I squeezed my wife’s hand as she lay back on the examination table. The doctor spread the bluish goo on her belly and set the Doppler over it. I closed my eyes and listened.

Boom boom…boom boom…boom, boom. The sound I had been longing to hear for so long finally rang in my ears. The baby’s heart screamed at me. I’m here! I’m here!

“Everything is perfect,” declared the doctor.

“Are you sure?” I questioned.

“Yes. They’re both doing great.”

“Thank God.”

“Do you know what it is yet?” He asked.

“No. We don’t want to know.” We replied together.

“Well what do you think it is?”

“I know he wants a boy.”

“I just want a healthy baby, ” I chimed in, with my heart pounding.

A long difficult journey finally took a positive turn. But, deep down inside pangs of apprehension remained from painful memories that I will never forget.

I had been ready for fatherhood soon after we married six and a half years ago. My wife is twelve years younger than me, so I agreed to wait until she was ready. I made a vow to never pressure her. I needed to make sure she arrived at this decision without my influence. So, I never brought up the subject on my own. I am proud to say, I stayed true to my word right up until that day finally arrived over four years ago.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m ready to be a mom now.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m positive.”

Thus began our journey to parenthood. It started with grand illusions of getting pregnant right away and starting a family within a year. We talked about things like finances, day care, names, godparents even babysitters.

In less than a year our plan began to take shape when Wendy became pregnant. Ten weeks into the pregnancy, just two days before I was to undergo major back surgery I heard those horrid words that no man ever wants to hear from his pregnant partner.

“Something’s not right!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“This can’t be good. I’ve been getting cramping on an off for a few hours and now it’s getting really bad.”

“Maybe it’s stretching or something,” I replied trying to stay positive.

She moaned and held her stomach as tears appeared in her eyes. “No. Something is really wrong.”

I never felt so helpless in all my life as a horrid reality began to take shape. The idea of watching my wife suffer through the physical and emotional agony of losing an unborn child never crossed my mind. Deep down inside I knew exactly what had started, but I could not let on. I kept my focus on her and somehow managed to stay calm.

We rushed to the hospital and within an hour had confirmation.

“I am so sorry,” the doctor told us. “The fetus did give way.”

I wanted more than anything to be the one lying on that hospital bed. I needed to take the pain and suffering away, but I knew I couldn’t. She did not deserve this. I prayed so hard to wake up from a dreadful nightmare. Unfortunately, the heartbreak did not hide in my sleep.

I cannot imagine ever losing a child. That has to be the cruelest tragedy a parent could ever live through. But, this has to be a close second. I felt like someone had just ripped my heart out and threw it against the wall. As horrible as I felt, it could not possibly compared to the agony Wendy had to be experiencing.

Politely, the doctors and nurses left us alone for a while. We held each other and cried for what seemed like an eternity. Quickly I realized how much I needed my wife to be all right. My focus returned to her and I thanked God that I still had her.

We found out that miscarriages in a first pregnancy are not unusual. Sometimes a woman’s body is not ready. Sometimes it is an indication that something did not develop correctly. Usually the exact cause is unknown. All of this information comforted us and renewed our faith. So, we pressed on determined to start our family.

Later that summer Wendy became pregnant again. Although leery, we approached the coming nine months with as much excitement as the first time. We breathed some relief when we surpassed the point of the first pregnancy’s termination.

During week twelve we traveled from our home in the Chicago suburbs to the east coast to visit my family. On day one of the trip my wife again made a horrid declaration.

“Not again! Something’s wrong!”

My heart sank. I prayed that we were not about to live through a second miscarriage.

At first she concluded that the pain in her abdomen was not that bad. She convinced herself that everything would be okay. She learned from the previous pregnancy, that if a miscarriage was coming, nothing could be done to stop it.

So, we went on with our trip, but each day the waves of pain increased and the signs grew more obvious. We decided to call the doctor. She tried to calm us, but we both knew the inevitable had started again. The doctor told Wendy if she could manage to get on the plane and get home it was okay. She reiterated that, if the fetus had to pass, nothing could be done to slow it down or stop it. She also told us that many miscarriages occur at home, and that the women come in the next day for a check up.

So, the next morning we headed home. While at the airport the cramps continued to worsened in frequency and intensity. I begged her to let me take her to the hospital, but she refused.

“I want to get home,” she begged back. “Going to an unfamiliar hospital is just going to make me feel worse and even more uncomfortable.”

“But what if you start bleeding?” I pleaded again.

“I’ll deal with it. The flight is only two hours. Please just get me home.”

We boarded the plane, and I prayed she could hold on until we could get home to our hospital. Those prayers fell on deaf ears.

