20 percent chance of rain

I want to write today, because Angel Mae died 3 months ago. But I'm not sure what I want to say. So let's just talk about the weather.

I've been complaining for the last two weeks about our lack of rain. The skies will threaten, the wind will kick up, but no rain will fall. We'll hear the next day that it rained three towns over, but not here. Weird. And a problem for my little garden that I just put in and that is muddling along through New England spring.

Finally yesterday, a full day of rain. And it looks like more today. But I'm still complaining, because although my garden is green, everything else is grey, grey, grey. And cold! 50 degrees. I do not like it when the weather matches my mood. (I used to enjoy that feeling -- wandering in my romantic sadness upon the gloomy moors. But I'm over it. I need the sun to keep my brain balanced.)

And did the rain have to start yesterday morning? Yesterday was hard enough. We fought our way through big city traffic to a big city hospital to talk about the future. Which also meant reviewing the past. And speaking to a stranger with a medical mind about my body, my baby.

He wasn't so bad, the specialist. An hour of conversation eventually revealed his compassion, his fatalism, his dry sense of humor. We also got his position on P17 shots, cerclage, group B strep tests, fetal fibronectin tests, antibiotics, tocolytics... all of which would be available to me, and if you know how crunchy I am, you know how weird it is that I am happy to hear it.

We got a lot of information, and there's a lot to think about, but in the end it comes down to this: No one knows what causes preterm birth. No one knows how to prevent preterm birth. Even the stuff that seems to help a little bit, no one knows how it works. Not even Mr. Big Shot Specialist at the big city hospital. At least he was honest about it.

He also gave us the odds, if that’s even possible. In a second pregnancy, and if I made it through the first trimester okay, my chances of reaching full-term would be 80%. My chances of another preterm birth would be 20%. (How preterm? Dunno.)

Let’s say you planned a day at the beach, and the weatherman said 80% chance of sunshine, 20% chance of brutal, torrential down-pouring rain. Would you still go?