Chapter 27
Avery
I’ve been pregnant for so long it’s hard to remember not being pregnant.
The months have dragged by, but the babies could come any day. Any minute, really, based on how I feel. My mates have gotten extremely attentive over the last couple of months. As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve needed them. Carrying triplets for nearly nine months is exhausting.
“Erik!” I cry out, grabbing my stomach and trying to get up from the couch. “My water just broke!”
“We’re ready, mate!” Erik says. “Ivar, help her up. Sigurd, get her hospital bag. I’ll start the car and pull it up close to the porch.”
I’m more grateful for my mates than ever before.
I’m not sure I could get off this couch on my own, much less get myself to the hospital.
Luckily, I don’t have to worry about that.
They dash around the room like they’ve been training for this their whole lives.
They haven’t, but Erik has made them run through this plan at least a dozen times.
Before I can get my composure, Ivar pulls me to my feet.
Sigurd dashes past us with my bag. Ivar helps me outside, and the car is already idling by the porch.
Sigurd and Ivar both help me down the steps and into the backseat.
Sigurd rides shotgun. Ivar hops in the back with me, holding my hand as we pull away from the farm.
“You’re going to be fine, Avery,” Ivar murmurs. “Nothing to worry about. We got you.”
I try to relax, but it’s hard, because the babies don’t seem to want to wait. I feel one moving around and then the contractions begin. The pain causes me to squeeze Ivar’s hand, my eyes getting wide with concern.
“Oh, no,” I groan, holding my stomach. “The books said it should take hours for the contractions to begin after my water broke. They’re starting already!”
“We’ll get to the hospital in time,” Erik says calmly, the car accelerating until everything we pass is a blur.
I struggle with early labor pain. Ivar tries to keep me relaxed. Sigurd constantly turns around to check on me, offering soothing words and gentle touches. Erik just drives, eyes never leaving the road except for the occasional glance in the rearview mirror.
“Another one,” I whimper, leaning against Ivar. “How many minutes was that?”
Ivar checks his watch. “Ten minutes, mate.”
“Okay, they’re not coming immediately,” I say. “Hopefully that means we’ll get to the hospital before it’s too late.”
Being ready to pop with three babies must be moving things along.
I read a lot of books about pregnancy and childbirth.
There was a mention of this happening with the first baby, or with twins, but nothing about triplets.
They seem to be rather uncommon on this world, similar to how often they were born on Earth before fertility treatments raised the chances.
Either way, it won’t be a lengthy labor. I hope that means it will be an easy delivery. Some of the books left me more afraid than excited about giving birth. There’s a lot of risk for me, and in this era of technology, they may not be able to save me if something goes wrong.
“Just breathe, mate,” Sigurd encourages. “Remember those exercises you practiced.”
“That was a lot easier when I wasn’t having contractions,” I groan, trying to mimic the breathing exercises. I had Sigurd help me with them a few times. “Okay, that’s better… I think.”
Erik keeps the pedal down the entire way, and we skid a few times once we get to the city, but we finally make it to the front of New Egypt General Hospital.
My mates get out of the car first, and by the time Ivar opens the back door, Sigurd has a wheelchair waiting.
I imagined myself walking into the hospital, but considering how I feel now, I’ll happily take a ride.
“We got you, Avery. Just breathe,” Ivar soothes as they help me into the wheelchair.
Erik pushes the wheelchair. I clamp down on Ivar’s and Sigurd’s hands because I’m starting to get nervous now.
Based on Erik’s research, they won’t be allowed in the room with me.
In this era, women faced childbirth alone…
well, alone with the doctors and nurses.
I’ll be sedated. Another thing I wasn’t sure about that I’m glad will be provided once I’m settled in a room.
I’m already hurting more than I expected.
Erik pushes me to the front desk, then runs around to talk to the nurse.
“Avery Smith. She is my wife. I made arrangements with Dr. Grant,” Erik says hurriedly.
It’s the first time Erik has called me his wife. First time any of them have. We’re not married yet, but we will be, once we get to Midgard. I’ll wed all three of them.
“Dr. Grant… Dr. Grant…” she repeats as she looks over some paperwork. “Yes, I have you right here, Mr. Smith. I’ll call for a nurse. You can wait in the waiting room with…” she glances at Ivar and Sigurd.
“My brothers,” Erik answers.
“Right, okay, the waiting room is over there.” She gestures toward a smoke-filled room where I can see several other expectant fathers pacing.
Erik turns to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. “We’ll be right out here, mate. Dr. Grant will take good care of you.”
I start to say something, but a contraction silences me, so all I can do is breathe and nod. A nurse walks over to the desk and starts pushing my wheelchair. I look back at my mates, already missing them, already wishing they could be with me.
Maybe a natural birth would have been better. Safe at the farm. All three of them surrounding me so we can welcome our children into the world. But that’s not realistic. There’s risk. Giving birth to triplets in the 1950s would have been concerning on Earth. Some mothers didn’t survive it.
But I will. I have to. My mates would look after our children if something happened to me, but I can’t abandon three newborns who need their mother.
“How far apart are your contractions now?” the nurse asks as she wheels me into the delivery room.
“Ten minutes or so,” I mutter, grabbing my stomach. “No, much closer now.”
