I sat in a familiar waiting room while my foot bounced up and down, releasing nervous energy out into the quiet air. The lab results were taking way too long, and I sensed it. There was no way I’d be on time to my next appointment. What could possibly be taking so long?
My mind walked through my current to-do list:
1. Visit my endocrinologist’s office to run a few lab tests. Check.
2. Drive to Roanoke Memorial Hospital.
3. Ingest tracer dose of radioactive iodine.
4. Isolate at my parents’ house for two days.
5. Whole body scan to compare current radioactive iodine uptake to last year’s results. Hopefully, it would be low, meaning all thyroid cells, cancerous and not, had been destroyed.
I would never make it past the first item on my list.
The nurse came to the doorway and called my name, “Sarah?”
I grabbed my purse and walked toward her. If I drove like a maniac, I might still make it on time. She leaned against the wall in the hallway while she explained, “Your test came back positive.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“Look, right here,” she pointed at some words on the paper in her hand. Meanwhile, I stared dumbfounded.
“You’re pregnant. Congratulations! I guess you won’t be taking the radioactive iodine this morning.”
“You’re joking,” I stammered.
“No, I’m really not. You’re pregnant.”
Life can be so utterly fascinating. I thought I would be taking a radioactive pill that morning, but instead, drove home with a different variety of pills – a bottle of prenatal vitamins. This is how I know that God has one hell of a sense of humor!
I wish I could say that in those first moments, I was struck with overwhelming joy, but the truth of the matter is I was absolutely scared to death. My whole world changed in an instant and I was working to make sense of what it all meant. I had finally come up for air after spending years suffocating below the surface. My mind replayed one thought over and over again: what if I go back under?
It wouldn’t take long for the wave to find me. My thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH) was purposefully sent over 100 in preparation for the radioactive iodine, and it took weeks to bring it back into the normal range (for me, as close to zero as possible). Additionally, on my doctor’s advice I stopped my antidepressant cold turkey, which I realize in hindsight was not the best strategy. Discontinuation syndrome took over as the increased supply of serotonin in my brain was shut off too quickly. I spent weeks right back in the dark place I had just escaped. Slowly, serotonin levels began to rise on their own, but the waiting game was unbearable. Add all this to the regular pregnancy woes and here’s what you are left with: a crumbling, exhausted mess that once resembled a person.
However, as the end of the first trimester draws closer, I’m feeling much better. I’ve come back up for air. My thyroid hormone levels are closer to normal; I survived the discontinuation syndrome, and I am almost out of the hardships that characterize the first trimester. I spent weeks uncertain if I would actually be able to stay off the antidepressant. I still worry about postpartum. But the good news is that I know what to look for. I’m not so foolish as to think I don’t need to take care of myself, and I’m learning how to ask for help when I need it.
For many years, Jamie and I have talked about the possibility of having a third child. We are third children ourselves, and I’ve long suspected the third child born from third children would certainly be one amazing child. However, we were leaning toward being content as a family of four. I’d only recently begun to feel like myself again, our kids were getting older and less needy, and I simply wasn’t feeling all that brave in the Grow Your Family Department.
This little one is helping us to reconsider.
Each new day, I close the door on all the expectations I have for how my life “should” be and instead, commit myself to all that is real and true. I laugh right along with God. I decide that my mantra for 2017 is without a doubt, “Trust the timing of your life.”
I’m trusting something bigger than myself. I’m seeing the gift I have been blessed with. And the timing of it all was indeed, miraculous. Had my doctor’s appointment been any earlier in the month, it’s unlikely that my pregnancy would have been detected. I would have taken the radioactive iodine, and I’m sure our baby would not have survived.
So we are carving out space in our hearts and in our home for this new little one. We are also carving out space in my body. I’m sporting a round pooch that makes you wonder how many times I over indulged at Chipotle this week. I may have already gained 12 pounds. Pants are my enemy. I’m exhausted. I’m starving. Holy moly, I’m growing a baby!
Jackson wants to go ahead and bring all the infant stuff out of the basement so we’ll be ready. He tells anyone who will listen that we are having a baby. With eyes opened wide in amazement he confides, “It’s the size of a blueberry!”
At day’s end, I follow behind four feet marching up the stairs. There are books and songs and whispers as I tuck two little boys into warm beds. Kisses are exchanged and then one small voice says, “I need to kiss the baby goodnight.”
It makes me smile as I reply, “That’s a great idea, Jackson. Our baby is so lucky to have a big brother like you.” He scoots close on the bed and bends down, placing his puckered lips on my growing belly. “Mwah!”
And just like that, love overshadows all of my worries, all of my doubts and every single last one of my fears.