There are some moments in life when the line between heaven and earth seems to fade away for a while and leave everything clearer.
Last weekend, I went to be Saturday, noting that I was feeling really great. I woke up in the night and was no longer feeling great. For the sake of the delicate reader, we'll call it indigestion. As the day progressed, I didn't have any more indigestion, but I did feel worse and worse. I laid in bed. My back hurt, my belly ached. Everything felt off. Everything felt wrong.
Late in the day on instinct, I googled "signs of preterm labor". Check, check, check, check, maybe? Two that were no, two that were maybe, the rest were yes. I took a deep breath. Caleb had been primary parent all day, and I could hear his voice was tired as he managed bath time. I didn't want to just walk in and announce it. I needed to think. I looked through all my informational hospital literature. I looked at more websites.
Finally, bath time was over. I reviewed my symptoms with Caleb and the weariness was instantly gone from his voice. "You need to call." My eyes filled with tears. "I'm scared. I'm not ready for this." I sat on my bed for a few minutes before I could make the call, crying, realizing that this could be the start of a whole new journey to either stay pregnant or visit a little tiny NICU baby. I wondered why I'd spent so much time recently being stressed about our house being messy and other trivial things. What a waste. I called, the friendly triage nurse calmly told me I needed to come in to see what was happening on a monitor.
Sammy was now running cheerily around the house in his diaper. After I got off the phone, I caught him and held him for a minute, explaining that I needed to go to see the doctor to make sure the baby was okay, and that I hoped I'd be home when he woke up, but I didn't know, and that I might be gone for a little while.
We decided what would be the least stressful for me was for Caleb and Sammy to drop me off, since the hospital is near our house, and then have them come home and have a normal night of bedtime routines. It gave me a lot of comfort to know that Sammy would be enjoying his usual snuggles with Dad before bed, even if that meant that I would be alone. I knew several people who would be willing to come and sit with me, but I felt strongly that I wanted to be alone or only with Caleb. This ended up being a perfect intuition.
We pulled up to the ER, and I kissed them both goodbye. I walked through security and had my backpack, which consisted of all the things I thought I might need for a night or two away, searched. I walked up to the triage desk. "Baby time?" they asked. "I hope not!" I replied. I carry babies 100% out, so it's not uncommon for people to think I am full-term, though I still have three more months.
I walked through my symptoms, and then an aide came up to me with a wheelchair. "L&D run?" he asked the triage nurse. I climbed in the wheelchair, he placed my backpack on my lap, and we turned to go through the double doors. That's when it hit me. "This is the part I missed last time."
Time and space seemed to open up as I rode, imagining this same trip 19 months (minus two days) earlier. I don't remember riding to the hospital or going to the L&D unit from the ER. And now I was getting to do it all. I fell silent, observing. It was longer than I'd imagined, though I am guessing we took it at a faster pace last time. The poor aide tried to ask me some friendly questions, but I was a poor conversation partner, hushed by the opportunity to consciously see what my body had experienced before. It smelled like the NICU, a combination of new plastics, cleaning agents, and some other unidentifiable smells.
We arrived to L&D and they gave me a gown and hooked me up to monitors. I know they tried to hook me up to monitors last time, and I also know that I was combative. I looked at them in wonder, realizing that though I had a baby in a hospital, I'd never really seen the monitors or the machine that tracks contractions. I felt such a sense of relief- both to be there and to know I was in the right place if anything was going wrong, and to have had the opportunity to go on that journey consciously.
After being connected to the monitors, I text-updated our families and a few friends. Then I put my phone away and reflected. When you're only 26 weeks pregnant, it's quite a jolt to see a baby cradle and warmer lined with a hospital blanket. I was glad for the solitude, glad to be left alone with my thoughts. I knew based on the time that Caleb was probably feeding Sammy dinner and I thought about how much love I felt for the two of them. The line between heaven and earth is very thin, indeed.
I sat with all of this for quite a while. A really long while. That's when I knew I was not having an emergency situation. I couldn't see the fetal monitor behind me, but I imagined that it must not be picking up on anything exciting. Caleb, meanwhile, put Sammy to bed. My mother-in-law arrived to my house so that Caleb could come and join me. My brother and I texted each other hospital toilet jokes. (I am sure the nurses wondered what was making me laugh so loudly.)
Caleb arrived shortly before the doctor. I was not dilated at all. (My first time being checked for that while not in active labor and it was just as terrible then as it was during labor. Yuck.) There had been no contractions, baby was doing well, but they emphasized that they were glad I came in. I was glad too. We left holding hands, grateful to be going home for what would be a normal night, grateful for the blessing of routine.
