Timothy Gordon Goodman, M.D.

Almost twenty-three years ago, a doctor changed my life. I don’t remember whether I have ever thanked him for what he did. I don’t even know if he is still alive today, but the impact he had on the rest of my life is no small thing. He gave me a son, my only son.

I got married three days after 9/11, became pregnant on our honeymoon, and then, in short order, miscarried. Over the next couple of years, I became pregnant and lost two additional pregnancies. I didn’t know I was diabetic. I had been for a long time, without a single symptom.

I used to manage medical practices. One morning, I went to the restroom and saw a canister of dipsticks. For some reason, I was curious, so I grabbed one, and it turned dark brown.

I had sugar in my urine.

I made an appointment with Dr. Goodman, an endocrinologist, that same day. He tested me, and I was certainly diabetic. I had given him my medical history, which to that point had been unremarkable, and I told him about the two pregnancies I had lost at that point.

This was the first time I became aware of the insulin response to pregnancy. My body required insulin to increase each day exponentially during the pregnancy, and I was not able to meet that demand. That’s when he gave me the gift of a child.

Dr. Goodman told me that if I wanted any chance of maintaining a pregnancy, I would need this new piece of ingenuity called an insulin pump. He explained that it would deliver insulin consistently throughout the day and could be adjusted daily to meet increased needs.

I received one, and off I went.

I moved to the Midwest after that and became pregnant a third time. This time, I had gone to a fertility doctor to make sure I was okay and could have a child. I seemed okay. I lost that baby too. It was unrelated to the diabetes and just bad luck.

We stopped trying to get pregnant. The pain of losing one after another was too horrible. And that was when it happened. I got pregnant again. It always happens when you aren’t trying so hard.

This time, we were reserved but hopeful. In weeks one, two, six, and eight, we were still pregnant. Week after week, I would see the perinatologist, a specialist in high-risk pregnancies, and we would have an ultrasound. I have an album of ultrasound images of my son from every week of his gestational life. That is a treasure.

Anyway, each week we would adjust the dose and the rate at which insulin was delivered by my pump, and I was instructed in micro-dosing for meals. By week eighteen, I met my son on the ultrasound that would tell me it was a boy.

All I ever wished for was a son, and I had one.

By the third trimester, I was using an entire bottle of insulin a day. The bill for that last month or so was over $10,000 for insulin. It was an astounding amount.

At thirty-eight weeks, we met our son. He was born healthy, with no signs of diabetes. With the pump, I managed my A1C carefully, keeping it at 4.5. My doctor said I was a rockstar. I can’t sing a lick, so that’s not true.

I was granted my dream. That dream was only made possible by Dr. Timothy Gordon Goodman. I love that man. I was grateful for such a thoughtful and kind doctor who gave me the chance to carry my son.

I named my son after him. Well, I gave him Dr. Goodman’s middle name. He was Jewish, and in their faith, you normally don’t name a child after a living person’s first name, so Gordon became his middle name. His first name was reserved for God. Elijah means the Lord is my God. Gordon loosely means large fort. God’s fort. That is my son’s heritage and name, a shelter for our God. All of it because of one doctor.

I don’t know if I ever told Dr. Goodman that I named our son after him, but this is my shout-out to the universe, affirming that his life meant something profound. It meant everything to me. I look at my son, and Dr. Goodman lives on in my heart, no matter where he is.

#life #family #hopes #children #medicine

(Published by The Writers Circle, on Medium, July 2026)

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