In that space between the end of one heartbeat and the start of the next, my whole world had changed. It had changed and I didn't even have time to take a breath.

My hands, gripping the telephone, trembled uncontrollably.

Gwen's voice sounded small and far away.

"Leukemia?"

"Yeah. Do you know anything at all about leukemia?"

"Actually, not a whole lot. I think it's some sort of cancer that affects the blood," Gwen stopped short. "Hey, Clare, why are you asking me this?"

I drew in a shaking breath.

"I just got off the phone with Dr. Blair. He wants me to bring Maggie over to the hospital for some tests."

"The hospital?"

"Yeah,"

"What kind of tests?"

"I'm not exactly sure. Some kind of blood tests."

Gwen was quiet for a moment, and, then, asked very softly, "He couldn't possibly think she has leukemia, could he?"

I took another deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "He said he was hoping these other tests will prove him wrong, but.."

I could feel the silence through the telephone receiver. It was a silence that I would come to know well over the next several months. I closed my eyes against the loudness of it.

I heard Gwen's careful breathing as she chose her next words. I think the fact that Gwen was having trouble finding her voice scared me more than had the doctor's call.

I held my breath, willing her to speak.

As if sensing my growing dread, she finally said, "Well, that's ridiculous! It's gotta be just some dumb virus that won't go away. Here, let me look up leukemia in my book . I'll bet Maggie doesn't even have one of the symptoms."

I could already hear her flipping through the pages of her medical encyclopedia.

"Okay. Let's see..uh..okay. Okay. Hives. Insomnia. Lactation." Gwen filled the silence with her litany, "Leprosy. Okay. Uh...here we are...Leukemia. Okay, it says here that it's a kind of cancer, something about the white blood cells and bone marrow, if left untreated it is usually..uh...okay. Symptoms are swollen lymph nodes, unusual bruising,"

I got the distinct impression that Gwen was leaving out volumes as she read, but I had heard enough. The numbness that had started in my chest spread to the rest of my body as my eyes took in Maggie's sleeping form. There were so many bruises! Until that very moment I had assumed that every two year old who spent most of her day trying to catch up to her big brother had bruises all over her legs and body.

Frozen with the receiver to my ear, suddenly, I knew. My daughter with the fair hair and an angel's face had leukemia.

Unbelievable! My baby really had leukemia.

I knew it then with a certainty in that place in my soul that every mother has. I knew it and, I realized as her voice continued to drone on, despite her protests to the contrary, Gwen knew it, too.

...God has surely
listened and
heard my voice
in prayer.
-Psalm 66:19

I looked over my shoulder. She looked so peaceful.

My heart pounded as I wove the car out of our neighborhood, pausing only momentarily at each of the stop signs. I glanced in the mirror again. It just wasn't possible that this sleeping angel was sick! Not this baby. Not this child who was so very precious to me.

Maggie had always been a miracle, a miracle pure and simple.

I could still remember the overwhelming feeling that had coursed through my whole body when I realized that I was pregnant with this very special little person. I spent most of my waking hours that spring in a state of barely contained joy which would occasionally swell to such loud proportions as to almost drown out reality.

The miracle of that pregnancy colored everything I did, said, saw, smelled, everything!

Now, I realize that most newly pregnant women generally feel some sense of wonderment about the fact that they are carrying new life within themselves, but what I felt went much deeper than that. I knew exactly how much deeper, because after all, I had been pregnant once before. The proof of which was housed in the, then, seven-and-a-half year old body of my son.

My sense of awe during my first pregnancy had probably been somewhat tempered by a feeling of normalcy, as well. Greg and I had been married the prescribed two years when we decided that perhaps my mother was right, it was time for a baby. I shelved my diaphragm and, bingo!, Adam bounced into the world almost exactly nine months later and had been bouncing ever since.

No, my feelings about this second pregnancy were definitely different. They were different, because I had only recently accepted the fact that I was not going to ever be pregnant again, that being a mother of one small child was fulfilling enough. I had thrown myself wholeheartedly into my teaching career, embracing each child in my class as my own.

So thoroughly had I accepted my future as I then saw it, that it wasn't until my period was over a week late that the first little flicker of hope entered my heart. Even then, it was pushed quickly aside. Years of cyclical disappointment had taught me not to hold on to hope too tightly.

My swollen, aching breasts would surely be because I'd had too much caffeine that month. My period was delayed because, because, well, because, I was 33 and everyone knew that after 30 "things" started acting up. I told myself every excuse in the book for another week or so until Greg finally noticed my rapidly enlarging bustline as I was changing for bed one night.

