Thanksgiving.
It would be The One I’d never forget.
My parents arrived at the beginning
of the week, after Chris, Parker and I bustled around prepping the house for
their visit. Everybody, especially Parker, was excited about their upcoming
stay.
On Thanksgiving Day, all of us drove
to my cousin’s in Escondido and enjoyed a fabulous epicurean meal prepared by
his wife, and then capped off the meal with an afternoon of humorous
reminiscings and the ritual football game spectating. (It became especially
humorous, and—admittedly—somewhat stressful, when my mother and her sister—my
cousin’s mom—entered into their typical sibling rivalry antics.)
It was all good, until the end of
the evening when I began experiencing such extreme pelvic discomfort that I had
to deposit myself on their living room floor—in a desperate attempt to relieve the
unrelenting, vice-like pressure. It must
be my hips spreading! I quipped to myself. My own inside joke.
(Unfortunately, I was right, but it wasn’t the “normal” spread a woman
encounters at five months of pregnancy.) Still, as I rolled my girth around the
floor like a barrel, trying to find that just-right, Goldilocks position. Relief remained elusive. Neither side-lying nor foot-elevation worked.
If
I could just go home and get some sleep.
Thankfully, our stay didn’t last
much longer after that, and when I awoke the following morning, I felt fine.
Actually, I was energetic and bouncy. But Chris remained leery.
“Maybe we should just stay home and
hang around the house,” he suggested. But my mother vociferously indicated
she’d like to go someplace, so I suggested a trip to Palomar Mountain
Observatory—a little more than an hour’s drive from our home. Everyone seemed
up for a mountain drive, particularly with the possibility of seeing some snow,
so we dressed for a big elevation and temperature change. Because I felt
slightly agitated, I climbed into the driver’s seat. Something to do besides just sit and watch, I thought. Chris
questioned that decision, too.
Turns out I should have heeded
Chris.
Following a bountiful breakfast in
the flower-laden courtyard of a favorite Fallbrook restaurant, I pointed the
car towards Palomar Mountain and headed up the hill.
The mountaintop weather was snow and
brisk, motivating all of us to walk hurriedly from the parking lot through the
meadow to the glistening white dome. Then we ascended the winding stairs to
view the large observatory located in the magnificent structure.
My husband—an astronomy nut, who
relishes pouring over heavenly pictures and information—intellectually devours
everything he can possibly digest about the cosmos. I am more of a “Wow, look
what God did, and is still doing!” kind of person. He constantly seeks to
discover the universe’s secrets and whatever God will reveal to him about them.
I, on the other hand, am satisfied by just acknowledging the awesomeness of it
all, humbled by the eternal power of the Almighty Creator.
Repeated glimpses into His realm convict
me to abandon my ego, to attest to His omnipotence and everlasting,
all-encompassing presence, to subjugate myself to His everlasting power. I
think I’m far happier being simple-minded and relatively naïve about space,
while I allow Chris to thrive on intellectual treading into that vast realm
beyond our limited little globe. I know some of you are mentally or verbally
chastising me right now. Ah, but take heart! Present me with human anatomy and
physiology, and I come alive with voracious ingesting and excited banter about the current research. It is then that I equal him in his
engineering and space excitement.
Sorry, I digressed…
Anyway, while returning to the parking
lot, shooting hip and groin pain made walking nearly impossible. “After three
pregnancies, the old joints must be pretty loose,” I joked to Chris as I
waddled to the car. Visibly concerned, he helped me to my final, driver’s seat
destination. That actually entailed stopping at the car door and first propping
my cumbersome body against it to rest. Then I gingerly climbed into the
driver’s seat. He offered to drive, thinking I’d be better off reclining in the
second-row captain’s chair, but I declined. He’d say I stubbornly refused.
Again, he was right.
I felt better when I sat down,
although complete relief remained elusive. We drove around the area, pointing
out our favorite campgrounds and fishing holes to my parents, and were then
treated to a viewing of a family of mule deer grazing in the forest. Before
descending the mountain, we stopped briefly to enjoy hot chocolate and snacks
at the local café.
Having chocolate. That was another
bad move.
But as I drove on, fatigue quickly
encompassed me. We were all hungry, and my energy rapidly waned. But wait!
There was a furniture sale nearby in San Marcos, and I wanted to take the
opportunity to shop for a curio cabinet for my hibernating doll collection! It
didn’t seem too far of a drive, but by the time we arrived at the furniture
store I could barely stand upright. I was beyond exhausted and uncomfortable.
To complicate matters, my husband spotted a bunk bed he thought Parker would
like, which provided the eager saleswoman the opportunity to perform her best
pitch in an attempt to persuade me to plunk down a hefty deposit on the bright
red bed.
