Tempestuous Weather pt. 2

I arrived at our car parked in the ER lot, and I took the opportunity of this private moment to release the floodgates of tears that I was holding within me.  I nearly fell to my knees as my eyes went blurry.  I reached out my hand to the outside of the driver's side door to steady myself.  The doctor's words of "another 4 hours" and "strong possibility of delivering the baby" ran through my head like acid eating away at my core.  A sudden calm washed over me, and I said to myself very firmly, "You have nothing to cry about...yet."

This little pep talk worked...after I repeated it a few times.

I raced home through the side streets of Bloomington.  Along the way I came upon what appeared to be a very intoxicated hitchhiker.  As I got closer, I saw that he was visibly stumbling--beverage in hand. As my headlights illuminated his portion on the sidewalk, he turned and raised a thumb towards me.  As I passed him, the idea of picking up this solitary traveler and spilling my heart and soul to him was briefly entertained.

I arrived home at 2:45am, and I entered our living room.  I was frozen in place by the commonality of the setting.  A comforter was still balled up on the couch where Lindsay had been sitting.  Our drinking glasses were still on the coffee table half full.  It was hard to believe so much had changed in our lives in 3 hours.  Momo greeted me with her usual yowl for attention.  I told her, "We're going to be all right.  Lindsay's going to be all right.  I've got to pack a bag."

I raced upstairs--Momo bounding in front of me expecting the normal routine.  Momo's taken to drinking from our bathroom sink.  When we moved into our apartment, we were excited about having "his and her" sinks.  As it turned out, they became "ours and Momo's".  As I reached the top of the stairs, Momo looked out at me from the bathroom floor.  After she was sure that I knew what she wanted by briefly locking her feline eyes with mine, she leaped upon the counter and began rubbing her face against the faucet handle.  Thankfully she has yet to learn how to turn the faucet on by herself.  Quickly, I raised the handle for her, and Momo immediately lapped up from the small stream of water coming from the tap.

I walked into our bedroom and experienced yet another emotional collapse.  I still couldn't wrap my mind around the situation.  My wife was on her way to St. Vincent's hospital to possibly deliver our son 2 and a half months early.  I took a deep breath, shook my head, and wiped my eyes with my fingers.  I looked down at my chest and realized that I had yellow stains on my baby blue t-shirt.  I had no idea where they came from--we didn't have mustard with dinner that night, I thought. Yet there were the stains as clear as the decal of the narwhal picture and "The Unicorn of the Sea" writing on the shirt.  I took it off and reached into our laundry basket of clean clothes, which still hadn't been put away from the previous cycle.  I chuckled to myself knowing that Lindsay would normally scold me for neglecting my domestic duties ("You know where they go.  It takes 5 minutes.").  I traded the narwhal shirt for another custom-made shirt--both Christmas gifts from Lindsay's Aunts.  The one I selected said "Property of the Artist" on the front and "Lindsay's Man" on the back.  I figured that Lindsay could use as much support as I or a t-shirt could muster.  My head was swimming.  What do I pack?  How long are we going to stay at the hospital?  Lindsay was wearing a gown when I left her.  Will she need pants?  What clothes do I need?  I settled on one day's worth of clothing for each of us.  That was all the time I allowed myself to ration for packing the black bag given to me by Bloomington Hospital--their new motto, "The strength it takes" printed on the front.  We'll see, I thought.  I returned to the bathroom, shut off the faucet, gave Momo one last reassuring stroke, and burst out the front door and into my car.  It was 3am.

I reached a gas station in Mooresville around 4am.  I promised Lindsay that I would stop and get coffee on my way to the hospital.  She had repeatedly expressed her deep concern for my safety.  She kept trying to suggest friends who might not mind accompanying me to a hospital in Indianapolis at 3am.  Our compromise was that I would get coffee.  As I pulled into a spot directly in front of the entrance, my heart sank as I read that their hours of operation did not start until 5am.  I sat in my car contemplating my next action.  I had been driving near the speed limit, and I was desperately tired having been up for nearly 24 hours.  Waiting an hour in my car for a cup of coffee was a recipe for madness and desperate measures.  I wondered if tonight's events would warrant an insanity plea if I broke into this convenient store for a caffeine fix.  This all became a moot point as I saw a patron exit through the front door. 

I landed at St. Vincent's Women's Hospital 5 minute before 5am.  I shot through the revolving door like a cartoon character and approached the front desk.  I asked for "Lindsay Schroeder", and was told that she had not arrived yet.  I was instructed to go to a waiting area down the hall.  As I made my way through the hospital I placed a phone call with Lindsay's mother.  She told me to call her when I arrived and relay directions to her so she could join us.  I came to the empty lounge describing my location best I could to Lindsay's mother when I saw an empty ambulance through the windows.  My hopes and suspicions were confirmed when I turned around to see the EMT's from Bloomington turning a corner toward me.  "Where is she?"  I asked.  "She's..." the EMT began, "...I'll show you."  I said a quick goodbye to Mamma Lea and followed the EMT.

We rode the elevator up to the 2nd floor.  I fired question after question to this poor gentleman regarding Lindsay's condition.  He assured me that she was fine and stable.  He said that the ambulance ride had gone smoothly as we exited the elevator and walked down the hall. I knew we were getting close to Lindsay's location as I could hear her voice drawing nearer.  I could hear Lindsay chatting it up with the other EMT's when we entered her room.  They were laughing.  I wasn't surprised as anyone who spends time with Lindsay is bound to become quick friends.

"There's my baby," Lindsay said when I entered the room.  She introduced me to the EMT's by name (I cannot recall the names of those wonderful people--I've always been better with faces).  I thanked all of them for taking good care of Lindsay.  I went to her, grabbed her hand, and took a deep breath.  She asked me about my ride up and  if I got coffee. We slipped into surprisingly normal conversation as we waited for someone to come into the room  to tell us what we were to do now.