EnidSong

By Enid Ning

“Honey,” I called to Henry from the bathroom, “I think I’ve missed my period.”

“Oh no!” Henry sounded alarmed. “When was it supposed to start?”

“About two weeks ago.”

We stared at each other, both thinking the same thing: I could be pregnant, but we weren’t ready for this!

We had been married only four months now, and we had agreed that we didn’t feel ready to have a child yet, although we did hope to eventually. All that month we worried and fretted; then finally, both of us individually somewhat grudgingly accepted that we might be having a child much earlier than planned. Around day 60, unexpectedly, my period came.

“Honey!” I called to Henry. “My period! It’s… it’s started.”

“What?!” Henry stared at me. We both couldn’t believe it.

And then, the feeling came, an overwhelming wave of sadness that we weren’t pregnant after all.

“You know… I… I feel kind of sad about it.”

“So do I.”

We stared at each other again.

“Well, maybe it’s time to start trying.”

Just like that, God had changed our hearts about having a child. The very next month, I was pregnant with Jared.

**

At seven weeks of pregnancy, I was sent for an ultrasound. The ultrasound technician turned the monitor toward me so I could see it. There was a perfectly shaped little head above something strong, steady and pulsing.

“That’s your baby’s heart,” the ultrasound technician informed me.

I stared at the screen in wonder. The baby was so beautiful.

**

“Do you want to know what your baby is?” asked another ultrasound technician some months later.

“Sure!” replied Henry before I could think about it or say anything.

“It’s a boy,” said the tech confidently, then demonstrating to us how he could be so sure.

Later on, Henry told me, “We knew a guy up north, and both times his wife was pregnant, the ultrasound technician told him it was a boy. But both times it turned out to be a girl.”

“So,” I responded, “basically we still don’t know what the baby is.”

**

“How about Steven?” I asked Henry as I surfed baby name websites.

“Nahh!” Henry responded almost with disgust, as if I should have known better than to suggest such a name.

Thousands of names later, we finally agreed on the only name we both liked: Jared.

**

The baby inside me was a funny, wonderful, little person. In a very noisy environment, he was very quiet. In a quiet environment, he would kick up a storm! Often after I got into bed, tired from a busy day, I would be treated to a big kicking session as baby decided to get his exercise! Once or twice, his rhythmic jumps convinced us he had the hiccups.

One night I decided to play a little game with my baby. I rubbed my tummy in big circles, then stopped my hand far over on the right side. Poke! The baby poked my hand! Surprised, I did it again, then stopped low on the left side. Poke! Again, the baby poked me right in the hand! I was amazed that a little baby inside me could play a game with me. But then I considered the umbilical cord and placenta, and decided not to play the game anymore, as I wasn’t sure if the baby was spinning around inside me and might get tangled in the umbilical cord. I didn’t want to risk it.

**

On the morning of January 11, 1997, I woke up and found blood. Immediately forgetting everything I had learned in my childbirth classes, I panicked and we rushed to the hospital to have the baby checked. Tears ran down my cheeks on the way to the hospital as I considered the possibility of losing my baby. However, once hooked up to the fetal heart monitor at the hospital, I was assured that my baby was fine, and that I was in the early stages of labour! I was amazed. The hospital sent us home, telling us to return when the contractions were three minutes apart.

That evening, my whole family was over. We were living at my father’s house, sorting things out after his unexpected passing on July 5th, 1996. Actually, tonight was the night that the brothers and brother-in-laws had agreed to divide up my father’s many high quality tools.

Feeling uncomfortable, I went to my room and laid down. My sister-in-law, Mora, came to check on me, then went back to where my husband Henry was awaiting his next pick of my father’s top-notch tools.

“Umm, Henry, I think your wife needs to go to the hospital.”

Henry tore himself away from the tool selection and bundled me and my overnight bag into the car. We headed for Credit Valley Hospital, where we were shown into a spacious birthing room with a full-size television in one corner. A nurse came in and checked my contractions, then sent me and Henry to walk around in the halls. Whenever a contraction came, I’d have to stop and hang on to Henry tight, before continuing on our walk. Eventually we returned to the birthing room, where I lay down on the birthing table and was hooked up to machines. Meanwhile, on TV, a Toronto Maple Leafs hockey game was just getting started.

The nurse warned me sternly not to push yet, then left to check on other patients. That was fine for a little while, but soon I began to have the most incredible urges to push. Because the unrelenting tension in the desire to push was not released as I willed myself not to push, I began screaming at the top of my lungs to release the tension. The nurse came back in a hurry and checked me again. Finally, she gave me permission (what a relief!) to push.

The funny thing was, she was watching a monitor and telling me, “Push!” suddenly. I would try to push, but I didn’t really know how or where to push. Eventually it came to me that, since God had created my body, and since He had known that many women would not have a fetal monitor and a nurse coaching them, He would have made the birthing process practically automatic. So for the next contraction, as my nurse yelled, “Push!” I relaxed and just went with what my body felt like doing.

“That’s it! You’re getting it!” cried my nurse, and after that, labour was easy as I relaxed and went with what my body felt like doing, and received in return encouragement and positive feedback. After only half an hour of pushing, the baby crowned, Henry said, “I can see his hair!” and the doctor came running into the room. After my next big push, the baby’s head popped out, and my doctor yelled in a forceful voice full of authority, “STOP PUSHING!!!” Shocked into obedience, I stopped.

The next thing I heard was angry wailing, as Jared came all the way out. The nurse whisked him away to clean, weigh and measure him, as the doctor finished delivering the placenta and sewed up the small incision he had made to make more room for Jared. Jared was absolutely furious at how he had been treated. First squeezed and pushed and forced to go out of the only home he’d ever known, then taken out of the comfortable, warm, liquid environment into a cold, hard, unfriendly environment. He cried and cried and cried.

Henry and the doctor watched the last few moments of the Leafs’ game as I waited for the nurse to finish with Jared. Finally, he was wrapped in a receiving blanket and placed in my arms.

“It’s okay, little one,” I said soothingly to him. The moment he heard my voice, he stopped crying and relaxed. I was amazed. Was I able to comfort this cute, awesome, little being?

**

In the days, months and years that have gone by since then, Jared has fascinated me with his awareness, growth, development, and spirituality. He is truly a treasure from the Lord, and I thank God for allowing me to experience the joy of being his mother.