X-ray, the last test I was to have, the doctor had promised me at the last appointment.

I lit the fire in the front room, peeled the spuds and got the pork chop evening meal underway. Dave returned from his day shift. I showed him the letter, and we settled down to dinner on trays watching telly by the roaring fire.

As the morning of March the tenth arrived, Dave and I set off once again for the hour journey to the fertility clinic. We sat in the now familiar waiting room, sipping coffee and trying not to look hard at the other couples around the room. After what seemed an endless wait my name was called and I was directed into an examination room. Teeth well gritted and trying to keep a rolling tummy quiet, I lay once again on the examination table. This was a different room I realized as I gazed up at equipment and lights overhead. Two nurses and a doctor stood around me; that frightened the living daylights out of me for starters. The doctor looked at me. Dr White, I could see the name on his coat.

Hello, I am Dr White. We do not like to give anaesthetic on this test, but you have nothing to worry about. If you relax you will be more comfortable.

Did he mean stop gritting my teeth, blow him! I tried to smile back, teeth still clenched - how did he know? Everything in place, the test started.

We are flowing the dye through now, Dr White said. He continued, If you look up on the screen you can watch the dye travelling round.

Oh no, I moaned back, screwing up my eyes, realizing I had no desire to look.

The slim dark-haired nurse came and stood by my side, smiling down at me; it made me feel calmer. The test and the pain seemed to go on for another eight minutes or so; it is difficult to judge time accurately in such circumstances.

At last Dr White said, All over.

He talked to the plump nurse at the desk for a moment and then left in a hurry. The nurses carefully removed the tubes and helped me down to the comfort of a chair. I felt hot and sick. The plump nurse handed me a glass of ice-cold water. I sipped it slowly. I began to cool down a little.

Was the dye test all right? I asked looking up at the plump nurse.

Her round face smiled back at me.

You must not worry, a full report will go through to your fertility clinic.

Why did they never tell you there and then? Why was there always a silly report?

Eventually I got dressed, and returned to the waiting room. Dave had sat waiting all this time.

Grey March days passed slowly by, the office routine taking charge once again, like it always would. March seemed to have forty days in it this year; would it never end? Eventually, at last, not before time, April the first was on the calendar.

Once again, Dave and I set off on the same old journey to the waiting room. The atmosphere was tense. What would they tell us today? Kindly expressions were exchanged between patients. After all, we all had the same problem for one reason or another. The usual wait for my name to be called began, helped along by cups of coffee and looking at the pictures in old magazines.

When I eventually entered the consulting room the doctor politely greeted me. Hello Mrs Edmunds, I am Dr Martin, please sit down.

Good morning, I muttered as I sat in the chair opposite him. Was the dye test satisfactory? I asked anxiously.

There is a slight crinkle in the right fallopian tube. Now, this is nothing to worry about.

What does that mean?

A slight crinkle in the tube should not cause any problems, Dr Martin replied and looked down at my records.

I sensed that he felt uneasy.

Looking up, he said, Do you really want a baby around the place? His words amazed me.

Well, yes I do, I do, I replied confused. I thought the doctor had gone mad.

He continued, Do you remember some months ago we took a semen sample from your husband? The result showed that the sperm are not active enough. It will not be possible for you to become pregnant from your husband.

Dr Martin then looked back down at the desk. The speech was over. The words sent my mind in a reel.

Why did you not tell me before? Why have you still been giving me tests? I felt shaky and unbelievably hot.

Dr Martin stood up and then sat down again. We continued the tests as a matter of routine. We now have a complete record on you. I just sat staring at the young doctor. We can help, he continued. There is the possibility of AID - artificial insemination by donor.

I still sat staring in bewilderment, not believing my ears.

The doctor continued, They have got a clinic in London. He paused, The semen from different men is mixed making it impossible to tell who the father is.

I felt sick and unable to speak.

The doctor started again like some horrible record I could not stop. We are just about to open a clinic at this hospital, it may be a new system, where we will try to find a donor with similar build and colouring to your husband, but at the same time keeping his identity strictly confidential. As you will appreciate we have a job to find suitable donors. We have a very nice nurse, Sister Farrow, who will be in charge of the department.

