A Little Pain, a Lot of Gain

I spent the past couple of days debating whether to go see the doctor—was this nagging sore throat just a virus that would pass or something more serious, like strep throat?

A year ago this weekend, the question was similar in nature, but the stakes were much higher: Were the weird twinges I was feeling nothing to worry about just yet, or was I in labor?

Nearly 365 days separated the incidents, but the answer in both cases turned out to be a resounding yes—yes to the strep throat, and yes to the baby who was most definitely on his way into the world. And in both cases, my sweet son was to blame.

This week, it turns out that Isaac, who will turn 1 on May 16, somehow passed his latest ear infection on to me and the bacteria manifested themselves in my throat, according to the excellent doctor at Patient First in Lutherville (I went there on Friday night. Do I know how to party, or what?).

All the birthday presents are stacked in the basement awaiting Isaac's little family party on Sunday, and this is what he gives me in return? No matter—a small price to pay for the extra snuggling he’s wanted while he’s been under the weather. He’s growing so fast that I know the day is coming when he doesn’t want to share a pillow or his germs with me first thing in the morning after his bottle.

Flash back to last year, when my water broke in the Hunt Valley Wegmans parking lot and I chose to deny it (for the uninitiated, I’ll say that it’s not as dramatic as it is in the movies, at least it wasn’t for me, and I’ll leave it at that) and went about my shopping as usual with a 2½-year-old in tow. It was Sunday and I had actually already been to the labor and delivery department at GBMC the day before, thinking I was in labor, but I wasn’t sure. They had sent me home on Saturday, saying it was a false alarm, so I was then too embarrassed to go back the following day, worried I’d only be sent home again. I didn’t want to be the woman who gets sent home twice in the same weekend for hysterical labor.

Soon it became pretty apparent that I wasn’t going to be sent home: By the time Lucy and I had filled the cart, my contractions were 15 minutes apart and by the time my husband and I finally made our way to the hospital, they were just four minutes apart in the car. In hindsight, maybe we shouldn’t have unpacked the car, and let Joe finish mowing the lawn and then shower before heading to GBMC.

Just as it didn’t matter this week that Isaac gave me strep throat, it didn’t matter a year ago that he came too quickly for any pain meds to make a difference. The only thing that matters is that he’s here and is a much-loved part of our family. The pain was worth it for all I have gained.