I am now praying that raw eggs won’t harm the baby, because Crystal and I have just put a large dent in a batch of chocolate chip cookie dough.
Around afternoon rush-hour, it finally seems time to head for the hospital.
We’d been warned that hospitals are often inhospitable to adoption situations, but we find nothing of the sort. Nurses and doctors are curious about our arrangement with Crystal, and seem unfazed by the presence of Hubby and me.
The hours drag on. Hubby and I had been up all night the previous night thinking of both boy and girl names. It is becoming clear that we are in for another long night.
The doctor advises us to go home and rest, which we do for a few hours. Crystal’s mom calls around 11 pm and says they may release Crystal until her labor progresses further. We decide to return to the hospital anyway.
Good thing! A walk through the halls accelerated Crystal’s contractions. She’s back in a delivery room, begging for painkillers.
She’s given some kind of drip, but it barely takes the edge off the pain. She can’t have an epidural until the baby is awake, which is indicated by a certain heart rate.
In her drug-induced semi-euphoria, Crystal tries everything but summersaults to get this baby to wake up. Any time the heart monitor beeps a little faster, she wildly flails around to get a nurse’s attention: “See, the kid’s awake! Gimme the epidural, ple-e-e-e-e-ase!”
Even with the painkillers in her system and the pain wracking her body, Crystal has the presence of mind to tell me, “If you want your family to be here for the birth, you’d better call them now.” I’m dialing as she finally gets her much-desired epidural at 1:30 am.
Within 25 minutes, my parents and sister arrive at the hospital.