We had to leave immediately. That was my first thought when the blood poured out of me - chunks of red fell to the floor, splattering on the bathroom wall.
We had to go to the hospital.
I was nine months pregnant but this wasn't just a typical bloody show. This hadn't happened with my other two pregnancies.
That was 10 minutes ago. I put down the cordless phone, still anxiously heaving even after my conversation with the doctor.
My baby. Are you alright? Please be alright. God, I can't lose this baby. I just can't.
We were going.
I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the bedroom. I caught my husband carrying the sleepy older boy from the bedroom towards the front door.
"Rhys is already in the car," he said quietly, referring to our middle son and stepped out the front door.
Butterflies flew frantically in my stomach. Worry sat like lead on my shoulders.
I cut off all the lights and rushed out into the night, closing the door behind me.
*
Driving through the darkness of Boulder towards the hospital, I could see the outline of the mountains. My husband driving fast but not too fast. A still quietness like a blanket draped the car. The two boys in the back of the car were groggy.
"Mommy, where we going?" the almost 5 year old asked sleepily.
There was a knot in my throat. I couldn't speak. I just held my hand to my belly and prayed.
"We're going to the hospital," my husband said. "We're going to check on the baby."
Baby, please move. Just move. The words moved through my head repeatedly, urgently after I finished my prayer, as I pressed my hand against my belly.
"We're almost there," he stated quietly to me, tension surrounding each word.
Yes, almost there.
Hold on, baby. Hold on.
*
19 hours later, I stared at my newborn son sleeping quietly in the hospital crib, oblivious to the racket his two older brothers were making. My husband stood up from the chair he sat in and looked at me, nodding.
He addressed the boys. "Okay, you guys ready to go home?"
The 2 and 1/2 year old was still rolling around frenetically on the queen size hospital bed as the 5 year old jumped up and down on the end. I laid on one side, bracing myself.
Craziness.
I shook my head, then looked back at my husband.
This was going to be our life now. Everywhere we went. This crazy.
And then we realized we were already home.
We had to go to the hospital.
I was nine months pregnant but this wasn't just a typical bloody show. This hadn't happened with my other two pregnancies.
That was 10 minutes ago. I put down the cordless phone, still anxiously heaving even after my conversation with the doctor.
My baby. Are you alright? Please be alright. God, I can't lose this baby. I just can't.
We were going.
I grabbed my bag and stepped out of the bedroom. I caught my husband carrying the sleepy older boy from the bedroom towards the front door.
"Rhys is already in the car," he said quietly, referring to our middle son and stepped out the front door.
Butterflies flew frantically in my stomach. Worry sat like lead on my shoulders.
I cut off all the lights and rushed out into the night, closing the door behind me.
*
Driving through the darkness of Boulder towards the hospital, I could see the outline of the mountains. My husband driving fast but not too fast. A still quietness like a blanket draped the car. The two boys in the back of the car were groggy.
"Mommy, where we going?" the almost 5 year old asked sleepily.
There was a knot in my throat. I couldn't speak. I just held my hand to my belly and prayed.
"We're going to the hospital," my husband said. "We're going to check on the baby."
Baby, please move. Just move. The words moved through my head repeatedly, urgently after I finished my prayer, as I pressed my hand against my belly.
"We're almost there," he stated quietly to me, tension surrounding each word.
Yes, almost there.
Hold on, baby. Hold on.
*
19 hours later, I stared at my newborn son sleeping quietly in the hospital crib, oblivious to the racket his two older brothers were making. My husband stood up from the chair he sat in and looked at me, nodding.
He addressed the boys. "Okay, you guys ready to go home?"
The 2 and 1/2 year old was still rolling around frenetically on the queen size hospital bed as the 5 year old jumped up and down on the end. I laid on one side, bracing myself.
Craziness.
I shook my head, then looked back at my husband.
This was going to be our life now. Everywhere we went. This crazy.
And then we realized we were already home.
This non-fiction piece was inspired by a prompt from The Red Dress Club which asks to begin your story with the words “We had to leave immediately” and end it with “And then we realized we were already home.”
