The Plan is in Place

On Monday, Max, Bob, Jan and Carrie and I showed up at the Northwest OBGYN anticipating an ultrasound that would tell us the baby’s sex. When we arrived, however, we were told that there must have been a misunderstanding because we were not actually scheduled for an ultrasound that day.

I was very confident, upon checking in, that once in the exam room with the doctor, we could convince him to just sneak us in for a quick peak at the baby. After all, as Max pointed out, they had taken time off work to come to the appointment and Bob had yet to see the baby on ultrasound. Of course Dr. Barrong would understand and move us right into the ultrasound room.

When Dr. Barrong walked into the room he walked right toward me and said, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you.”

I didn’t know what he was talking about. “When did I see you?” I asked.

He opened the chart and scanned it. “Looks like it was 1997. I performed your DNC.”

“Oh yes, of course! That’s right,” I said, though I didn’t remember his face, nor did I remember that he was the one that performed the operation.

In 1997, in a desperate act to have some reason to stay in my marriage, I decided it was time to start a family. I figured a baby would bring Doug and I together and I went to work planning the best times to conceive so that its birth would fit right into our work schedules. At the time, I was teaching high school, so a summer baby would be just right.

I got pregnant right on schedule and delivered the happy news to my parents on my dad’s 50th birthday with a little picture frame that had sayings engraved all over it about grandparents. “Really?” my dad said. We shook our heads yes and he announced to all the party goers, “I’m going to be a granddad!” Everyone was elated and I could think of nothing more perfect. This baby was conceived in time to be a great “gift” on dad’s birthday, it was going to be born at the right time for me to take maternity leave and then spend the summer caring for it, and it was going to be someone I could focus on that would fill a void in my marriage. Perfect.

All was not perfect, however. At our seven week doctor’s appointment, we could not hear the heartbeat on Doppler. “Not to worry,” said the doctor. “Your uterus is tilted backwards, so I’m not totally surprised. Let’s give it a couple more weeks.”

Two weeks passed, and in that time, I had purchased a crib, painted the baby’s room, bought bedding and started looking at little baby outfits. I arrived at my appointment ready to hear its little heart beating, but we still couldn’t hear it. “Why don’t you just go over to Inland Imaging to get an ultrasound,” said the doctor. “This way, we’ll rule out any problems.”

The ultrasound tech entered the room, turned the lights down, and started searching for the baby. Nothing. It had stopped developing at seven weeks. “Looks like this is not a viable pregnancy,” he said matter-of-factly. I was devastated. I was referred back to my doctor who told me I could let it abort naturally or I could schedule a DNC. I scheduled the DNC and that’s where I first met Dr. Barrong.

The irony, sitting in his office 13 years later, struck me. Thirteen years ago, I “planned” for everything to go smoothly and for a baby to fit perfectly into that plan. Thirteen years ago, I was taught the lesson that babies come on their own terms and to think that you can plan when and how and what it will be like is not only unrealistic, it’s ridiculous.

Sitting there thinking of ways to talk the doctor into letting us see the baby on ultrasound that day because we all had taken time out of our busy schedules to receive the news we wanted to hear was equally ridiculous. The only news that was really important on Monday was that, “Things are looking good.” That’s what we heard, in addition to the heartbeat at 160 beats per minute, and that’s all that matters. And with that, I am reminded that we need to give all of the power and control that we think we have, back to this baby.

I believe that baby’s choose their parents and they choose when it’s time to be born. I miscarried my first baby for a reason. That baby, or that hope of a baby, was meant to be in my life to teach me that I am not in charge of this process. Max and Bob suffered through two miscarriages and this last round of invitro was their last hope.

This baby, in conjunction with Divine guidance and intervention and medical scientific breakthroughs, chose its time to come and we all just need to relax into the knowledge and belief that it knows what it’s doing. One really can’t “plan” for the impact that a child has on everyone around it.

Our lesson on Monday was to surrender to this process that for so long was manipulated and controlled by injections, pills, patches, and forced circumstances. For a while, we seemed to be controlling the outcome, yet even then, we perceived that control. We never really had it. This baby chose Max and Bob and it choose me, too. It is holding the reigns right now.

In the center of my body grows a child that will be the center of the universe to so many people. The plan now is to let things go according to this baby’s plan.