Fast forward a year later and we had moved in together, I was in my last year of nursing school and he was preparing for a seven-month deployment. It was a stressful time, to say the least, but nothing we couldn't manage. We were so in love that nothing could hold us down.

Upon a mandatory health physical that the Navy requires its sailors to undergo every few years, a lump was found in his right testicle. I had had my suspicions, and being in the medical field, I had urged him to see his physician numerous times, but of course, he was hard-headed and wouldn't listen. This was a Wednesday. On Thursday, he was told he would need surgery to remove the testicle and autopsy it. 

On Friday, his orchiectomy, or removal of the testicle, was performed. Recovery was hard and intimacy was nearly non-existent for two months. I attended to him the best I knew how, and did my best to help him heal. We never even had a chance to ask how the surgery might affect his fertility.

On the following Wednesday, while at clinical for school, my instructor told me I had received a call from my boyfriend. He had called the school and said it was urgent. I knew immediately what the call was about. I went home immediately after scheduling a make-up shift. 

I walked into the living room, and there my love sat, white as a ghost. I collapsed on the couch next to him and we cried. His autopsy had come back positive for testicular cancer, and his cat scans showed that it had spread. Only 27 years old. He was to begin chemotherapy on Friday. He would be removed from his ship, and not deploy. 

After two rounds of chemo wreaking hell on his body, he had finally been told that he was CANCER-FREE!

 Fast-forward four months, his ship was deployed, but he was still home, working on getting back into shape and regaining his health. I made a comment to him about driving by McDonald's and smelling French fries for a mile. Right away he asked if I was pregnant, almost jokingly. I said I didn't think so, but he encouraged me to take a test. He stood in the bathroom doorway watching and waiting as I sat on the seat of the toilet, tapping my foot with nervousness. IT WAS POSITIVE! The next nine months were a blur of magical milestones, and our families were ecstatic as baby Oliver would be the first grand baby on either side. 

Now, 16 months after his diagnosis, he is still in remission, and our precious Oliver is one month old! He would not be here had Thomas not gotten sick, as he would have deployed. Blessings do come in disguise, and I count mine every day. I have been wanting to share this with my October mommies for a long time, so thank you for reading our story!