My family members like to joke around with me about my pregnancies. My brother repeated a line from a movie and called me, “The freak of nature.” I was one of the lucky few who loved pregnancy. I had lots of extra energy, I barely showed until the sixth month and I had almost no morning sickness. My hair grew long and thick. My skin was gorgeous. I was able to hike and ride my bicycle. Any sort of depression or sadness that normally put me in a mood, disappeared. Friends would make bets about how many children I was going to have. They all had plans for my future reality show. I mean, I love being pregnant so why wouldn’t I go on to have a dozen kids?
So, during my second pregnancy and right at the start of my third trimester, I had a complication. I was blown away, completely taken off guard and emotionally unable to cope with the reality that something was wrong with me. I went from having a healthy, normal pregnancy to a high-risk situation that required weekly monitoring and the very real possibility of a pre-mature delivery.
I was devastated. I allowed myself exactly three days to be depressed over it. I lay on the couch, sad and full of anxiety and then I picked myself up and pushed forward. That’s all you can do when you’re in a situation like I was in. Other than a medication to alleviate a few of the symptoms, there was nothing I could do to fix what ailed me and put my baby at risk. I just prayed and held onto my faith. There was nothing I could do but believe that everything was going to be okay.
I was about a month into my diagnosis and I was leaving the hospital after one of my weekly tests. I was adjusting to this new normal and I enter an elevator with a young man. He has that new dad look in his eyes and he turns to me with a smile.
“How far along are you?” He asks.
“Eight months.” I tell him.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” He tells me.
“Yeah.” I mumble out. “Well, I have a complication so I’m a little worried about it. I actually just left the maternal fetal medicine ward.”
The man looks at me and his eyes fill up with tears. He gives me this look, a look that is almost too intimate to be shared by strangers.
“Everything will be fine! I just left the NICU. My twins were born two months ago and they’re going to go home soon. This is a wonderful hospital and this is where you want to be if you’re having complications! Trust me when I say everything is going to be fine! You’re going to give birth to a healthy child and you will see, that everyone is going to be okay.”
I congratulate him and thank him. Then, we make one of those awkward moves towards one another. One of those moments where you attempt to hug the person and then you stop, realizing it would just be too weird. Well, we did that. In the end we simply wished each other a great day and then offered to pray for each other.
I stopped worrying after that. I changed my perspective. Although I’m having a high risk pregnancy, nothing life threatening has happened yet. My daughter isn’t in the NICU fighting for her life, she’s safely in my womb. I started being thankful and not upset over my situation. I put faith in my doctors and the hospital. I’ve never forgotten that man. I doubt he remembers me and that exchange in the elevator. Sometimes, you have no idea the effect you may have on a perfect stranger. How simple words of encouragement can have a lasting effect. I think of him from time to time. I pray he went home with his twins and is leading a wonderful life somewhere unaware that his words changed me.
He was right too! My daughter was born full term and in perfect health. I’ve always rejoiced in that.
