Miracle Baby (cont'd)

So, after flying from WA to Michigan to undergo an ovarian transposition, I returned home for a month of radiation. Sometime during chemo I had begun moving through patches of hot flashes and hormonal menopausal road rage, as my ovaries shut down from the influx of chemicals. We went to Pacific NW Fertility clinic in downtown Seattle, next door to Swedish, for an evaluation of our chances at conceiving another child. The specialist there did an ultrasound on my connected ovary (hilariously, she could not locate the other one despite half an hour of trying). Apparently, yet another thing that oncologists don't often think to mention to their patients is that chemotherapy causes ovaries to "hemorrhage" eggs, and I had very, very few eggs left. We were told that the few remaining eggs were too fragile to survive an in-vitro attempt, and that embro adoption was a good option for us, as my uterus was in pretty good shae and I could still carry a baby. I could expect to enter a permanent menopause shortly, and our chances of conceiving even with fertility drugs were considered almost nil.

My husband wasn't worried. With his constant, annoying optimism, he told me, "I'm not worried.. I just think we're going to have more kids." I tried to beat it into his head - "Honey! You just don't get it! We're done!" A few months later, I experienced massively fertile signs (learned from Natural Family Planning) and didn't think much of it. But my body knew what it was doing! I imagine my body knew it had come up with a perfectly preserved, ripened egg and it damn sure wasn't going to waste that egg! So my hardworking, faithful old body put all of its energy into manufacturing cervical fluid and making everything just perfect for conception. A few weeks later when I hadn't had my period, I still wasn't getting excited - it was at that time a faithless companion, coming and going at will. But when I began feeling nauseous, I pulled out an old test just to set my mind at rest. The line appeared. I stared in disbelief and went back and read the instructions on the pamphlet again. No mistake!

Even then, it took a few months for me to realize that the pregnacy was real and probably going to stick! I kept expecting a miscarriage, a tragic disappointment, and so I reined myself in and disallowed any enthusiasm for this little one until the second trimester was in full swing. "Hm," I thought, "maybe the little guy is going to stick around after all!"

Bryan and I both had a gut feeling that our baby was a boy this time, well ahead of any chance at a gender check. I started picking up baby boy clothes and collecting a list of boy names, despite my own protests at my "ridiculous" behavior. I half-heartedly picked through girl clothes, girl names as a gesture, but inwardly something told me, "You won't need those."

Sure enough, the ultrasound revealed a boy!

This baby never would have been if I had listened to the first gynecologic surgeon without seeking a second opinion. This surgeon had come highly recommended by my oncologist, whom I greatly respected. .

I learned a HUGE lesson: ALWAYS question everything during cancer/medical treatment. If you don't like it, ask again. Ask someone else. Ask again. Is there another way we can do this? Really, it is YOUR life; this matters the most to you. The medical staff can handle your polite assertiveness! Time and time again I have discovered that actually, there is usually another way of doing things that is less painful, less embarrassing, less damaging, and YOU will be the only one to care enough to press the medical professionals into remembering the other options. Don't be afraid! It is their job to take care of you and you need to help them learn how best to do that.

1. When I was at Island Hospital, recovering from my C-section with Elijah, I was dismayed to learn that there were only three milkshake options on the menu: chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. I was madly craving a chocolate peanut butter millkshake. Using my newfound theory on medicine, I wrote a nice note on my order form, begging for a PEANUT BUTTER chocolate milkshake. Guess what? The people filling my order were compassionate human beings, and I got my milkshake.

2. I never imagined that the technicians would be routinely using larger needles than necessary to do my blood draws, but they were. After much caterwauling, a kind-hearted nurse offered me a butterfly needle, useable for most blood tests. Much smaller and usually used on children. But since I was bursting into tears with every draw, I sweetly demanded a butterfly needle for every test after that.

3. I spent my first two scans, MRI and PET/CT, in incredible pain because of the positioning. During the MRI there was nothing to be done, but after mutely enduring the PET/CT, shaking and moaning with tears running down my face because of the overwhelming pain, I was told that actually, it is possible to move between segments of the scan. A great technician worked with me after that, allowing me as much movement as possible, and the pain went down to almost zero. If only I had hollered out immediately, I would have been saved that first traumatic, helpless experience! If it hurts, ALWAYS, ALWAYS say something.

And for sure, there is much, much more.