too daunting a task to reach over and get it off the nightstand.
They were told to come right away. The rest was a detailed blur. The feelings remained strong and sharp, but gradually it all melted together.
When they arrived at the hospital, a stocky nurse with short brown hair that had been permed one time too many, brought them to a room on the Labor and Delivery unit. It was too soon to be there, but Annie knew that it was for the best. Where else should you be when you’re in labor? Labor. It was much too early. Surely, they’d be able to stop it. What if they couldn’t? She didn’t think she could handle having a preemie. The myriad of thoughts that always clogged her mind when she thought about “what if?” were running rampant. She was having trouble staying calm.
“Eric” she whispered as her eyes filled with tears, “I’m scared.” He patted her leg, trying to reassure her.
“It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “Try not to worry.”
Not worry, she thought, why not tell me not to breathe? How could she not worry? This was their baby – their child. Suddenly things were off course. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to make Eric worry and certainly didn’t want to be any trouble, but she was terrified. Her intuition, her sixth sense, and her gut were all screaming at her at the same time. Listening to them made her afraid and sad, so she did her best to ignore them and to put on a “happy” face. It was more of a mask than a face, and one that she’d be wearing for years.
An attractive young woman with long dark hair and big brown eyes strode into the room. She was wearing a white lab coat and carried a clipboard in her left arm. A blue stethoscope was draped around her neck. She approached Annie and Eric with confidence and certainty.
She stretched out her right arm for a handshake. “I’m Dr. Lewis, the resident on duty.”
She was very businesslike and brusque, but she seemed to know what to do and for that Annie was grateful. The last thing they needed was to have some rookie who was as lost and afraid as they were. After examining Annie, the diagnosis was that she was in premature labor. At thirty-three weeks, it was too soon to have the baby, she explained, so they would give her a drug, Ritadrine, to stop the contractions and hopefully stop the labor. She would have to be on bed rest – possibly for the remainder of the pregnancy, or at least until the baby was big enough to be born.
Annie’s blood became ice in her veins. While she appreciated the resident’s confidence, every alarm in her body was going off. This was not good; the fairy tale was definitely over.
“We’ll keep you on a monitor to keep an eye on the baby’s heart rate and we’ll get that IV with the Ritadrine started,” Dr. Lewis continued, unaware of the terror spreading through Annie. “Any questions?” She finally looked up at them and was shocked to see tears running down Annie’s face.
“Is our baby going to be okay?” The question came out as a whisper; that’s all Annie could manage. If she forced out any more sound, she was afraid she’d lose control and start screaming at the tops of her lungs.
The young doctor hesitated before she spoke. She looked very thoughtful, as though she was formulating just the right answer in her head before she answered. She walked around to the foot of the bed. A safer place to share less than wonderful news.
“We’re going to do everything we can to keep your baby where it belongs. The best place for it is inside of you. You are the best incubator. There’s no reason to believe it won’t be fine, as long as you do everything we tell you.” She smiled weakly at them.
Oh great, Annie thought grimly, it’s all up to me. What if I do something wrong? What if I don’t rest enough? What if I’m not good enough?
“Do you know what could have caused the premature labor?” She asked the resident. “Did I do something wrong?”
“It’s unlikely that you did anything to cause it, but let’s rule out the obvious.” She continued to ask Annie a list of questions about her behavior – did she smoke cigarettes or drink alcohol? How much caffeine did she consume? What about drugs, street or prescription? Was she eating properly? Did she get enough rest? What kind of exercise did she get?
The barrage of questions made her feel like a criminal on the witness stand. She had followed her midwife’s orders to the letter and had read every book about pregnancy that she could get her hands on as well. She was a model expectant mother, and yet this snippy young doctor was implying otherwise. Of course, that would make her job easier; then they’d have a reason.
“She’s been perfect,” Eric interjected. Annie looked at him gratefully. Until this point he’d been uncharacteristically quiet. It felt good to have him defend her. “And she’ll do everything you tell her to,” he added. Again, it seemed that it was all up to her.
“Well, sir, it’s not quite that easy,” Dr. Lewis said. “It took both of you to get this baby started and it’s going to take both of you to get it safely to its due date. Bed rest means bed rest. No chores, no walking around, no nothing. Annie, you can only get up to go to the bathroom. That’s it.” She converged on Eric again. “So, you will be doing the cooking and cleaning and everything, so that all your wife has to do is rest and grow this baby. Do you understand?” Her eyes could have bored holes into Eric’s forehead.
“Yes, I understand. I’ll wait on her hand and foot. I’ll treat her like a queen,” he squeezed her foot as he spoke, smiling at her. Annie smiled back weakly.
“But for now, we’ll take care of you here,” she continued. “Until the contractions have stopped with the IV and then stay controlled with oral medication, you’ll be right here.” She made this statement emphatically, as though they would find comfort in it. She even gave her head one short nod, as if to punctuate the order. “We’ll move you to a room as soon as one is ready. Mr. Morgan, you’ll need to go down to Admitting and take care of the paperwork.” And with that, she was gone.
Annie and Eric looked at each other. Twenty-four hours ago things were fine. How could they have ever guessed that this waited for them?
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. He didn’t seem to know what to say, so he said nothing. She sank back into the pillow and turned her head toward the window. She had to be strong. She would not cry – but that’s all she wanted to do.
“I better go downstairs and admit you,” he said. “And have a smoke.” He nervously felt his shirt pocket for the pack of Marlboro Lights, just to be sure it was still there. It had been a couple of hours since he’d had one.
“Okay.” She knew that smoking was the first thing he’d do. Everything and everyone else secondary until that first hit of poison was inhaled. Only then did the rest of the world exist.
The minute he left the room, the tears came. She welcomed them as they ran down her cheeks. What was she going to do? How would they ever get through this? Bed rest meant she couldn’t work anymore. What would they do for money? How was this going to work? Her brain was bombarded with questions, her heart was burdened with worries. Just then, the baby gave her a little kick, as if to say, “Remember me?” and she wept even more. She cradled her belly in her arms, loving her little one the best she could.
“I know you’re worth it,” she cooed, patting her tummy, wishing she could reach inside and hold him. “We’ll have such good stories to tell you about all of this someday.” She willed herself to be calm for the baby, knowing that any undue stress could be harmful. This led her to another train of thought – had this been caused by stress? She didn’t think she’d been under much, but this was all new, and she was worried about so many things. The thought made her feel queasy. How could she have put her child in danger with her own petty worries? Hadn’t Eric always told her to settle down, to stop worrying? Would he ever forgive her if something went wrong? Would it be her fault? Her thoughts were interrupted by a nurse who bustled into the room, pushing a wheelchair.
“How’s it going?” she asked much too cheerfully. She was about Annie’s age, but seemed much