Free The Choice by Bernadette Bohan

Ger’s. Each weekend there would be another long drive, another traditional Irish knees-up where we had great craic, as they say. A good laugh, a great time. I always enjoy weddings – they are so full of life – and I suppose I must have been extra-relaxed after one of these occasions. I remember seeing all the small kids running around and I held the baby of a friend while she got up and danced. The little thing looked into my eyes and gave a big toothless grin, and my heart melted. The need for another child wasn’t vague and formless any more, it was an ache I couldn’t assuage. I had a strong feeling that somewhere out there was a child waiting in the wings for me to be its mother. That night I chose to embrace my destiny.
I wasn’t on the Pill as I had had cancer, so we followed what I call the ‘temperature’ method of natural family planning. This system enables you to become attuned to your own time of ovulation – the few days around which you are most likely to become pregnant and should avoid intercourse. When Ger took me in his arms that night I murmured to him that I hadn’t taken my temperature that day, and I knew it was around the middle of the month. ‘I really want a baby,’ I remember saying softly, and he simply replied, ‘Let’s not get into that now, love.’
A few weeks later we were in Cork for a couple of days’ holiday with the children. We did a little sightseeing and swimming – it was a lovely break. When the kids were busy one afternoon on the beach I decided it was time to tell Ger my period was late. ‘You’ve been late before, haven’t you?’ he asked, without missing a beat. That was true; a few days here and there never bothered me. This was different though – this was more than a few days. We sat holding hands looking out at the choppy sea, contemplating the enormity of the prospect. Neither of us really believed it could be happening.
A few days later I sat in the bathroom at home with a pregnancy test. It was one of those Plus and Minus kits, where a plus sign equals baby and a minus sign equals no baby. My heart was in my mouth. I was excited and fearful at the same time. As I stared at it, slowly but surely a small cross appeared. I was pregnant. The little cross seemed like a tiny sign of hope. ‘What God takes away he gives back in His own good time’ – my mother’s words came back to me. I sat there for a long time.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Part of me was elated – I had done it! We had been given the chance to have another child! But part of me was imploding with dread. The cancer. It might bring the cancer back. My oncologist would be furious. I imagined the progesterone coursing through my body, doing its job of thickening the lining of my womb and providing a nourishing place for my baby to grow, but at the same time being the evil poison that might somehow trigger the unnatural cell division that causes cancerous tumours to grow. This sweet promise of life that simultaneously held the threat of death.
When Ger came home that evening he had hardly put his things down before asking the question: ‘So – plus or minus, Bernie? Was it plus or minus?’ We were talking in code and the children looked up in surprise. Were we discussing a maths test or something? ‘Plus!’ I grinned, unable to conceal my delight. ‘It’s a plus!’
‘Oh my God,’ said Ger, wide-eyed and managing a smile, ‘this is going to change our lives.’ That had to be the understatement of the decade, I thought.
We didn’t tell Sarah for a while, but Richard found out by accident a few days later. He was off school the day I went to see the GP in order to have the pregnancy officially confirmed with a urine test, so that was that secret well and truly out in the open. I took him off to a coffee shop for lunch and the little lad could not