Tag Archives: Dreams

Nightmare.

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I know that when you’re pregnant, hormones can lead to some incredibly vivid dreams.

I had one last night that is sticking with me, and it was terrible.

I dreamt I was having contractions (and I probably was) while Brock and I were putzing around at home.  I don’t know why, but I decided to “check” myself, and found that I could feel the baby’s head.  I looked at Brock, all excited, and told him it was time!  We had to get to the birthing center!  Brock had to find someone to watch Ronan, so I left without him.

But somewhere, along the way to the center, I realized that I wasn’t 40 weeks, but actually only 20 weeks… and this wasn’t a good thing.  I was about to deliver a non-viable, premature baby.  I made a detour to the hospital, and went in to the ER.  I told them I was 20 weeks, and the baby was crowning, and I needed them to stop it.  They didn’t believe me.  Finally, a doctor checked me and said that I was right!  I needed to get upstairs!

There was a lot of to-do involved in getting upstairs, included filling out paperwork and a helicopter ride.  When I got there, Dr. Shaver was waiting for me.  He told me everything would be okay.  I cried with relief, I had never been so happy to see another person in my life.  They were going to put the baby back in, stitch my cervix closed, and we would be fine.  I knew we were going to be okay.  He said he would wait in the operating room, and I had to be cleared for surgery.  I was sitting at some sort of registration counter, panicking because I was having contractions, and one of the nurses told me to lean forward.  There was blood everywhere.  They told me it was my bloody-show.  All of a sudden, I was in full on labor, and it was terrible.  I was crying out in pain, and they wouldn’t give me anything… not even Tylenol.

In the end, I delivered the baby, and they whisked it away so I couldn’t see.  They told me it wasn’t too bad, it was just a zygote, and kept showing me pictures of 4 and 5 days after conception.  I cried and cried.  I knew they were lying to me… I had seen my baby.  She was whole, and fully formed.  She had fingers, and hair.  She wasn’t just a clump of cells.  And I had lost her.

I woke up feeling unsettled and upset, and the feeling didn’t get better until I felt the sweet baby in my belly move.

I hate how good dreams are always so fleeting and hard to remember, but bad dreams stick with us even when we want to forget.

Nightmares.

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I don’t know what is up with my dreams lately.

The other night, I had a dream that my mom was having an affair, and she was gloating about it to me.  I wanted her to tell my dad, but she wouldn’t.  I was SO upset by it, when I woke up I couldn’t shake the feeling.  I almost wanted to call my mom and ask her if anything was going on.  I don’t know where it came from, or why it bothered me so much, but it was awful.

Last night, I went to bed knowing that Ronan had a fever.  It was 101.9 at two in the afternoon, and when I checked it at his bed-time, it was 102.3.  It’s the highest fever he’s ever had, and fevers always freak me out a little.  I mean, seriously, besides some Motrin or Tylenol… maybe a cool bath, what really can I do?  I hate falling into that spiral of taking his temperature over and over again, so I don’t.  We put him to bed, and he slept well despite his fever.

But I laid in bed wide awake, trying not to imagine the worst possible scenario.  No matter how hard I tried, my brain kept taking over and pulling my thoughts in directions I absolutely didn’t want them to go.  There were so many ‘what if’s’ that I couldn’t shake them.

What if he isn’t alive when I wake up?

What if I should have him in bed with me right now?

What if his fever is 106 tomorrow morning?

He was sleeping soundly, and I didn’t see any reason to wake him up and bring him to bed with me… except for my own peace of mind.  That wasn’t a good enough reason.  So I left him.  And my brain went crazy.

I imagined waking up and finding him so fevered that his skin felt like it was burning.  I imagined taking him to the emergency room… not the Huntersville emergency room, but down town to the Children’s Hospital emergency room.  I imagined him being weak and tired, and unable to fight back as they gave him an IV.  I pictured them putting ice bags around him trying to lower his temperature.  I pictured being alone in the room with him while we waited for a doctor to come see us.  I held him as I felt him stop breathing, and screamed for help.  I screamed and screamed.  I laid in my bed and imagined myself doing CPR on my own son, that had stopped breathing for no understandable reason.  I told myself, “Stop it Mandy, stop doing this,” as images flashed through my mind.  I watched as my son was shocked with the defibrillators in an effort to restart his heart.  In my own head, I screamed when the doctor pronounced him dead.  I screamed and told the doctor he had no right to stop, and I continued trying to revive my baby.

I laid in bed, sobbing and alone, because I couldn’t stop the images.  I couldn’t catch my breath, I couldn’t move.  It was so real, and it was so horrible, and I just wanted it to end.  I wanted to turn my brain off, stop thinking, stop worrying… and I couldn’t.

All I needed to do was reach over and wake up my husband.  Or walk up to Ronan’s room and touch his face, to let me know he was okay.  But I was paralyzed with fear, tortured with the horror of my waking nightmare.

Last night, I shuddered with the imagined thought of having to call my husband at work, and tell him his little boy had died.  Last night, I rolled over on to my stomach, sobbed into my pillow, and cried myself to sleep.

Today?  Ronan has a fever of 101.4.  He’s active, eating, drinking, and feeling just a little clingy.  But he’s doing just fine.