I sit up straight and take her lips against mine while I rest my throwing hand lightly across her stomach. Our kiss is gentle, sweet, and filled with love. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Chapter Six
Charlie
Present day…
I check my Rolex watch as I walk through the labor-and-delivery double doors heading straight for the nurses’ station. Brad’s hot on my heels, barking at me to slow down. The irony that I can waddle faster than he can run is not lost on me.
Before I can identify myself, the nurse grabs my chart, flashes me a reassuring smile, and says, “Doctor Collins, we’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me to your room.”
A contraction grips my body and doubles me over. Gripping the wall for support, I attempt to take long breaths through my nose. You’ve got this, Caroline.
The nurse’s reassuring smile is gone. “Let me grab you a wheelchair,” she says with alarm in her voice.
I shake my head no, and continue to follow behind her. The room she leads me to is large, and some hospital designer has attempted to add homey touches. The walls are painted a light shade of mint green. There’s faux-wood paneling behind the hospital bed. The window curtain is open, and the blinds are raised. I have a lovely view of the roof of the next hospital building. I don’t care. I want an epidural, and this baby out of me stat, of course, after Colin arrives.
Once she’s closed the door behind Brad and me, she introduces herself. “My name is Mary, and Doctor Starr asked me to assist you today with your delivery. Our first order of business is to get you out of those clothes, and into one of our designer hospital gowns,” she explains as she hands me a green scrub-colored sheet with arms. “You can change in the bathroom,” she says, as she gestures to a door on the other side of the room.
As I’m shutting the door, I hear Mary asking Brad questions about the parade. I’m thankful that Doctor Starr gave Mary the heads up as to who Brad is, and that he’s not my husband.
I exit the bathroom a few minutes later with my street clothes in a plastic bag, draped in the ill-fitting sheet with arms. Dropping my belongings in the mauve and faux-wood chair next to the bed, I do my best to scooch to the place that Nurse Mary is indicating that she wants me on the white sheets. I would not refer to myself as very mobile these days.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I sent Brad into the hallway. He has your phone. I need to check you,” she says preparing me for the inevitable.
I lean back and bend my knees, bracing for any dignity that I have left to pack its bag and run for the border. I throw my head back against the fluffy pillows and look up at the white ceiling tiles, wondering why they don’t at least put an interesting sticker up there for anxious almost-mothers to stare at.
After a lot of pokes and prods inside of me, Mary states the obvious. “You are definitely in labor. About four centimeters dilated. You aren’t far enough along that you can have an epidural.” She removes her gloves tossing them in the large garbage can. Then, crosses her arms over her chest. “Here’s my speech on epidurals. They generally slow down labor, but it’s your call. You can have one at five centimeters. I’ll warn you, it usually takes the anesthesiologist about thirty minutes to arrive, so if you decide that you want one, there will be some lead time.”
“Thanks Mary,” I say, putting my legs back down. “I’m waiting for my husband to call. I’ll keep your warning in mind.”
She opens the door, motioning for Brad to come back in. The poor guy looks a little green. He did tell me when I hired him that he didn’t do vaginas.
Mary, Brad and I begin chatting about the game, and she asks questions about what it was like to be there, live, watching it, while she wraps a piece of elastic around my gigantic stomach that has a round sensor attached to it.
She sits down on a rolling stool and begins to monitor my contractions and the baby’s heart rate. Brad regales her with stories as only Brad can about our time in Miami. It’s a nice distraction from my worries and the pain. My husband still has no clue that I’m no longer sitting on the balcony watching the festivities.
As my mind begins to question my decision to not tell Colin I’m in labor, Mary warns me, “You’re about to have another contraction.”
And boy, do I. Brad grabs my hand, letting me tightly squeeze it, helping me work through it. As I relax, he says, “You’re doing fabulous, Caroline. I mean you’ve got a bowling ball trying to exit your vagina, and look how brave you are.”
So they’re not the most relaxing words, but for Brad, this is him really trying. Instead of pointing out the crassness of his statement, I mumble a polite, “Thank you. I think.”