Monday, April 26, 2010
Friday morning I had a special place to go. My Aunt Jan was bringing Opa down for a visit to my mothers' and I intended to go for a visit. But as soon as I started on my way, I started to feel... weird. It didn't take long for me to realize that what was "weird" was that I was actually having CONTRACTIONS. The whole trip, there they were, these subtle, but uncomfortable tightenings. They were about 5-7 minutes apart, but not painful. Atleast, not physically painful.
Emotional pains were quite another story.
The whole car ride I listened to Corynn singing in the backseat and noticed how utterly silent I was. 22 weeks...eyelids and eyebrows are already there. Hairlines are already forming. Fingernails are being sucked on and mouths are already yawning. But even with all these little feats, my baby could not survive outside his/her wombhome. My mind kept wandering to all my friends' and acquantances who have lost babies during this pregnancy (so many) and how I was to be one of them. I prayed. And prayed. and cried. and put eyedrops in my eyes so that I wouldn't look like I had.
When I got to my Mom's I tried to act normal, the last thing I wanted was dramatics..my insides and brain were already being dramatic enough. I sat as much as I could and I plastered on a smile.
The way home was even worse. Almost all day, by now, these little, bothersome contractions were coming...always the same distance apart, always without pain. But always there, threatening my 22 week old Smooch. Little, fervent heartfelt prayers were offered up so often that they became one long, drawn-out heartsong.
I got home. Told Matt. Laid on the couch for the rest of the night. I was so cold. Matt covered me in afghan after afghan. He made the children their suppers. I concentrated on Smooch, pleading for movement. I wondered if I ought to go to the hospital.
I called the midwife.
She asked what I had eaten that day.
"Ummm. Cottage cheese for breakfast."
"AND?" said she.
"That was all for breakfast."
"Carrot sticks, celery, cherry tomatos. Cantalope. A sloppy Joe for lunch."
"Thank goodness for the sloppy joe!" said she. "What about supper?"
"I haven't had any. I have been sick with worry! I haven't had an appetite!"
"And LAST nights' supper?"
"ummm. I didn't have any. BUT that is because I had a later lunch and wasn't HUNGRY!"
"You need to FEED this baby! I have seen plenty of babies who abort because they weren't getting enough food from their mother! You are starving the poor thing. Eat. Eat something small every hour until your blood sugar gets back to where it needs to be and is regulated. The lower your bloodsugar, the less appetite, the lower the bloodsugar and so on. Force yourself. For your baby."
She told me to eat and drink lots of water and if nothing changed I should go to the hospital.
I got off the phone and burst into tears. This baby is going to die because of ME.
What struck ME though, is that I *THOUGHT* I WAS eating for my baby. I never usually EAT breakfast, but I eat cottage cheese now, or yogurt, or a banana. I head for the vegetables and fruit, knowing how many vitamins they contain. And the non-eating thing? Well, when you are full you are full, or so I thought. After all, don't want to be gaining 65 pounds during pregnancy when 20 is average!
I became distressed and sad and burdened and scared anew and then I realized, as I snarfed a plate Matt had made for me and three glasses of water, that this baby HASN'T come yet and maybe this is my second chance.
A chance to make things right again.
Not so very long after, I felt Smooch move and with that movement, a wave of relief hit me.
The rest of the weekend was filled with me drowning in water and Matt shoving yogurt, toast, bananas and anything else he could get his hands on down my throat and me~always waiting for that blessed assurance that Smooch was moving, alive and well.
For two days, s/he hardly moved. But each moment s/he DID, it kept me going. Today, no contractions and Smooch is moving along, happy as a lark. What a beautiful, blessed feeling.
I have a paper on the fridge where I chart my food and drink intake.
I am so thankful for new mercies each day. And second chances...