Rachel's husband was exhausted, with his own set of stressors. I was elected to sit with Rachel as she slept fitfully that last night of her first pregnancy. My heart was heavy as I listened to my daughter moan in pain. The medication slowed the labor, but made her feel miserable in other ways. She hated most the feeling of only being half-alive, drugged and semi-conscious. We were all worried about the baby's health and also about Rachel's. Sometime deep in the night, I heard a new baby cry. "If only we were at that point," I thought sadly.
Rachel stirred. She tried to sit up. She, too, had heard the baby. Her confused mind worried that she was hearing her baby. "My baby, my baby," she cried. "Please, someone help my baby." It took some reassuring to get her to relax and try to sleep once more. She was strongly bonded to her daughter before she was even born.
|Rachel and Addie|