Forced Patience

At the end of the day, in the eyes of a child, you can

see all the things that make the journey worthwhile.

                         --A. Danielson

I have a really, really hard time waiting on anything. When I buy a present for someone, I can hardly wait (and usually don't) to give it to them. I hate waiting in lines. I hate waiting on the results of medical tests. I hate waiting for my hair to "process" when I get highlights...I'm just DYING to know how it is going to look - NOW! My loathing for waiting was never more true than in the months I had to wait to see my most precious baby boy.

I found out I was pregnant pretty early in April and could not fathom waiting until December 15th to have my little one. Never can I understand the stories of women who give birth, claiming to have never known they were pregnant. In one way, that sounds appealing to me - BOOM, the contractions hit and soon after, a baby. On the other hand, as tortuous as it was for me to wait the long months to see Nicholas, I count those months as some of the dearest in my life. To think - there is an actual living, breathing being in there - NO WAY! Any mom knows just what I mean.

My waiting for Nick was, as are most things for me, an ordeal. As I mentioned in the previous post, it became obvious very soon into the pregnancy that I would need to be followed by a maternal fetal specialist. I will never forget my first appointment with Dr. Floyd. He opened the door to the examination room and said, "Well, I finally get to meet you. After reading and reading and reading and reading your chart, I think you are a pretty interesting lady."

I wasn't impressed. I'd heard it before. In fact, I was annoyed. Little did I know the short, balding man in front of me would soon become my hero. He informed me through a series of appointments, tests, and procedures that I had pulmonary hypertension induced by the pregnancy. If you read much about this condition, you learn very quickly, it is a serious and life threatening condition...luckily back then I didn't even have internet at home, so I didn't really know that - probably just as well don't you think? He wanted to see me on a very regular basis, and I was to have regular echos on my heart. An echo (or echocardiogram) is a test on your heart similar to an ultrasound you have of a baby. Not at all a painful test, just annoying.

The amount of appointments was daunting. I was told right away that I would not be working at all in the upcoming school year. This was devastating both emotionally and financially, but pregnancy is such a joyous, anticipated event, I was more than willing to do whatever necessary. Still, I had no idea what that might be. That is, not until a routine appointment on August 25th. I went by myself to this appointment, which was HIGHLY unusual, but my parents were out of town and my husband was working. We needed the money, and I assured him I could handle ANOTHER appointment on my own.

When Dr. Floyd entered the room, I could see a look of uneasiness in his eyes. I was already getting to "know" him well....It does not take me long to learn the mannerisms of a doctor or nurse and what they mean. My heart flittered in nervousness.

"Well," he began calmly. "Things seem to be under control, but your pulmonary pressure is higher than we would like. So, we are going to admit you today. We think being on oxygen is going to help, and we would like to run some more tests."

I was not really that freaked out at this point. Hospital stays were, obviously, nothing new to me. "Okay," I replied calmly. "How long is it going to take? How long should I expect to be in the hospital?"

The look on his face said it all. He knew then that I did not understand what he meant and that perhaps he should have been clearer.

"Uh," he stuttered a bit. "This admission is for the rest of your pregnancy."

The room sort of spun out of control and for the life of me, I could not even count how many months were between August 25th and December 15th. I was trying to count them in my mind, trying to grasp the reality of the words that just came out of his mouth, and then it was like a flood gate of thoughts opened up in my mind: I didn't bring a toothbrush, I don't have the nursery ready, I don't have clothes, I need to talk to my mom, I need....and then I remembered something crucial: I had parked illegally. So my response to his announcement was as follows.

"I parked illegally, and I need to move my car."

"Oh no. You'll have to pay the ticket. I have a tech waiting with a wheelchair to take you over now." I could tell by the stern tone of his voice that he was not messing around. I later learned that he didn't let me go move my car because some women leave and don't return.

So, off I went in shock and disbelief, to live, to wait, to nurture my baby in a 9 x 7 space (semi-private, even) that would become my nest for the next several, very interesting weeks.

Today, I don't even consider it more than a blink in my history, but as it was happening, it seemed that time never moved so slowly.  

And eleven years later, my Mother's Day gift for enduring those weeks in a tiny, maddening space: a simple "Happy Mothers Day" followed by a day at the ballpark (I know, shameful to have a ball tournament the weekend of Mother's Day). But as he crossed home plate, clapping his hands together and smiling brilliantly (followed by lots of whooping and hollering by me), I wouldn't have had it any other way.

Happy Mother's Day everyone!