"Wow!" he exclaimed, eyes gleaming.

"What?" I said, somewhat irritably. "Stop leering at me!"

"No really," he said, "Your breasts are, well, they're enormous!"

I walked to our full length mirror and looked. He was right! They were enormous! They looked stretched to near bursting and I saw deep lines etched where my bra had cut into my flesh as my breasts had attempted to spill out the top with their new found fullness.

A small shiver of joy passed through me, as my hands slid down my body to gently cover the place where I then knew my new tiny baby lay sleeping. I slowly turned, meeting Greg's eyes and I knew he knew, too.

"How late are you?" he asked softly.

"Almost three weeks." I replied in an even quieter voice.

"Ah," he breathed and closed his eyes, but not before I saw the tears glistening there. It was only in that moment that I truly realized how hard it must have been for him those past few years. I had been so caught up with my own disappointment and pain that it had never occurred to me that he might have been suffering, too.

Silently, I slid into his arms and we made soft, gentle love far into that night. Later, enveloped in the blissful circle of our love, we tried to tell each other not to get too excited before we got a positive test result. Of course, it was already too late to put our hopes back on hold. We were, once again, primed for a major disappointment.

This time, however, we were not to be disappointed. Two days later I dialed the doctor's number with trembling fingers and fluttering stomach. Somehow I managed, after a few false starts, to whisper hoarsely into the phone, "Uh, this is, this is, Clare English calling for the results of a pregnancy test I had taken yesterday."

"Just one moment please," the carefully inflected voice replied.

After what seemed to be an eternity, the voice was back. "Yes, Mrs. English, we have a positive result to your test," she said as if giving the weather report.

My brain struggled to comprehend what she had just said. Positive result? That was a yes, right? A yes! There was a roaring in my ears and my knees felt like jelly. I had to tell myself to take a breath.

"Mrs. English? Are you there? I do trust this is good news for you."

"Oh, uh, yes! Oh, yes! Very good news!"

"Well then, can we schedule an appointment for you? Say sometime at the beginning of the month? Are mornings or afternoons better for you?"

I let her voice wash over me, mumbling the proper monosyllabic responses and somehow managing to schedule an appointment to see my doctor for the first week of June. Dropping the phone back into place, I collapsed unto a kitchen chair. Tears of joy coursed down my face.

"Thank you, Lord! Oh, thank you, Lord! You finally said yes!"

Now, whizzing down the highway, I was praying a very different prayer to the God who had so miraculously answered my prayer only two years before.

I glanced at Maggie's sleeping face again. God couldn't possibly be asking for her back! Could He?

Not so soon, Lord! Oh, not so soon!

Not this little one who had brought me so much joy. Even before she was born, Maggie had started to enrich our lives. Her very existence had been cause for celebration from the very beginning.

The summer I was newly pregnant with Maggie past quickly. We spent the whole month of July at Cape Cod. Greg decided that a little rented cottage on the beach would be the perfect place to work on his doctoral thesis and that Adam would love exploring the quiet beaches of South Yarmouth, but I knew that the real reason was because he wanted me to get as much rest as possible during my first trimester.

I was touched by Greg's concern for me and our new baby. A closeness reawakened between us that summer that had gradually been put on hold over the past few years of everyday life, parenthood, and monthly disappointment. We passed the month of July strolling on the beach, collecting shells and sea glass, picnicking among the dunes, and enjoying hours on end with our son.

Our favorite part of each of those long, lazy days was taking our after-supper coffee out onto the porch of our tiny, but charming cottage. The porch overlooked an inlet. We would settle happily into the musty, old glider and await the nightly entertainment which consisted of our son's oftimes comical attempts to feed the local seagulls.

Having only recently seen an old film about the bird man of Alcatraz, Adam was convinced that he could tame these birds through kindness and offers of food. Much to his disappointment, he discovered, that while the seagulls were very happy to take his food, they were not much interested in his love. In fact, the only thing his nightly feedings did provide was some uninterrupted time for his parents to enjoy the sunset each evening.

We sat on that old glider night after night, snuggling together against the advancing chill rolling off the ocean, feeling blessed beyond reason. We had a wonderful, smart, funny son who would soon be joined by an equally magnificent baby brother or sister.

I don't think I had ever felt such peace or contentment as I did that glorious July by the sea.

Oh, Greg! Was our happiness coming to an end? Had we used up all our blessings too fast?

Maggie moaned in her sleep. I reached back to pat her leg.

"Almost there, sweetie. Almost there."

