Tess calls the hospital just to be sure

The life of Tess Hoens is wonderful, but even she has things that don't quite go as she had hoped. And she wants to write about that. Because there is already enough of a facade and because honesty helps. Tess has a desire for children, but getting pregnant is still not working. This week she thinks back to that one Christmas.

My breasts were always beautiful and full, I thought. Until I stopped taking the pill. Then they sagged, quite literally. They became softer and smaller, nothing to be proud of. But now they stand tall again. Heavier than ever due to the pills that Dr. Mesman has given me. Thank you, friend. I do have very sore nipples, that's true. But otherwise, I don't notice much from the medication. Occasionally a little nausea in the morning hours, but it's all manageable. It's mid-December and with the holidays approaching, I've decided not to be too hard on myself regarding alcohol consumption.

On Christmas Eve, my boyfriend and I traditionally toast with my parents while exchanging gifts. I've had cramps in my lower abdomen all day. Google said this morning that it could mean implantation. Could it be possible, after just the first round? The cramps are getting stronger. I put my champagne on the counter and walk to the bathroom. Blood loss... That can unfortunately only mean one thing. Or did I read this morning that you can also lose blood during implantation? Back in the kitchen, I grab my phone and start typing all sorts of terms into that terrible online search engine. It's week three of my feigned cycle. The search engine says it must be implantation if it stays at a few drops of blood, but soon I realize that is not the case and it flows, to say the least, quite a bit.

I take another glass of champagne...

The next morning, the bleeding hasn't stopped and just to be sure, I call the hospital. ‘Yes, Mrs. Hoens, I understand that you hope for implantation, but it can't be that. It's just your period starting a bit earlier,’ sounds the bored voice on the other end of the line. ‘If you want, take a test for peace of mind, but if it's negative, just start the new round of medication. Happy holidays.’ She hangs up, probably already with her mind on the Christmas dinner. Stupid woman. Irritated, I grab a test from my kitchen cabinet, which are now stacked up, and pee on it.

Negative. I try to put a positive spin on it: enjoy drinking at all the dinner parties. That baby wish will come back in the new year.

On New Year's Eve, I ask Joop, a friend who is also at the party, for a cigarette. I haven't smoked in ages but do it under the pretense of: now I can. We blow the smoke out the window and he smiles at me. It's as if he knows why I'm smoking this cigarette. I look up. The fireworks are exploding through dark Amsterdam and I feel happy.

This is the last New Year's Eve without a little one. I can feel it.