the arrival

i woke from a sound sleep in the early morning of thursday, march 21st and glanced at the alarm clock - 2:41 am.  if i'd been wondering whether i'd know when the real time came, i needn't have worried.  still, i waited 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 15 minutes, since it seemed a bit crazy to call the doctor on the first contraction.  by 3:00 though, i knew we were in business.  i woke ben, thankfully got the okay from the on-call doc to go in to the hospital, and started making phone calls.  my friend h and her little girl, by some inexplicable chance - a God thing, she later called it - were actually awake when i called, and agreed to come right over.  by 3:30, suitcase in hand, with the girls still sound asleep, we were off.

 

it was snowing gently as we made the ten-minute drive to shady grove adventist hospital.  i watched the clock - three minutes apart.  such a good thing we had changed insurance and didn't have to drive to silver spring now, i thought, 30 minutes at best and more than an hour in traffic.  ben dropped me off at the emergency entrance and went to park.  i made my way up to labor and delivery, pausing in the deserted hallways during contractions.  i handed over my insurance card and signed in.  check-in time, the form asked - 3:50 am.

 

just have a seat in the waiting room while we get your paperwork in order, they said.  by 4:05, i was wondering what on earth they could be doing at 4 am and distinctly wishing they would speed it up.  when the nurse finally came, she had to wait till a contraction passed before i could move.

 

down to the triage room and finally into an l&d room.  you're 8 cm, they said, as they repeatedly poked me trying to get an IV in.  no kidding, i thought, i could have told you that.  the on-call doctor arrived.  during contractions, i worried the 23rd psalm in my head like a rosary:

 

pressure builds, thunderclouds sweeping in from the horizon

 

the Lord is my shepherd, i shall not want

he makes me lie down in green pastures

he leads me beside still waters

he restores my soul

 

can't stop rocking, smoothing out the jagged pain, my mind's eye shouts and whispers:

 

even though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death

i shall fear no evil

for you are with me

your rod and your staff they comfort me

 

the assault slackens

 

you prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies

you anoint my head with oil

my cup overflows

 

blessed reprieve

 

surely your goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life

and i shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever

 

around and around we went.  the rhythm and progression of the verses paced the pain, and gave my OCD self just enough to grasp at - was it green pastures first or still waters?  did i skip the restoring part?  the Lord is my shepherd, the Lord is my shepherd..

 

you can push, they said.  as if you could stop me, i threw back silently.  my water still hadn't broken, and i could hear the doctor asking whether i wanted him to break it to see if it would speed things up or whether i wanted to push and see if it would break on its own.  i just nodded, which he took to mean the latter.  okay by me, i guess.  he may have regretted that.  he and ben were talking about ophthalmology and fellowships when - swoosh!  i managed to drench the doctor standing a few feet from the end of the bed.  good for some comic relief, anyways =p  the still waters and green pastures were beyond my ability to visualize now, and all i could do was count and push as the nurse instructed - one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, gasp, one, two, three, four.. 5:15 am.

 

push, push, breathe, push, there was barely time to get enough air, much less scream, which seemed like a waste of precious breath.  so much hair, i heard someone say, we must be almost there. push, push push, i'd forgotten the searing pain of the final approach, and then -

 

it's a boy!  ben said in wonder.  it's a living, breathing, baby, is all i could think as they laid him on my chest.  i'd temporarily forgotten the purpose of those months of big belly and those hours of pain, and here he was, little fingers, little nose, little head, all in miraculous reality.  where did you come from? i said in awe.  5:25 am.

 



'nicholson, josephine male,' his bracelet read.  we still had some work to do on names =)  nevermind that this was the third time around - i could not get over the sudden metamorphosis from belly lump to breathing baby.  but of course, there was nothing sudden about it.  it was only that reality was suddenly perceptible to my eyes.  isn't that, after all, the purpose of faith - to sustain us until our eyes are opened?  behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?*

* isaiah 43:19