My 7-Month Pregnancy, when I Hospitalized, Hubby Called me, Said: Stop All This Drama I am Coming…
The Burden of Expectations
In an instant, my world turned upside down. My husband’s voice, sharp and unforgiving, cut through the phone. “Why do you always collapse when I need you?” he complained. He seemed oblivious to the urgency that had rushed me to the hospital. Our unborn child’s safety was hanging by a thread.
“We’re here hungry, waiting for your terrible cooking,” he continued. “And you’re off relaxing in the hospital”. His words were devoid of concern. He declared he’d had enough.
He was going to dine out with his parents, leaving me to find my own way home. His anger reached me even through the phone. He blamed me, as if I were at fault for a dire situation. This instilled fear and worry in me. I was desperate to protect our unborn child.
Once, I was a passionate cosmetic salesperson. I was recognized for my dedication and hard work. I had a collection of awards and a reputation for excellence. I loved my job and the confidence it brought me.
Meeting my husband seemed like a fairy tale. It led to a whirlwind romance and marriage. But the joy of discovering my pregnancy came with a tough decision.
I had to leave my job due to the risk of miscarriage. This choice was made with our family’s future in mind. As I navigated the challenges of pregnancy, my husband’s support waned.
He transformed from excitement to frustration. Simple tasks became monumental. My attempts to meet his expectations often fell short. “Where’s my lunch?” he’d ask.
He only scoffed at the simple sandwiches I managed to prepare. He cited my inability to handle smells. His words stung. “Pregnancy is not an illness,” he said.
He dismissed my struggles and left me to fend for myself. This shift in his behavior was a stark contrast to the man I fell in love with.
His companionship at doctor’s visits faded. His empathy for household chores that now seemed insurmountable to me also faded. Our home, once a place of mutual respect and love, felt increasingly like a battleground.
I was trying to protect not just my well-being but that of our unborn child. I was clinging to the hope that somehow we’d find our way back to understanding and support.
“Perhaps he’s just exhausted,” I kept telling myself. He’s taken on a demanding mentorship role for a newcomer at work. This might explain why he’s been less patient and more irritable with me lately.
I keep telling myself that once our baby arrives, his hectic schedule will calm down. We’ll find our rhythm as a family. “It’s going to be okay, okay,” I whisper, caressing my growing belly.
I was trying to stay positive despite the struggles with my changing body and our relationship. Yet things haven’t gotten better between my husband and me.
To add to the tension, my in-laws have started to drop by without notice, increasing my stress levels. They question the cleanliness of our home. They express concern over how we’ll manage once the baby is here.
Despite their criticisms, they expect hospitality and demand I prepare something for them to eat on the spot. Caught off guard and without any preparations, I feel overwhelmed. I was criticized for not being a better host.
Each visit from my in-laws ends with them leaving in disappointment. My husband sided with them, never defending me. “Doing my best isn’t enough,” I’m left feeling inadequate in their eyes.
On one such visit, after being sent out to buy groceries while heavily pregnant, I collapsed from the strain. I woke up in the hospital. I learned I had passed out from overexertion.
Thankfully, our baby was still safe. The doctors advised a few days of rest in the hospital. Seeing missed calls from my husband on my phone, I realized he must have been worried.
He must have been worried when I didn’t return from the store. Yet when I finally called him back, hoping for some concern or relief in his voice, I was met with anger instead. “Where Have You Been?” he demanded.
His words were harsh and unforgiving. It was as if my health and our baby’s safety were of no concern to him. Hearing his harsh words, I shuddered.
“I’m sorry I collapsed at the grocery store,” I explained. “I was rushed to the hospital”. “They’ve put me on IV fluids and advised me to stay here for a few days for observation”.
But his response was cold and impatient. It was as if my well-being mattered less than his inconvenience. “You collapsed and I’m supposed to care?”.
“Why don’t you answer when I call you? You’re so slow”. His words cut deep. I couldn’t bear the thought of our unborn child being exposed to such negativity.
“Please stop yelling, it’s not good for the baby,” I tried to reason with him. But it was futile. He continued undeterred by my plea for kindness.
“We’re here starving waiting on your terrible cooking,” he shouted. “And you’re just taking it easy in the hospital”. His intent to dine out with his parents and leave me to fend for myself was clear.
His voice, filled with anger and devoid of concern, made me recoil. Not wanting to expose my baby to any harsher words, I ended the call. I felt utterly alone and disheartened.
