#
Writing proved to be the creative outlet I needed. Even though I was busier than ever, I had an adult outlet. I hadn't even realized that what I missed as a stay at home Mom was intellectual stimulation. David's study was in the house and we talked, but more often than not, it was about children or interrupted by children. The only time I enjoyed invigorating discussion was on our weekly dates. They were too short and too far between to meet my adult conversation quotient. By the time the boys were in bed, I was too tired to talk ,or David was already involved in a television drama. Even at church the lack was there, because I taught preschool Sunday school and after church most of the Moms and grandmas talked about the cute things Junior or Junioress had done that day.
After several months of the new regime, I stopped by the doctor's office on my way home one day and picked up a pamphlet. After the boys were in bed, I nonchalantly dropped it in David's lap during a commercial. The title was "Frequently Asked Questions About Vasectomies." That got his attention. Off went the television; it was a bad western anyway.
"You want me to get cut?" he asked.
"Well, maybe. I just wanted to introduce the idea of a more permanent form of contraception."
"So, we can have you spayed," he joked.
"I'm not a cat."
"But you're nice and cuddly," he said, reaching out for my hand.
"And I've got claws," I warned.
"Okay, Sweet. I take it you think two is enough."
"Don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. But, a vasectomy, Syd?"
"Zach is still in diapers. If I had surgery, I wouldn't be able to pick him up for several months. Do you think you can explain that to a toddler?"
"Probably not." He patted the couch beside him. "Sit down and let's take a look."
Pointing, he said, "This says it is 99.3 percent effective, but it also says it can grow back anywhere from a year to ten years later."
"But that only happens in less than one percent of the cases," I noted.
"And only one percent of women react to an epidural, too."
[When Zach was born at 1am, I discovered that I was one of a few women – about 1 percent – who reacts adversely to the epidural. It wired me and made me unable to sleep.]
"I know, David, but I'm always the one in the one percentile ranks, not you."
"You might just drag me there when you become one of the one percent of women who get pregnant after their husbands have a vasectomy," he countered.
"Will you at least talk to the doctor about it?"
"I'll talk to the doctor, but if I get it done, it won't be here."
"Where then?"
"Somewhere that the doctor has lots and lots of experience – and where I won't risk meeting the nurse socially."
After talking to my ob-gyn (David wasn't even willing to broach the subject with our family physician), we agreed that a vasectomy was our best option. We scheduled the surgery with a doctor near his mother's house. That way, we could go there for our vacation, and he could have the surgery done without it being the 'talk of the town,' or 'country,' in this case.
His mother handled finding a competent urologist with lots of experience. The appointment was made for a Thursday afternoon. The doctor did nothing but vasectomies on Thursdays. This allowed his patients a long weekend to recuperate before returning to work, if they were so inclined.
We got to the waiting room, which lived up to its name. While we were pretending to be engrossed in magazines, a guy came out of the back, accompanied by his wife, cooing sympathetically. He was walking bowlegged and was apparently in some pain.
David leaned over and whispered, "If I come out walking like that, you kick me in the butt. I don't want everyone in the room gawking. And no cooing," he added.
"Yes, dear," I said, trying to keep a straight face.
The doctor invited us back for a chat.
"Before I start, I want to make sure you understand what you're doing," he said. "After this procedure, you will not be able to impregnate your wife. Are you 100 percent certain that you don't want any more children?"
"Absolutely," we chorused.
"You understand that the surgery does not come with a guarantee. In a small percent of the cases – less than one percent – the tubes grow back together, allowing sperm to escape."
"I thought you said after the procedure I will be unable to impregnate her," David said.
"Generally," the doctor said. "It only happens in rare cases. To be certain the surgery is successful, you will return with a sperm sample in eight weeks, and then again after 12 weeks. If everything looks good, you should have a sperm count done once a year thereafter, just to be sure. You can do those at your local doctor's office."
"You mean I have to ejaculate into a cup annually," David said. "That isn't going to happen, Doc."
"It's no big deal," the doctor assured him. "We've got magazines in case you have problems with erectile function."
"Uh, doc," David said, motioning his head towards me. "Not in front of the wife."
"Do you let the spouse in the room with him?" I asked, smiling impishly.
"Umm." The doctor sort of twisted his mouth and cut his eyes at me. He wasn't sure whether I was serious. "We can let him take the bottle home and bring us a sample back," he finally said.
David finally signed the documents saying he would not hold the doctor responsible if his vas deferens grew back together or he failed to do the follow up. He went into the back like a lamb to the slaughter, and I returned to the waiting room to read.
