It felt like labor. Every three or four minutes, kaboom, here comes another contraction. The due date was only ten days away, and Jerry and I had been so patient and had worked so hard to bring the pregnancy to a healthy conclusion. Turns out, the night of the 16th was a no-go. Contractions dwindled to nothing and I went to bed, disappointed and enormously, hugely, stick-a-weather-balloon-to-your-middle, pregnant.
The next day, November 17th, real labor slammed into me with a wallop that rattled my teeth. A couple of hours later, after pushing what felt like two buicks from down there, two pink, healthy, full-term newborns lay in my arms. The end of one journey. The beginning of another.
As we step forward into my breast cancer treatment, I realized today that the time span will be about nine months. Nine months to cut away the bad spot, infuse any strays with extra-strength bug killer, and then blast any lurkers that might be in stealth mode in my breast and armpit. A nine-month journey to health, life, grandchildren, retirement, travel…finally perfecting Chopin’s A-flat Polonaise.
Carrying a high-risk pregnancy to term wasn’t easy. We were filled with anxiety and there were many sacrifices, but the reward was a miracle. Cancer treatment won’t be easy, either. We will learn to leave the anxiety in God’s hands and endure the sacrifices, supporting each other and watching for the blessings.
Happy birthday, boys!