by Susan Lower

Created on: September 03, 2008   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

It was winter. The cold March winds blew across the flaky snow in the weary hours of morning. Swirls of white dust danced across our back yard, and of all the days one could pick, the coldest, my waterbroke.

5:30am I awoke with the small tickle of water down my legs and eventually soaking beneath me. I knew, because this was not my first time, but the second, that I had not wet myself of a different sort. My husband laying beside me awoke easily at the sound of his name. Towels were gathered the doctor called, and amongst it all - my two year old daughter came creeping into our room and laid beside me. She said, "It's okay mommy. I'm here."

We didn't rush, I was three days late already, and labor took time, or at least it had the first time. The doctor informed me the birthing center was full, I had time to waste laboring at home for me to wait. I couldn't.

6:05am the first of the contractions came on painfully. I informed my husband it was time to go no matter what the doctor said. We still needed to take my daughter to the sitter's house. He didn't rush, no not my husband, who asked my two year old what shirt he should wear and had her pick out his jeans all the while I stood there panting hard and counting through the discomfort. He took our little girl to her room and got her dressed, and then anounced he was ready to go. Only I wasn't. I was still standing there without any pants on.

6:15am Inside the car we headed to the sitters. Normally a ten minute drive, but everyone was heading to work so it took us much longer. With every minute I rubbed my bulged stomach and breathed deeply knowing I was on my way to the hospital. I would make it, only if I kept telling myself. By the time we reached the sitters I was sweating, I was hot, and I was using my feet to brace against the pain of each contraction. I told my little girl I loved her, and not to seem rude, but told my husband to be quick.

6:39am Leaving the sitter's house I felt deep down inside me we wouldn't make it to the hospital. I was in transition, at least that is what they call it. I closed my eyes I didn't want to see how far we were yet from the hospital or near until we actually got there. My husband held my hand. Talked softly to me. I didn't feel nice. I felt hot, sweating, and in the most terrible pain of my life. I informed him if he never sped in his life now was the time to do it. So he went 75 in a 70 mph zone.

The trip to the hospital was the longest most fearful ride I have ever went on

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