To this day, I cannot comprehend how my wife did not break down and lose her composure. She would not let me tell anyone or ask for help. The courage and strength she displayed, while going through a horrifically painful ordeal is at times unfathomable. I tried to feed off of her bravery, but I felt helpless. I could only hang on to her for dear life and kept praying that she would be all right. I became so frightened for her that the baby no longer mattered. Her health and well being became the only priority. I probably over reacted, but something horrible happening to my wife could not be an option.

We got home and rushed to the hospital. Again the confirmation came.

“I’m sorry.” The doctor calmly expressed. “You did miscarry.”

For the second time in less than a year we held each other and cried over a devastating loss. The only thing we both wondered out loud was why?

This time it felt like someone ripped my heart out of my chest and sliced it to shreds. I lost a second opportunity to become a father, but to witness my wife suffer through that abominable torture for the second time was about as much as much as I could bear. A father’s emotional and mental pain is real, but men do not have that physical bond that mother’s have with a fetus. Men also do not have to live through the physical torture.

I questioned if it was all worth it. I just couldn’t let that happen again. I began to convince myself that being a father might not be in the cards. I began to look at life differently, with a vision of no children and just enjoying life and growing old with Wendy.

Believe me, I wanted children more than anything. There is a gaping hole in my heart and soul that can only be filled by the birth of my own child. But, at the same time I would never forgive myself if she had to live through that agony again. I had to put her first, no matter what, even if it meant not becoming a father through childbirth.

It took incredible amounts of convincing to get me to continue trying. Wendy did and said everything she could think.

“The risk of a miscarriage decreases each time you get pregnant.” She declared. “That means the likelihood of the pregnancy going to term is better.”

“The odds have to be with us now.”

“I’m okay. I really am. It’s worth the risk to me”

And finally, “it’s my body.”

To her credit, she persuaded me. I guess she wanted to be a mom as badly as I wanted to be a father. So, we pressed on.

This time the do over did not come as easily. No matter what we did we could not get pregnant again. We tried every natural method we could think of and nothing worked. We both began to believe there had to be something physically wrong with one or both of us. We could not understand it. How could two pregnancies fail and now we can’t even get pregnant? Nothing made sense.

After a year and a half we sought the help of fertility specialists. Wendy got poked and prodded by several doctors testing for every kind of abnormality they could think of including a genealogy test. Everything came up normal.

I even had my semen tested. You talk about torture. No man wants to ever be told his sperm is not cutting it. I dreaded the results. But, thank God, it was normal.

For six months we took daily basal temperatures to track ovulation. She took medication to increase the chances of fertilization. Still no luck. We were at our wits end, stared our last resort in the eyes: invitro. The decision to take this route did not come easy. It is an invasive and scary process. To us it just seemed unnatural. I left this decision to my wife simply because I could not pull the trigger on a procedure that did not include my body.

So, there we sat in front of the fertility specialist listening to an explanation of the procedure.

“Do you understand everything that is involved here?” The doctor questioned.

“Yes,” we replied.

“You can change your mind at any time.”

“We understand,” declared my wife.

“And there are no guarantees.”

“We’re OK with it,” I added.

At that point, we were ready to follow through and not look back. The procedure required an undaunted commitment including perfect timing, rushing back and forth to the doctor’s office, me administering an injection to my wife, and the delicate procedure of placing two fertilized eggs into my wife’s uterus. Even though there were no guarantees we had to try, and agreed to start the process that week.

The next morning, unbeknownst to me, Wendy took a pregnancy test before she left for work. When she got home she took another one. When I arrived home she led me by the hand to our bathroom and told me to look down at the counter. There sat the two sticks with double pink lines indicating positive.

“No way!” I yelled. “Talk about timing. Holy Crap!”

“I think we scared my body into getting pregnant by deciding to go with invitro,” she yelled.

“Why didn’t you tell me that would work?” I said. “I would have made an appointment with that doctor a long time ago!”

Because of the two miscarriages we were considered high risk. This meant immediate attention by the doctor. So, she called the next day and went to her first appointment a few weeks later.

“Yes you are indeed pregnant,” declared the nurse.

Six weeks into the pregnancy Wendy saw the heartbeat for the first time on an ultrasound. Week fourteen is when I found myself squeezing her hand, head down in prayer after hearing my unborn child’s signs of life.

At week eighteen, we were back in the doctor’s office, this time for an ultrasound. Being a visual person, this became my ultimate dose of reality. I knew Wendy was pregnant, from witnessing the many symptoms like nausea, bad headaches, indigestion and cravings. But, as the old cliché goes, a picture is worth a thousand words. I assure you seeing is believing.

I stood at the foot of the examination table holding my wife’s leg. I had no idea why. I guess I just felt the need to let her know that we were in this together. The screen sat off to my left, with the technician at the controls. She had one hand on the keyboard and the other on the mechanism that she maneuvered all over my wife’s tummy.

