“Ms. Carrington,” the doctor says, sitting down in a chair, beside my bed. Susan scoots her plastic chair over to the wall, to make more room. “According to the ultrasound results, everything looks good with your baby. He’s doing just fine in there.”

“He’s?” I ask, a slow smile spreading across my face.

“I’m sorry,” the doctor says. “I assumed the ultrasound tech told you the gender. Did you not want to know?”

“Yes, I do want to know,” I tell her. “I mean, I would have been happy with either gender. I just want a healthy baby. But it’s so sweet that it’s a boy.”

I smile at Susan and say, “A boy cousin for Mason! Becky will be disappointed it’s not a girl.”

I instantly feel more of a connection to him now that I know his gender. I’ll have to start thinking of names.

“We’ll start getting the nursery ready, with little boy clothes, and we can paint it blue…” Susan says, sounding nearly as excited as I am.

I continue to smile at her. I’m really grateful for her help and support. It’s funny, how at first I was the one helping her, and now the tables have pretty much turned. But I think that my having this baby gives both of us some much needed focus, and hope.

“So, yes, the baby is fine,” says the doctor. “But your ultrasound and internal exam show that you may have an incompetent cervix. That could certainly explain your recent symptoms.”

“A what?” I ask her.

Incompetent sounds scary, as if my cervix can’t do its job. I have to remember basic biology lessons to remind myself that the cervix is the lower part of my uterus, that closes off the womb from the outside world. I know it’s the thing that dilates during labor, but that’s about all I know about it.

“It basically means that there is weak cervical tissue,” the doctor explains.

Then she looks at my chart. “This is your first pregnancy, correct?”

“Yes.”

I think back to all the times I tried, unsuccessfully, to get pregnant. And then, when I thought it was all for the best and I didn’t even think I wanted a baby, this miracle happens, and causes me to re-think everything.

In case it makes a difference, I add, “I had tried before, for quite a while, but they finally told me I was unable to have children.”

“You’ve never had a miscarriage or pregnancy loss?” the doctors asks.

“No. Never. Just… infertility, I guess.”

“Well, it’s good that we caught this early on then. You had good motherly instincts, coming in as soon as you experienced symptoms.”

I smile, proud of myself and feeling as if I deserve a Mother of the Year trophy already. But then I remember that I was in pain and very fearful; what else would I have done except come to the hospital?

“Often an incompetent cervix doesn’t show signs until later in the first pregnancy, and by that time it can be too late,” the doctor continues. “It can result in miscarriage or premature birth. Then we know to take preventative measures during the subsequent pregnancy. But in your case, I’m going to go ahead and recommend we get started with these measures now.”

“Okay,” I tell her, still a bit fearful because she mentioned miscarriage. “Whatever is best for the baby.”

“It’s still possible that you’ll give birth prematurely, but hopefully we can make sure it’s late enough in the pregnancy to be viable,” she says.

My heart speeds up, worried and fearful.

“We’ll put you on medication called progesterone supplementation,” she continued. “We’ll give you a cervical cerclage, which is a surgery where we’ll stitch your cervix closed with strong sutures. They’ll need to be removed during your last month of pregnancy, or during labor.”

“Okay,” I tell her.

“And you’ll have extra monitoring via ultrasounds to make sure the cervix stays closed and the baby is still doing well. Does all of that make sense?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

“I’d also advise you to limit your activities. You don’t need to go on complete bed rest, but you’ll want to make sure to avoid strenuous exercise, or prolonged walking or even standing. Are you currently working?”

“No,” I tell her.

“Okay, that’s good,” she says, and I’ve never been so glad to not be active Air Force, which is ironically the one thing that used to define me.

“You should really try to avoid vigorous activity,” the doctor says. “It wouldn’t hurt to stay in bed as much as possible. Do you have a…?”

She asks, and then looks at Susan, seated quietly in the chair by the wall. I know she was going to ask if I had a partner, but thought better of it.

“I’m her sister-in-law and I live with her,” Susan volunteers, eagerly. “I have two children of my own so I’m used to pregnancy issues. I can help her, and do whatever she needs.”

“Great,” the doctor says, looking relieved. “You should really take this time to just relax. Take Susan here up on her offer to help you out. Try to focus on getting rest and staying horizontal or at least just seated as much as possible, rather than running around being up on your feet all day every day. Okay?”

“Yes,” I tell her.

It will be hard for me. I’m used to staying active. But I know I have to do what’s best for my baby, and at least I don’t have to be on strict bed rest. Perhaps some time to relax will do me good.

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asks.

“Just… when will I get that surgery you mentioned?”

I’m anxious to get my cervix stitched up, so that the baby will sit tight.

“We can do it right now, or as soon as they’re ready to wheel you up to surgery,” the doctor says, making a note in my chart. “I’ll go check on the status, but it shouldn’t be too long. It will be a short surgery, so if Susan lives close by she can come pick you up afterwards, maybe?”

“Sure,” Susan says, getting up and walking over to the bed.

“Okay, well it was nice meeting you and I wish you all the best with this pregnancy,” the doctor says.

I smile at her as she leaves the room, then I tell Susan, “You can go ahead and go. I know you have to pick up Mason and Becky soon, and it doesn’t sound like you’re needed or even allowed in the surgical area.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, holding my hand in hers. “I’m so glad to hear that everything should be okay. I told you…”

“Yes, you did,” I say, grinning. “I’m glad they can do this surgery right away. I’ll call you when I’m done so you can just swing by with the kids and hopefully they can wheel me outside to meet you or something.”

Susan uses a 24-hour drop-off daycare when she needs it, because I’m her only relative that lives here, and until recently I worked a lot. It’s not exactly cheap, and I’m grateful she could bring me to the hospital and be here with me, but I also don’t want to hold her up any more than I have to.

“Okay, love you,” she says, bending down to give me a kiss on the forehead.

“Love you too. Thanks for everything!”

I put on my headphones and start playing the Just For One Weekend soundtrack I’d made for Ramsey. “Motorcycle Drive-By” is on, which is fitting but doesn’t bode well for the future.

As I reflect on the lyrics, I know I’ve almost never felt so alone, but I do have my baby boy to keep me company. As for never feeling so in love… well, I’m definitely in love with the baby. I’ll just keep it at that.

I’m still a bit afraid for the baby, but I’m glad to have answers and hopefully a solution. Everything is falling into place, and I’m excited for the future. I wish that Ramsey could be here with me and be a part of this but I know that’s not how life works. No one can get everything they want.