But Why the Pic of Leda and Her Feathery Friend?
Events late, late, late last night gave rise to my acquisition of a new three-dollar word to toss around, viz., tocolytics. Perhaps I'll add more on this tomorrow, but suffice it to say that there are few places more destitute of beauty than the pharmacy counter of an all-night drugstore in Brooklyn at 3 AM, as you wait for the poky pharmacist to finish his hilarious conversations with an endless stream of raffish buddies that waltz into the place, while you are waiting for the drugs which are supposed to help keep a baby inside where it's nice and warm instead of prematurely coming outside into the flourescent hell of a world which has depressing all-night drugstores like this one.
But here's the thing: when you've spent the previous three hours wondering if you're on an unstoppable train to a 28-week delivery of your baby, and then the train stops, and part of that train stopping is the drug that you're waiting for the @##%$ pharmacist to shut up and give you so that you can go home and just go to sleep already, well then that pharmacy, by contrast with the worry at home and the rush to the hospital and the examining room with the monitor and the nurses coming in every few minutes and the test results still not back yet, that pharmacy feels like the most cushiony Eden imaginable.
To put this all slightly more directly: some indications of premature labor last night, sleeplessness, drugs, an encouraging test result, and now a lot of uncertainty as to what will happen next.
So, how are you?