Five Minutes

Five Minutes...the amount of time it might have taken a handful of unidentified perps to wrap my house with toilet paper last night at 11 p.m.

I was in my living room when Beckham started growling and barking. I thought maybe it was just a cat or a possum or even an armadillo outside, but he was so unsettled that I made myself go look out the window. (I was kind of scared and didn't want to face it.) Imagine my surprise when I peered out the curtains of my office and saw that my house was getting wrapped. Seriously? Are Curt and I thirteen years old? Or even seventeen? Are we not parents, which automatically makes us dorks to anyone under the age of 21? I did not get a good look at the people before they saw me waving at them through the window and ran off. In hindsight, I wish I would have set off the panic alarm and scared them a bit. Today I have a little better sense of humor about it, but last night Pregnant Girl was not very happy about having to clean up the mess without the help of Hubs. When he gets home tomorrow he can climb the ladder and get the Angel Soft out of the tree. Sorry, neighbors! So, anyone out there have something to confess? I have a few theories. Or maybe they had the wrong house, which would make more sense.

Five minutes...the amount of time I was left alone in my doctor's office today thinking that my baby's sweet little heart had stopped beating.

Today I am 13 weeks pregnant. This is the point where you start believing you are actually having a baby and stop holding your breath for something bad to happen. After doing my time in the waiting room, a nurse I hadn't met called me back into the office. She took my blood pressure, weighed me on a very forgiving scale, squirted gel on my tummy, and waved the magic wand around to find the heartbeat. She went all over the place, taking her time. There was nothing. More looking. More nothing. After she had covered all the surface of my lower abdomen, I groaned, letting the thought actually enter my mind that we have lost the baby. The nurse put away the instrument, helped me sit up, and said, "Someone else will be in to help you." Then she left. I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't speak or ask any questions. I knew someone else would double check her findings and then talk to me about my impending miscarriage. I can't even tell you what I was feeling. (Well, helpless and desperate to turn back time. Grateful that my mom was only two minutes away in case something like this happened.) Maybe you've been there and you know. About three minutes passed and I nearly ran into the hall and yelled for someone to come in there right now and talk to me about this. Come on now! How are you gonna leave someone all alone in the room like that? On the fourth minute I called Curtis at camp in Missouri and whispered, "Babe, they couldn't find the heartbeat." He was astonished and heartbroken. I told him to pray and that I would call him back after the person "came in to help me."

A minute later a very cheerful and sweet lady came into the room and said, "Hello! How are you doing? I am so-and-so!" Half of me thought this was the most inappropriate greeting of all time and the other half of me realized she must know something I don't if she could be that chipper. In a shaky voice I answered, "Well, I am really freaked out right now because there was no heartbeat!" Then she basically explained that she was the real pro in the house and that her instrument was going to find the heartbeat. If not, I would have an ultrasound. Sure enough, she found it right away, thank You Lord Jesus, while I was dialing Curtis to let him know he could stop freaking out. Man, what a long five minutes. What a swing of emotions. I could hardly pull myself together and speak to her coherently. She also told me that she thought I was having another boy, which may or may not have been her and/or God's way of comforting me after my five minutes of emotional turmoil. A few minutes later the doctor would come in to meet me. I asked God to help me get it together so that I wouldn't appear like the emotional wreck that I was. I would save my tears of relief for when I got to the car.

On a lighter note, I already love my new doctor. I don't know how much I will say about him just in the interest of my own privacy, but I am so happy about where the Lord has led me. He is a man of God and seems to be a wonderful person with a wonderful family. He told me he stopped counting the babies he delivered after 30,000. Holy Moses! He visited with me for about twenty minutes, asking me questions about myself and my family and telling me about himself and his family. I feel like I'm in very good hands.

So today I am very relieved, very thankful that everything is okay. My heart is also really tender because I can name off a whole list of friends who have been devastated in their doctors' offices and have not had their fears relieved - some more than once. Others much, much, much farther along than me. Even one who will soon mark the fifth year of her precious daughter's passing only days before she was due. I am so sorry for everyone who has gone through such a loss, for everyone whose hope deferred has made them heartsick. (Prov. 13:12a) I pray that if you haven't already, you would know your longing fulfilled and that it would be like a tree of life. (Prov. 13:12b)