Cry, Little One
Wow, it's hot in here. Something woke me from a sound sleep. We don't have air conditioning, only a fan that sits on top of our dresser. I feel drenched from head to toe and it's even hard to breathe. My commotion wakes my husband who's lying beside me.
“Boy, it's hot, and I'm sweating buckets over here,” he says.
Climbing out of bed to go to the bathroom is something I do at regular intervals these days. At least I have for the past several months: ever since I found out that I'm pregnant. Forcing my swollen body our of bed I get a surprise.
“Honey,” I say, “I think my water just broke.”
“What,” he says, as he climbs out of bed and stands beside me.
“I'm scared, it's too early, I'm not even eights months along yet.”
“Don't worry honey, it's gonna be okay. I'll call your mom and tell her we're on our way to drop Lynn off, then I'll get you to the hospital.”
As I rush around and pack a bag I hear my husband trying to rouse our daughter.
“Come on sleepyhead, wake up, you get to go stay with grandma tonight.”
Buddy is so patient and nothing ever bothers him. He's great in a crisis, the exact opposite from me, like the time Lynn fell and hurt her face. There's no way I could watch them give my little girl stitches, so I stayed out in the waiting room while Buddy took her into the ER. If he's worried now it doesn't show a bit, and that helps me to relax.
Buddy dropped Lynn off at my moms and we're on our way to the hospital.
I had a few pains last night but I thought it was false labor. This isn't my first baby so I thought I knew what to expect. They say the pain of labor is something we forget, but I'm starting to remember, and I don't like it. Pains are coming fast and furious. Labor to bring Lynn into this world was slow, it took thirty-six hours.
I'm not ready for this, it's too early, will our baby be okay? Please God.
I've been prepped and given a hospital gown. I'm lying in bed and my husband is sitting in a chair beside me. This is real labor and there's nothing they can do to stop it. I'm so afraid.
Buddy and I took Lamaze classes and he's doing a great job of being my coach. He's timing my pains, rubbing my back and handing me ice chips, all the while trying to convince me that everything will be fine.
“Ouch! Get the doctor, this babies coming now!”
They made my husband leave, gave me a quick exam, and I'm on my way to delivery.
Push, push, I hear, and our little girl comes into the world. But I don't hear the sound that all mother's wait to hear, their babies first cry. She's not breathing. Please, baby, breathe. Cry little one, cry. Doctor's rush around and work on her. The seconds seem like minutes as I nervously wait for any sound. I get a glimpse of her, and hear a faint little cry, just before the nurses whisk her away. She looks blue.
They finish my care then wheel me into the hall where I meet Buddy and tell him that we have a little girl. He's thrilled. But something's wrong, I whisper, and they took her away for testing. We anxiously wait for news, back in my room, but it isn't good.
“Your little girl has hyaline membrane disease,” the doctor says, “her lungs are not fully developed and we don't know if she'll make it through the night.”
My heart almost stops.
The doctor sends Buddy home. “Maybe you can both get a little sleep,” he says. “Come back in the morning, we'll know more then.”
“Please, God, we both pray, let our little girl live. Breathe life into her tiny lungs.”
After a long, restless night, Buddy's back with me. We hold hands, and our breath.
The doctor walks in and he's all smiles.
“She's a little fighter,” he says. “She'd never make it otherwise. We're going to keep her until she gains some weight, but I think she's going to be okay.”
Thank-you God, we can breathe again.
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