This morning I went in early for a growth determination ultrasound for Gabriel. It is not only me who thinks he is growing quite large...so my midwife thought an ultrasound was in order to see exactly HOW big.
When I was leaving and struggling to bend over and put my shoes on I noticed a woman quietly watching me. When I stood up and made fleeting eye contact she took the opportunity to step in a little closer. Her eyes flickered from my round middle to my eyes.
"Can I ask you something"? She shyly asked me. She asked me if I had just seen a particular Doctor in the clinic.
"No, I'm sorry I didn't; I was just here for an ultrasound, why?"
a sadness unlike any other took her over.
"oh we have been struggling with infertility for five years and I just had my fist appointment with this new Doctor. I was hoping you were also his patient; a success story".
I looked at her and saw in her face the expression of someone with such longing, of such a deep desperation, almost without hope.
As I rode the elevator down with her she told me of all the measures they had taken in the last half decade for a baby they wanted so desperately. I couldn't help cover my stomach as she talked, willing her eyes not to rest there for too long. I was unconsciously covering the intense shame and guilt I felt as she spoke. Shame for not always appreciating the degree of significance carrying ones child for nine months has on the very core of a woman's femininity. Guilt for the internal complaints I have relayed over the last weeks, anxious for this pregnancy to end, cursing the unpleasant symptoms it can bring. Those feelings as I left her with the most sincerest of well wishes turned quickly into such intense gratitude.
I am part of a miracle.
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