Expect the Unexpected

Have you ever been swimming in a pool and have the deep end come upon you without warning. All of the sudden the bottom drops off and it's sink or swim. In so many ways that is how I feel about my life in general. I will be going along, feeling fine, praising myself for how well I am doing and then BAM! The bottom drops off, and I am suddenly sad or irritated or emotional, when I least expected to be. Tonight was one of these instances. I watched Grey's Anatomy. Since Izzy got cancer, I have been thinking to myself, "don't watch this, Angie. This is going to upset you, Angie." Of course, I kept watching, and tonight I am in a terrible mood from a stinking tv show. It's just a show!!!! But many times it is the littlest of things that bring up the most emotion in me. The emotion comes out in a harsh, moody way, but what I am feeling inside is really fear. 

Valerie, my roommate during my pregnancy hospital stay, was an absolute unexpected angel in my life....surely I must remember that for every negative shocker, there is usually a positive one as well. Valerie was just that. The most amazing thing about our relationship was how natural it was, all the while knowing that we probably never would have been friends outside the walls of the hospital. Our backgrounds were different in so many ways, but we just really clicked. When I look back, it seems that the qualities that matter most, are what led us to be good friends: our love of family, our reliance on and love of our moms, our open-mindedness, and our desire to be mothers. We both had men in our lives, who were obviously important parts of the equations, but we counted on each other because in the end no one knew what it was like to be us, to be trapped in this room filled with such expectancy and fear.

We developed a pretty regular routine in our room - we would get up, go to the showers one at a time, eat breakfast, watch TV, talk to the doctors and nurses on morning rounds, talk to visitors who came each day (and then talk about the visitors after they left - always good things), then lunch, then a nap, then Oprah, then dinner. After dinner was the time when we put a stretchy elastic belt around our growing bellies and listened to the steady rhythm of the babies' heartbeats. The promise of their lives filled the room and reminded us why we were there.

About four weeks into our time together, the docs came around for morning rounds and announced that Valerie could go home if she promised to maintain strict bed rest. I was devastated. The curtain was pulled between our beds, but I could hear their every word, and I knew she was thinking of me on the other side of the curtain. I laid back and put my pillow over my head. When the docs came to my side, I only removed the pillow partially and gave as little information as possible. In fact, I was snotty. Again, that nasty fear coming out. "I'm fine. Just like yesterday, just like tomorrow and the next day and the next day. I'm fine."

Dr. Floyd said, "I know this is hard for -"

"I'm fine!" I cut him off. I was not going there with him. Not on this day.

To no one's surprise, I was sent upstairs the day after Valerie left with pre-term contractions. Probably the stress, they said. I needed to relax. Not worry. Don't be upset. It's not good for the baby. Each word, each piece of advice fueled the fire of my uncertainty and anger. When Bill came in that evening, three hours after he said he would, I was furious. No explanation he would give could calm me. I lifted my leg and kicked the bed table as hard as I could, knocking over the table and everything on it. It was a brief moment of pure, unleashed anger. I could see the look of surprise in the eyes of Bill and in the eyes of the doctors and nurses who came in to try and calm me.

I remember the doctor looking me directly in the eyes and saying, "You have to calm down. Please. Today is not the day you want to have this little one. Please." And so the anger subsided as I tried to think about the well-being of this little one inside of me.

I felt really, really, really guilty when my mom came into the labor and delivery room a day later and told me, with a smile on her face, that Valerie was back. I knew it wasn't fair for me to wish for her hospitalization and the dangers that went with the need for it, but I couldn't help feeling a wave of relief and comfort in knowing my sounding board, my friend was back.

When they wheeled me into the room later that day, she smiled, too.

"They told me not to go anywhere or do 'IT,'" she laughed, looking only momentarily embarrassed with my mom in the room. "So the first thing I did was go to Wal-Mart and then, well, you know!"

"Valerie!" I said in the best scolding voice I could muster. "You really need to listen to what they tell you. Really, you do. I was getting used to you not being here."

"Whatever!" She continued to laugh. And I did too. It was what we both needed. 

And so continued the cycle of unexpected sorrows and joys, when one evening we were on the monitors, chatting away, and the nurse entered the room looking concerned. Valerie's little girl (she knew what she was having, I did not) was in distress according to the monitor. Within five minutes a doctor came in. It all happened so fast. And then they told her she was going to have an emergency C-Section. In the next half hour!

Val's husband was/is a truck driver and was on the road. Her mom was an hour away. Tears streamed down her face, as they hustled her off to labor and delivery. She was alone. For the most important event in her life to this date, she was alone. I was consumed with worry and helplessness, when five minutes later, one of our favorite nurses came in the room with scrubs in her hands. 

"Valerie has requested your presence," she said in a cautionary tone. "The docs have okayed this if you can promise us you won't get yourself all worked up!" Then a smile broke out across her face. "Come on, we have to get you dressed."

I was in shock. Complete shock. I never expected to be on the other side of the coin on this one. I never dreamed I would have the complete joy and honor of helping my friend welcome her child into the world. I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Armed with a disposable camera, I entered the operating room, pushed by my nurse. The doctor was smiling - I could tell even with his mask - his eyes were sparkling. "You are going to be calm, right?" 

"Oh, yeah, sure," I said, with a quiver already in my voice.

"Thanks," was all Valerie said as I rolled up beside her. I knew she meant it, and I could feel her fear. 

"It's going to be okay," I assured her. 

And then it happened.

"Angie," they said my name with urgency in their voices. "Stand up and look over the curtain. Take a picture! She's coming out!"

I stood up on one very wobbly leg, and there coming out from inside my friend was the tiny, tiny being whose heartbeat I had come to know and love. The light was shining down exactly on her, as if to announce her entrance into the world.

"Oh God! Oh God!" was all I could say. Over and over again.

The whole world stopped in that moment, and it is a moment I will never, ever forget.

"Angie," the nurse shouted my name, bringing the action back to the scene. "Take a picture."

"Oh, yeah, oh, God," I was a mess. My hands were shaking terribly, but somehow I ended up getting some good pictures to share with Bob and the rest of her family.

When they showed Bobby Jo to Valerie, I was in awe of her tiny size - a little over two pounds. And at the same time, I could not believe that she was, just moments ago, inside Valerie. 

As soon as Valerie got a good look at her, they whisked her tiny baby girl off to intensive care. It was a moment neither of us expected. It was not in our "plans." It was, no doubt, a miracle. For the rest of the night, and for days to come, I could not settle the butterflies in my stomach, knowing that soon I would have a miracle all my own - at least I hoped so. No, I believed so.