The hospital delivery room was cold, so cold. Or maybe it was just me. I shivered from head to toe. I hadn’t felt that way when delivering my first three children, but everything about this pregnancy was different.
My due date had come and gone, with several bouts of false labor. The doctor finally decided to give me a hormone to speed up the birth process. It seemed like the IV drip the nurse had put in my arm was pumping ice water into my veins.
Jim, my husband, stood by my side in his mask and hospital scrubs, holding my hand. Nurses bustled in and out of the room, checking me often as the labor progressed. I didn’t say anything about the cold. I didn’t want to worry anybody.
An older nurse I hadn’t seen before walked across the room and laid her hand on my right shoulder. “My goodness, honey, you need warming up,” she said. “I’ll be back.”
She returned quickly with a quilt that felt fresh from the dryer. I snuggled into its soft, heavenly warmth. My shivers subsided.
Labor progressed and soon I gave birth to a healthy baby boy, weighing in at 6 pounds, 11 ounces.
I was taken to another room to rest. Jim sat next to me. “I’m so glad the nurse brought me that warm quilt,” I told him. “I was so cold, I didn’t think I could make it.”
Jim looked at me oddly. “I was right there beside you. Nobody brought in a quilt.”
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