The ride home

I have spent a great deal of my life working to convince myself and the world that I am a strong and capable woman.  “I CAN DO IT” has been my mantra since I was a very small girl.  I didn’t want help and I didn’t want interference.  It’s a thing. I can’t be weak.  It’s a stupid thing, but it’s a thing.

When I got into the van and started pulling away from the hospital where our appointments were, I was shaking, visibly and hard.  I asked my son to sit in the way back.  If I was going to freak out and cry he didn’t need to see it.  I got closer to the street from the parking lot and my mind was racing with what to do next.  Should I call my husband?  Does he need to know now, or should I wait until he gets home from work?  Is this an emergency?  Am I over reacting?  What should I do?  Do I call people?  Who?

By the time I had pulled into the street I realized I could do nothing.  My baby could die.  All I could think was that my baby could die.  I knew nothing else.  Not even the name of this horrible dragon that was attacking my family.  I only knew it was there and it could take my baby.  I started sobbing and turned the corner, the wrong way because I was disoriented.  I couldn’t figure out how to get out of downtown OKC.  I decided to call my husband because I found myself emotionally and physically lost.  I called him and just vomited out the words of what happened.  All of it.  Inbetween sobs.  Then I started to apologize for calling while he was at work, but I didn’t know what else to do, I was so lost I couldn’t find my way back to the highway to get home.

I’ve never been that lost before.  I’ve never not known how to go forward in my life.  Not to that extent.

My amazing husband calmed me down, talked me off of my ledge and walked me through how to get to the highway.  Then he kept me on the phone until I was in the town we live in.  He didn’t want to hang up until he knew I’d be safe and okay.  I hung up with him and called my best friend. I didn’t know what else to do and I didn’t want to be alone with my 11 year old in the van to hear me cry.  She listened as I told her the whole story.  She stopped her day so I could have an ear to listen and promised her prayers when it was time to hang up.  I was nearly home when I called my mom.  I told her what was going on and she promised to pray for our baby girl.  She didn’t know her name, no one did, we’ve not announced names in years.  There was too much drama in name picking so we decided to not announce anything anymore, until it was on the birth certificate.  It was a surpise we kind of liked having.  Anyway, she promised to pray for our little girl and I replied “Her name is Lucy.  Pray for Lucy.”

We had reached the point where surprise was going to help no one.  Suddenly it became very important for everyone I knew to know her name.  If she wasn’t going to live long once she was born we were damn sure going to be calling her by name for as long as we could.

She is my little girl.  Her name is Lucy.


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