“Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.” ― Lao Tzu
Tuesday, July 9th started off like most of the Tuesdays have started over the span of your pregnancy. Maybe the one difference, at least, initially is that I was first to leave the house to go take care of a few things at Commonwealth early in the morning. That meant you were home tending to ms. nora grace, getting her breakfast and relaxing with her as she loves to do in the a.m.’s. the nice thing was I was able to stop back home and see you before you went off to treatment and see Nora before I went off to work at 3C’s.
We hung out as a family for 30 minutes or so and then I departed. I asked if you could text me with the update once you got settled in the triage room, they ordered your meds, and most importantly, they heard baby’s heartbeat.
Your text came to me at about 11am stating that you were late arriving and on top of that, triage was jammed. Not a huge deal, as by now, we know it now takes about 4 hours total for the infusion itself and that still gives you some time to get home and take Nora to swimming…her Tuesday activity.
At 12:15, the day’s course changed dramatically. You were now in a room, on the monitor, medicine dripping but you were contracting. Gulp. Contracting. At 32 weeks, 6 days. This just got very real, very scary, very quickly. Although the initial call from you to me was calm, the next couple were hardly that. With me in Lemont and you in a triage room at Northwestern, I knew what was coming. Fear. Concern. Worry. Tears. And rightfully so. I hopped in the car and headed down to be with you. A 25 minute drive felt like it took 6 hours. I parked and located your room in Triage. There you were. Gritting your teeth and stepping up to the plate once again for our to be born daughter. You had calmed a bit by the time I saw you but I still saw the worry in your eyes.
As the drip finished up and the contractions continued to come and go, we did our best to not worry too much about what lie ahead. Until another check of your cervix dictated that maybe we should. A slight change in the cervix meant that labor and subsequent delivery could be coming. F#$k. Really?
So many things came to mind about how this could end up. The triage nurse talked to MFM and they suggested further observation. That meant I’d be leaving and heading home to get Nora Grace and take her to swimming. You insisted that she be kept to some normalcy whenever possible. And this was one of those times. By the time I got to the car in the parking garage, I was a crying fool myself. I couldn’t and wouldn’t let NGM see me like that, as to not cause concern for her. You called your parents to come down and to swimming we went.
Checking in with you periodically, made the lump in my throat get bigger by the minute. If my mind wandered, tears followed. Soon after our return from swimming, your parents arrived. Always there when we need them…and this year we’ve needed them a ton. I pulled it together as to not let them know how worried I was. I kissed Nora good bye and your dad drove me to the hospital with a small collection of your things.
To say the next 16 hours was an exhaustive blur would be a vast understatement. Doctors, residents, tests, cervical exams, falling heart beat, tears, silence, monitors, changing rooms, waiting, talk of steroids, possible delivery, c-sections, survival rates for pre term babies and more. As I sit here and try and figure out a way to best capture the evening and early morning, I realize I can’t. Maybe my mind didn’t want to store those memories or maybe I was too numb to the process…as once again I was merely watching on the sidelines, as I was with our sweet Gavin, while you fought like a prized fighter backed into his own corner. That same fighter finds a way to get off the ropes, jabbing, pushing back, getting to the center of the ring and lives to see another round. Or in our case, our next round is our pending trip to Michigan. Something that has been on our calendar for more than 9 months and it’s been circled on your calendar for just as long. Kind of our calm before the possible pending storm. For if we can get to and beyond Beach House, we are in good shape, and so is baby. And that’s our goal on this trip.
By now, I’ve used most superlatives available to me to describe how amazing you’ve been through this process and on this journey. Maybe lost in all of this is how much I love you. But I do. A ton.
To recap this day. 27 hours and some scary and surreal moments later, we left the hospital. Some deep breathes. On to Beach House. Fingers crossed.