As if in a trance, we all just continued to stare, as slowly and steadily my doctor began his fateful count. One. Two. Three. Four. I started sobbing. I saw the concentration in the deep dark eyes of my African doctor as he himself tried to remain calm as the images unfolded. I turned to Jon, willing him to say it was not what it seemed. The chill of reality washed over me as I watched my husband—my best friend, cheerleader, and storehouse of strength—slowly drop to his knees at the count of five. Fear stricken and nauseous, he couldn't bear to look anymore. I really don't think anybody wanted to look anymore, but the count continued. Six. Seven. Letter G. Yes, the lifechanging fuzzy little blips were being named. They were now A, B, C, D, E, F, and G.
There was a slight upward lilt in the inflection of the doctor's voice as he tried to sound positive. I think as much for his own comfort as for mine, he went on to explain that he was able to detect a fetus in "just" four of the embryonic sacs. As Jon and I tried to catch our breath, a nurse with twenty-five years' experience turned to me and with quiet truth gently said, "Kate, in all these years, I have never seen this many sacs on an ultrasound."