At our 37w appointment (the infamous one where I found out I would likely need a c-section), my husband and I had some time to kill between my appointment and the ultrasound. So we went down to Dunkin’ Donuts on the first floor of the building to grab some breakfast before returning upstairs to the OB office to sit in the waiting room, looking through our baby name book as he munched on donuts and I sipped my tasty decaf coffee.
Some time later, someone walked into the OB office from the hallway and stopped short before turning and walking towards us. We both looked up—it was my RE.
The last time I saw him was when the above ultrasound was taken at 10w pregnant. Back in August. That appointment ended with us in his office, with him sitting across from me at his desk with the information on my pregnancy on his screen, assuring me that we had both done everything possible to ensure a successful pregnancy and he didn’t doubt for a moment that this one was going to stick. I stood to leave, he reached across and shook my hand, and told me he couldn’t wait to run into me at the office with a big ol’ belly to show off.
It just so happened that moment was meant for this day.
He didn’t look surprised so much as…content. Like seeing my late third trimester belly confirmed what he knew already to be true. He shook my hand and my husband’s hand and asked how we were. I touched my belly and responded that we were really good, the many levels of meaning not lost on my RE. He told me I looked great, that he was very happy for us. With a big smile, he wished us a safe delivery and continued on to the fertility clinic side of the OB office, disappearing behind the door as it closed behind him.
I turned to my husband and remarked on how cool it was to see him when we were so far along, and we reflected on how long ago that last appointment felt. It had been 27 weeks…almost a full seven months later, months filled with anxiety, and hope, and waiting. I’d left that last ultrasound with my RE feeling uncertain of the future, despite his reassurance, and yet here we were only weeks away from meeting our son.
After the OB appointment, and being told I would really need a c-section to guarantee the safest delivery of our baby, I cried as soon as we got in the car. I cried because I was disappointed, because I was scared. But it didn’t take long for me to remember that chance meeting with my RE in the waiting room, and where this had all began…to remember what was most important…to remember where I came from. In the end, Joseph had to get here safely. Every choice, every decision, every medication, every procedure I had done up until this point had been to conceive and nurture him in the best way possible, and—ultimately—so would the decision to choose a c-section.