It's 3am, and as I lie here in this foreign hospital bed, I can hear the thump, thump, thumping of my baby's hiccups on the heart machine, the ticking from the wall clock, the slightest squeak from my iv bag, and a beeping coming from outside the room. Hospitals are strange places. Whenever I visit one--whether for myself or someone else--I'm reminded of our dependence on someone else. I imagine God and his angels ministering to us in the same way the nursing staff does, supposing it's a good staff. So while my room might be empty, someone is always connected to me through machines, and I am never truly alone.
This is my second trip to labor and delivery where I will leave without a baby. The first occurred a few weeks back when I got the stomach flu twice in 10 days and could not stand up straight without wanting to throw up. I'm here tonight because somehow I managed to fracture the 10th rib on my left side. I'm fairly certain I did it coughing, but the anesthesiologist didn't really believe that so he's putting some blame on the baby, and who really knows--he might be right. But man, I'd take labor over a fractured rib any day. If I inhale too deeply or cough even the smallest cough, my left side cripples up in pain. It is unbelievable.
My doctor kept me overnight because the pain was so severe that I was struggling to breathe, which makes him worried I'll catch pneumonia or have a blood clot. I'm currently on morphine, and I feel rather sluggish, but at least I'm breathing better. The morphine has calmed my body but has done little to ease the rib pain.
I asked the doctor how long it would take to heal for my rib, and he said it would take weeks so I will most likely deliver while my rib is still sore, causing delivery to be that much more difficult. I was really hoping for a quick and natural delivery like the one I had with Birdie, but it looks like I will not get my wish this time. And I guess in the grand scheme of things, that's not that big of a deal.
I'm starting to drift off again. It's hard to keep my eyes open with this drug inside of me. But as I drift, I'm grateful for medical professionals who can make us somewhat comfortable as we ache, and I'm aware that I am never truly alone.