Chapter One: PANIC

Throughout my pregnancy, we had appointments with the maternal-fetal specialists at the hospital. Nothing was "wrong," per se, but not everything was "textbook" either. A brief run-down: echogenic focus was nothing to worry about, except for a mild correlation with Down Syndrome. Heart-shaped uterus was a surprise (!) but still nothing to worry about, except a higher likelihood of C sections. Nobody knew why I'd become increasingly lactose intolerant. And the real question: why is this baby so small, yet so healthy?? Check growth, check growth, check growth. 

And then, on my final appointment, the 37-week appointment (which was supposed to be a 38-week appointment), my blood pressure was higher than usual. 

So I'm like, "It's probably the machine, right? My blood pressure's always been great."

And the nurse checks again. Still high.

And the doctor checks again. It's getting higher.

So I'm like: "Well you're stressing me out, obviously."

In any case, we all agree that it's definitely good news that this boy has turned head down sometime in the last 12 hours. Juuuuuust in case.

Joseph and I are sent to labor and delivery for a preeclampsia workup. I roll my eyes in the elevator, but I'm shocked at the possibility that this baby could come early. I have not made copies for my sub yet! I have not finished the floor refinishing project I started last week! I have never actually thought about what baby names I like and dislike! This baby is not allowed to come early; therefore, he will not. (That's not how this works.)

The labor and delivery nurse takes us into a freezing hospital room (why are they all so cold?), where they take all my info and liquids and check my cervix (ouch). The blood pressure cuff expands and beeps every 10 minutes. I did not bring a library book today and I am seriously regretting it. I have nothing to think about except please not yet so I distract myself with baby's heartbeat. It's calming, but also a little too real.

When all is said and done, five doctors have conferred via phone conference and determined that I should be induced today, tomorrow, or the next day. I have only one symptom of preeclampsia--high blood pressure--but it is the worst one to have (lucky me). In a moment of panic, I cry on the nurse's shoulder. This baby was not allowed to come early! She seems confused since most of the women she interacts with are aching to get their babies out ASAP, but those women probably all have their sub copies made.

Joseph and I get home that night a little shaken. We eat comfort food for dinner (chocolate malt-o-meal with buttered toast) and update our families. I spend the next few hours wandering the house, crying and knowing that I have so much to do to get ready but not knowing where to start and not being able to see clearly through my tears. Joseph spends those same hours preparing for a baby to come: car seat strapped up, bassinet constructed, newborn clothes organized. This is why I married him. This calm demeanor will save me over the next three days, and it will (tonight) force me to write and delegate a list of what needs done tomorrow. Bless that man.

Knowing that my school days are numbered (I expect to have one more A-day and one more B-day), I go an hour early to work the next day. I am productive as all-get-out, and I warn everyone that I only have one more day. I tell my coworkers that I should be able to make it to my baby shower tomorrow after school. I tell my students to turn in everything they've got and then say their end-of-term prayers. As long as I can be at work tomorrow, I will be able to crank out the bare-minimum tasks so that I can focus on having a baby. Should be great! (This is foreshadowing.)

After work we head to our regular doctor appointment. Randall (my doctor, who probably doesn't know that I call him by his first name) checks my blood pressure. It is fine-not-great. He checks my cervix, and it has not changed. It sounds like things aren't that urgent, so I get my hopes up to postpone induction. But this is a vain hope, and Randall tells me as much. In fact, I will not even get to go to one more day of work. This party starts tonight! Of all the horrors: I have lost my final work day. I start to panic (again).

Randall schedules an induction for us at 6:00 PM, knowing that--since it is currently 5:40 PM and we are still at his office--we will be late. He recommends a good meal and a hot shower before we head to the hospital. Nothing else matters, not even the live podcast recording I have tickets for tonight (happy birthday, Jenna) or the baby shower happening at work tomorrow afternoon or the copies I still haven't made. Hopefully we will all see each other again tomorrow with a new baby bringing us together! Hooray! It's baby time!

Except... I do not feel that excitement with him. I feel straight panic (increasingly more of it) at the idea of losing my last day of work. I feel so sad (so so sad!) to miss that live podcast with Jenna. I have heartburn, but it's not related to pregnancy. I literally cannot prioritize what needs doing. I'm falling apart at the seams. Whatever happened to "this baby is not allowed to come early"???

I openly sob in the car on the way home. Joseph probably feels as panicked as I do, but I show it more. At least we...have a car seat? But that's the extent of our readiness. I call in the familial troops as we drive home, and I cancel my date tonight with Jenna (crying about it). Somehow my entire family is already at our house by the time we arrive. The delegated list from yesterday has nearly been finished, and I want to kiss every single person for it, but I don't have the time. I must shower and eat and pack and go to the hospital!

(To read chapter two, click here.)