My wife Kenya and I drove in silence on the 45-minute trip from Fort Eustis, where I was stationed as a captain, to the Naval Hospital in Portsmouth, Virginia. Neither of us wanted to speak of the decision that lay ahead. Kenya, was 18 weeks pregnant, and a routine amino test had indicated our child was showing early signs of Down Syndrome. As a young couple with two children already, the news was both upsetting and frightening. Our joy turned into worry.
On our last visit, the doctor explained to us a procedure called amniocentesis, which would determine our baby’s health and development. We wanted to be prepared for what was in store for our child, however, the potential risk of a miscarriage made us both hesitant. But how else would we know if our son would be okay?
“Come back in a few weeks for a sonogram,” the doctor had said. “Then you can make your decision.”
Now we arrived at the hospital, and the nursing staff wasted no time in prepping my wife for her sonogram. The nurse pointed out the baby’s heartbeat and gender. The doctor arrived and began to examine the live sonogram while I sat at the foot of my wife’s bed. I had just about grown tired of listening to the mumbling of medical jargon, when the doctor jumped away from the screen.
“Wow, I’ve never seen that before!” he said. “Quick, take an image of that.”
My heart stopped. What do they see? Is there something wrong? I gripped my wife’s hand tight as the nurse grabbed the picture from the printer and held it up for us. It took me a second to see what shocked the doctor. But once I did, it was clear as day.
Our son’s arm was outstretched, his tiny fist clenched save for one extended digit. He was giving us a thumbs up!
“That’s good enough for me.” I said to Kenya. “Me too,” she said.
After that, we didn’t let worry cloud the joy over our son’s birth. Kason was born perfectly healthy five months later, and to this day when my son and I give each other the thumbs up, I remember the message God sent my wife and me in our time of distress.
