Meeting Her

I’m sitting at my tiny desk in my tiny cubicle and trying not to lose what’s last of my mind. I’ve been at work for a total of 30 minutes, and it already feels like hours. To make matters worse, a rogue food craving means I’ve already eaten my lunch for the day. So, I’m going to have to use all my spare change to eat from the vending machines, again. My doctor has been on my case about not getting enough nutrition, so what is the stupid prenatal vitamin for? Wouldn’t it be better to just eat what I can instead of starving to death? I place my hand on my swollen abdomen, and hate myself for thinking, yet again, about how much I wish I wasn’t pregnant.

The father of the kid was some old buddy from college. We had had a minor fling, but neither of us saw any colors like you’re supposed to. We had met up at a New Years party, both of us got a little to easy with the drinks, and Boom! Here we are seven months later, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Pbbt! Typical of my life. I’m almost thirty, never had a serious relationship, and now I’m going to have to be a single mother to a kid I never even wanted. I don’t have the heart to put the kid up for adoption or... other means... so, I guess I’m stuck with my mistake.

As I’m working, I feel another hard kick around my pelvic area. I take deep breaths to settle myself. The kid’s been roiling around more than usual in the past few weeks. The doctor said it’s fine, but I don’t think kicks are supposed to hurt this much. I start to get back to work when another massive kick sends painful pins and needles down my legs. I cry out and double over. This is a strong kid. Both my hands instinctually go to my belly and start patting, as if trying to mentally communicate calmness. My breathing had barely settled when a huge cramp shot through my abdomen and tensed all of my muscles.

No... No! It’s too early! The doctor said I wasn’t due for another 10 weeks! I can’t be having contractions right now! Another wave of pain sends me doubling over as I look into my soaked skirt and wet carpet beneath me. Someone rushes over and grips my shoulder, asking if I’m alright. My look of terror must have been clue enough, because they immediately called 911 for an ambulance. One of my coworkers, an elderly woman, helps me start my breathing, gripping my hand tight. She’s done this four times before, she says. Everything will be alright. I cling to the strength and calm she’s offering me like a life raft in a hurricane.

The ambulance ride was terrifying. Tears streamed down my eyes as the pain increased more and more. The EMTs ask me questions. So many questions. When am I due? Do I have family who needs to be here? Who’s my doctor? Have I injested any drugs? Have I had a fall recently? What medicines am I on? On and on the questions went, and all I cared about in that moment was to make the pain stop.

Screaming, I was wheeled into the maternity ward. Doctors and nurses swarmed around me. All of them strangers, touching my body and cramping belly. I hated them all for touching me. I wanted to scream at them to get away from me and my child. We weren't ready yet. But the baby came. She came just the same.

One moment I was in agony, begging to be released from the pain, and then I looked up into her tiny face. My world exploded into a glorious rainbow of color. The tiny creature screaming her lungs out was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and the world around me danced with light and fireworks of bright colors. I didn’t care about the pain anymore. I tried to hold out my shaking arms for her, but the nurses said something about her breathing. She was turning blue, and the colors had started to fade. They wheeled her away in a tiny bed, and I was left screaming for her.

All night I laid in the bed, curled up on my side. Little streams of color would sometimes stream across my vision, but they only served to fuel my sadness. This entire time, I had resented the child inside me, but it turns out she was the love of my life. She was my soulmate, and she may not live long enough to be given a name. I buried my face in my pillow and cried.

There was a soft knock at my door, and I managed to wipe my face as a nurse came in. She smiled broadly at me, “She’s stable and doing well. If she pulls through tonight, it’s a great chance she’ll be ok.” I slump over with a heaving breath, and the nurse rushed to my side, rubbing my shoulders, “Do you want to go see her?” I nodded eagerly, and the nurse helped me into a wheelchair.

The nurse wheeled me into the NICU. I knew immediately which tiny baby was mine, because the colors began to glow bright and beautiful again when I saw her. She was hooked up with IVs and sensors, so the nurse had to gingerly lift her from the cot and place her in my arms. All I could do was stare at the teeny baby, the colors calming into place as I looked at her in all her glory. I don’t know for how long I stayed there, but I never wanted to let her go. The nurse knelt beside me, smiling brightly, “What’s her name?” My eyes never left my daughter, “Amy. It means ’love of my life.”