Tempestuous Weather pt. 3

Since arriving at St. Vincent's Women's Hospital, Lindsay, the baby, and I received nothing but the best care.  The nurses were so incredibly caring.  I made sure to thank each and every one of them by name whenever they left the room.  Lindsay and the baby were being monitored by a computer that took Lindsay's blood pressure every hour.  She was monitored for contractions, and the baby's heartbeat was monitored constantly.  As the morning light slowly spilled through the windows, Lindsay had blood drawn to test her liver and other levels, her urine was checked for the presence of protein, and her temperature was taken with her blood pressure.  The magnesium sulfate pumping through her IV, we were told, would make her groggy, hot, and generally feel uncomfortable.  I did my best to provide cool wash cloths to wipe down her cheeks and face.  I rubbed her legs and feet (a nightly ritual started long before we became pregnant), and I did my best to keep her spirits up.

Lindsay was stable and the baby's heartbeat was strong.  Sometime later that morning (the memories of the specifics are fading, although with the lack of sleep I'm surprised I remember anything), the troops arrived.  Lindsay's dad and stepmother arrived first.  I did my best to quickly and calmly recount the events that brought us together that morning.  I told them about Lindsay's upper abdominal pain that wouldn't go away.  I relived the fear and anxiety I felt as I told them about the possibility of the baby being delivered today.  I was able to maintain my composure for the retelling of all the events except this one:  "Another 4 hours and we could have lost Lindsay and the baby."  My biggest concern is always for Lindsay.  Her blood pressure was stable and I intended to do everything in my power to keep it that way.  That meant filling in all of the family, friends, and anyone who would listen about our story and saving Lindsay from doing so.  The emotions tied to this tale were too fresh and too much for Lindsay to handle.  After Lindsay's dad and stepmother were caught up, I sent them in to the "High Risk Unit" where Lindsay's room was.

Next to arrive were Lindsay's mother and my aunt and uncle, who happen to live literally down the road from the hospital.  Again I answered the question, "What happened?"  And again I found the words harder to say through my tears: "another 4 hours and we could have lost Lindsay and the baby."  I ushered our family into Lindsay's room.  Everyone gave hugs and held Lindsay's hand. It all seemed so ridiculously unreal.

My aunt and uncle left shortly thereafter, and they promised to return the next day.  A machine was wheeled into the room to perform an ultrasound on the baby.  I found it incredible that Lindsay's mother, father and stepmother were present for the procedure.  Our baby was already bringing people together through love and support.  The baby's face was visible in the screen shot that the ultrasound technician printed out for us.  We passed it around for all to see before I taped it to Lindsay's IV pump located next to her bed.

I'm not exactly sure whose idea it was--and I'm not sure that I care--but Lindsay and I decided to tell everyone our baby's name at that moment.

When we first discovered that we were pregnant, we thought that we would keep the sex of the baby a secret--even from ourselves (Lindsay's idea, which I agreed with).  Lindsay said that there seems to be so little surprises any more with technology, social media, and the Internet.  Surely THIS would be a secret worth keeping.  As our 20 week ultrasound appointment drew closer, Lindsay's line in the sand started to blur.  "Well, if we see it on the ultrasound," Lindsay told me, "then it's okay if we know.  We just won't tell anyone else, okay?" she explained to me.  When we arrived at the doctor's office for the appointment I told Lindsay, "Baby, if we find out the sex of the baby today you will not be able to keep it a secret."  Lindsay bit her bottom lip and considered my statement.  "You're going to want to tell your mom," I added.  She broke a smile and said, "Yeah, you're right."

So after the appointment we told everyone we were having a boy.  However, we were going to keep the name a secret until he arrived--hopefully by then we would have decided on one...or four.

Standing in that hospital room with Lindsay in her elevated bed we told our family that our son's name is Dorian.  It means "tempestuous weather".  Rather fitting especially considering that weekend's weather included tornadoes, rain, snow, and 70 degree temperatures all in the span of three days.  Lindsay and I felt that is was important for everyone to know his name.  Dorian needed all the support and love from everyone who anxiously awaited his arrival.