“Don’t go to some hick-town hospital,” my mother said on the phone. “Ten miles further is a world-class hospital, with a top NICU.” But by the time we got there, my head was lolling to the side; I was hovering in a strange, semi-conscious zone,
THE GIFTS That year gave me a lot of time to think. Mainly I thought about the gifts. It’s a gift to be able to stand on your feet unaided. It’s a gift to take a step. It’s a gift to cook supper for my family. It’s a gift to sit and watch them play
A 12-hour drive stretched ahead. There were suitcases to load and kids to shepherd into the car. If only I could get myself moving.
I couldn’t.
I lay in bed half dozing wondering if my sluggishness was due to the wedding and sheva brachos the rich fare served at the meals the heat — maybe I was dehydrated? — or my pregnancy. At 34 weeks the baby was relatively large and I was suddenly sapped of energy.
I closed my eyes and slipped back into sleep vaguely aware of my husband gathering up lost items and stuffing sandwiches and snacks into a bag. I woke up just long enough to waddle to the car and strap in. My eyes closed again as soon as we hit the road.
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