Yesterday, during Evan's fiasco at the hospital cafeteria, I ran into none other than the doctor who finally put me out of my misery and took Zach by c-section. (That's her in the pic.) And she asked me, now that the ordeal is over, if I wanted to have another baby. I told her I want to try for a girl down the road and she laughed. Turns out one of my OB nurse friends ratted me out. And I said "If it happens...." After all, my children are 8 years apart for a reason and I just don't have that kind of time as the years of my fertility tick by. And she said, "Come see Dr. J when you're ready." Dr. J, in this huge group of high-risk OB/GYN's, is the fertility specialist. I joked that I was afraid I would have to find another practice, and she told me no, that even 6 months later, every one of the 9 doctors will randomly say, "I wonder how Andrea is doing....." And she told me they all loved me, that while my pregnancy was miserable for everyone, they really liked me and it made it tolerable. "We love you, Andrea, " she said, "and we will always take care of you!"
And then she asked me if she coud kiss him, that she wasn't sick. And she did--she leaned in and gave him a kiss on the forehead, and it was so sweet and poignant. After all, Zach's presence here is as much their work as he is mine. I shudder to think of what the outcome could've been without them.