Phillip wakes me up by rubbing my face.
“Morning,” I sigh. “Are you leaving for work now?”
When I sit up, he hands me a cup of hot chocolate. “We got some ice last night, and it’s kinda slick, so I was thinking you could either ride to work with me or just work from home.”
“Can’t you work from home today, too?”
“Normally, I would, but we have clients in town, so I have to be there. Dad was supposed to drive down this morning, but they got snow up north, and he’s not going to make it. And, since it’s predicted for them to get more, he’s going to stay up there this week.”
“Oh boy! A week with the house to ourselves. Whatever will we do?”
He kisses my forehead. “How about, tonight, we have a romantic dinner in front of the fire?”
“Naked?” I ask, but then I look down at my bloated-looking stomach. “Or not.”
Phillip puts his hand on top of my teeny bump. “Naked sounds perfect. Are you going back to sleep?”
“No, I think I’ll lie in bed, reply to emails, and drink my hot chocolate. Thanks for making it.”
“You’re welcome. Have a good day.”
I reply to some emails and then get up. I get dressed and head to the kitchen and make myself an omelet.
I’m just finishing up when Lori calls me.
“Jade, are you still home?”
“Yeah, what’s up?”
Her voice is shaky. “Is there any way you could drive me to the hospital?”
“The hospital?”
“Yes, I’ve been having contractions. The doctor wants me to come now.”
I throw my partially eaten omelet into the sink, grab my purse and coat, and throw on a pair of snow boots. “I’m on my way.”
“I’m scared, Jade,” she says.
“It’ll be fine,” I tell her, trying to stay calm myself. We all know how I feel about hospitals. “Go down and open your garage door, so I can pull in. It’s icy, and I don’t want you to fall.”
I get in my car, crank up the heat, quickly back out of my driveway, and pull into hers. Then, I get out and help her into my car.
She clings to me with one arm while the other is clutching her abdomen.
“Are you in pain?” I ask her as I pull out of her driveway.
“Not right now, but they hurt when I have them.”
“Did you call Danny?”
“I left him a voicemail.”
Danny had meetings about endorsement deals in Los Angeles yesterday.
“But shouldn’t he be getting on a plane and coming home immediately if you’re in labor?”
“I looked it up in the pregnancy book. There’s something called Braxton Hicks contractions. They’re contractions that don’t do anything. Don’t cause you to dilate. Apparently, they are sort of your body practicing for the real thing. They started last night, about four in the morning. The book said to start timing them and see how far apart they are. Right now, they’re about every ten minutes—oh, hang on.” She stops speaking, holds her stomach again, and fans her face with her other hand. “Can you turn down the heat?”
“Oh, yeah.” I flick the heat off, being mindful not to take my eyes off the road.
The good news is, there isn’t much traffic. The bad news is, the roads are bad, and I’m practically crawling through the neighborhood.
I creep down a hill, putting the car in neutral, and gently apply the brakes, praying the car will stop at the intersection.
“It’s really slick, isn’t it?” Lori asks. She glances at the clock. “Make that every eight minutes.”
“So, do you think it’s the Braxton Hicks thing or real labor?”
“I thought they were just the pretend ones; that’s why I didn’t call Danny earlier. But, now, I’m thinking it’s real. The doctor said that Braxton Hicks are usually not painful, don’t happen at regular intervals, and don’t get closer together like mine have. But I’m really nervous, Jade. I’m only thirty-four weeks. The baby isn’t ready to be born yet.”
“Do you want me to call Danny?”
She seems incredibly calm, and I’m freaking out but trying not to show it. Danny would be so upset if he missed the birth of their baby.
“I called after I talked to the doctor, but he was already on his flight home, so I had to leave him a voicemail.”
She doesn’t say much after that. She seems to flip between being lost in thought to being in pain.
And I try to focus on getting us to the hospital safely.
Fortunately, under normal circumstances, we’re only about seven minutes away. I know this because Lori timed it as part of her birthing plan.
When we finally pull into the emergency area, a stressful twenty minutes later, Lori is visibly upset. Tears stream down her face, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the pain, because of Danny not being here, or because she’s worried about the baby.
Her doctor called ahead, so they put her in a wheelchair and take her straight to the maternity ward. And all this is starting to seem very real.
The nurse gets a urine sample, gets her into bed, takes her vitals, and puts a monitor on her belly that shows her contractions. Then, she checks to see if she’s dilated.
“Well, you’re at a one,” she says.
“So, I’m going to have the baby now?”
“We’re going to monitor you and the baby for a bit. Then, we’ll let your doctor know what’s going on. Have you felt the baby kick?”
Lori starts crying. “No. And I’m so worried.”
“Stay calm,” the nurse says. “Baby could be asleep, or it could be that you’re so worried about the contractions that you just haven’t noticed. I’ll be back shortly.”
The second she leaves, Lori grabs my hand. “I’m so scared, Jade. What if the baby died?”
“I’m sure the baby is fine,” I say, trying to be reassuring.
“If it’s born now, it will be premature. That’s not good. Oh—” Another contraction causes her to stop mid-sentence and squeeze my hand. “I haven’t even finished our class. I don’t know what to do!”
