He hasn’t eaten.
He needs to eat.
A few minutes later the doctor and the attending come in and I lose it. This is really happening. I tell the man, whom I just met yesterday, that I cramped all night and am cramping now, bad. This is due to the fact that he induced labor yesterday during my pre-op appointment. I also tell him that I have been sick this morning. In fact, Keith had to pull the car over so I could throw up on the side of the road on the way to the hospital. The doctor tells me they will get me something for the nausea and something to calm my nerves as soon as I have talked to all of the necessary people. This does not happen until about ten minutes before they roll me back to the operating room.
Keith is finally allowed to join me in the small cubicle. I spend the next few hours listening to some hymns and gospel songs on my phone, reading the verses handwritten on a card by my sister and typed on a page by my other sister’s pastor, crying, and once again, waiting. One song in particular causes me to sob uncontrollably.
So many people come in asking the same questions and checking the bracelet on my wrist over and over – my name, my birthday, my doctor’s name. At least they don’t ask what I am having done today.
Almost an hour and a half later than scheduled, the time comes and the nurses prepare to wheel me to the operating room. Keith and I say our goodbyes and he walks away to sit alone in the waiting room. I am worried about him. I thought he should ask someone to come and sit with him, but he wants it this way.
As I am rolled away I am crying, apologizing, praying. We get to the operating room with the bright lights and frigid air and I slide onto the cold, narrow table. I am hooked up to numerous monitors. A mask is placed over my face. As I drift away under anesthesia, I am singing…something about Jesus.
I wake up to a loud beeping noise and people all around. The recovery nurse introduces herself and the first thing I tell her is that my heart hurts. Other things hurt, too, but my heart hurts the most. When my pain and nausea are somewhat under control, Keith is allowed to come back. I sip on juice and ginger ale as we wait. I can’t be discharged until I can prove that my bladder is working properly.
We finally get home around 7:30 pm. Mama and my sisters come by for a while. Keith’s parents bring supper. The night is physically and emotionally painful. The physical pain fades over time, but the emotional pain sticks around.