It was around 4 a.m. when we left for the hospital. There isn’t much happening in Bay Area suburbia at 4 a.m. The roads were dark and quiet. It probably only took 5 minutes to get to the hospital.
We parked in the garage. I told Nathan to go ahead and grab our overnight bags. He said he could come back and get them if we needed to, but a 9 month pregnant woman would not be denied, so he grabbed the bags and we walked.
We walked through the parking garage and parking lots to the front door of the E.R. We calmly and lightheartedly told the front desk that we were just heading up to labor and delivery. We got on the elevator and went up to the 3rd floor.
I have distinct memories of walking the long hallways towards check-in. I was having some Braxton hicks, but Keller was still not moving. I remember laughing as we walked down the hall. I remember truly believing, “Worst case scenario, I have an emergency C-section. We’ll get to hold him tonight and Mary can finally meet her baby brother.” I think I was even a touch excited. I think I was just excited at the chance that we could hold our son in just a few hours. Excited at the chance that the next time walked down that hallway, we’d be going home with our son.
There is such a vivid snapshot in my mind of Nathan and I walking that long hallway. It was the calm before the storm. It was eerie stillness before the tornado hits. All was quiet. It was just Nathan, and I, and our son.
Hand in hand with my husband and the father of our children, we walked. We laughed. We prayed. We arrived at the check-in desk. I explained that I was the one who had called a few minutes earlier. Both the nurse and I were not too worried, but we agreed, it’s good just to check really quickly.
I’m thankful for this walk. I’m thankful for the moment of total stillness Nathan and I got to experience before everything shattered. It was a glimmer of light before everything went dark for a while.
There isn’t much else to say. I don’t really have a large spiritual take-away for this one. I just have this memory so deeply imprinted on my heart, and I wanted to share it with you.
Thank you for holding my hand as we walked down that hallway Babe. Thank you for holding my hand when there are glimmers of light. Thank you for holding my hand when everything goes dark. You have a good hand. I like it.