Miracles Do Happen

Miracles Do Happen
By Valerie Graham
Copyright © 2007

It was a typically mild Colorado winter day in mid-December in 1999 as I sat in my doctor's office relaying my symptoms to her, i.e., a radical drop in my energy level, nauseous throughout the day and, oh yes, I was a couple weeks late for my period, which wasn’t that unusual given my age of nearly 47. My doctor laughed and said that I was no doubt pre-menopausal and that I should make another appointment to discuss hormone replacement therapy. Then she proceeded to examine me physically. After noting some tenderness in my lower right abdomen, my doctor stated that she suspected appendicitis. She wanted to have my blood drawn and I needed to return to her office the next morning. Looking over her shoulder as she exited the examining room, she told me not to be surprised if we had to schedule surgery the next day.

I returned to my doctor's office as requested the following day. She entered the examining room with a somewhat puzzled expression on her face saying that the results of my blood test were unexpectedly normal. When I queried her as to what she thought the problem was if not appendicitis, she replied that she was uncertain. She wanted to run some more tests, including an x-ray of my abdomen. But, given our conversation on the previous day, she wanted to do a quick urine test as a precaution before I had the x-ray. While I was doing that, my doctor would decide what additional tests were warranted.

Obediently, I delivered the goods, and then returned to the examining room pending further instructions. As I sat there nonchalantly skimming some scandalous tabloid for the latest gossip, a rare indulgence in my hectic schedule, in strode my physician with an inscrutable smile on her face. "Well," she said, "I know it's impossible, but you are pregnant, my dear." I immediately burst into tears. Could it be possible after dutifully serving as "step-monster" to two sets of two kids each that my most heartfelt desire to become a "real" mom had come true?

The first set of kids were from my first marriage, now grown and married themselves, the oldest having honored me by allowing me to be present in the delivery room when each of my two grandsons made their entrance into this world eight and six years ago, respectively. The second set consisted of my second husband's two teenage sons, then ages 15 and 18.

It was, as my doctor so aptly stated, impossible! After all, I was nearly 47 years old and had never been pregnant. In addition, I had been diagnosed with Parkinson's and, as a result, I took an elaborate cocktail of very powerful drugs several times a day to control the symptoms. Also, my husband had a vasectomy long before he met me, a procedure which had obviously been successful as we had lived together for nearly five years at that point and, due the circumstances, not used any form of birth control without producing any babies. As I repeated all the reasons why it was impossible, my doctor nodded her head in agreement but said that the results were indisputable.

Afraid to believe the news, I then calmly explained to her that obviously there was only one logical explanation which was that the test had resulted in a false positive. For the briefest moment she seemed to entertain the notion as she acknowledged that perhaps that was a possibility although she had never encountered this in her years of practice and thought it highly unlikely. More likely, she said, in a slightly quieter and more solemn tone of voice, was the possibility that I had an ectopic or fallopian pregnancy which, if proven, would require immediate termination.

From entertaining joyous, though incredulous notions of pregnancy one moment, to contemplating the prospect of an abortion, albeit in the very earliest stages of life, my mind, body and soul swooned at the enormous swing in life's pendulum. Before I could properly collect my thoughts, though, I heard the reassuring voice of my doctor say that, with my approval, she would schedule an ultrasound later that very day which would resolve the uncertainty.

I somehow managed to convey my consent to this course of action. The next thing I knew I was alone in the examining room while the arrangements were being made. Prior to that time, I do not recall ever having been so frightened, yet so excited all at the same time.

Without realizing what I was doing, I found myself dialing my husband's office on my cell phone. Having no idea what I would say to him, I heard a familiar male voice answer. Before I could formulate a strategy in my mind, I heard him ask, "Are you calling me from your doctor's office?"

I meekly replied, "Yes."

"You're pregnant, aren't you?" he simply asked without betraying any emotion.

"That's what they think," I remember stuttering, before a jumble of words and emotions spilled out of me. "They've scheduled an ultrasound later this afternoon," I stated tremulously, "If it's an ectopic pregnancy, my doctor said it will have to be terminated."

"It's okay. I'll be there with you, honey," he reassured me.

Later that afternoon, I sat on a cold hard metal table with my feet in stirrups, my husband by my side and my sweaty right hand enveloped in his slightly larger, sweatier left hand. Our eyes were glued to a screen which would map our future. The technician efficiently conducted an ultrasound of my uterus. Miraculously, an image resembling a pinto bean in size appeared before our eyes, unremarkable except for its distinctive rhythmic pulsing. This was to be the first glimpse of our precious daughter, Abigail Quinn, the miracle baby, an undeniable gift from God, a soul determined to come into this world against all odds. A mere six weeks old, the healthy beating of her tiny heart was unmistakable.

The ensuing months were to present many challenges, all of which were met with varying mixtures of grace and trepidation. Fortified with the results of a normal, healthy amniocentesis and regular ultrasounds (one of the few advantages of "elderly primigravida"), we strode confidently through the remaining term of my somewhat difficult pregnancy. At 5:19 p.m. on Wednesday, August 2, 2000, after enduring nine months of "morning/noon/night and middle of the night" sickness and four broken ribs, our precious Abigail was delivered into this world by C-section, measuring 20 inches and weighing 7 pounds, 4 ounces—proof positive that miracles do happen!

Comments

[Carol D. O'Dell]

Amazing story!

My birth mother was 48 when she had me--and suffering from schizophrenia.

It would have been so easy for a doctor--or my family to have decided "I" was not feasible. Yet, here I am!

What a joy-filled story this is!

[Joe]

This is a great story, an inspiration to us all.

[Paul Schroder]

Val,
Congrats on this true miracle it has been said that with God all things are possible and your story is a very good example of that. I know your life is full and this was unexpected but trust in God and your journey thru this life will be truly blessed.