At last the doctor stopped, it felt like he had been talking for ages. Everything was different now; he had changed everything, just with words. I still did not speak. I could not. My mind had jammed.

Dr Martin gave me a kindly smile, seeming to be aware of my silence. Mrs Edmunds, he said, breaking the silence, I think the best thing for you to do is go home, talk about this with your husband. When you have come to an agreement on what you wish to do, make an appointment with this clinic.

I stood up, nodded my head, and made for the door.

Back in the waiting room, Dave greeted me. All fit then Marrie? Can we go now?

Yes, yes, I replied. I wanted to get away, it all seemed like a bad dream.

On the journey home I sat in a trance. Dave still did not know; they had left me to tell him.

How did it all go then, Marrie? Dave asked. You are very quiet about it all today.

Not too bad, let’s talk about it tonight. The words made a lump in my throat.

When we arrived home we had a quick ham sandwich lunch, and then Dave went back to work.

I sat alone in the afternoon, the house felt still and quiet. I could not remember the journey home. It felt impossible to think about telling Dave. Perhaps I should not, would it be better not to tell him? But Dr Martin had told me to talk about it with my husband, how could we sort things out if he did not know? I had to tell him - it was the only way.

That evening after the dinner things were cleared away, I made a coffee and carried it through on a tray into the front room where Dave sat watching the television. Now was the time, if I was going to tell him, now was the time.

Dave, I have got something to tell you, I said handing him his mug of coffee. At the clinic this morning they told me . . . I hesitated.

Well, go on then, Dave said. I thought you were quiet on the way home. What did they say?

Well Dave, they said we can have a baby, if we go to the AID clinic. That means if I have artificial insemination by a donor. Dave frowned at me. It would be our baby, nobody would know, I said, trying to appear calm and unconcerned, as though it really didn’t matter.

So I can’t give you a baby then, why didn’t they tell us before? I had the tests months ago. Dave shouted in a harsh voice.

They wanted to complete all the tests first, that’s what the doctor told me. I said feeling in a panic.

Oh well, that’s it then, Dave said, looking back at the television. Make me another cup of coffee.

Silence fell on the conversation.

I went to the kitchen and made more coffee, feeling lost in the situation. I tried to watch television in the silent room, I fidgeted about, could not settle. Dave announced that he was going to bed early to read. I crept up much later when he appeared to be asleep.

The days that followed felt strange. I felt completely thrown, how could I know what to do? Dave carried on as usual, or so it seemed. He did not go out and get drunk or show any outward emotional feelings. We just could not talk about the situation.

A week or more passed by in this blustery month of April, it still felt more like March. I made a great effort to go to the office; the forever routine seemed all that I had.

One evening after the meal, I felt I had to break the silence about our problem, we had to talk about it again; it would not go away just not talking about it.

Dave, I said with caution in my voice, what do you think about me having AID? What do you think about it, what shall I do?

I don’t mind, it’s up to you Marrie, it’s what you want. Dave’s reply felt cold and unattached. I felt alone, as though the problem was all mine.

On Sunday afternoon I brought the subject up again. Shall I make an appointment for the new clinic starting at the hospital we now know? They have clinics in London, but it would be better to keep with the same hospital, wouldn’t it Dave?

Yes, if that’s what you want to do, make an appointment, it makes more sense to go to the local one.

I smiled back at Dave, happy that he agreed for things to go ahead. I made us a cup of tea and sat close to him on the sofa, and we watched Sunday afternoon television. I wanted to feel close to Dave inwardly, and that afternoon I did.

The next morning I stayed at home, feeling that it would be better to make the appointment privately. I did not want anybody to hear me in the public phone box at work.

At about ten thirty, I did not like to ring too early, I rang the fertility clinic and made an appointment, just as Dr Martin had asked me to. I seemed to be quite lucky; they gave me an appointment for the first of May. I felt an inner excitement wave through me, what a secret, nobody would know. I might have a baby after all. I counted up the weeks until the first of May, three weeks, I just had to wait three more weeks and things might really start to happen.

The weeks slipped by one by one. On the first of May Dave and I set