Oh, Greg, please be at the hospital when we get there! I can't do this without you.

My heart twisted as I imagined the pain on Greg's handsome face when he learned what was happening. How were we going to be able to handle this? True, we'd been through a few rough times, but nothing like this!

In fact, I could honestly say that our life, up to now, had been mostly pretty wonderful.

The ink was barely dry on my diploma from Bethel College when I literally bumped into Mr. Gregory Adam English. It was the Sunday after graduation and the day before I started my summer job as a life guard at the Barrington 'Y'. Exhausted from a late night of good-byes to all my out-of-state buddies, I was at church only because my mother would be sure to notice if I wasn't, and I was just too tired to explain why I felt it was more important to attend late night parties than to worship the Lord on the Lord's day.

And, so it was that I found myself, in body, if not in spirit, wearily walking down the center aisle of Bethany Baptist. I was only halfway to my accustomed pew, when, as if of it's own volition, my church bulletin slipped from my fingers and fluttered behind me. I turned, bent to pick up my lost paper, and, immediately, my head exploded with pain. I fell back, landing ungracefully on my bony behind.

Clutching my aching head and trying to gather my senses, I looked up and into the most amazing set of blue eyes I'd ever had the good fortune to see. They were the color of the ocean and flecked with navy. Flanked by fine white lines that spoke of a face often in the sun, they were currently crinkled in amusement at my plight. Their owner was holding out one strong, browned hand in an effort to assist me, while the other held the side of his head and my runaway bulletin.

"I'm really sorry," he said in a soft, chuckling tenor, "I was just trying to rescue your paper here."

I could barely speak. Primarily, I was overwhelmed by the sheer physical presence this man exuded. As he took my hand to draw me to my feet , every nerve ending in my body sprang to life. The blue in his eyes deepened as his grasp tightened. I could feel his reluctance to release my hand as he guided me to the spot next to him on the pew. There was never any question that I would sit anywhere else that Sunday, or on any Sunday to follow. It was as if with the touch of our hands, our hearts began a journey of their own and could not be stopped.

We were married six months later.

Falling in love with Greg ran contrary to everything I ever thought would happen to me. I had always imagined that I would meet someone, become friends, and, then, maybe after a few years, realize that we had somehow fallen in love and get married. Instead, it was literally "love at first sight" or, maybe, at first "bump."

After that first Sunday service together, Greg and I spent almost every waking hour in each other's company. We simply could not get enough of each other. Saying goodnight on my doorstep every night soon grew very tedious, indeed. In fact, that was one of the many reasons we decided to get married right away. As Paul had written to the Corinthians almost two thousand years earlier, "It is better to marry than burn with passion."

Actually, many factors conspired to keep us from "jumping the gun," as my mother was wont to say. My mother herself was a big one. Since my father's death two years prior from cancer, she had become somewhat emotionally fragile and dependent on me. The thought of her bitter disappointment was more than I could bear. Many a time, her sorrowful face would come unbidden to mind and curtail what was fast becoming foreplay on Greg's narrow couch in his one-room bachelor apartment. I would then mumble thickly, "I think I'd better go home now. You know Mom doesn't sleep until I'm in."

Greg would reluctantly disentangle himself, help me put my clothes to right, and sigh, "November can't come soon enough for me!" Then, he would dutifully drive me the ten minutes to my mother's apartment and kiss me lingeringly at the door. I would float up the stairs and fall asleep on my narrow twin bed, dreaming of all the things Greg and I would finally be allowed to do once we were married and sleeping in the same, hopefully queen-sized bed.

Another factor encouraging our continued chastity, was the fact that Greg had just secured an associate professorship at the very college from which I had so recently graduated. He would be starting that fall as Bethel College's newest addition to its psychology department. As a nondenominational Christian school, Bethel had a reputation of high moral standards among its students and even higher expectations for its faculty. It simply would not have been acceptable for one of its newest members to marry in November and have a baby in, say, May or June.

No, it was better to wait.

The main reason was, of course, our own moral value system which said that it was God's plan for couples to be married before engaging in sexual activities. However, despite this strong belief, I was thankful for earthly interventions that helped us stick to our vow of purity, because I found my resolve paling quickly during those long, hot evenings on Greg's little couch.

We did, nonetheless, manage to make it, chaste and pure, to the altar that November. The wedding was small, but beautiful, and was followed by a brief honeymoon to Vermont.

