Twiglet

As many of you may know, in 2004, when I was 22, I was diagnosed with cancer. I was one of the lucky ones. They caught it early, I had a fantastic team of doctors at some of the best hospitals in the world, and after the two-year ordeal, I survived practically unscathed, with only a two-inch scar across my neck; a scar I wear with pride that keeps me grateful for the life I have.
Bill and I say that having cancer at such a young age was actually a blessing in disguise. Because there is a thirty-percent chance that my cancer could come back, I am closely monitored by a team of doctors. I have bi-annual exams, yearly ultrasounds and every few years I get full body scans. Now, if the smallest thing pops up on the screen, I am whisked through a battery of tests to nip it in the bud. It is actually quite amazing.
I estimate that since I was first diagnosed, I have had a dozen or so ultrasounds. With every one, there is always some anxiety that the technician will say, “Hmm,” suddenly focusing on one part of my neck and bringing in the radiologist for a second opinion, as I lay there desperately trying to decipher the fuzziness of the screen. But almost always, she evenly scans my neck, then turns with a smile and tells me everything looks great and that I can go home worry free for another year.
But this year has brought a big change for Bill and I. September 1, 2009 was an exciting day for us. It was on this day that I had my first ultrasound that wasn’t for cancer screening. And when something did pop up on the fuzzy black and white screen, it brought joy, not fear. It brought promises for the future, and didn’t threaten to take them away. It was on this day, during my first non-cancer screening ultrasound, that they found the precious beating heart of a new life forming.
I will be honest, it was really surreal. As the doctor set up the ultrasound, it was instinctual to be a little anxious. And as strange as this may sound, I didn’t want her to find anything because I’ve been conditioned to think that finding something is a bad thing. As she smiled down at me and showed us on the screen where our little one was, I kept trying to wrap my head around the fact that something is growing inside me that is good. With a blank stare, all I could muster was an “Huh.”
She printed out a picture of the ultrasound and gave it to us to bring home. I kept staring at it. I kept asking Bill what he thought, needing some guidance for what I was to think. When I got home, I put the picture up on the fridge, and then it hit me. I’m pregnant!