“Breathe. Like when you work out. Breathing increases your oxygen and will make it easier,” I offer, knowing full well I’m bullshitting. I don’t know what I’m even talking about. I just want to keep her from breaking my hand off.
The nurse comes back in and points to the monitor. “See this line? It shows that you are experiencing a contraction right now.”
Lori rolls her eyes at me because we don’t need a monitor to tell us that.
“And this line on the bottom shows your baby’s nice strong heartbeat,” she says, causing Lori and me to sigh with relief. She taps some information into the monitoring machine and then says, “Your contractions are pretty steady at seven minutes apart. How are you tolerating the pain?”
“She’s doing awesome!” I say, trying to be encouraging. I know her birth plan consists of no drugs.
The nurse ignores me and directly asks the question again to Lori.
She replies, “I’m hanging in there. So, what’s next?”
“We wait and see what the doctor has to say. He’ll be here shortly.”
As soon as she’s out of the room, Lori says, “Thank God the baby’s heartbeat is okay. Please look up what risks there are for a preterm baby.”
I do a search.
“It says here that, from thirty-five weeks on, they are called late-preterm infants.”
“I know how you are, Jade. I need to know the good and the bad. Start with the bad.”
“Um, okay. Well, it says that they can be at a greater risk for respiratory disease because their lungs aren’t fully developed. Or maybe they are developed, just not as strong as a full-term baby. Um, it says they weigh less, have less body fat, and have a hard time controlling their body temperature. But it just says they need to dress a little warmer. It says they have a higher risk of developing jaundice.”
“Want to hear a funny story?” she says. “Last night, I dreamed that my baby came out a full-sized child, who was wearing a baseball hat backward and break dancing.”
“That’s funny.” I laugh.
“Yeah, Danny showed me some video of a break-dancing three-year-old. I’m sure that’s what caused it.”
“Hey, I just thought of something. If Danny has Wi-Fi on the plane, you should be able to message him.”
She grabs her phone off the bedside table and starts typing, but then she stops and looks at me. “Do you think I should tell him?”
“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”
“He’s on a plane, and he can’t do anything right now.”
“He’ll feel even worse if you’re in labor and you don’t answer your phone when he gets off the plane.”
She shakes her head. “You know what? Why don’t you message him?”
“Why me?”
She clutches her abdomen again. “Because I’m in freaking pain!” she yells as she squeezes the life out of my hand.
“If you give me my hand back, I’ll text him.”
She lets go and whimpers, “Oh, these hurt.”
I decide now is probably not the right time to mention that the baby can hear her.
I grab my phone out of my bag and see a text from Phillip.
Mac Daddy Loves You: Took me forever to get to work. Roads are bad. Don’t go out.
Mac Daddy Loves You: Did you go back to sleep?
Me: Lori is in labor. I’m at the hospital with her. Baby’s heartbeat is fine. Danny’s on a plane back from LA but doesn’t know we’re here. About to try to message him.
Mac Daddy Loves You: Do you want me to come?
Me: The doctor is supposed to be here soon. I’ll let you know what he says.
I send Danny a message.
Me: Hey, it’s me. Just wondering if you’ve got Wi-Fi on the plane and can talk.
Danny: I’m here. What’s up?
Me: Thank God. Lori and I are at the hospital. She’s in labor. She was really nervous that she hadn’t felt the baby kick in a while, but they just checked, and the baby’s heartbeat is perfectly normal. We’re waiting for the doctor.
Danny: Are you messing with me?
Me: I wouldn’t joke about something like this, Danny.
Danny: Why didn’t she message me?
Me: She left you a voicemail earlier. I drove her to the hospital in the middle of an ice storm, and every time she squeezes my hand during a contraction, I’m pretty sure she’s going to break it. Don’t give me a hard time right now.
“Lori, I’m texting Danny. Is it okay if I take a picture of you, so he knows you’re okay?”
“Sure,” she says. “Is he freaking out?”
“He thinks I’m messing with him.”
“You wouldn’t joke about something like this, would you?” she asks.
“Duh.”
“Okay, take my picture.”
I forward it to him.
“Maybe you should talk to him,” I suggest. “It might make you feel better.”
“I really don’t want to talk to him,” she says, almost spitting at me. “This is his own fault. I begged him not to travel when I’m this far along, but he said we had plenty of time. Obviously, he was wrong, and now, I’m probably going to have this baby all by myself.”
She’s mad, but there are tears in her eyes.
“Are you scared?” I ask her.
“Of course I’m scared. I didn’t intend on doing this alone.”
“You’re not alone,” I say, giving her hand a squeeze as the doctor comes into the room.
Danny: Is she pissed at me? I told her nothing would happen. What if she has the baby without me? I’m so dumb. She was right. Nothing is more important than being there. I land in an hour and a half. Tell her to message me.
Me: Um, she said she didn’t want to talk to you. But then she started crying. She’s scared, Danny. And, honestly, so am I.
Danny: What did the doctor say?
Me: He just got here.
