The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

44. Alex

44

ALEX

NOW

I t’s strange being back inside a doctor’s office, but this time is different. After getting back together three weeks ago, Olanna and I quickly developed a routine of texting each other throughout the day and then catching up on video call in the evenings.

On Christmas Day, our parents met each other on video call and I can already tell Dad and Mom have found a new best friend in Mr. Madu. I can’t wait for them to meet in person. We still have a lot to do on our A-Z date list, so Olanna is in for an adventure. But we have some important things to get out of the way first.

On New Year’s Day, we spent three hours on the phone talking about our future and one thing we both agreed on was getting a medical screen to check for any genetic, infectious, or transmissible diseases we might have. I made some calls and booked our blood tests when I returned to Jersey City.

HearCare’s launch was last week and now that we’ve finished celebrating its success with the rest of the team, we’re back at the doctor’s office today to get the results of our tests.

Olanna reaches for my hand under the table and squeezes it as the doctor settles in her chair across the desk. I thought I had some experience reading doctor’s faces, but here I am again, completely clueless about what she’ll read out to us from the computer.

“Thank you for fitting us in today, Dr. Jackson.” Olanna smiles at the middle-aged African American doctor with short gray hair and a white coat. The receptionist told us that the clinic has very limited appointments on Saturdays, but Dr. Jackson was kind enough to book one in for us.

“It’s not a problem.” She smiles at us and clicks on her mouse multiple times before pushing her glasses closer to her face. “I’ll just get it out of the way by saying it’s all good news.”

Oh, thank You, Jesus.

“Really?” Olanna almost jumps out of her seat as her grip on my hand tightens.

“Mmm hmm.” Dr. Jackson nods as the printer comes alive and prints out multiple sheets of paper, which she hands out to us. “Olanna, your blood group is O positive and Alex, you’re O negative. Alex, you can donate blood to Olanna, but unfortunately she can’t donate blood to you because she has the rhesus protein, which you don’t have.”

We both nod as Dr. Jackson continues explaining the results. “You both don’t have any blood clotting disorders and you had negative results for hepatitis and HIV.”

“Awesome,” Olanna says.

“Alex, your blood group is AA, which means you don’t have any sickle cell or thalassemia traits. However, Olanna, while you’re clear of the thalassemia trait, your blood group is AS, which means you have the sickle cell trait.”

“Oh.” Olanna’s shoulders drop and she turns to look at me with fear in her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry.” Dr. Jackson raises her hand. “All that means is that you both have a twenty-five percent chance of having a child who also has the sickle cell trait. But you can’t have a child with sickle cell disease because Alex doesn’t have the sickle cell gene.”

“Oh, okay, good.” Olanna exhales, and it’s my turn to squeeze her hand.

“It’s important to know,” the doctor continues. “That if any of your children gets the sickle cell trait and has children with someone who also has the sickle cell trait, they’ll have a twenty-five percent chance of having a child with sickle cell disease. Does that make sense?”

We both nod. “Yes, doctor.”

“Perfect. Any more questions for me?”

We look at each other again for a few moments before turning to the doctor and shaking our heads. “No, doctor. Thank you so much for taking the time to explain this to us,” I respond and we shake her hand.

The older woman grabs a few more leaflets from the shelf behind her and adds it to our pile of test results as we stand up to leave. When we step out into the cold January weather, leaving the big white building behind us, I hold her hand as we walk down the concrete sidewalk, covered by patches of snow.

“Can you believe she was actually talking about our future children?” Olanna says. “Isn’t that crazy to think about?”

I smile and pull her close. “Yeah it is. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not even done being a child myself.”

“I know,” Olanna concurs, and silence passes between us before she speaks again. “But I already know we’re going to be amazing parents. God willing.”

My heart sinks as she adds the last part to her statement. This was the part I was dreading speaking to her about, but I have to get it out of the way so I know where she stands.

“Baby, can I ask you something?” I say when we’re sitting inside the car.

“Yeah, sure.”

