COMFORT. 40 large gauze. Yes. 4 scalpels. Yes.
I could hear them going through the checklist of items needed for the upcoming operation. Three. When this was all done I would have been unzipped three times in the same spot in order to meet my amazing children, but this time was different. This was the first time I was actually in labor. It heightened everything and made the gauze counting seem louder. The room was already freezing and Joe wasn't allowed in yet. I sat on the table and was asked to round my lower back (I'd been here before) right as a contraction hit. I took five deep breaths because I knew that's how long they had been lasting and then felt the needle. The cold room, the needle, the immediate loss of sensation in my stomach and legs and yet I knew the COMFORT was coming. Having gone thru this twice before I knew what would happen after they laid me down and spread my arms out. There would be warmth. So much warmth as it felt like my lower extremeties were being wrapped in warm towels or heated rice bags for all I cared. I have never asked or thought to look up what it is that happens that sends that warmth through my body suddenly void of all sensations. It didn't matter. It was my COMFORT in a moment of uncertain panic. It was an assurance that I would be okay. COMFORT in the form of warmth next to a table full of tools and gauze that would soon be used to create weeks of discomfort. I am always amazed to look back on times and moments of complete fear and recognize the tiny thing that brought COMFORT. A song. A word. A warm blanket. May a moment of COMFORT find you today and make all the difference.