Chapter 34
Abby
The Birth
“What are we at now?”
“This last one was forty five seconds long, seven minutes after the previous,” Ellie mutters, checking her watch against the timer on her phone and jotting the data down on the notepad in front of her on the kitchen table.
I exhale slowly through my mouth, forcing my breathing to remain steady as I pace back and forth, grounded by the cool tile under my feet.
I woke up this morning to a dull ache in my lower back, which was soon accompanied by what feels like period cramps.
Assuming they were more Braxton Hicks, I called Ellie to come over so we could go for a walk.
As the day went on, the cramps kept coming, and no amount of walking or resting or changing positions did anything to alleviate them. After several hours of denial, I finally conceded the reality of the situation.
At thirty nine weeks and five days pregnant, the abstract “L” word is officially here–Labor.
“Okay,” I say in a strained voice. “Okay. So we aren’t there yet. That’s fine. No need to panic.”
“No panicking over here, my sweet ginger angel,” Ellie says reassuringly. “I am laser focused.” She pauses, then adds, “Should we maybe start calling people? Your dad, Alan and Andrea?”
“Not yet, please,” I plead. “I want to wait. I don’t want to call anyone until I know for sure.”
“I think it’s safe to say you are for sure in labor, Abs.”
“I want to wait,” I reiterate firmly. “Until we’ve hit 5-1-1, I don’t want to call anyone. Just…just let me focus, okay?”
She nods, checking her watch again when I inhale sharply at the beginning of another cramp.
Contraction, Abigail. They aren’t cramps. Calling them something else doesn’t make them less real.
“Okay that was five minutes, and sixty seconds long,” she says nervously, diligently recording the latest time. “We’ve got the five, and the first of the ones. So now we just see if this keeps up for another hour?”
“Mhmm,” I hum, my lips pressed together tightly as the pain from the latest contraction recedes.
“And then you let me call people?”
“And then you drive me to the hospital,” I say. “And then I let you call people.”
“Is there anything I can do for you? I feel absolutely useless,” she says anxiously. “Is this what boys feel like all the time?”
“No,” I chuckle. “They aren’t burdened by the knowledge that they’re useless. It must be so peaceful.”
“I’m so glad you’re having a girl,” she sighs.
I laugh loudly, but my laugh is cut off by a sharp pain in my pelvis.
“Fuck me, they’re definitely getting worse every time,” I whine. “Was that five minutes?”
“A little under,” she mumbles, resetting the stop watch on her phone. “But it was still around a minute. I guess the countdown starts now.”
The next hour goes by both painfully slowly and alarmingly quickly.
Before I know it, Ellie is loading me into the car while Griffin loads the carseat and my hospital bag.
The drive to the hospital feels like something out of a movie–I feel disconnected, like I’m not an active participant in what is very much the most monumental moment of my life.
I felt the same way at Aaron’s funeral.
Everything from the moment we stepped out of the car to the moment I settled into my hospital bed is a blur.
Even if my life depended on it, I couldn’t tell you if it took twenty minutes or two hours, or how many people I spoke to, or whether I’m in an actual room or a broom closet.
And I mean this wholeheartedly–I do not give a fuck.
All I know right now is pain. Physical pain?
Absolutely, contractions are a bitch (they definitely undersold these, holy shit).
But in the moments of reprieve from the tangible pain in my body, unbearable, soul-deep pain is threatening to rip me to shreds, or to swallow me whole.
I would take either option at this point–any sense of relief would be welcome, no matter how catastrophic.
I’m vaguely aware of the people around me, and the information being talked at me like I’m supposed to know (or care) what any of it means.
My mind is an inescapable black hole, slowly collapsing in on itself as it destroys everything I’ve worked so hard to put back together over the last nine months.
Back pain. Aaron should be here. Needle prick. I can’t do this. Intense contraction. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Exhaustion. I wish he were here.
Let’s ignore the fact that there are two ‘he’s I’m thinking about.
I finally get some help in the form of an epidural. Once the numbing agent begins to work its magic, my whole body sags in relief. I unashamedly, unabashedly grab my nurse by the face and plant a big fat kiss on her forehead.
“What’s your name?” I ask, delirious with exhaustion and newfound relaxation. “I’m changing the baby’s name, I’m naming her after you.”
She chuckles, patting my hand comfortingly. “Keep your name, mom. The thank-you kiss was more than enough.”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I guess I got carried away.”
“If that’s the worst thing you do, you’ll be more well behaved than ninety nine percent of patients,” she says with a smile. “But the night is young. Who knows what else you’ll get up to.”
“I’d like to apologize in advance on behalf of future me,” I say solemnly. “I just know she’s going to be a real bitch.”
Now that I feel (mostly) back in my right mind, I give Ellie permission to allow a few visitors for a brief moment. Andrea comes in first, carrying a tattered old teddy bear and pulling a chair up to my bedside, squeezing my hand tightly.
“How are you honey?” she asks softly. “Besides the obvious.”
“Other than feeling like my body is trying to shove a basketball through a cheerio, I’m good,” I say, squeezing her hand in return. “What’s that?”
“This,” she says, setting the bear in my lap and stroking its fur gently.
