Heartbeats

I had never been more terrified in my life than I was on the way to the hospital on Sunday night. I was not in labor. No contractions, water fully intact. But we were on our way there to see about changing all of that, and I was terrified.

Despite the fact that at four days past my due date I was not at all dialated and having no real contractions, the procedure went much more quickly than anyone anticipated. One good dose of the medication and my body was like, "Oh really? Fine. Let's do this thing." And we did.

I mentioned before that I had never been more terrified that I was on the way to the hospital. But the moment I heard the monitor measuring my baby's heartbeat start to slow, and saw the doctor come rushing in with a surgical mask on her face shouting for the nurse to give me oxygen, my heart nearly burst with fear. All I could think was that I would lose her. Lose this little one, like the others, so close this time. So close. As the nurse sat next to me, telling me this was normal, that the baby was fine, that it happened sometimes and all I needed to do was keep breathing deeply, I just laid there and let the tears run down my cheeks. So helpless. I would do anything for this child, and all I could do was breath deeply. Just breath. And listen as her monitor went back to it's cheerful little bleeping. She was fine. She was going to be fine.

And she was.

To be continued...