"Brittni, Brittni, look at me. Brittni, open your eyes. Open your eyes. Stay with me." Dim lights appear overhead as I am being moved through some kind of a corridor. I hear muffled voices and people are moving fast all around me. Who is calling my name? Where are they taking me? I feel so tired. I cannot keep my eyes open. "Brittni, Brittni, Bri..."
Christmas Eve is not at all magical when your home is turned into a secondary site for a terribly busy, very disorganized, and extremely tumultuous catering business. I used to tell my ex-husband the name of the business should be Chaos Catering. He laughed, but secretly agreed. This was not the first Christmas Eve I had to endure the turbulent scurrying of servers, bartenders, and chefs. Food flying on meticulously decorated fine silver platters, wine glasses hurriedly loaded into crates for transport, more food flying...and language that would make a sailor blush. (Sometimes, that was me. Ha!) This year was more difficult because I was very pregnant and had already surpassed my due date though only by a couple of days which in that state is the equivalent of a couple of eternities. Hoping the baby would come earlier I had now hoped to push through a couple more days so as not to have this baby on Christmas Day. "She'll hate me forever," I had said.
By this point, I had been in a lot of pain for about a week. The final ultrasound showed the baby was in the position, but she did not seem at all ready to make her grand entrance into this world. With the due date surpassed, I was so nervous trying not to think of any and everything that must be wrong! Each night before falling asleep, I would pray, God, please save my baby and please, please, God, do not let me die lost. Most nights I would eventually drift off to a happy sleep place, but this Christmas Eve night I was in too much pain to find a comfortable position.
Christmas Eve is not at all magical when your home is turned into a secondary site for a terribly busy, very disorganized, and extremely tumultuous catering business. I used to tell my ex-husband the name of the business should be Chaos Catering. He laughed, but secretly agreed. This was not the first Christmas Eve I had to endure the turbulent scurrying of servers, bartenders, and chefs. Food flying on meticulously decorated fine silver platters, wine glasses hurriedly loaded into crates for transport, more food flying...and language that would make a sailor blush. (Sometimes, that was me. Ha!) This year was more difficult because I was very pregnant and had already surpassed my due date though only by a couple of days which in that state is the equivalent of a couple of eternities. Hoping the baby would come earlier I had now hoped to push through a couple more days so as not to have this baby on Christmas Day. "She'll hate me forever," I had said.
By this point, I had been in a lot of pain for about a week. The final ultrasound showed the baby was in the position, but she did not seem at all ready to make her grand entrance into this world. With the due date surpassed, I was so nervous trying not to think of any and everything that must be wrong! Each night before falling asleep, I would pray, God, please save my baby and please, please, God, do not let me die lost. Most nights I would eventually drift off to a happy sleep place, but this Christmas Eve night I was in too much pain to find a comfortable position.
Truthfully, the fear of going into labor and not being able to rouse my then husband enough to take me to the hospital was mostly keeping me awake. You see, while the holidays are a very lucrative time of year for caterers, it is also an incredibly stressful time. This holiday season was no different. I think the business serviced 32 parties in 22 days or something as ludicrous. You can imagine the stress, lack of sleep, and in this business booze, booze, booze. (No booze for me in this pregnant state, of course.) So, I was quite certain that if I went into labor during the night, waking that man up would be impossible. If on the off chance I could wake him, I might very well have to drive myself.
As the hour grew later, the pains seemed to come stronger and more often. Desperately, I tried to keep this child's father awake enough to help me time the contractions to see if they truly were contractions. I paced and I prayed. Finally, we arrived at Northside Hospital in Atlanta, GA at 3 o'clock in the morning. Northside is widely known for delivering more babies than any other hospital in the United States. (Their website states 17,000 deliveries in 2008.) Early on this Christmas morning, however, the hospital stood in peaceful silence and I was in a private room in no time. After a brief exam, a sympathetic nurse dutifully delivered the not-so-good news that the doctor was sending me home. "She's just not ready." I looked at the droopy-eyed father with dismay and said, "if this isn't the real thing, I won't be able to do this. There is no way I can handle any more pain."
As the clinical staff was preparing for my release, I tearfully called the one person who could make me feel better, my Mom. While explaining with much disappointment that all the hoopla was a false alarm and we were headed home to sleep, the door of the hospital room crept open and a smiling nurse peeped in with the best and the most terrifying news! The beaming angel adorned in blue scrubs said..."The doctor doesn't like your blood pressure, so we are going to start the induction. You are going to have a Christmas baby!"
As the clinical staff was preparing for my release, I tearfully called the one person who could make me feel better, my Mom. While explaining with much disappointment that all the hoopla was a false alarm and we were headed home to sleep, the door of the hospital room crept open and a smiling nurse peeped in with the best and the most terrifying news! The beaming angel adorned in blue scrubs said..."The doctor doesn't like your blood pressure, so we are going to start the induction. You are going to have a Christmas baby!"
(to be continued...)
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