Three. For some reason three was the magic number in my head.
Number one was so hard to conceive, to carry, to birth, to nurture.
Number two was going so well.
"If the rest of this pregnancy goes as well I would definitely consider a third " I said to my husband the night before my 20-week ultrasound appointment, which would be my final appointment with this doctor, and in this state. We were transferring on military orders and packing up.
The sonogram tech gave me no signs. All seemed well. I walked into my next appointment excited to thank my doctor for my time with her. The nurse asked if she could bring in a student doctor with her.
"Sure!" I said. The doctor walked in alone and I knew.
"The baby is fine, but you are not. There is a very large mass on your ovary and it will need to be removed immediately. We are sending you to a higher level hospital to meet with oncology right away."