“And was this planned?” asks the doctor, and her pen pauses over the file.
And I try not to laugh--or cry--only smile wryly.
We gave up our plans, slowly, painfully, years ago,
Replaced them with hope, with longing, with trying again.
With hard surrender to our limitations, with adjustments to our dreams.
Planned? Like the years-long wait, the rush of blood, the mad dash to the hospital,
Searching black screens in vain, tears, appointments, procedures?
And our longed-for, hoped-for child, the only one to hold on long enough to be born?
No plans there, either. Five years later than planned, and five weeks earlier.
And the past weeks, again, fearing to hope, trying to smile, nightmares filled with blood.
No. Nothing has been planned.
But that’s not her real question, is it?
So I ignore her words and respond to the unspoken.
Is this baby wanted? Will you welcome it with joy? Will you do all you can to keep it?
Yes, I answer.
Please, God, yes.