Personal Narrative: The Deaconess Women's Hospital

I tap my foot impatiently on the passenger side floorboard, as if I could make Alex drive faster by doing so. In the corner of his eye he notices my fidgeting, and stretches his hand out with his palm facing upward. I lace my fingers between his and look at our locked hands, my silver wedding band visible. My thoughts remain ever focused on our destination, and as we get closer, my former excitement is replaced by nervous energy. I close my eyes in a futile attempt to blink away the fear. When I open my eyes and find that we are already in the parking lot, I know that the fear has only caught a firmer grasp onto my racing mind.
Alex comes around the front of our ’14 Mustang GT and opens my door; always the gentleman. The Deaconess Women’s Hospital looms before us with its clean white walls and rows upon rows of translucent blue windows. I pause once we get to the automatic doors, allowing them to open and close in front of me. I can’t decide if I am ready to go in; if I am ready to risk having my hopes shattered. I feel Alex’s reassuring hand on the small of my back,

But they don’t understand. They couldn’t possibly comprehend why this is so important to me. Being a mother is something I have always wanted. I love kids. I know that finding out that I’m not capable of that experience would break my heart. I know I could be a great mother, a better one than my own. It’s something I’ve always pledged to do. But it’s more than that. A woman’s body is designed for this purpose; to carry a child. The thought that mine may not be able to devastates me, and it has for years. I feel flawed. I wanted to find out once and for all on my own over the past few years, but I haven’t been brave enough. I’ve made many appointments with various gynecologists since I was nineteen, but every time I found some excuse to not go. Until