I looked up and met his kindly eyes. I had been avoiding them as I sat down, not sure what I would find.
“How are you?”
“Where shall we start?”
“How about the changes since last time.”
“Well, how is it that he lost weight with all the chemotherapy and the same amount of weight he lost, I gained.”
“Somehow I didn’t think that’d get by you, but the scales don’t exactly lie do they?”
He didn’t say anything. I think he knew that was a sensitive subject for me.
Day after day, week after week, one by one they come into my office in search of help, each so similar, yet individual and unique: mothers. Some initially surprised, but ultimately honored by, and then fully embracing their God-given call to motherhood. Some longed and desired to be mothers for years.
Whether you gave birth to your child who shares your physical DNA, or you lovingly chose to give your child a home through adoption or some other means, you have been entrusted by God with one of the most important, most difficult, and most rewarding jobs there is.
Excited cannot begin to express how we felt as we entered the doctor’s office that day. It’s always special for a momma to feel her baby move inside her pregnant belly, but it’s a different kind of special for the expecting couple to see their little growing “peanut” on the sonogram screen. We followed the nurse into the exam room, traded my street clothes for the disposable paper gown she offered, and waited for my doctor to enter. When he did, he was all smiles as usual. I liked him. His positive attitude always put me at ease, and made it feel less like a doctor’s visit and more like catching up with a friend.
Both professionally in my private practice as a neuropsychologist, but also personally, if I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it 100 times: “I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything.” People come to me when they are broken and hurting, in need of help, in need of answers. They aren’t sure if their child has attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, a learning disability, or autism.