This is what I remember about the drive to the hospital:
Absolutely nothing.
I know that Sean drove. And I know that we got there relatively quickly, despite rush hour traffic. But that's about where my memory of the trip ends; clearly, my brain was still processing the morning's events at the time.
We pulled up at the Emergency entrance and double-parked next to the tiniest sign in the world that read "Emergency and Expectant Mother Drop-off Only." Sean walked me in the door and up to the admittance desk where a rather large woman took a pause from her flirting session with the security guard to ask how she could help us. I told her that we had come at the recommendation of my doctor to get checked out because we suspected my water had broken. Her eyes never left the computer screen as she asked for my name, date of birth and contact info; before I knew it, a hospital ID band was being slapped on my wrist and a nurse whisked a wheelchair underneath me. (I tried to protest the latter, as - despite the drippage - I felt completely capable of walking; apparently no one in the ER department shared this sentiment, as my protests went completely ignored.) Sean gave me a quick smooch, then left to move the car to the parking garage; he was to meet me up in Labor and Delivery triage after they assessed me.
The nurse commandeering my wheelchair attempted to make smalltalk as she pushed me through the labyrinth of Rush's halls and up the rickety elevators to the sixth floor. Once we reached the tiny waiting room, she wheeled me up to the desk, alerted the nurses who I was (Dr. Archie had apparently already called to let them know I was on the way,) and wished me good luck before heading back down the elevator. I waited quietly in the empty room for a few minutes before the triage door opened, and another nurse - Tinesha - beckoned me to come inside. She handed me a plastic bag and a hospital gown, and told me to take everything off and change into the gown; I could toss my clothes and shoes into the bag for now. *A Note on Modesty while in the hospital: You will see soon how quickly one's thoughts on the subject can change as the circumstances do as well.*
I padded my way back into the triage area once I was done, and followed Tinesha to a bed. She pulled the curtain closed around us and began her assessment, firing away with the usual questions (Is this your first pregnancy? How many weeks along are you? Any previous complications?.) She asked about why I had come in this morning while taking my temperature and blood pressure, and after I told her she asked if I still felt any leakage. I told her I did, but not as much as before (I was also laying down at this point, so it was hard to tell.) She finished charting all my responses, told me another nurse would be in shortly to perform an ultrasound to check my fluid levels and do an exam, and we would go from there. I nodded nervously, and she shot me a warm smile and said "Don't worry, sweetie!" and she disappeared back out of the curtain.
It felt like an eternity before anyone came back, though - in reality - it was only five or ten minutes. The next nurse, Joan, came in to greet me through the curtain, wheeling the sonogram machine in with her. We gave our introductions, I gave her the lowdown once prompted (Geez, doesn't anyone read a chart before they ask?,) and she prepped the wand with some warm gel before getting down to business. I knew the routine well: at 21 weeks, my doctor had discovered an anomaly in the baby's abdominal area and suspected some sort of cystic growth (we were initially told it was most likely an ovarian cyst.) We were sent to a specialist for further review, and had a series of ultrasounds throughout the pregnancy to monitor the cyst. In the beginning, I was inconsolable over the whole matter, and continuously freaked myself out over what I did to cause the cyst or what it would mean for the baby's health. With each ultrasound, however, we were assured that - other than the suspected cyst - the baby was perfectly healthy, and the issue would most likely resolve on its own. I also taught myself to chill out before each ultrasound (I had worked myself up so much in the beginning that, twice, I almost passed out during them!) and learned to view each visit as just another opportunity to get another glimpse at our little girl before her arrival.
As the nurse moved the wand over my stomach, I watched as the image of the little one appeared on the screen and listened as her strong heartbeat became clear. It was so funny to feel her kicks coincide with the visual image in front of me. Joan's eyes were glued to the monitor as she investigated every corner of my uterus. After a minute or two, I couldn't stand it any longer:
"How we looking?," I asked quietly.
"Well," she said, "Your fluid levels are actually looking pretty good. I would say, based on this, you're probably fine!"
Immediate relief flooded through my entire body.
"Of course," she reminded me, "We have to do a physical exam to confirm."
While Joan began my exam down below, Tineshia came back through the curtain to let me know Sean was in the waiting room area; once my exam was complete, she would bring him back. She also let me know that, since I hadn't yet been tested for Group Strep B (a test usually performed at 35 weeks and, coincidentally, would have been performed the following day during my appointment with Dr. Biester,) they would go ahead and take a sample during my exam. Just as she said this, I felt an enormous gush of warm liquid rush out of me and looked down to see Joan's raised eyebrows.
"I may have to take back my previous statement," she said, "because you were right: your water has definitely broken!"
Smiles flashed across both her and Tineshia's face. I tried to force one for show, but my returning anxiety made it impossible: I immediately began to express my fears over the baby's impending early arrival. Both women listened earnestly, then took turns to address me. Joan soothed me by using the sonogram she had just performed as an example; the baby's heartbeat was very strong, and she estimated the weight at around 5 1/2 lbs (which, she explained, is quite big for a premature baby.) Tineshia assured me that everything would be fine: at 2 days shy of 35 weeks, the baby was barely even considered premature and the NICU nurses would be present at the birth to address any issues immediately, should they arise. The confidence in the voices of these nurses brought the calm back that Sean had worked so hard to instill earlier that morning, and we would need it, too, because as he was ushered through the curtain by Tineshia, I could see that he was now the one riddled with anxiety.
"What's going on?!," he strained, "They wouldn't let me back here and I feel like I've been waiting forever!"
"Well,..." I took a deep breath, as my brain worked to process the reality of what I was about to say:
"It looks like we're going to have a baby today."
It took him a moment to register this, but I could tell the moment it did, as the biggest grin I'd ever seen broke out across his face.
"Seriously?," he said quietly.
"Seriously," I replied.
His joy became my joy, and the calm assurance the nurses provided finally gave me an excuse to just RELAX and enjoy the day's events, because - one way or another - this baby was going to be born. Any stress or lingering worry would only work to turn what should be the happiest day of our lives into a nightmare; and, even though I would have never anticipated what we were about to go through just 24 hours earlier, I knew that I was as ready as I was ever going to be. Tineshia let us know we'd soon be moving out of triage into a transition room; there, Dr. Archie would meet up with us to discuss the plan for getting the Beast out safe and sound.
And off we went...
