Tuesday night was long, longer than any other I can remember in recent memory. Management had been complaining of lower back pain for several days but as that day crawled into evening the pain was more localized, intense at the base of her spine and radiating waves of pressure out her abdomen, down her hips, and into her thighs. Her breath shortened, eyes tightened, and her face became increasingly drawn. At twenty-six weeks this shouldn’t be happening. She should be asking for a bowl of ice cream or if the dog and I want to go for a short walk around the neighborhood. She shouldn’t be laying in bed unable to speak above a whisper, barely able to swallow through the waves of pain.
We called the doctor at eight, in a hospital room by nine, propped up on pillows with monitors strapped to her expansive blossom of a belly, she held my hand while I sat in a chair pulled in as close to the bed as it could get. Two weeks prior we had gone through this with doctors cautioning that she take it easy, rest more and pass on even the most mundane of tasks like washing dishes or running the vacuum over our meager carpet. Certainly, we agreed, and for the following days made sure that the only things Management had to do was care for herself but that I’d help wherever necessary, even tying her shoes.
However, there we sat until the early hours of Wednesday at least making our way back home before the hills began to redden with morning light. With two visits to the hospital in under a month the advice now included no travel beyond visiting friends and family locally as well as making the scant seven mile commute to work. This newest restriction means we both will miss celebrating my parents fiftieth wedding anniversary which they are celebrating out on the farthest tip of Cape Cod, something that pains us greatly.
In my mind I have begun counting the days until Gabriella is born, sometimes even hours, in the hope that facing each moment as it happens might get me there quicker. Minute by minute, hour by hour, I hope that all is well with my wife and child and that these fourteen weeks evaporate the stress and worry that is weighing down on us.
Oh no! I’m sorry to hear that you all are having a difficult time with the pregnancy. I hope that all goes better!
Sounds scary. I hope the situation improves.
Thanks for keeping us in you thoughts.
I had always imagined that being the expectant father meant I would be puttering about the house with a pint of Spackle and a gallon of paint whistling tunelessly to myself. In no way was I ever prepared for the long nights playing “what if” or hustling to the hospital and being utterly helpless to make a difference beyond opening doors and making sure parking is validated. Best I can do is hold her hand and have as stiff as a spine as I can muster.