Like magic, images appeared on the screen. My jaw dropped in amazement. Our child made its first official appearance. In awe, I could not say a word during the entire examination. There is nothing more miraculous than the conception, development and birth of a child. I have always said there are two things in life that I cannot comprehend. The first is flight. The second is childbirth. To me, they both stagger the imagination.

The technician ran through a gamut of visuals.

“There’s the heart. All four ventricles are working great,” she declared.

“Wow, he’s active,” she continued.

“There’s the brain. Everything is working.”

How the heck can she tell that? I thought.

From there the baby appeared in every possible angle you can think of. It seemed like our child knew we were watching and needed to show off by posing. Its message to us became clear. Here I am! Although I remained silent my brain sang out, “I’m right here waiting.”

At week twenty-one we went for what I call the super ultrasound. The machine used is much more powerful and gives greater detail than a regular ultrasound. The doctor requested this special look because she became concerned over the size of the baby’s stomach from the previous ultrasound. After what we had already been through the worst possible scenarios ran through both our heads. Unfortunately, we had to wait three weeks to have this test done, which really wore on our nerves. I could have killed the doctor for making us wait that long.

In any event, the results were all positive.

“There is nothing wrong with this baby’s stomach,” the doctor determined.

“Everything is there and functioning perfectly,”

As parting gifts we received two awesome pictures. The first came to us in the form of an unbelievable 3D photograph of our baby’s face. The other was an incredible shot of our baby giving us the thumbs up! That’s right. Its little hand was straight out with the thumb up, telling us, “I’m a-okay!” The ironic thing is, my wife and I do that to each other all the time! Now, how did he know to do that? Makes you wonder doesn’t it?

When we bought our current house over two years ago, we decided that the bedroom next to ours would be the baby-room. At one point during our struggles I shut the door to that room and vowed never to use it for anything except our baby. On several occasions I looked at the door of that room and truly believed the room would never be used.

A few months ago, I finally opened that door. I put Christmas lights in the window. I put my wife’s maternity clothes in there. And now it’s slowly filling up with baby stuff.

Week twenty-six is here and the anticipation is building. The opening of the baby room is not the only thing that has changed. I talk myself to sleep night after night thinking about the arrival of our child. I pray that our baby will be healthy and that we will make the right decisions.

I sleep less, but am not tired. I have never felt so awake and alive in my life. My senses seem to be firing on cylinders I never knew I had. Sometimes it feels like I’m on a chemical high without the drugs. I know my brain and body are preparing me for the arrival of my child.

I am a very active and hobby oriented person. I constantly keep busy by following sports, working out, playing softball, bowling, reading, writing, playing in fantasy sports leagues, keeping up the house, etc. But, I find my focus veering away from those and turning towards baby tasks. I realize my newest and most important hobby will be my child. And I am totally okay with that.

I now look at my wife with a sense of amazement. I know she does not know this. But I do. I see the glow that everyone talks about. I see the nurturing mother in her growing day by day. I have always known my wife will make a great mother. But to witness her evolve like this is quite amazing.

I have been told over and over by my wife, friends and family that I will be make a great father. I can’t tell you how much that means to me. I truly hope I live up to those expectations. I am ready, that’s for sure.

There is a very active baby in my wife’s tummy. The little one moves constantly and has quite a kick. Just ask my wife. When we are lying in bed or sitting together, if the baby is moving she grabs my hand and puts it on her stomach. I feel it squirming around. But within a few seconds it stops. It’s like I calm it down. I sure hope that is a sign of things to come. But who knows.

Life is filled with excitement, anticipation, uncertainties and lots of unknowns. The unknowns are many, like whether we are having a boy or girl; what color its eyes or hair is going to be; who it will look like; what will its personality be like. We haven’t even agreed on a name yet.

On the other hand, there are things I do know. I know tragedy builds character and can make you stronger. I know things happen for a reason. And the devastating losses we suffered were probably meant to help us be even better parents. I know that even though I thought I was ready before, I am more ready than ever. I may even have a greater appreciation for raising a child.

I know this above all else. To my unborn child, “Daddy is waiting!”

Epilogue

My son Matthew Alexander was born on April 9th, 2007. He came into this world at seven pounds and nineteen inches long. Since the moment the delivery doctor held him high in the air for me to see, he has been the single greatest joy I have ever known. Every struggle, every test, every day of waiting, every loss and every tear were all well worth the wait. I wouldn’t have traded any of it.

This story is dedicated to my wife. If it were not for her unflappable courage and determination, I would not be a father today. And of course to my son Matthew, who on a daily basis brings more joy to us than we have ever known.