We lived in Omaha, Nebraska and my mom and grandmother came from California the night before to help take care of Tessa, who was 2 1/2. They took their post immediately, and I was sent to bed for a night of uninterrupted sleep. Something I hadn't had in weeks. I slept soundly through a thunder storm so severe, it shook the walls of our little apartment. Neither my mom nor my grandmother slept well.
The next morning, we were up bright and early. I was due for a day of pampering, and we had to get there early, so that I could make the most of my day. We arrived, I was given a soft gown to change into, and invited to rest comfortably in my own luxury suite. With my own TV. I got the remote.
It was room service all day, with my every whim at the command of the staff. All the while, my little Tessa was cared for and loved by two grandmas.
I got to thinking about Tessa. Started missing her. I remembered walking with her the day before, and seeing her excitement as rabbits scurried about in the grassy areas of our Omaha apartment complex. I loved living in Omaha. We dreamed of buying a house within the year, but since Nebraska was still new to us, we decided to check things out for a bit while we rented an apartment. It was clean, and nice, and complete with those little rabbits. My Tessa would chase after them, her blond curls bouncing in the sun.
This was the first time I had spent a full day without her. And my day of pampering was scheduled to extend into the next day. It would be my first night without her. Yes, I was tired, and in desperate need of rest. Yes, I was being pampered. Another night of uninterrupted sleep in the plush bed in my suite should have lulled me to a more serene mindset, but instead, I found myself missing my home, and my own bed, and my little girl so terribly, that tears started flowing.
And a little bit of agitation, surprisingly enough. Though the staff were doing a great job of tending to my every whim, and were well worth the thousands of dollars we were paying them, I couldn't help but be a little grumbly at times. Maybe it was the lack of sleep over so many weeks. Yes, I had slept well the night before, but maybe it wasn't enough.
I had a gnawing ache, and I kept asking whether they had a little something to make it go away. They believed that I would feel better if I just let it ride a bit. That we shouldn't be so quick to medicate, when we can find alternative ways to work through aches and pains. I was a little shocked. After all, this was my day of pampering, and I wasn't feeling well. Surely, they wouldn't let a growing discomfort dampen my day.
And the little gnawing ache kept getting worse. And my longing for Tessa kept growing. I must have seemed distressed, or distraught, because before I knew it, I had several staff members in my suite talking to me, and telling me that I'll feel better soon. Really soon. How could they know that? As they'd laugh, yes, laugh, when I'd complain about the pain, I felt betrayed because the pain was growing rapidly with an intensity unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Why would they just let me be so miserable? This isn't what I was paying so much money for.
Then, a scream escaped me when the pain reached a pinnacle so great I was sure death had joined me in my suite. I started to black out, but was brought back to consciousness when another wave of pain came to me. And another. At least the staff weren't laughing anymore. At least they looked serious, finally. Do they feel embarrassed? Do they believe me now? But, then there was more pain, and then I found myself reacting within my body without the express permission of my brain, and I actually tried to climb outside of myself. Physically. I tried to escape the pain, and the torment, as the staff scrambled around me to keep me from falling to the hard floor beneath me.
More pain. More screams. I strained, breathing, or holding my breath. I couldn't know. And then a cry. And silence.
Catching my breath, my vision blurred, in that moment of serenity, I watched the staff standing away from me now, huddled together on the other side of the room. I broke the silence and abruptly blurted, "I screamed. Loudly. I'm sorry I screamed. Is he OK?"
They turned back to me, and handed me a bundle wrapped in blue. Adam. Adam Lloyd. Ten pounds, one ounce. No drugs.
Eighteen years later, I'm still a little mad at the nurses for not giving me at least a little cocktail. "You can do this," they told me. "You'll be so happy you did it without drugs," they reasoned. Humph. I'm of the opinion that God made people who made pain killers. Why not enjoy the birth of your child, without having to feel like we're in a Medieval torture chamber?
I suppose there is a little bit of a thing I find myself going to when I think about delivering a 10 pound, 1 ounce baby naturally, and it makes me smile a little. Kind of like a super hero, or at least a super woman.
But, if I was going to strike a tick mark in the air for being a super woman, I suppose I would do it when I think about my sweet son, Adam. He is one of my greatest accomplishments, and of of my greatest joys. I know I didn't make him. God did. But, I was blessed with the title, "Adam's Mom," so I will take that title and run with it, taking every bit of satisfaction I can enjoy. And believe me, there is a whole lotta joy.
Happy Birthday, Sweet Adam. You make me proud. On many levels.
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