I'm not a guy who scares easily...

That title isn't meant to show off my masculinity, but rather to say that after a few years in the army, living in a foreign country, and being in a war zone, I'm just not a guy who startles often. Am I jumpy at times? Absolutely. You can thank the military for that. Do I worry about things? You bet - a lot of things. Things that you would probably find silly. But scared isn't something I've been in awhile. The last time I was scared was last year when my father was diagnosed with cancer. That's something to be scared of, and I certainly was, although thankfully he seems to have come through the treatment with flying colors (knock wood).
So why the drawn out explanation about the fact that I don't spook easily? Well, to be frank, last Saturday is easily the most scared I have ever been in my life. The day began normally enough. I had to work, and about one o'clock that afternoon I got a call from Margaret , which went to voicemail since I was at my station and unable to take the call right then. When I checked my voicemail about ten minutes later, to use a semi-tired cliche, my blood ran cold. "Okay, don't freak out," began the message, which of course immediately began to freak me out. I mean, we all know if you don't want someone to panic, you definitely don't say...anyone?...anyone?...Bueller?...yes, that's right, you don't say, "don't panic." But Margaret could certainly be forgiven in this case. I could tell from her voice that she was crying. One of the things that I love about my wife is that she is even less likely than me to get scared, so if there are tears involved, I know something major is up.
Margaret's message continued. "I'm on my way home, and I'm bleeding. I called the doctor and they told me to go home and lie down and they would call me in a little while to check on me and give further instructions. I'm sorry. Please come home." I immediately called her back, and talked to her as she was on her way home. I told her I was leaving work immediately, and told my supervisor that I had to leave. Once again my place of employment demonstrated incredible understanding and tact, and the supervisor told me to go, that she would take care of it.
I'm not a terribly religious guy anymore. I was raised Catholic, but don't follow that path anymore, but I can tell you that I was having a serious heart to heart with whatever supreme being - god, allah, flying spaghetti monster - watches over us. I arrived home to find my wife in bed, nearly hysterical. As we waited for the doctor to call back, I held her close. "I don't think I realized until now just how much I want this baby," she said. I understood immediately. She wasn't saying that she previously didn't want our unborn child, but rather that now, faced with possibly losing the Bean, a new level of reality was rushing forth. She was still bleeding heavily, and finally (it had actually only been a couple of minutes) the doctor's office called back and told us to go to a hospital in Summerville, about 25-30 minutes away. As I was getting directions the nurse told me to hold on a moment. When she came back on the line, she told me that the doctor would meet us at a the ER of a hospital much closer. We got in the car and began to wade through the Saturday pre-Christmas shopping traffic. Remember me mentioning at the beginning of this entry that I was more scared that day than I had ever been in my life? Well, that terror level was cresting during the drive. I continued to tell Margaret that it was going to be okay.
We finally arrived at the ER, and were seen pretty quickly, all things considered. The nurse attepted to find the heartbeat with a doppler microphone, but wasn't getting anything. The doctor arrived and examined Margaret, advised that everything seemed to be normal (besides the bleeding), and ordered a sonogram just to be safe. Before they carted Margaret off to the sonographer, another nurse tried the doppler again, and almost immediately located a strong heartbeat. It was the single most beautiful sound I have ever heard, even lovelier than the first time I heard it a few weeks back. At that point I basically relaxed a tiny bit, and the anxiety of the last couple of hours hit me like a brick. I lost it and began to sob, although I recovered quickly because Margaret was still pretty freaked out. They wheeled her out, and when she returned about 30 minutes later, she was visibly better. The sonogram had apparently shown that the Bean was alive and kicking (literally). The doctor ordered Margaret to bedrest for the next week, with permission to go out only if necessary.
That's where we currently stand. Margaret is in bed taking it easy, which as anyone who knows her is driving her bonkers, but she's cooperating and recuperating. She is still scared of losing the baby, which I'm sure is a fear shared by every prospective parent. Margaret says she can now feel the Bean moving inside her, which as 18 weeks is normal, according to the books we're reading.
The bleeding? The doctor thinks that the placenta is situated lower than normal, and perhaps a blood vessel burst, the flow from which increased as Margaret's blood pressure went up upon discovering she was bleeding. So while Saturday was full of anxiety and fear, each day since has brought increased relief that all seems to be well. Like I said before, I don't scare easily, but on a scale of 1 to 10 on the terror meter, last Saturday's events scored about a 17. I love you Bean. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe. We can't wait to meet you in a few months.