December 4
For two hours, I sat in a cold white room, alone.
There was a clock on the wall; I remember watching it. The evening before, the room had seemed so cozy. It was a big room, but it was meant to keep me comfortable. It had a private bathroom with a jacuzzi tub and shower. It had a DVD player, a stereo. There were chairs, as well, for any visitors or people staying with me. For two hours, though, I sat in there, waiting. Alone. When my son was born, his cord was wrapped around his neck. Twice. |
For two hours, though, I sat in there, waiting. Alone.
When my son was born, his cord was wrapped around his neck. Twice. He was unresponsive. The doctors and nurses in the corner managed to get him to let out a feeble little noise and then he was whisked away. He was a blur while my doctor and nurses demanded I stay concentrated on them, and then he was gone. My doctor and nurses finished. My family and friends left to rest. I asked my father to go with the baby, to make sure he was okay. And then it was just me. Alone. In this white room. Waiting. And unsure of what I was waiting for. |
Nurses came in and out of the room sporadically. But those two hours of waiting, wondering how that baby was doing, if I had done something to cause this, were the two longest hours of my life. And the loneliest. Not knowing, I waited.
I remember laying there, blaming myself for anything that may have happened to this baby. I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant. I had been decidedly ambivalent throughout the pregnancy. Was this because I’d not really wanted the baby? I had never really bonded with him throughout my pregnancy. Was this my fault?
I prayed and prayed throughout that time alone. I apologized; I bargained. I prayed more than I had ever prayed before. And I cried. I cried a lot.
And, at some point, a nurse brought in a photo of my little one, with all kinds of tubes and wires attached to him.
I cried some more.
Eventually, though, the tears abated. I began to calm down, looking at the photo of my child. I was given more photos of him and was moved to another room. More than nine hours after he was born, I was able to see him. I was able to touch his little hand. And, upon holding him, for the first time, the next morning, I finally felt at peace. This little person was all I had been waiting for.
Waiting, for me, is an exercise in giving up control, in not fully knowing, in coming to terms with the fact that I am not completely in charge of how my time is spent. It is not an easy exercise. Sometimes it involves allowing control to pass to another person and waiting for them. Sometimes it involves recognizing that things happen in God’s time, in God’s way. Always, it is an exercise of patience, of trusting God’s will.
Kylie Olean
I remember laying there, blaming myself for anything that may have happened to this baby. I hadn’t wanted to be pregnant. I had been decidedly ambivalent throughout the pregnancy. Was this because I’d not really wanted the baby? I had never really bonded with him throughout my pregnancy. Was this my fault?
I prayed and prayed throughout that time alone. I apologized; I bargained. I prayed more than I had ever prayed before. And I cried. I cried a lot.
And, at some point, a nurse brought in a photo of my little one, with all kinds of tubes and wires attached to him.
I cried some more.
Eventually, though, the tears abated. I began to calm down, looking at the photo of my child. I was given more photos of him and was moved to another room. More than nine hours after he was born, I was able to see him. I was able to touch his little hand. And, upon holding him, for the first time, the next morning, I finally felt at peace. This little person was all I had been waiting for.
Waiting, for me, is an exercise in giving up control, in not fully knowing, in coming to terms with the fact that I am not completely in charge of how my time is spent. It is not an easy exercise. Sometimes it involves allowing control to pass to another person and waiting for them. Sometimes it involves recognizing that things happen in God’s time, in God’s way. Always, it is an exercise of patience, of trusting God’s will.
Kylie Olean