When he came out after about 30 minutes, he was walking ramrod straight. He had a paper with instructions, which the nurse went over with both of us. She knew men didn't follow written instructions too well under the best of circumstances. He was to lie down, put an ice pack between his legs, and take pain pills. He would return on Monday to have the stitches removed. Under no circumstances was he to do anything strenuous until after Monday's appointment.
David laid on the couch the rest of the day with an icepack between his legs. The swelling was minimal, and the pain subsided quickly. The next day, he felt well enough to sit up and then to walk around. By Saturday morning he was feeling like his regular self. When a friend – one who didn't know of his delicate condition – called and asked him if he wanted to play a round of golf, my husband readily agreed.
"Are you crazy?" I asked. "The doctor said not to do anything strenuous until after Monday."
"We'll rent a cart, Syd," he said.
"And you don't think swinging a golf club over and over for 18 holes is strenuous?"
"We'll just play nine," he promised.
As he walked out the door, I took one last shot, "If those stitches come loose and we have a little surprise in nine months," I called after him, "I'll take a golf club and take care of it myself."
#
Faith laughed at her Mama's threat.
"I'm glad Daddy didn't listen," she thought. "If he had, I might still be just a gleam in my Daddy's eye. I may have taken more than nine months to surprise them, but that probably made me an even bigger surprise."
Suddenly the thought came unbidden, "I wonder if Mama ever considered an abortion?" The thought was unthinkable. Faith dismissed it immediately, but she knew that in today's world a lot of women would seriously consider an abortion if an untimely pregnancy surfaced.
When she had taken an advanced sociology class in college, they had discussed all sides of the abortion issue. Even though she considered abortion wrong, she had struggled with scenarios where a woman became pregnant as a result of a rape or a child in some way threatened the health of the mother. But abortion was no longer reserved for circumstance like rape or a health threats to the mother. She had read of women aborting because the timing was inconvenient or because they didn't like the sex of their child. In her mind those abuses of the freedom to abort meant that all abortion was wrong. Faith had concluded that humans were not responsible enough to make those kinds of decisions. They should be left in the hands of God. If He chose to cause a woman to miscarry, then that was on Him.
"I know I don't have the wisdom to make those sorts of choices," she thought. "But I now understand why God has compassion on women who take life into their own hands. After listening to the women in Kyra's group, I know that they were living in their own private hell before they found God's mercy. My job is not to judge but to help them find that mercy."
"Isn't that what Aaron is doing?" an inner voice asked.
"I know that's what he's doing," she told the nagging voice. "And I can now live with that knowledge. I just don't know if I want to live with it daily as his spouse. Maybe I need to set him free to pursue his ministry and find a woman with the same vision."
#
Even though Zach entered the terrible twos, that winter was almost idyllic. The boys were curious, creative, and precocious. Every day was an adventure. The church was thriving and growing. My column was so popular that instead of my being Bro. David's wife, he became Sydney Lander's husband. As Ann and I worked together, we grew as close as David and Jonathan of Biblical friendship infamy. David and I hit our marital stride; we often anticipated one another's actions. There was a rhythm to our connection.
The first week of January a freak ice storm struck the parish. While electricity lines were down, schools closed, and roads impassible, we viewed the world through eyes of wonder. Every tree branch was coated with ice, giving the world the sparkle of diamonds. I already had a winter cold and so reluctantly stayed inside and watched through the window as David took our bundled up sons into winter wonderland.
Zach went straight to a branch lying on the ground. He picked it up and turned towards the house. He picked it up and turned to see if I was watching. When he saw me in the window, his eyes lit up, and his dimples popped out. Carefully carrying his treasure in chubby mittened hands, he headed towards the house. I met him at the door. Without slowing, he waddled into the living room.
"Look, Mama," he said, his voice filled with awe. "A glass tree."
I knelt beside him on the floor and looked into eyes of wonderment. I kissed him on his red nose.
"Do you remember what happened to Frosty the Snowman when spring came?" I asked.
"He melted," came the prompt reply. "Like ice cream in summer."
"That's right," I said. "Your glass tree is going to melt, too, if you don't take it back outside where it's cold. Inside it's like summer, but glass trees need the cold of winter to survive."
"Oh," he said. "Okay. Bye."
As I watched my son take his glass tree back outside, I shivered.
"Life is so good, God," I whispered. "Almost too good. I married a preacher. I'm raising my sons in a glass house. Please don't let it melt."
#
When Faith heard Aaron's familiar rap on the door, she sent a quick plea heavenward, "I'm in a glass relationship, God. It's fragile and wonderful at the same time. Please don't let it melt."
As he entered, Aaron bridged the awkwardness of the reunion by holding out an ornate jar filled with Hershey kisses.
"I figured these were the only kisses I would be permitted to give tonight," he said with a grin.
"Thanks," she said. "These should hold me for a while."
As Faith turned to lead him into the living room, she heard him murmur under his breath, "Not too long, I hope."
