“The best pregnancy advice I have to offer? Take your wedding ring off!
It’s 11:58 at night and I am in the shower. I really shouldn’t be up so late because I have to be at work by 6:45 a.m. and I have parent/teacher meetings all day. I’m 8 months pregnant and I can’t see my feet. Through the sound of the water surrounding me, I can hear my husband playing video games virtually with his friends in our bedroom. They are yelling at each other about ‘finding cover’ or something.
After I towel myself off, I look down at my hand. You know, I haven’t taken my ring off to clean it in a while. It’s probably filled with little germs. No worries, I will just wiggle it off…
As I begin to pull my wedding ring off, I quickly realize that my fingers (once elegant and ladylike) have transformed into bratwursts right before my eyes. When did this transformation occur? When did I develop Ogre’s hands?
And PULL some more.
Nothing is happening. It’s not coming off. My finger begins to swell and turn purple. Dear God, I am going to be fingerless. My children are going to grow up with a fingerless mother. My grave is going to say, ‘Here lies Lisa, the woman who lost her finger because she was too stupid to take her wedding ring off before the 3rd trimester.’
With every tug, my finger becomes more and more engorged. It is now the size of two fingers. I am panicking. I run to my husband screaming, waving my hands all around, and crying because I can see my fingerless future flashing before my eyes.
He comes up with a plan. ‘Don’t worry baby,’ he says. ‘This happened to my mom when she was pregnant with my little brother. All you have to do is ice your hand and wait for it to stop swelling.’
He cooks me up a cold bowl of ice water and I stick my hand in. Fifteen seconds in and it feels like tiny icicles are jabbing me in the hand. I am getting stabbed over and over again. ‘What are you trying to do, kill me?’ I scream/cry.
We tried butter.
We tried coconut oil.
We tried lotion.
We tried peanut butter.
We tried holding my hands above my head for 15 minutes.
We tried everything.
It’s now 3:00 in the morning and we are on the way to the ER. My stubby finger is still purple. I am pretty sure this is the end. The hospital is pretty far away from the parking garage, so Kyle decides to drop me off at the front while he parks. As I walk into the ER, the security guard stands up really quick and asks me how I am feeling. He offers me a chair.
Aww, that is so sweet. People in North Carolina are so nice.
I tell him that I am fine, but I am just waiting for my husband to park the car. The security guard tells me that my husband didn’t need to park the car. He said that this hospital has a valet service. He tells me that I should call my husband and tell him to come back, that way we don’t waste any more time.
I am pretty worried about my finger. If I wait any longer, it could definitely fall off. I call my husband and tell him about this ‘valet service’ and he tells me that he is already parked and is walking toward the front.
While I am waiting for Kyle, the security guard asks me two more times how I am feeling. Gosh, this hospital is so great. I have never been to an ER with such kind people before.
When Kyle finally walks in, I tell the security guard that my husband is here and ask him where we check into the ER. He tells us to follow him upstairs.
At this point, I am a little confused because it seems like everyone in the ER is downstairs. I can see people sitting in a room labeled ‘Emergency’ right across the hall. However, maybe this is something new they are doing because of COVID? Maybe they are separating people to keep social distance?
We followed the security guard up the stairs. He starts to make conversation with us. He’s talking about his pregnant wife and his first child. Then he says, ‘Yup, you’d be surprised how many women we get every night that need to go to L and D.’
My mind draws a blank. What are L and D? Is it the name of a doctor? Am I going to see Dr. Ellendee?
My husband, the hero of all my stories, and the only one in our marriage who decided to put his thinking brain on that day hastily interrupted the security guard. ‘Woah, do you mean Labor and Delivery? My wife isn’t in labor. Lisa, did you tell him you were in Labor?’
Things are starting to make more sense now….
The security guard looked at me and I looked back at him. This is awkward. He stared at my enormous pregnant belly and then said, ‘What are you here for if you aren’t in labor?’
I held up my purple finger. He gasped, ‘Oh Ma’am, you need to get somebody to look at that real quick!’
15 minutes later I was in front of a doctor (whose name was not Ellendee). They sawed off my wedding ring. I may or may not have flinched way too many times when they brought the hot metal toward my skin. They assured me that there was a protective barrier and that they couldn’t actually cut off my finger, but my brain didn’t register the words they were saying. It was like being in a haunted house and getting chased by clowns with chainsaws. Sure, those chainsaws don’t actually have the ability to hurt you, but your brain is saying, ‘DANGER, DANGER, DANGER!’
It was 5:00 in the morning by the time we made it back home. I did not go to work the next day, because I couldn’t see myself presenting a professional demeanor to the parents of my students with only 45 minutes of sleep under my belt. My wedding ring is still sitting in my jewelry box; wounded from the battle.
So here is the point of my dramatic monologue: TAKE OFF YOUR WEDDING RING. If you are pregnant, there is an 89% chance you are going to have goblin hands by the 3rd trimester. Okay, I totally made up that percentage. However, I stand by my advice. Don’t be like me. Don’t make your wedding ring a casualty of the pregnancy war.
End Note: Rest in Peace Lisa Carnett’s wedding ring. She will take you to Kay’s for a resurrection when her baby stops crying. Hopefully, it will happen sometime in the next five years.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Lisa Carnett. You can follow her journey on Instagram, Facebook, and blog. Submit your own story here, and be sure to subscribeto our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
Read more stories from Lisa here:
‘Am I going to throw up? Surprise! It’s s—t. There’s diarrhea all over. My husband is helping me with my hospital gown while simultaneously WIPING MY ASS.’: Mom hilariously recounts precipitous labor experience
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