I keep seeing articles regarding silly things husbands do or say when their wives are in labor.
I think about my own husband, and his invaluable support during both of my pregnancies.
One birth was induced; the other was a scheduled C-section. But my husband did get the chance to rush us to the hospital while I was in labor. I was 17 weeks pregnant.
I had been on modified bed rest at home for three days. I’d gone in for an ultrasound after unexplained bleeding, and my OB wanted me to rest due to some concerning changes.
Paul was downstairs, working from our house so he could help take care of our toddler.
As I lay in bed, resting but anxious, a stabbing pain ripped through my body. I screamed and texted “help” to Paul.
The doctor on call instructed me to get to the hospital right away. Paul scooped up 16-month-old Ian from his nap and gently but quickly herded us all to the car.
As we drove, small bits of nervous chatter punctuated long, fearful silences. Finally, I timidly ventured, “If…..he doesn’t make it….I want him to have a name.”
“Yeah,” Paul echoed softly.
We quietly discussed a few options, and settled on “David” as our little one’s name.
In triage at the hospital, I remember a nurse saying, “You know if you are in labor, there’s nothing we can do.” I think the nurse was trying to be realistic, but as an anxious mom who already knew those possibilities, she seemed cruel.
Another nurse told me that “sometimes this is just nature’s way of taking care of things.”
I was stunned into speechlessness.
But then I remember my OB and the specialists, who kindly and calmly addressed options and odds in a way that let me know they were fighting for my baby.
I remember my sweet friend who visited and prayed over me.
I remember my family rushing to my side, dropping everything to help in whatever way they could.
And I remember my sweet husband, who quietly, calmly, stayed with me through the storm.
