I Think It's Called Hope

My husband is angry. I think all the bad in our lives is starting to get to him. He’s somewhere between, Haven’t we been through enough? and How could we have let this happen?

I don’t share his anger - defeated resignation, perhaps. But even more than that, a welcome composure has nestled into my broken body; I seem to be navigating the circus around me with a calm, a calm not of myself.

I think it’s called hope.

Sometimes I question God’s movement in my life. Actually, if I’m honest, sometimes I question the very idea of God. But, sitting with my radiation oncologists, in this wild predicament, I feel a confidence (that is usual for me) that God has brought me to this place. By this place, I mean this extremely unlikely conception, this rare and astounding pregnancy, and this very radiation oncology office.

The office has paused my treatment and spent three days scrambling to learn facts and risks. Where other offices have institutionalized mandatory abortions for any pregnancy arising within treatment, my doctors are scouring medical journals to learn risks and ratios and then are going to let me decide how I will proceed.

They never present my ceasing treatment as an option, which is helpful to Bobby and me as we’re sorting through a myriad of ethical considerations and raw emotions. When we tell them (adamantly), yes, we want to continue with this pregnancy, they stand behind me in every perfect way they can. They bring in experts to calculate possible scatter radiation with my exact measurements; they redo my radiation blueprint, bringing the beams into a tighter area; they give me as much information as they can garner, (there’s not a lot of applicable statistics out there, as this is extremely rare); and, they bring in every lead blanket in the area to pile across my abdomen in an attempt to reduce scatter exposure to the fetus. They find me a geneticist, an OB-GYN, and a Neonatologist.

They tell me they believe the chances may actually be good the baby will make it through without harm. Perhaps both of us can survive.

Perhaps there will be a rainbow at the end of my storm.

Perhaps God is still moving amidst my life.