Sonya

Our lives are full of unexpected challenges. So, when something really crazy happens to one of my patients, like,“the dog ate my medicine” or “my husband got hurt (you know, hurt) playing baseball”, I try to reassure them that after a little time and a few tears, the event in question will seem less of a catastrophe and simply become a part of their story. And, after nearly two decades as a nurse working with fertility patients, I am happy to report that I have been particularly blessed to witness many such wonderful stories, and they, in turn, have become a part of my story. But before I share any of them with you, perhaps I should start at the beginning…

In 1995, nothing was working. I was thirty pounds overweight, my marriage was rapidly turning into a hot mess, and I was infertile. My husband and I had been struggling for nearly four years to get pregnant and let it suffice to say, I was out of control, out to lunch, and a whole bunch of other “outs” I thankfully can’t even remember now. We had been working with Dr. McClamrock for about a year and knew what the problem was, but insurance was an issue and we needed to wait to get treatment. Waiting was never my strong suit, hence the reason for all the “outs”. Consequently, as we neared the holidays, the volume on my voice of despair started to increase. But then surprisingly, amidst the family gatherings and the preparation for the season, I somehow managed to turn it down and listen instead to a different voice.

This voice was calm and hopeful, but to be honest, I don’t even really know whose voice it was. I suppose it was a collaboration of sorts; my family and friends, my faith, or maybe even me. And, since Momma told me never to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided to just go with it. I was happy that December, and in January, it hit me.

I had long stopped keeping track of cycles, but the more I thought about it, the more I couldn’t remember the last time I had a cycle. I skeptically dug through the bathroom closet and found an expired home pregnancy test…positive. “You’re kidding me, right?” I got in the car, drove to the CVS, and bought a double pack of unexpired home pregnancy tests…positive, positive. When my husband came home from work that evening, he looked at my face and asked me what was wrong. “Did something happen to Duke?” (our dog) I told him about the positive test. “How?” I reminded him that we had some good days that December and refreshed his memory on junior high health class.

The next morning, I called Dr. McClamrock from work and blurted out “You’re not going to believe… “, but he was too fast for me. “You’re pregnant.” I was clueless at this point; I had years of nursing experience, yet I had no idea what to do next. Thankfully, Dr. McClamrock suggested a blood test to confirm. Only this time, I was the fast one. I think I actually arrived in the lab before he had a chance to hang up the phone. And then I waited. (You remember what I said about waiting, right?)

I was an operating room nurse doing mostly GYN surgery in those days and seeing Dr. McClamrock in the OR was a common occurrence for me, but this wasn’t his usual procedure day. So when I finished my case and saw him standing in the hallway, the volume on my voice of despair became deafening. He was wearing his coat and I was certain that he had come across the street in the cold to tell me that I was wrong, not having the heart to deliver the bad news over the phone. But, just as I was starting to feel really embarrassed, I noticed that Dr. McClamrock held a small piece of pink paper in his hand (you know, one of those old fashioned While You Were Out memos we used before e-mail). He smiled, handed it to me, and the noise stopped. It was a note from his secretary that read; lab called, Leasure HCG positive.

Sometimes, unexpected works.