Faith set the jar of kisses on an end table and sank into an easy chair, forcing Aaron to sit on the nearby couch. The familiar tea tray was already on the coffee table. Without even asking, she served them both a cup. They sat in silence for a moment, sipping the hot liquid.
Finally, Faith said without preamble, "How did you forgive yourself?"
"Which time?" he asked with an ironic smile. Correctly reading Faith's shocked stare, he set his cup down and leaned forward. His words were rapid fire, like a machine gun. "I don't mean I aborted more than one child. I mean that I've had to forgive myself more than once." He shrugged and set back. "Every time I thought I'd succeeded, I discovered that I'd picked the burden of guilt back up again. Jesus said to forgive others 70X7. Well I've had to forgive myself that many times – all for one sin. I would pray and beg God to take away my guilt. I would feel relief and cleansing. Then I would hear a news bite about partial birth abortion or the ongoing debate over Roe vs. Wade, and the guilt would wash over me again."
He slid forward, so that he was perched on the edge of the couch. His elbows rested on his knees. He turned both palms up, his fingers stretched wide.
"Once I wrestled all night with God in prayer. He commanded me to put down my guilt and take up His fight against abortion. He reminded me that the Bible tells us to comfort others with the comfort we've been given." He folded his hands together like he was praying and leaned on them. He shook his head back and forth as he continued.
"I wasn't doing that because no one knew that I had needed comfort. That was two weeks before I told you my secret." He threw his hands apart. "I didn't want to listen." He ran his hands absently through his hair and then dropped them to his knees. "I'd never told anyone of my sordid past. I hid the secret in the recesses of my heart. God hounded me. When I saw a child that was the age mine would have been, my heart ached. Every time I glimpsed a pregnant woman, I thought, 'What if she decides she doesn't want the baby? Can she still abort?' Every time I drove by the abortion clinic, I wanted to get out and beg the young girls going in to reconsider." He sighed. "I still refused to listen to God. Then one of the boys in the youth Bible study group I lead told me his girlfriend was pregnant. He said they were considering abortion. I was at a crossroads. I finally surrendered to God. I shared my past with that boy and prayed with him. That was the day I finally forgave myself. The next day I told you of my past." He leaned back into the couch. "Although I only shared my 'secret' with one other, I didn't want to risk you hearing about it from someone besides me. I doubt God is through with me. It was unfair to marry you and then blindside you with the truth."
He reached for his teacup and took a gulp.
"You did the right thing when you told me," Faith said. "If you had dropped this bomb on me after we said our vows, trust would have been shattered. This way it's only cracked."
"So it's possible for you to learn to trust me again?"
"Possible," she said. "But not definite. Restoration of trust takes time, Aaron. I don't know if we have time. The wedding is only two months away."
"Haven't we been making some headway?" he asked. "We've exchanged toys."
"True, but we still have a ways to go. I think we need to cancel the wedding. It's not fair to let people reserve that weekend to spend with us when we can't guarantee them that a wedding will take place."
"What about the ones who are flying in for the ceremony and have already made plane reservations? It's too late for them to change their plans. Let's give it another month. If you still want to cancel, I'll take the heat for waiting and make the necessary contacts."
"What's going to be different in a month?"
"Anything could happen now that we're talking again," he said. Then changing the subject, "Tell me what you've been feeling the last few weeks, Faith."
She catalogued for him the emotional roller coaster ride she'd endured as she dealt with her tripled grief for her mother, her innocence, and his child. As she talked about the recurring visions of him throwing a baby into a trashcan, she asked, "What was it like, sitting in a waiting room while your girlfriend aborted your child? Have you relived that nightmare again and again?"
"I never sat in a waiting room," Aaron said. "Kyra wouldn't let me go with her. She had a sister that was less than two years older. They were close. She told me Leah was going with her, that she didn't want me there. Maybe if I'd been there, we would've changed our minds."
"Maybe that's why she didn't let you come," Faith offered.
"No, that wasn't it. After we decided to abort the child, she told me that she didn't want to see me anymore. She said that she wanted no reminders. She wanted to make a fresh start. I think I was relieved. If she wasn't in my life, the abortion would be easier to repress. Six weeks later we graduated. I went to one college; she went to another. Her father was transferred out of state, so we didn't even vacation in the same city."
They talked for two hours. When Aaron left, he lifted Faith's hand to his lips and briefly kissed her fingers while gazing into her eyes. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
A few minutes later her phone rang. The word 'toy' appeared. Opening the photo, she found a picture of a DVD: Return of the King. Faith couldn't help but laugh at the double entendre. While reminding her of their first date, he also was telling her that he, Aaron King, intended to make a comeback. A whirlwind courtship had begun.