We returned a much relaxed couple and happily set up housekeeping in a small white cape located in picturesque Barrington, Rhode Island. I loved that house. It was perfect. It was close to the college, but far enough away to insure our privacy. It sat right in the center of a quarter-acre lot on an elm-lined street with other neatly trimmed homes of similar, but not duplicate design.

The interior of our new home exuded a charm that only an older house can. The high ceilings were balanced and anchored by beautiful hardwood floors throughout. And, at its very heart was the most incredible fireplace.

This structure reached out and embraced me from the moment I first stepped across the threshold. Made of hand-hewn stones, and lovingly built by some previous owner, it took up half of one of the living room walls. It spoke to me of warm, cozy evenings and family laughter. I could see our life stretched out in front of that fireplace. A life filled with love for each other and, later, for the many children we both wanted and would most certainly have.

Our life was full.

Greg turned out to be very popular with students and faculty alike. In fact, he was so well-liked by some of the lovely coeds, that I was smugly pleased to have married this handsome professor before he had the chance to enjoy much of this new-found popularity.

I found myself working almost full-time in elementary schools throughout the East Bay area as a substitute teacher. Then, in late spring, I was fortunate enough to secure a long term sub position for a second grade teacher on maternity leave. When she decided not to come back the following September, I was hired in her place at Hayden Elementary, just a few minutes from my home.

So, life was flowing according to plan, and I was not much surprised to find myself pregnant soon after the New Year following our second wedding anniversary. I was able to finish the teaching term and then thoroughly enjoy my last summer of complete freedom.

I spent those long, hot days alternately basking in the sun and readying the back bedroom for our new arrival. I also reveled in the compliments of my friends and family about my glowing good looks.

I heard the phrase, "Pregnancy certainly seems to agree with you, " so frequently that I began to wonder if my current just-swallowed-a-watermelon look was preferable to my usual lanky, somewhat boyish, figure. I had to admit, though, that I'd never felt better and I found my new earth mother figure strangely appealing. Greg liked it, too.

Our lovemaking took on a soft gentleness that was a reflection of our life that summer. Although the thought of parenthood was exciting, we were a bit apprehensive about the fact that our private world was fast coming to an end. An invasion was at hand... a welcome one, but an invasion all the same. Soon, we would no longer just be a young couple in love, free to do whatever we felt like doing, whenever we felt like doing it. Very soon, we would be a family and have all those responsibilities that naturally went along with parenting a child.

We spent much of that long, lazy summer in each others arms, relishing the closeness. Sometimes, I would hold my breath as we lay in the backyard hammock watching the sun set, willing time to move more slowly.

Breath-holding aside, time indeed marched on, and before we knew it, the evenings and the days had quickly cooled into a brilliant New England autumn. The leaves seemed particularly magnificent that year. With all the preparations done for the pending arrival of my first child, I had plenty of time to spend ambling down leaf-strewn country lanes. I treasured each cool intake of breath, savoring this, my favorite of all seasons to the fullest. I returned from my walks, ripe and glowing, truly the epitome of expectant motherhood.

However, by the beginning of October, my earth mother body had lost much of its appeal. I was usually uncomfortable in some way or another. My underwear seemed to be always riding up or slipping down. Wearing pantyhose to church on Sunday was a joke. I'd spend half the morning in the ladies' room either adjusting my underclothes or using the facilities. All my shoes were too tight, but I didn't want to waste money on new ones for such a short time, so I wore sandals with my socks much of the time. Greg was not particularly taken with this look and I was not much amused by his comments. In fact, I was not much amused, period.

As my due date came and went, I became so irritable that even my mother took to calling before she'd drop over on her many trips with "just a little something I picked up for the baby."

Then, just when I thought I'd probably strangle the next nice old lady at church who said, "Are you still here, dear?", or punch the very next faculty member with sage advice for inducing labor by going for a ride on a bumpy back road or some other such nonsense, my water broke.

The doctor's chart described my labor as "normal and uneventful."

Uneventful?

Maybe for him! As for me, I was not accustomed to spending my days having hot pokers driven through my back every minute and a half, then pushing most of my insides out through an opening that seemed much too small, only to discover, much to my surprise, that the most incredible baby boy in all the world had just been placed in my arms!

Adam McPharlane English came into this world at exactly12:58am on October 25, 1981. By 1:02am he had stolen both his parents' hearts. As I looked into those huge, serious, slate-colored eyes for the first time, a piece of my heart dislodged, attaching itself to him forever. When I looked up and saw my sense of wonderment and love reflected in my husband's eyes, I knew that our next chapter together, the one called parenthood, would be just as wonderful as the first.

And, I was right, mostly.