15 Weeks Pregnant

Don't be too schocked or excited, I'm not really 15 weeks pregnant.  I'm not pregnant at all, actually, in real life.  In my dream last night, though, I was indeed 15 weeks with child. 

It all started when I began to have really bad stomache pains and it wasn't anything I had ever experienced before.  Along with some other strange symptoms, the pains were beginning to make me worry about what was going on in my strange little body.   So, I decided to go see my doctor.  Dr. Berty was my physician at the time.  This is funny if you know me because Dr. Berty was the Vice President of my department and just finished her last day at our university on Friday before moving on to a new job.  So, while she is in fact an academic doctor, she is by no means a medical doctor -- in real life, but she was in my dream.  Confusing you yet? 

Anywho .  .  .  I went to visit Dr. Berty at her clinic which was decorated in a hunting lodge theme.  I was later to learn that she shared the clinic with several male doctors who also doubled as hunters.  That's completely irrelevant, but it's something I vividly remember.  So, Dr. Berty ran many tests on me and when she re-entered the room she smiled and said, "Congratulations, you are 15 weeks pregnant."

My jaw dropped to the floor and I was utterly speechless.  I just stared at her in shock and disbelief.  I wanted kids, but not now.  Not this soon.  I looked down at my stomache, and noticed for the first time that my protruding pudge was actually a baby bump.  All this time I had just chalked my slight weight gain to my good cooking.  I was dumbfounded.

Dr. Berty continued, "Now there is a slight problem, which is causing all the stomache pain.  The baby is not sitting right.  I'm going to give you some medicine and some therapy to try.  But, if we can't get that baby to move positions, we are going to have to take it early.  Very early.  If we don't, both you and the baby are at a very high risk of death."  The only thing that I was able to respond with were questions about her qualifications and if I could go back to Dr. Gross because he's the only doctor I trust. 

After she assured me that she could handle the stituation, but she had my blessing if I felt more comfortable with my previous doctor, I continued to stare in sheer incredulity.  I became terrified.  Tears were welling up.  She suggested I call Tate right away to come into the office so she could speak with him, as well.  Now, Tate was with my parents, who were on their way to get me so we could go to a family outing.  So, when they arrived, Tate ran in the office while my parents waited in the car.  Poor Tate had no idea what was going on, so when he heard the news, like me, he stood there in shock.  His bright green eyes nearly tripled in size and his jaw hung open.  He limply slid into the seat beside me and listened intently to Dr. Berty's instructions. 

We slowly exited the doctor's office when the discussion was finished and gathered ourselves into my dad's Chevy pickup.  We were in the clinic so long that my inquisitive parents had to ask what was going on, if everything was okay.  As badly as I wanted to hide the truth from them, I had to come clean.  I recounted the situation just as I had experienced it.  Again, silence overtook the vehicle.  Joy was being experienced, but mixed together with fear, it's hard to do anything but stare blankly at the road ahead.  The news was passed on to my sisters and brother-in-law when we arrived at our destination.  Not much was said, as everyone could sense how distraut Tate and I both were. 

After we left the gathering, Tate and I were dropped off at his parents' house.  There, we discussed the situation, yet again, with his parents, his brother and his wife.  Hugs were being given all around and tears were beginning to be shed.  For the first time that day, I had let the reality of what was happening sink in and my emotions were pass the point of controllable.  I simply looked down at my baby belly and prayed that everything would turn out okay.

That's when I woke up.  I immediately grabbed my stomache and thanked Jesus that the only kind of baby in my belly was a food baby from the awesome comfort meal I had cooked that evening.  And, now my baby fever has surely passed by .  .  . for now, anyway.