Lord, please help me. “Erm…what if we’re not able to have children of our own because of the surgery I had?” I muster up the courage to look into her eyes, but instead of sadness or regret, her gaze is still warm and loving as she strokes my beard with her free hand.

“And what if we do?” she asks simply. “Remember, we said we’re going to trust God, right? I still believe in miracles, so God will do it.” She pauses for a moment. “But even if He doesn’t, I’m never leaving you.”

“Really? You’re okay with that?” I hold her hand in mine. I would never want Olanna to settle for a life she doesn’t want.

“Of course. There are options. We can start saving now for IVF. We will even adopt if we need to. I’m sure there are plenty of children out there who need love, the same way your parents showed love to you. Actually, scratch that. Even if we have children of our own, can we adopt a baby, anyway?”

“Really? You’d do that?”

“Yes.” She nods. “Speaking to your parents and seeing how much they love and adore you, even though you’re not their biological son, was so inspiring. If you are up for it, I think it’ll be amazing to pass that down to another child who needs a love like that.”

“Wow.” I lower my head, in awe of the woman sitting in front of me and the God who brought her into my life. “You’re such an amazing person, Olanna. I love you.”

“Aww, I love you too.”

“Now that you bring up adoption, can I convince you to come to Ghana with me? I’ll show you the children’s home in East Legon, where my parents adopted me from. Maybe we can adopt a baby from there, too.”

“That sounds like a plan.” She nods and I raise my eyebrows.

“Really? I didn’t think it’d be that easy to convince you about a Ghana trip, given what happened to your mom and…” My voice trails off.

Throughout the time we were dating in college, Olanna told me about how she didn’t like the idea of going back to Nigeria because she only saw it as the place that took her mom away from her. I didn’t think she would change her mind so soon.

“When my dad got back from Nigeria last month, he shared with me so many experiences he had there, both good and bad. Hearing you talk about all the things you experienced in Ghana and how you felt connected to your culture awakened a hunger in me. I’ve spent the last four years complaining about all the misgivings of my home country, but I forget that there’s no perfect country.

“So I could either keep complaining until the day I leave this earth, or channel all those emotions to make a change. I’m choosing to be on the side of change because there’s hope for any country. My mom and dad came to the US decades ago searching for the American dream. God was faithful enough to bless their hard work and turn it into generational wealth. But God didn’t make a mistake by putting me in this position of influence and affluence. I feel strongly that he would like me to give back as much as I can.”

“Yes, that’s what the Bible teaches in Paul’s first letter to Timothy. The charge is for the wealthy to be rich in good deeds, generous and willing to share,” I say, before sharing Stephen’s testimony of leaving the US and going back to Ghana to craft the Ghanaian dream.

“Exactly. I’m tired of wasting time. That’s why this summer, I’ve decided to join Manny and Heather on their yearly trip to Nigeria and I want to volunteer for my mom’s charity, A Widow’s Comfort . Mom understood this concept, and that’s why she was so passionate about what she did. I would love to experience for myself the impact she made before she died.”

I squeeze her hands. “I’m so proud of you, baby. This would be a monumental step for you. Would you like me to come with you to Nigeria?”

“Of course. Then we can go to Accra and visit all those places you couldn’t visit two years ago.”

“Awesome. I’ll send Stephen a message now, so he can add us to his calendar.”

After sending the text message, I take a moment to reflect on what Olanna and I just talked about. When I prayed for God to restore our relationship, I didn’t expect Him to blow my mind like this. What God has been preparing us for is so much bigger than ourselves, and I can’t wait.

“Baby, are you okay?”

“Huh?” I look up from my phone. “Yeah, sorry, I just can’t believe how blessed I am to have you. I don’t deserve you, Olanna.”

“Aww, please don’t say that. I don’t deserve you either. But this beautiful love story has God’s name written all over it.”

“It sure does.” I cup her face in my hands and kiss her, and before I know it, I’m whispering prayers to God, thanking Him for bringing us back together, and the entire time, Olanna is rubbing my back, pecking my cheek and answering, “Amen.” I trust God that, indeed, it shall be so for the rest of our lives.