My Husband My Hero

My Husband My Hero

I was sitting at the table, looking at three of a kind, and trying to decide if I wanted to fold my hand or not, when I felt the pain. I grimaced. Everyone at the table stopped the poker chatter and watched me.

“How many have you had?”

“I don’t know. They just started about 15 minutes ago.”

“You should probably go in.”

My husband looked at me and then asked my mom to babysit. Everything was arranged, though I was exactly one week early. To the hospital I went. The nurse asked the typical nurse questions and after an hour or so of observation, I was sent home and told to come back the next day. This was at midnight.

I went to bed. I couldn’t sleep. The pain was becoming stronger and there was less and less time in between. Finally, at about 4:30 in the morning, I woke my husband up and told him it was time. I just wanted to take a quick shower first.

My husband looked at me and said, “You don’t have time for a shower.”

“Oh yes I do. I need a quick one. I feel dirty.”

“Nina, you don’t have time.” I was being a little irrational, my body hurt, I couldn’t move, and I was mad that I didn’t take a shower.

My husband helped me into the car. The pain was horrendous. We got to the hospital and I refused a wheel chair. I was strong, I could walk. My husband watched me and assisted when I needed him.

I approached the brick building; the contractions were so hard, I needed to rest. I rested my face on the bricks in the cool October air. The cold wall felt good to me. My husband insisted upon a wheel chair. I continued to refuse.

I walked onto the elevator and the guy standing in there with us looked at me and said, “You alright? You need a wheel chair?”

I declined, though I was far less pleasant than I should have been.

I walked into the nurses’ station and immediately they put me in a gown and a room. In less than 14 minutes, my baby was born.

There was no doctor. I had to push. The nurse was across the room. My husband was standing next to me. I hollered, “It’s happening.” And the next thing I know, my husband was holding my beautiful baby girl. The nurse was still across the room and the doctor never made it.

My husband is my hero. He allowed me to make the choices I needed to make, but he stood firm when he had to step in and take over. He was gentle enough to hold his precious daughter, through all the slime and junk, without wincing or worrying about nastiness. He instinctively knew how to hold her head, though putting a diaper on was a strange feat. My husband can be gentle, but he’s also protective and firm. I am safe because my hero is always with me.

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