Because my concentration abilities
had long since taken leave of me, I said, “No, thanks,” and we ambled out of
the store—minus bed or curio—and quickly sought an eating establishment. Maybe food will help. I must have looked
ill, because my father suggested we go home; he didn’t think I should be out
running around. We’d been gone since nine-thirty that morning, and it was now
well past dinnertime. Finally agreeing on our choice of food (we had some
particularly persnickety eaters in the group, and it wasn’t Parker!) we found a
restaurant and settled down to a hot meal.
Turns out, I should have also
listened to my father.
Now, let me stop this story right
here. I’m sure some of you who have read my story from the beginning, are
reading this and screaming, “What is the matter
with you, Andrea! Why didn’t you listen to
them? Why did you insist on continuing to keep going, keep entertaining, keep
trying to make others happy? (Yes, that was also happening, although I won’t
digress to explain the precarious family dynamic right now.) You were so foolish, forgetful, selfish iand arrogant!”
Yes, I can look back in retrospect
and agree with you, but that is ONLY because I now possess the wisdom of years
and hard experience to realize what had formed my psyche and actions up to that
point, and know that it was those things that drove so many of my hasty,
thoughtless, insecure decisions. For those of you have been with me from the
beginning, remember: I was a highly trained athlete, conditioned to push
through, keep going, ignore pain, resist defeat, and banish excuses! That
belief coursed through every fiber of my being. It possessed me.
And, on that day, that ingrained self-discipline
and callous mental conditioning didn’t do me any favors.
So, I’m hoping you’ll toss some
empathy my way, and I’ll get back to my story…
It required a monumental effort to eat
dinner. I felt more like slumping on the table and taking a nap next to my plate
rather than enjoy what lay on top of it. The pressure remained constant and the
discomfort steady. I wanted to crawl into the car and go home, but since we
just happened to be in the parking lot of a department store that had a nice
glider and footstool on sale—just right for the nursery—we walked (I trudged)
across the parking lot. And Chris kept expressing his concern that I should go
home, while I kept reassuring him that I was all right and was suffering basic pregnancy
fatigue and joint discomfort, and those annoying Braxton-Hicks contractions
that constantly plagued me.
At least that last stop proved
fruitful. I found a glider in the infant furniture department and immediately
took up residence in the wonderfully padded chair where I could have remained,
indefinitely. Eventually, though, I had to reluctantly vacate it’s soothing
comfort, but not before my generous father offered to buy it for me as a baby
gift. He then directed my mother to the cashier to arrange the billing,
charging and shipping. With gratitude, I happily anticipated its arrival and
the supreme enjoyment of spending the remainder of my pregnancy buried in its
comfort—reading a good book or napping—while Parker tore happily around his
pre-K classroom.
That night, however, I just wanted
to make it back to the car, recline in the passenger seat (yes, I was finally ready
to acquiesce) and let Chris drive home. He jogged to the parking lot, after giving
me directions to stay put in front of the store’s front door while he went to
get the car. Visibly relieved that the day was now coming to a close, so he
could return his family to the safety of their home, he chauffeured us back to
its confines.
Although the day wasn’t about to
end, because there was an ice-skating special (my parent’s current addiction)
on television. We spread out to recline on the floor and sofa. No matter what
position I tried, the discomfort worsened. Eventually, after struggling to my
feet, I told Chris about the tremendous pain and my need to go to bed. He joined
me, and together we slowly climbed the stairs to our bedroom.
Then I chastised myself for being
paranoid and hypochondriacal. Hadn’t Dr.
Landry been firm in his belief that chances of an incompetent cervix were
minimal? “You’re just fine!” I kept mumbling to myself. “Four more months
and this pregnancy will be penned into the Owan Family history annals. You’ll
have a beautiful, healthy baby.”
My personal pep talk didn’t fly.
Restlessness, fear and discomfort plagued my night.
Parker, my mother and I planned to
go to the movie theater the following day to see The Lion King. “But only if I feel better,” I’d cautioned her. As long as I don’t have to rush around, I
should be okay. If I could just get
enough rest, I should be ready for the day’s activities. Languishing in a movie
theater shouldn’t provide undue stress.
Another thing I should have listened
to: The urgent appeal of my conscience, the Holy Spirit speaking concern and caution
into my brain when I awakened the next morning. With lingering discomfort and
fatigue plaguing my body—but, unfortunately, overpowering fear of disappointing
anyone, especially my mother, winning the battle—I agreed to lunch and the
movie…and rushed out the door to attempt both.
In order to keep my promise. In
order to be normal.
In order to keep
the peace.
Eight hours later, I was lying in a
hospital bed, waiting for Dr. Landry to pronounce a sentence on my unborn
baby’s life…
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NEXT WEEK: The day’s event that unraveled the
pregnancy thread spool…
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Until next week,
Thanks for
joining me!
Blessings,
Andrea