Last weekend, I went to be Saturday, noting that I was feeling really great. I woke up in the night and was no longer feeling great. For the sake of the delicate reader, we'll call it indigestion. As the day progressed, I didn't have any more indigestion, but I did feel worse and worse. I laid in bed. My back hurt, my belly ached. Everything felt off. Everything felt wrong.
Late in the day on instinct, I googled "signs of preterm labor". Check, check, check, check, maybe? Two that were no, two that were maybe, the rest were yes. I took a deep breath. Caleb had been primary parent all day, and I could hear his voice was tired as he managed bath time. I didn't want to just walk in and announce it. I needed to think. I looked through all my informational hospital literature. I looked at more websites.
Finally, bath time was over. I reviewed my symptoms with Caleb and the weariness was instantly gone from his voice. "You need to call." My eyes filled with tears. "I'm scared. I'm not ready for this." I sat on my bed for a few minutes before I could make the call, crying, realizing that this could be the start of a whole new journey to either stay pregnant or visit a little tiny NICU baby. I wondered why I'd spent so much time recently being stressed about our house being messy and other trivial things. What a waste. I called, the friendly triage nurse calmly told me I needed to come in to see what was happening on a monitor.
Sammy was now running cheerily around the house in his diaper. After I got off the phone, I caught him and held him for a minute, explaining that I needed to go to see the doctor to make sure the baby was okay, and that I hoped I'd be home when he woke up, but I didn't know, and that I might be gone for a little while.
We decided what would be the least stressful for me was for Caleb and Sammy to drop me off, since the hospital is near our house, and then have them come home and have a normal night of bedtime routines. It gave me a lot of comfort to know that Sammy would be enjoying his usual snuggles with Dad before bed, even if that meant that I would be alone. I knew several people who would be willing to come and sit with me, but I felt strongly that I wanted to be alone or only with Caleb. This ended up being a perfect intuition.
We pulled up to the ER, and I kissed them both goodbye. I walked through security and had my backpack, which consisted of all the things I thought I might need for a night or two away, searched. I walked up to the triage desk. "Baby time?" they asked. "I hope not!" I replied. I carry babies 100% out, so it's not uncommon for people to think I am full-term, though I still have three more months.
I walked through my symptoms, and then an aide came up to me with a wheelchair. "L&D run?" he asked the triage nurse. I climbed in the wheelchair, he placed my backpack on my lap, and we turned to go through the double doors. That's when it hit me. "This is the part I missed last time."
Time and space seemed to open up as I rode, imagining this same trip 19 months (minus two days) earlier. I don't remember riding to the hospital or going to the L&D unit from the ER. And now I was getting to do it all. I fell silent, observing. It was longer than I'd imagined, though I am guessing we took it at a faster pace last time. The poor aide tried to ask me some friendly questions, but I was a poor conversation partner, hushed by the opportunity to consciously see what my body had experienced before. It smelled like the NICU, a combination of new plastics, cleaning agents, and some other unidentifiable smells.
We arrived to L&D and they gave me a gown and hooked me up to monitors. I know they tried to hook me up to monitors last time, and I also know that I was combative. I looked at them in wonder, realizing that though I had a baby in a hospital, I'd never really seen the monitors or the machine that tracks contractions. I felt such a sense of relief- both to be there and to know I was in the right place if anything was going wrong, and to have had the opportunity to go on that journey consciously.
After being connected to the monitors, I text-updated our families and a few friends. Then I put my phone away and reflected. When you're only 26 weeks pregnant, it's quite a jolt to see a baby cradle and warmer lined with a hospital blanket. I was glad for the solitude, glad to be left alone with my thoughts. I knew based on the time that Caleb was probably feeding Sammy dinner and I thought about how much love I felt for the two of them. The line between heaven and earth is very thin, indeed.
I sat with all of this for quite a while. A really long while. That's when I knew I was not having an emergency situation. I couldn't see the fetal monitor behind me, but I imagined that it must not be picking up on anything exciting. Caleb, meanwhile, put Sammy to bed. My mother-in-law arrived to my house so that Caleb could come and join me. My brother and I texted each other hospital toilet jokes. (I am sure the nurses wondered what was making me laugh so loudly.)
Caleb arrived shortly before the doctor. I was not dilated at all. (My first time being checked for that while not in active labor and it was just as terrible then as it was during labor. Yuck.) There had been no contractions, baby was doing well, but they emphasized that they were glad I came in. I was glad too. We left holding hands, grateful to be going home for what would be a normal night, grateful for the blessing of routine.
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