I’m sitting around in the house waiting for the results of daughter’s latest obstetrics appointment. I don’t want to get too far away from the phone.
During her first pregnancy, toward the end, I was to meet her for some last-minute shopping and to go to lunch. She had a morning appointment, so I was to wait for her at her house. An hour past the time we were supposed to meet, I went to her doctor’s office, because I figured that she had a long wait because the doctor had an emergency, but she wasn’t there. I went back to her house. She wasn’t there. She didn’t have a cell phone. I went back to the doctor’s office to ask about her. “Yes, she had had an appointment this morning, but she left.” I raced back home and checked the answering machine there. Nothing. I raced back to the doctor’s office before they closed so that I could find out exactly what time she checked out. They wouldn’t tell me anything. Patient privacy. I got back to the house again and SwampMan was there. “I was just on the phone with SwampDaughter’s employer!” he announced before I could say anything. “She was admitted to the hospital from her doctor’s appointment, and she couldn’t call long distance from the phone. She was finally able to call her work and they called us.” Preeclampsia. She was pretty sick, but Jacob arrived in good shape via C-section.
So you see why I have a tendency to freak out toward the end of her pregnancies.
Dylan and Zoe arrived over the course of time without too much drama. Then preeclampsia re-emerged with her fourth pregnancy, and baby boy died over the weekend of her grandfather’s funeral.
This (fifth) pregnancy is being followed as a high risk pregnancy, with doctor visits twice a week during the last month and careful baby monitoring.
She had an appointment this morning before going in to work, so I watched the clock. When I hadn’t heard from her, I called her cell phone to make sure she was okay. No answer. A few minutes later, she called from work. “Hey, you called?” “Yeah, I was calling to see if it was safe to go work outside!” I told her. “How’s the appointment this time?”
“Uh, not until tomorow.”
Blink. “I thought your appointments were Monday and Friday!”
“Well, not this week. This week, it will be Tuesday and Friday.”
“Okay. I’ll go outside then.”
“Mom, seriously, you need to stop worrying!”
Yes. I’ll get right on that “stop worrying” thing. I would say that I’d stop worrying right around when I drew my final breath, but somehow I expect that I’ll be a ghost hanging about anxiously just out of visual range shouting “No! Do NOT hold anybody’s beer and watch that! Stop that this very minute!”