Some clinics refused immediately.
Others told me the risks were too high.
One receptionist even sounded shocked when I gave her my age.
“Sixty-one?”
“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
“Ma’am, are you sure?”
I almost laughed.
“No. That’s why I’m calling a doctor.”
Eventually, we found a specialist who agreed to assess me.
The testing was extensive.
Blood work.
Hormone levels.
Cardiac testing.
Kidney function.
Liver function.
Lung function.
Genetic screening.
Every possible risk seemed to be placed on a checklist.
I went through one examination after another.
And surprisingly, most of the results were good.
The doctor looked at my results.
“You’re healthier than many women twenty years younger.”
Thomas smiled.
I didn’t.
Because I knew that didn’t mean there were no risks.
Finally, the specialist explained everything carefully.
If we proceeded, the pregnancy would be considered extremely high-risk.
We understood.
We signed the paperwork.
And then we waited.
