Scared

Yesterday Stacy went to her normal, bi-weekly, long OB appointment. She hates going to these appointments, because it is never timely or quick. She always seems to spend 2 to 3 hours in the office. After a few routine checks on the baby, the doctor stepped over to Stacy and said, "This may sound inconvenient, but I want you to go to the hospital."

Apparently the baby's heart rate was dipping. Stacy has been considered a high risk pregnancy, but up to this point I don't think she really thought of herself as one. Reality sets in when the doctor says, "Go to the hospital." She drove home to get me, and we headed down to Good Sam. Thanks again to Emilee for taking Sara. We have been so blessed with our former and new neighbors. (They have also been blessed.)

As we were driving to the hospital, I played every possible scenario in my head. By the time we got there, we were having this 2 lb baby that I was going to have to deliver on my own. I have a ridiculous imagination. It all turned out to be much ado about nothing. They monitored the baby's heart rate for twenty minutes and found nothing wrong. The doctor did an ultrasound and said the baby looked good.

On the way home Stacy said, "I wonder how many times we are going to be making this trip over the next three months."

I wonder.