Today, we spent a good portion of the day in labor and delivery. We were not on a tour. I started feeling funny last night, but thought it was the chili I had made, because Mario felt a little funny too. By about 2 am, I was complaining that my stomach felt like it was cramping and I wondered a little if this could be what contractions feel like. I didn’t have them with Avery at all before her C-Section. They stopped early this morning, so I did two loads of laundry, baked a chicken, and played baby doll with Avery. We’re working on not stabbing the baby in the eye with the toy bottle. The weird feelings started up again a few hours later, and by the time I put Avery down for nap at noon, I could tell that something really might be wrong. I’d been trying to tell myself it wasn’t for over half a day. I don’t know why I always try to talk myself out of things being really wrong. I don’t think this way often, and I usually am right to begin with.
The doctor’s office was closed for lunch, so I decided to put sleeping Avery in the car and head that direction since it’s a 30 minute drive and they would be back in by the time I arrived. Mario had a lunch break and said he could meet me there. I assumed I would get checked out, told I was imagining things, and sent home. Nope. We landed in labor and delivery observation at Women’s Hospital. The funny feelings were big contractions that, when we arrived there, were about 6 minutes apart, and within a half hour, were 3-5 minutes apart. I don’t know if seeing them on a screen made them feel worse, or they actually got stronger, but I was not comfortable. Gentle, nurturing Mario patted me and asked if I would like to squeeze his hand. I had never, until that moment, understood why women in labor in movies always sound so angry. I told Mario that I did not want to squeeze his hand; I wanted to kick him. I would have said other things, but Avery was still there. My sweet friend Heather picked her up a few minutes later, and I got to quit fake smiling and gritting my teeth. And then the first contraction-stopping injection (yes, first) kicked in. I felt like I was having a contraction, but that my stomach was full of fuzzy caterpillars, or sliced kiwi, or maybe moth balls. I asked the nurse if this was normal, and she assured me that though she had never heard it described that way, it was completely normal. I wasn’t able to be so creatively descriptive with the second shot. More caterpillars, but my heart also started beating a million (120) beats per minute. I’ve never experienced a panic attack, but I now know that all that good self- talk I preach about is really pretty useless at that moment. God talk works a lot better. I did a lot of talking to God. I asked him to please keep Lily safe, to quiet my heart, remove the caterpillars, and spare me the dreaded third shot with which I was being threatened. He did. In fact, we didn’t see another contraction on the screen that hour, and were sent home.
We’re home now. Avery is wearing Mario’s baseball cap and ripping up a catalogue; I’ve sent Mario back to the store for the second time to grab yet another item I forgot earlier this week, and Katie is at a football game with some friends of ours.
I’m always thrilled when God shows off what He can do in our lives and I get to be part of it, but I’d like to not repeat the events of this particular day. Could you please talk to God for us? Ask him to quiet my heart, keep Lily safe, and let us stay home a few weeks longer?
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