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This feels so much like it did when I was abruptly put on hospital bedrest nearly 24-years ago at 24-weeks pregnant with twins.

How bizarre to be hospitalized when I felt fine. Healthy. There was nothing actually wrong with me (apart from contractions every eight minutes that I couldn't feel.)

Ordered to bed. "Stay still. Don't get up."

Trying to avert disaster.

Waiting. Waiting.

How long could I hold off their birth? Endless days trying not to wonder. Sleepless nights realizing how absolutely impossible it is not to wonder. Not to worry.

So much waiting.

How bad would it be when they were born, far too early? Could my actions now prevent bigger disaster later?

Oh, yes. This reminds me so much of being on bedrest in preterm labor with those babies.

Back then and in the years since, this has been my deepest wish, my most fervent blessing:

Be boring.

Be. Boring.

Be. Boring.

I know that I am not the only one who has felt this, what we are all feeling now, before. Waiting. Wanting nothing more than to be boring to every doctor (and epidemiologist) that ever walked the earth.

Hoping for the best. Fearing the worst. Waiting for the inevitable to happen.

Eventually, those babies were born.

Yes, they were too early. Early, but blessedly just a little more boring than they might have been.


For you who have had family members struggle to breathe.

For you who know what it's like to listen to the thump of a ventilator, the rise and fall of a loved one’s chest as they struggle to take in enough air, you who are seasoned watchers of monitors and counters of breaths…