Destiny
Last year, my friend, who was particularly adamant about not having kids, found out that she had gotten pregnant on a very romantic anniversary trip with her husband. She emailed me the news and said, “It was destiny…”
I don’t know how much destiny had to do with how I ended up giving birth to my son. Yet, out of all the usual and unusual things that occurred, I was not at all surprised. Remember the “I Love Lucy” episode where Lucy goes to the hospital to give birth? She comes out to the living room and says, “It’s time, dear” or something like that, and Ricky scrambles to get her suitcase and coat on…it becomes a great physical comedy piece. Well, when I got pregnant, I figured that when the time came, I would delicately walk up to my husband and make that announcement, too. Or, we’d be in bed, waiting patiently for each contraction to get stronger. The very least, I imagined, my husband would be driving me to the hospital.
Funny how life happens to you in the most unexpected ways. It was a Wednesday afternoon. I have taken my maternity leave from teaching just the previous Friday. Without complications, I had worked through the 39th week. By the following Monday, I was already bored out of my mind and wanted to be back in the classroom. So, instead of going to the doctor check-up on Thursday, as planned, I decided to call in to come earlier. “It’s a good thing you called in. Dr. C- will be out of town by Thursday morning for a weekend conference,” the receptionist informed me. My baby was due Friday. In the back of my mind, I was wondering how my doctor would deliver my baby if, indeed, my baby came out as scheduled, but part of me supposed that my son would come out later. Why did I suppose this? A little wishful thinking? I didn’t want to think of the possibility…the reality that my doctor would abandon me in my hour (hours) of need.
“Ok, so I’ll come in for a check-up this Wednesday.”
“Sure, Dr. C- will be in town, but he may be at the hospital [instead of the clinic] all day,” the nurse was letting me down easy.
I went into the clinic anyway, doctor or not doctor. Looking back, I knew I was not in any kind of pain. No contractions. No discomfort. No cramping. No water breaking. Last time we checked on the ultrasound, my son was a sweet, little 6.5 pounder. But, I knew I wanted to hear his heartbeat…I wanted to see him move inside me again, even if this is the 6th time. Destiny may have whispered into my ear, but the warning was so fleeting; the message hung on at the edge in my subconscious mind.
“Would any other OBGYN at the clinic do?” the nurse inquired casually.
“Why not?” I was excited to check my baby’s progress.
The doctor was a young, beaming man. Dr. T- checked for the baby’s heartbeat. That wonderful, reassuring bump-bump, bump-bump. “Why don’t we take a quick look with the Ultrasound?” he suggested. Even better. That is, until Dr. T- glanced at me, then at the machine, and said, “Hmmm….I don’t see any amniotic fluid left.”
Those few words turned my steady path into a slippery slope of ice.
Dr. T- gently guided me to the waiting room for a second Ultrasound by the clinic’s specialist. She confirmed his suspicion. Calls were made to Dr. C- and the hospital. Papers were placed into my hand. “Good thing you came in when you did. Why don’t you go ahead and go to the hospital right now? Everyone is ready for you,” Dr. T- nudged me along.
Everyone was ready except me. It seemed like a dream. All actions, all thoughts, and I cruised down the quiet streets of a California autumn afternoon. I was calling my husband, who was 30-something miles away. Desperately, I wished that I had dragged him along this morning. I thought of how to get to the hospital. Right on Euclid. Just a couple of miles away. I was so glad that my bag was packed a long time ago and I had had the forethought to put it snugly in the back of the car trunk. I wished I had a camera with me. Oh, well. My husband would bring one. Is he here yet? Would the baby come out before his father gets here to see him? Why am I not hurting yet? What would labor feel like? It’s not supposed to be like this; my husband’s supposed to be driving me. I shouldn’t be doing this alone. Where should I park? Where do expecting mothers who drive here all alone park?
And yet, essentially, all that I could think of were, “How can my baby survive without any water? Was he okay? What would have happened if I didn’t go to hear his heart beat today?”
I don’t know what made me decide to go to the clinic that November day. I try to recollect any substantial reason. Truth is, it was destiny.