“Sounds like those babies are ready to see the world,” the nurse says kindly. “Triplets are rare. It’s been at least five years since any have been born in this hospital. You’re practically a VIP.”
Some other nurses come into the room. They help me get undressed and I put on my gown.
Then they help me into the bed and ensure I’m comfortable.
When the nurse adjusts the bed and stirrups rise from the bottom, I feel a twinge of nervousness, remembering the examination I got from Dr. Grix.
But this is a hospital, not an alien spaceship.
“I’m going to administer your Twilight Sleep,” a nurse tells me. “First, I need to start an IV. You’ll feel a prick.”
The prick barely registers. I read up on Twilight Sleep.
It’s how they do deliveries here. They use a low dose so I can still participate in the delivery.
It’s strong pain medication. I’ll be loopy, but conscious.
It won’t dampen all the pain, but it’ll make me not care as much.
At least I hope so, because right now, I feel everything.
“How’s the patient?” Dr. Grant asks as he steps into the room.
“I just started the IV,” the nurse next to me says.
“Okay, let’s get her in the restraints to be safe,” Dr. Grant says.
I try to protest, but the drugs are already in my system.
This is supposed to be for my safety. I was hoping to avoid them, but I don’t have the strength to fight.
Luckily, the restraints here aren’t metal bars that bite into my skin.
They’re soft padded leather cuffs that go on my wrists and ankles.
“Wow, how long ago did her water break? She’s almost fully dilated,” Dr. Grant says as he takes his seat between my legs.
The nurses respond, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I feel peaceful, content, and almost like I’m in a dream. Except my next contraction makes me cry out, even though I can’t verbalize anything that makes sense.
“Okay, Avery,” the doctor says. “I want you to push.”
The drugs barely numb it. It feels like I’m being ripped apart when I push, and my scream echoes in the room.
A nurse is on each side of me, rubbing my arms, saying things that are encouraging.
But I can’t understand them. All I can understand is that there are three babies who are now desperate to escape my womb.
It feels like a push for hours before I finally hear a baby crying. There’s a moment of relief, but as the nurse takes the newborn, I realize my relief isn’t going to last because there’s another baby on the way.
“Oh, god,” I groan.
“Yes, Morlock is always present with us,” the doctor says. “He watches over new mothers.”
“You’re doing so well,” the nurse on my right says.
“Time to push again,” the doctor urges.
I’m now a mother. A mother to a baby that the nurse is cleaning up. I look over, hoping to see a glimpse of my baby, but stabbing pain makes me concentrate on pushing. I don’t know if I’ve already had a boy or girl. Or what the next two will be.
I’m a little concerned about the boys, if I have any.
My mates said Fenrir’s Mark will be faint.
Nearly invisible to anyone who doesn’t know to look for it.
But that still doesn’t help the worry. I don’t want the doctors or nurses to think there’s something wrong with my babies, just because they’ve been marked by the gods.
“Ah! Oh, it hurts!” I bawl, pushing desperately.
“Almost there, just a little more,” the doctor says encouragingly.
I push with everything I have until another cry breaks my concentration. The second baby has arrived. A nurse collects it immediately and carries it over to where the first one is. At least neither of them will be lonely. They’ve got each other, until I can hold them in my arms.
“She’s losing a lot of blood. We need to hurry,” the doctor says, and I detect worry in his tone. “Avery, I need you to push. Give it everything you can.”
I don’t feel like I’m losing blood. All I feel is pain. It feels like I’ve been ripped apart, and pieces of me are just hanging off the bone, but I’m sure that’s the drugs. I squeeze my eyes shut and scream as I push. I give it everything I have, but I don’t hear a cry.
“Again, Avery,” the doctor says. “You’re getting weaker and they’re not as effective. Nurse, hand me the forceps.”
I push again, and it feels like I’m doing everything I can to push this baby out of me, but the doctor still seems concerned. He asks me to push several more times, and I get so weak I’m barely conscious.
“I’m going to guide the baby out,” the doctor says.
I pull at my restraints. I thrash some from the pain. I’m practically delirious by the time I feel an immense relief, but I don’t hear my baby cry.
“The infant is narcotized!” the doctor yells. “Clear the airway! Check the cord!”
I try to sit up, worried about my baby, but I can’t move.
The drugs are fully working now, and I’m not sure if I’m dreaming or part of reality.
Through blurry vision, I can see the doctor and nurses working on my baby.
I say a silent prayer to any god that may be listening and a few seconds later, I hear a cry.
“She’s okay!” the doctor says, handing the baby to the nurse. “Let’s take care of Mrs. Smith.”
I get weaker. Am I losing blood? My vision tunnels. I can feel the doctor doing something, but I’m not sure what it is. I turn my head and see all three of my babies. The third one is being cleaned up, and once she is, the nurse walks over.
“Congratulations, Avery. Two healthy little girls and one healthy boy,” she says. “They’ll need care, because they’re triplets. The girls are a little small, but the boy has a strong set of lungs.”
“I want to hold them,” I whisper, but I can’t even move my arms.
“Soon. Right now, you just need to rest,” she says soothingly.
I can see my babies. Not their faces, but at least enough to know they’re moving. That’s the best I can do right now. I try to reach for them, but I’m too limp to pull at my restraints, much less take one of my children.
I’m still trying to reach for my babies when I lose consciousness.