How to Make God Giggle- 1st revision

You can plan for a lot of things. You plan a vacation, you plan a party, you can even plan for your pregnancy. That is exactly what I thought I had done for my pregnancy, “plan”. I planned on the sex of my child, the type of childbirth I would have I planned on the midwife that would deliver my baby. I planned on a warm, dark room, with my favorite music playing in the background as I toughed out the birthing pains with no type of pain medicines. Somebody told me once, “Want to make God laugh, tell him your plans!”. On July 24^th I am sure I heard God laugh.

The day started out innocent enough, I rolled body, eight months pregnant and swollen, out of bed. I got dressed and ready and walked down the stairs to meet my cousin, Ali and her son, Silas. I had planned on tagging along with them to a couple of Silas’s doctor appointments. This day was so perfect and beautiful that we had decided to travel the two miles from my house to the hospital on foot. During our walk I started to feel a little funny. The heat that had felt so good in my front yard was suddenly a little too much. We turned back and grabbed the car. We arrived at the hospital and went to the first appointment without incident. On the way through the hospital, to appointment number two, we stopped to use the restroom; this is where I realized something was not right. I went to the bathroom as usual, but I couldn’t stop going to the bathroom. I thought at first something was wrong with my bladder control. It didn’t take long to realize the problem was not my bladder, but, that in fact, my water had broken. I assumed it was normal, being a month early and never having had a child before, I thought perhaps I had just missed this chapter in the book, or maybe this is the false labor I had read about; surely there was a rational explanation. This was where the flood gates opened, I thought I heard a snicker.

While it may have been a great thing to be at a hospital when you go into labor a month early, we were at the wrong hospital. We left the hospital and headed to my house to pack my bags, and head to the right hospital. I was calm at this point, I was ready for anything. I had spent months bonding with this person inside me and I was ready to meet him; I had even fallen in love with him. I had picked out the perfect name and was ready to put a face to this little stranger that I had come to know so well. My best friend, birthing coach, and for all intents and purposes, my temporary husband, Amanda drove me to the hospital. Maybe the timing wasn't perfect, but surely from here out everything would be just as I had planned it.

We arrived at the hospital and headed for the labor and delivery floor. After finding out that, in fact, it was my water that broke, I got the most devastating news thus far in my pregnancy, I had to have a cesarean section. Not only would I be going into surgery, but my midwife was not available for the delivery. What? I had planned on a natural, drug-free, childbirth, under the care of a midwife I had come to know very well over the previous few months. While I had remained calm and resilient thus far, this took me over the edge, I was nearly inconsolable. Amanda, in all of her strength and wisdom, managed to calm me down and remind me that it didn’t matter how he came as long as he was safe healthy. I was prepped for surgery and carried on a gurney to the operating room.

The operating room was cold and sterile, I was terrified, and this was certainly not in the plan. The epidural, that I had vowed not to use, was administered. While waiting for the drugs to take effect they led Amanda into the room, which eased my discomfort and helped me to focus on what was about to take place. The physician was very nice, he spoke to us during the process to let us know what was happening. We became a bit concerned when the doctor stopped peeking his head over the sheet to tell us what was happening. To increase this concern my body, which had no feeling from the neck down, was being jerked rather violently. Something was desperately wrong. After what felt like an eternity, the doctors all left the room with my son’s silent, red, and lifeless body in the lead physician’s arms. I was in absolute panic, I looked to Amanda to offer support, but her calming words couldn’t mask the fear in her voice. This is one scenario no mother even allows into her train of thought when she finds out she is pregnant. Then, sounding like no less than an angel, I heard his cry. The relief was unbelievable, Amanda and I cried, too. I sent Amanda to get him from the doctor’s. In a minute that felt like an eternity, she brought me the angel I had heard. He was perfect. The longer I looked at his tiny hands, his tiny feet, his beautiful, little face, the deeper in love I fell. One thing I had not planned for, was amount of love I felt at that moment. This little life that I had created, that I was responsible for, made me feel as though I was holding my own heart on the outside of my body. Everything else disappeared, the cold sterile room, the doctor’s, the sound of God giggling in the distance, there was only my son and me.