On the Friday before Thanksgiving of 2003, I saw my infertility specialist and was reminded as I walked through the front doors how science can only do so much; the rest lies in the sovereign plans of an almighty God. That thought rang in my head as the smooth wand of the ultrasound device once again rolled over my uterus. I blinked hard and then stared at the bright screen positioned slightly to my right. Instantly my mind scanned the information. I was a nurse. I had had twins. I had also experienced what seemed like hundreds of ultrasounds. There was no mistaking what I saw, yet instantly I was in a state of denial. I simply could not allow my brain to process what my eyes were telling it.

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."

© 2008 by Katie Irene Gosselin and Beth Ann Carson.


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