I sat on the elevated “bed” covered with disposable white paper, the kind that’s always ready to be ripped off for the next patient.  Leroy took my vitals while Shannon watched our babies entertain Nurse Liz.  I saw his white jacket and heard his footsteps as he walked through the door.  The smile across his face reflected more joy than I could take credit for.  I’m not even sure I was his next appointment, but he swung into the room like Santa Claus on Christmas morning.  “The first thing he told me this morning was ‘the babies are coming today!’” Nurse Liz exclaimed.

Over the last two years, our doctor has walked with us through the valley of cancer.  He listened intently when we reported that tests indicated the tumor wiped away most hope of having children.  He celebrated us on a far more personal level than I’d expect from a doctor who sees hundreds of patients.  He would scowl at me during my check-ups over the past months when I showed up without Summer and Maren.  Now, he could rejoice over them in person.

I’m not sure whether the twins were the icing or the cake for the celebration.  That day also marked the two year milestone for my body being cancer free.  In August 2007, my doctor laid out the facts, telling us not to exhale for two years.  Last Tuesday we raced past that checkpoint.  I will return to the hospital in four months rather than every two months.

On a somewhat related note, go read Same Kind of Different as Me.

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