The doctor looks at Lori’s chart and then smiles at her. “So, these aren’t Braxton Hicks contractions. You’re definitely in labor.”
Lori wipes tears from her face and nods, bracing for the worst.
The doctor sits down next to her. “Where’s Danny?”
“He’s on a plane home from LA,” she says. “Even though I’m mad at him, I don’t want to have the baby until he gets here.”
“I’m thinking it’s a little early to have the baby, but let’s take a look.” He examines her, studies the monitor, and consults her chart again. “You’re having what we call preterm labor. There’s no bleeding, which is good. There’s no sugar in your urine, which is good. You don’t have a urinary tract infection. You’re dehydrated though, so I want to get you started on an IV. We’re going to do an ultrasound, and then I suspect we’ll give you a shot to stop your labor.”
“Stop it?”
“Yes, it will relax your uterus. We want to keep your baby inside for as long as we can.”
“Will I have to stay here, or will I get to go home?”
“I suspect you’ll get to go home later today, but I can’t say for sure.”
“Did I do something wrong?” she asks.
“No, you didn’t. About ten percent of women suffer from preterm labor. No one knows for sure what causes it. They suspect that dehydration, infections, stress, and gum disease are possibly related. You’re a little dehydrated, so we’ll give you the IV, just in case that triggered it.” He smiles at us. “Now, for the big question. We’re going to do an ultrasound next. Do you want to find out the sex?”
“I don’t know!” Lori exclaims.
“Why don’t you think about it, and you can let me know when I get back?”
Lori turns to me. “What would you do?”
“I wouldn’t find out.”
“But I want to find out.”
“But you and Danny decided you wanted to be surprised.”
“I know we did. But, if he hadn’t been stupid and left me, he would have been here, finding out.”
“Could you keep it a secret, or would you tell him?”
“Lots of people are doing those cool gender reveal parties and announcements. That might be fun.”
I nod.
“But I don’t think I could keep it a secret. I’d start buying clothes. No. No. I don’t want to know. We agreed.”
“I think that’s a good decision.”
“Are you going to find out what you’re having when you can?” she asks me.
“I know finding out is more practical, but we want to be surprised.”
Phillip: Do you know anything? Danny just messaged me and asked.
Me: The doctor was just here. He’s going to do an ultrasound and give her an IV, but it sounds like they might be able to give her something to stop the contractions. She’ll probably be able to go home later today.
Phillip: That’s good news. I love you.
Me: I love you, too. They are getting ready to do the ultrasound.
Danny: What did the doctor say?
Me: We’re getting ready to do an ultrasound. We’ll know more then, but she’s fine, Danny. The baby’s heartbeat is good. They think they can stop the labor with some medicine. Everything is fine.
Danny: Everything is not fine because I’m not there. I’m an idiot.
Me: Danny, it’s well over a month before she’s due. You couldn’t have known this would happen.
Danny: Still …
The doctor does the ultrasound, and we get to see the baby. This ultrasound looks so different from mine. The baby is big.
“Oh my gosh,” Lori says, “it’s sucking its thumb.”
“That’s so adorable,” I say.
“Did you decide if you want to know the sex?” the doctor asks.
“I don’t,” she says confidently.
And, even though she says she doesn’t want to know, I do. So, I’m scanning the screen to see if I can see any boy or girl parts. But, just when I think I might have seen a little boy part, the baby flips over, and all we can see is its butt. So much for getting an advantage in the pool that I’m sure our friends will have to guess the sex and birthdate.
The doctor tells us everything looks good.
Lori gets an IV and a shot to stop the contractions, and a couple of hours later, Danny arrives.
He’s got a big bouquet of flowers and a tentative look on his face. He’s expecting her to be mad at him, but instead, she just bursts into tears.
I give them each a hug and tell them to call me when they’re on their way home.
The roads aren’t as slick as they were this morning, so I stop at the store on the way home and get the ingredients to make lasagna. I figure the least I can do is have something ready for when they come home.
When Lori and Danny get back from the hospital, I take the food over to them on a tray, and they eat dinner together in bed.
“Do you have to be on bed rest?” I ask her.
“No. I don’t have any restrictions other than to take the medicine they gave me. They expect I will carry the baby full-term now.”
I brighten. “That’s such good news!”
“We thought so, too,” Danny says, squeezing Lori’s hand. “But I made her get in bed when we got home. She’s exhausted. And, going forward, I’m going to make sure she stays hydrated. In fact, while you’re here, Jay, I’m going to run to the pharmacy. We dropped off the prescription on the way home, and I just got a text saying it’s ready.”
After he leaves, I ask Lori, “Are you still going to be able to travel up to Omaha for your baby shower?”
“Yeah, the doctor said it was fine.”
“Awesome. I think a girls’ weekend is just what you need.”
“I think you’re right,” she says with a sigh.
“Are things okay with you two?”
“Yeah, Danny felt really bad. And then I felt really bad for being mad at him.”
“You were just scared,” I tell her.
“I was so afraid I was going to have the baby alone. I was equally afraid that he’d miss his baby’s birth. Thank you for being there for me, Jade. I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”
“I think I’m the lucky one,” I tell her.