“Is the teddy my mom brought to the hospital when I was in labor with Aaron. He loved this thing to pieces until he got too grown-up for teddy bears. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away, so I held onto it, in case he had any children of his own. ”
Her voice cracks on the last word, and I snuggle the bear tightly to my chest. “Thank you,” I whisper. “I promise I will take such good care of it.”
“I’m glad a little piece of him will be loved by a different piece of him,” she says thickly. “I just wish he were here to see it.”
“So do I,” I say, voice shaking from the effort of holding in my tears. “More than anything.”
“I’ll let you rest, my dear,” she says, leaning down to brush her lips against my cheek. “I just wanted to make sure you had that. You are going to do so well, Abby. I can’t wait to watch the mother you’ll become. Alan and I both love you very much.”
“I love you,” I say, waving goodbye as she leaves the room.
“Jesus,” Ellie mutters from the corner, dabbing at her eyes with her sweatshirt sleeve. “I didn’t think I could get any more emotional, but here we are.”
My dad and brother come in next, but luckily there are no more heavy moments with tears shed. Instead, we all laugh at the horrified expression on Nate’s face when the nurse comes in for a cervical check.
“I’m never having kids,” he says in a low voice. “I never want to see anything like that ever again.”
“First of all, you closed your eyes the whole time,” I point out. “Second, you wouldn’t be the one having the baby, you dweeb. You don’t have a cervix to check.”
“Don’t care,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not putting a girl through that. Childbirth is actually psychotic. Thank God I don’t have to stay here.”
“Get out of here then, you big baby,” I say, shooing him from the room. “You can come back when there’s an actual baby. Just don’t think too hard about how she got here.”
He looks pale and shaky as he leaves, Ellie, my dad, and me laughing him out of the room.
“You look good, Red,” my dad says, stroking my hair. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you, daddy,” I say, leaning into his touch. “Or I guess I should start calling you Pop-Pop now.”
With a wide grin, he unbuttons his shirt to reveal a t-shirt underneath, with the words Pop-Pop in bold letters across his chest.
“Two steps ahead of you, kiddo,” he beams. “Pop-Pop reporting for duty.”
“I love you, daddy,” I laugh, snapping a picture of him before he joins my brother back in the waiting room.
As time goes on, I can feel the pressure building in my pelvis, and sharp stabs of intermittent pain bring back the mild sense of panic in my chest.
“Is this normal?” I ask nervously the next time someone comes by for a cervical check. “That I can still feel pain even with the epidural?”
“It can happen,” the nurse says calmly, removing her latex gloves and depositing them in the hazardous materials bin. “Everyone responds to the medication differently. I can have the anaesthesiologist come check the placement and make any adjustments necessary.”
A few minutes later, he comes into the room to check the status, making a few adjustments until the pain is mostly gone. But that doesn’t stop the pressure from building, and right as I think I can’t take anymore, the doctor declares that it’s time to push.
“Okay mom, here we go,” she says brightly. “You’re at ten centimeters, and your contraction readings all point to game time. You’ll be holding your little one before you know it.”
The epidural may have numbed the pain, but it has done nothing to mitigate the feeling of pushing. You know what they don’t show in Grey’s Anatomy? How fucking long you push for.
An hour and a half later, I’m sweaty, exhausted, and feeling increasingly defeated.
“Why is this taking so long?” I pant after pushing through yet another contraction. “Am I doing it wrong?”
“No, sweetie, you’re doing fine,” the doctor soothes. “It can take a little longer with your first. Nothing is wrong, it’s just the unpredictability of childbirth. I promise I will let you know if you should be doing anything differently.”
An hour later, I have a full breakdown.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I sob, looking at Ellie desperately. “I can’t. Everything feels wrong. Aaron should be here, I should be better at this. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
“I know, my angel,” she says, brushing away the hair plastered to my sweaty forehead. “It shouldn’t be this way. I’m so sorry that it is. What can I do for you?”
“I love you so much, and I’m so glad you’re here,” I choke out. “But can you call him? I need him here, I shouldn’t have told him to go.”
“Oh, my love, I wish I could,” she says, voice breaking. “I wish more than anything that I could call him.”
“Why can’t you?” I ask, confused. “Is he mad at me? He said he’d always come if I called him.”
Her eyes widen as it dawns on her that I’m not talking about Aaron–I’m talking about the other ‘he.’ The ‘he’ who has been nothing but kind and supportive. The ‘he’ I regretted pushing away the second he walked out of the door.
“Okay, my sweet ginger angel,” she says softly. “I’ll be right back, I’ll call him right now.”
I collapse my head onto the pillow, covering my face with my hands and sobbing so violently I fear I might be sick with it. The doctor suggests we take a break for a few contractions, explaining the concept of laboring down and how it can be particularly helpful when you’ve had an epidural.
I can feel the pressure of the next couple contractions, but resist the urge to push. As much as I want Little One to be here, I can’t help but be thankful for the temporary relief. I try to lay as still as possible, focusing on my breathing.
A few moments later, Ellie is back in the room, holding my hand and stroking my face.
“He’s on his way,” she says. “He’ll be here any minute.”
A whimper bursts out of me, and for the first time tonight, I really feel like I might be okay.
Please get here soon.