The next morning, I woke up first, and used that time to take a shower. Once I had the water at my desired temperature, I took off my nightgown and stepped into the shower.
With a good foam on the loofah, I began to scrub. I had preferred showers since I entered my teens, because I found the flowing water soothing. I rubbed the loofah all over my body.
When I got to my lower abdomen, however, I could tell that something was wrong. It didn't seem to feel right. I ran my free hand over the area, and realized what was wrong: When Steve was born, medical issues required a C-section delivery; now, though, the scar was gone.
When my shower was over, I went back to the master bedroom, where Dylan was just getting up. "Something's wrong," I told him, and opened my bathrobe to show him.
He understood why I was so worried. "What could have caused that?" he asked.
"I have no idea," I replied. "Honey, I'm scared."
"There's no need to worry," he said. "We'll figure this out."
******************************
We went to the hospital at the earliest opportunity. I explained the situation as best I could.
When the doctor came, I explained it again.
"That's certainly peculiar," she agreed. "I never heard of anyone losing a C-section scar. There's got to be a reasonable explanation; let's see if we can find it."
We spent most of the day at the hospital, undergoing every test the doctor could think of. Dylan had told me not to worry, but it seemed impossible not to.
Finally, the doctor came back. "It's as puzzling to me as it must be to you," she said. "All the tests show is that you're a healthy woman in her mid-to-late-twenties."
"What?!" I started hyperventilating. "That's impossible: I just celebrated my fortieth birthday yesterday."
She shook her head. "That's what's so puzzling. There's no scientific explanation for this; I simply know that you're younger than you should be."
And so we went back home, trying to wrap our heads around what the doctor said.
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