Each time a contraction grips me I roll into a tight ball, and squeeze the railing of the bed. I use the breathing techniques that they taught us in medical school. I can do this.
I. Can. Do. This.
I’m half aware that Doctor Starr is checking me. I have no idea what she said, and then she smiled and left. That’s positive, in my book.
Brad says from some far-off place, sounding like he’s in a tunnel, “Colin’s in the hospital. He’ll be here in just a few seconds, and Jenny’s warned me that I need to get lost.” He brushes a kiss on my cheek, which I barely feel. “I love you, honey. Be strong.”
It registers just barely that Colin just called me. Wasn’t he still in downtown? It took us about an hour to get to the hospital. Now, he’s at the hospital? Either I’ve lost time, or Brad and Jenny kept Colin from speaking to me. Don’t know. Don’t care. Nirvana. Happy place. Mother Nature doing her job. And all that happy shit I read about in my pregnancy books.
When the door opens, I expect to see my psychotic husband, but instead it’s Doctor Starr again. Wasn’t she just here?
She rolls me on my back, and spreads my legs and bends my knees for me. I think that she’s explaining what she’s about to do, but I’m not listening because all I can hear is the roar of my own blood, and blissing out on whatever fantastic hormones have taken control of my body.
As she’s removing her hand from between my legs, the door to the hospital room flies open and my gigantic, crazed husband fills the doorway, looking like an axe murder from some horror flick minus the axe, of course. His hair is a mess of curls from him running his hands through it. His eyes are bugging out of his head, and his mouth is gaping open as if he’s about to say something or just finished.
His appearance makes me want to laugh, but not because he looks funny. No, it’s more the nervous or inappropriate laugh one has during funerals. I wonder briefly if he’s going to yell “Here’s Johnny!” I bite the inside of my lip until I taste blood to keep my laughter at bay.
He pauses just long enough to see that I’m okay—there’s no baby— and that Doctor Starr is here. He walks to the left-hand side of the bed and stands there, staring down at me as if he doesn’t know if he should scream at me or kiss me.
Doctor Starr breaks his glare when she announces, “You’re nine centimeters, Caroline. You’re progressing. No time for an epidural now. I’m going to get ready. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
Another contraction grips me, and I roll back over on my side and resume the fetal position. Colin’s talking to me, but I don’t process what he’s saying. As the contraction loosens, I finally hear his words. He’s repeating, “My brave beautiful girl,” over and over again.
I’ve been silent the whole time through my labor. It’s as if I had to be strong for Colin and me. Now that he’s here, I can have this baby. Relief washes over me, and I grasp for him as if I’m drowning.
He takes my hand in his, and brings it up to his mouth. He dots the underside of my wrist with kisses, and nips that flood me with serenity. Then, he kisses my wedding ring, and stares deeply into my eyes. “You’ve got this, Charlie. I’m right here, standing by your side. Let’s meet our baby.”
“I love you,” I whisper as I roll out of the fetal position and onto my hands and knees. I hear the scream registering in my own ears as another contraction constricts my body, and my back bows up like a cat. The gown that I have on is no longer providing modesty, and I feel like it’s choking me around my neck, so I grab for it and give it a yank. Finally, I feel like I can take a breath.
Colin carefully removes it from each arm, and then uses it to wipe the sweat off of my face. He holds my hair back away from my clammy cheeks and places his other hand on my back for support.
Another contraction tears through me. When my yells subside, he mops my face again, now using a white towel that materialized from somewhere. At some point, he braids my hair down my back. I know, because I feel the comforting touch of both of his hands on me, and my hair is no longer matted against my sweaty cheeks and forehead.
From somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hear him bark, “Get her a goddamn epidural, or something for her pain!” He sounds agitated, mixed with terror, but I don’t have time to dwell on his emotions as another contraction contorts my body.
Doctor Starr enters my peripheral vision, saying something to Colin. The contractions are on top of each other without giving me a chance to recover. I feel as if my body is going to rip apart. The logical side of my brain has shut off, and the knowledge of the thousands of years of women birthing children ingrained in my DNA takes over.