The next morning, I asked my son to take me to the hospital.
The doctor was a woman in her early forties.
She examined me, asked several questions, and sent me for an ultrasound.
At first, everything seemed normal.
Then she suddenly fell silent.
She was studying something on the screen.
The smile disappeared from her face.
“Mrs. Margaret, could you tell me when you were last pregnant?”
I burst out laughing.
“Sweetheart, my youngest child is already fifty-six years old!”
But the doctor didn’t laugh.
Instead, she called in two more specialists.
The three of them stared at the screen for several minutes.
Finally, one of them spoke in a very serious voice.
“We need to perform additional tests. What we’re seeing is extremely unusual.”
Two hours later, the doctor invited me into her office.
She sat across from me, placed her hands on the desk, and said:
