Relief

Do you ever have memories that are completely unremarkable? I sometimes wonder why I remember some things and not others. One such memory of mine is an ordinary English class in 10th(?) grade. I don't remember who my teacher was. I don't remember what we were studying. But I remember the exercise she had us do. In the back of the room was a large white poster board with the word RELIEF written on it. One by one, each student went to the back and wrote their definition of relief on the board. Was it a vocabulary lesson? Part of a literature unit? I have no idea. Was it a profound moment in my life? Nope. But I think all the time about how my definition of relief has changed over the years. That day in high school I think my definition was "reaching a satisfying conclusion in a book." Now, I recognize that relief takes many forms and I could define it in hundreds of ways. 

Relief is often physical.

. . . when the epidural kicks in.

. . . when the chiropractor pops that errant rib back in place.

. . . when you make it to the bathroom in time! 

. . . when you take off your tight jeans at the end of the day.

. . . when you step out of the heat into the air conditioning.

Sometimes relief is emotional.

. . . when you find the kids' social security cards in the "safe place" that you couldn't remember for months.

. . . when the plane lands safely.

. . . when the candle you left burning didn't start the house on fire.

. . . when the check clears.

. . . when the kids get a snow day and you can turn off your alarm.

One of my most profound moments of relief came during this week 5 years ago. I was 9 weeks pregnant, and Justin had the day off. We went to a local beach with my sister to swim and fish. The beach was at the bottom of a hill, and I forgot something in the car so I walked up and down the hill a few times. By the time I sat down, I was not feeling very good, but that's kind of how early pregnancy feels in general, so I didn't think much of it. Justin paddled to the other side of the lake to fish, and Niki, the girls and I settled in to swim. As I was laying towels in the sand I felt something unusual and glanced down to see bright red blood trickling down my inner thigh. I had been through two miscarriages already at this point - one before getting pregnant with Lucy, and one before Lena. I knew the drill, and in my experience bright red blood was never a good sign. My first instinct was to run into the water and wash away the physical evidence. But I knew it couldn't be ignored. I told Niki, called Justin, and waited anxiously for him to row back across the lake to pick me up and take me to the ER. I honestly just felt resigned. I didn't cry. My other miscarriages happened at 9 and 10 weeks, so it made sense. If anything I was angry that it was happening again, and annoyed that I'd have to start over if I wanted another baby. Of course, the anger was a coping mechanism. Of course I was stuffing down my devastation just like I tried to wash off the evidence in the lake. As we drove to the ER Justin tried to reassure me that there could be some other explanation. But the blood kept coming and I continued to build up my walls of defense - preparing myself for an empty womb. 

They got me right back to a room in the ER and hooked me up to an ultrasound machine. The doctor had the screen turned toward himself and Justin held my hand as we waited with bated breath. Finally, the doctor turned the screen toward us and we saw this . . .

At 9 weeks, he had a clearly visible head, body, and stubby little arms and legs that were waving all over the place. RELIEF. The ER docs didn't know what caused the bleeding, but deemed the baby perfectly healthy and told me to follow up with my OB. We later discovered that I had a subchorionic hematoma, which eventually resolved itself. And that little blob became Levi . . . who will be going off to preschool in 13 days. 

And these days, relief is the words "not pregnant" on an EPT. 🤣 See what I mean about how that definition changes over the years?

So what about you? What's your definition of relief at this stage of your life?