Page 118 of Demo
I knew the moment he fell asleep. I sensed it the way I imagine you can sense someone taking their last breath. Then I laid there—uncomfortable, heartbroken, yet, somehow, happy.
Chapter 33
LYZBETH
“So,don’tmakefunof me for having no idea how this works, but why are you not screaming in pain right now?” I ask Emily as I merge onto the highway and flip the turn signal to move into a faster lane.
“The contractions haven’t started yet. My water broke. You saw that—”
“Yep. It was gross.”
“Oh, you have no idea how gross it’s about to get. Anyway, that can happen way before your body goes into active labor. But, actually, as we speak, I kinda feel like maybe I’m getting a little one.” She lets out a slow breath.
By the time we reach the hospital, she is confident her contractions are starting, although they are “few and far between,” whatever that indicates. I go to get her a wheelchair, but she waves me off and opts to walk.
Apparently you don’t go to the regular emergency room when you’re having a baby, you go to the labor unit. When we get there, a cute little thing in pink scrubs and yellow hair in a bouncy ponytail looks up and says, “Hi there, how can I help you?”
I can’t help myself. “We’re here for a pedicure,” I say, because, seriously, what the fuck?
Emily bursts into laughter, then suddenly doubles over and clenches her stomach. “Ah!”
“What?” I bark.
“Contraction. Big one.” She blows out another breath.
“I thought you said they werefew and far between.”
“Yeah, well, they’re getting stronger. That’s what happens.”
Another nurse, or doctor, or tech—whoever—comes out with a wheelchair, which this time Emily accepts, and we head back to a triage area where they get her information and start hooking her up to monitors. All the while Emily is in more and more pain.
“Isn’t there some sort of shot you get, like, in your back, or something? To stop the pain?” I ask from the corner of the curtained-in “room,” biting my nails.
“Yes. Epidural,” Emily grunts through her teeth. She’s now in the bed, knees up to the sides of her chest as a doctor is elbow deep in her vagina. “I’d like one of those, please,” she pants.
“Um, I’m sorry to tell you this, ma’am,” the female physician tells her. “But I think you’re having precipitous labor.”
“Go fuck yourself!” Emily spits as she groans and arches her back.
“What the hell does that mean?” I ask.
The doctor chuckles. “It means the baby is coming now and there’s no point in getting the anesthesiologist down here because the show will be over before then anyway.”
“Wait, the father isn’t here yet!” I yell. “Emily, Bram isn’t here!”
“Yeah, the thing is, babies kinda come on their own time,” the doctor says.
Emily is doing thehe-he-hoobreathing I’ve seen in movies, and the doctor is repositioning Emily’s legs.
Emily reaches for me, and even though I want to run—even though I want to puke, and hide, and plug up her freaking vagina and tell that little hellion to wait until its father gets here, I walk over and take her hand. “I’m here,” I say. “I’m here.”
“OK, Emily. It’s time to push,” the doctor says. And another woman in scrubs stands next to me and holds her leg up as Emily lurches into a half sit-up position and groans out a loud noise, squeezing my hand as she does. “Ohhhh, shitttt!” she lets out.
“That’s good. You’re doing great,” the doctor says. “Again.”
And she does. Emily does it again. She does it again and again as the minutes seem to drag on. I feel my phone vibrating in my pocket, but I don’t dare let go of Emily’s hand to answer it.
“I can’t,” she finally relents as the doctor tells her to relax for a minute. “I can’t do this,” she cries.
