Perspective

We had our hospital tour today. As I've mentioned before, I'm not thrilled about the location of the hospital where I'll be delivering. The practice I am seeing used to give you the option of UCONN Health Center in Farmington or Hartford Hospital in Hartford. I wanted to deliver at UCONN. Unfortunately, now they reserve that for their higher risk patients, leaving us to travel into "the city." To prevent a potential problem from backed up rush hour traffic on the highway into Hartford, I had researched some options for alternative routes. We learned why you don't rely solely on Yahoo Maps and other such programs for your directions. They started out innocently enough. We drove down a row of mansions, admiring them as we passed along. The neighborhood quickly changed, however, and before we knew it, we were in Frog Hollow. I had never been there before, but it's a place I've heard of due to its poor reputation. It seemed to go on forever, and convinced me that it was NOT a place I'd like to end up potentially giving birth if we cut it too close. At least if we were stuck on the highway, we could call 911 and get a police escort. I don't know if the police even venture into Frog Hollow.

By the time we got to the hospital, Brian and I were screaming at each other. As I stated in my previous post, I've been pretty grouchy this week. Riding in the car with him driving always is a test of my nerves, but today, I just wasn't up to the challenge...especially since he complained the whole way through Hartford about how he hates driving in cities. At least the directions got us to the hospital, though. Without speaking to each other, we went into Hartford Hospital and followed the map that was mailed to me. It was actually pretty easy to find the correct wing and floor, but we went in sort of the back way (so we went through the post-partum wing instead of directly into L&D).

There were already a few people waiting for the tour to begin, as well as others who were there obviously waiting on admitted family. I sat down on the couch next to an older man and tried to avoid eye contact. I just don't have the gift of gab that my father has and prefer to keep to myself. Eventually, however, as the numbers in our group grew, the man couldn't resist asking if we were there for a Lamaze class. I couldn't ignore him, so I responded, "No, tour." He proceeded to tell me about his daughter who never made it to her Lamaze class or tour. She just had her 4.5 lb baby and was 7, almost 8, months pregnant when this occured. He said it so matter-of-factly, it didn't occur to me at the time to ask if she and the baby were okay, but he didn't seem upset (nor did the rest of his family when they arrived from breakfast or lunch shortly thereafter). He smiled and said that he told her she missed out on the best part of pregnancy: the last month when you can't even get up from a chair, and he glanced around the room at our huge bellies. I politely smiled back, but I really didn't know what to say. Eventually, his family arrived and relieved me from conversation.

But the conversation stuck with me. I wish I had offered well wishes to his daughter and inquired about her baby's health. I wish I had encouraged him to talk, as he obviously needed and wanted to. I wish I had said more. Here I am, complaining about the aches and pains, being a grouchy-grump and crying because Brian wouldn't pick up Peep's furniture yesterday while this woman had real issues to be concerned with. I've complained that I want Peep out now so I can get my body back, and this woman got that granted without even wishing it, and much earlier than doctors would prefer.

Whomever you are, I wish you and your baby the best. May s/he gain weight quickly and be healthy enough to come home with you soon.