Chapter 20
Chapter twenty
“Ican’t be labor.”
It’s the fourth time I’ve said it since we started for the hospital in Buckholt. After my waters broke, Josh was adamant that we head straight there.
“It’s an hour to Buckholt, Abby, and your last labor was only two. We don’t have time to waste.”
“But I’m not due for three weeks!” I cried. “And my babies are always late.”
“Not this one, it seems,” Josh replied, remarkably cheerful about it all. He’s always been good in a crisis. I, panicker that I am, have not been.
I stared at him in growing alarm. “But I’m not ready.”
“Well, this little one is.”
Alerted by the noise—that is, my near-shrieking—the kids trailed back into the kitchen, looking only mildly curious.
“What’s going on?” William asked.
“Mom, are you okay?” Jack was surprisingly solicitous. He must have seen the look of panic on my face, or maybe he noticed my soaked skirt.
“Your mother is in labor,” Josh announced. “We need to head to the hospital. William, you’re in charge, okay? We’ll keep you updated by text.”
All three of my children’s mouths dropped open. Even though the arrival of this child has been relatively imminent for some time, it is still coming as a shock to us all. A baby. There really is going to be a baby.
“I can’t be in labor,” I say yet again as Josh drives north. We’ve been in the car for twenty minutes, and the twinges are coming steadily. They’re contractions, I know they are, but I still can’t believe it.
“Abby, why is this so hard to believe?” Josh asks, a lilt of humor in his voice. “You’re eight and a half months pregnant—”
“Eight and one week,” I correct him. “And I’ve never been early.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation several times already in just the last fifteen minutes. There’s a first time for everything.”
I rest one hand on my bump and stare out the window. It’s past midnight, the roads are empty, the sky inky dark. I can’t believe I’m in labor. It’s the only thought running through my mind like ticker tape. In a few hours—maybe less—I’m going to give birth. I’m going to have a baby.
I am both thrilled and terrified all at once.
I was counting on the next three weeks to get so much done around the homestead.
We have more glampers coming in a week, the garden is at peak production, and I’m going to be completely AWOL for who knows how long.
The nursery is still in process, I haven’t bought any diapers, and emotionally, I’m just not there yet. I really thought I had more time.
Josh reaches over and squeezes my hand. “It’s going to be okay,” he tells me gently, a promise I know he believes he can make. And I can choose to believe him.
“Okay,” I say and squeeze back.
By the time we get to Buckholt, my contractions are coming every couple of minutes, and they’re starting to hurt. Twinges, they are not.
Josh had the foresight to call my OB, Dr. Bradley, before we left, and we meet her at the nurse’s desk in the maternity ward. She is cheerful and fresh-faced, even though it’s almost one o’clock in the morning. I am clutching my belly and trying not to groan out loud.
“Looks like things are progressing,” she chirps as she guides me to a room. “Why don’t you change into a hospital gown, then we’ll get you checked over?”
I feel weirdly numb, still unable to believe this is happening, as I fumble out of my clothes and into the hospital gown, the only item of apparel I know that makes you feel less than naked.
A few minutes later, she announces I’m already at six centimeters, and our baby will probably be here within the hour. Strangely, this news settles me. I can no longer pretend this isn’t happening, especially as the contractions are taking my breath away.
“Can we talk pain relief?” I gasp out between them.
Dr. Bradley purses her lips. “I’m afraid you’re too far along for an epidural, but we can consider an inject of Stadol or Demerol. But it takes about twenty minutes to come into effect, and you might be mostly there by then.”
Great. I close my eyes and try to breathe. I had an epidural with Bethany, which I didn’t enjoy, and William, Jack, and Rose were all natural births. I was hoping to do this the pain-free way, but it looks like that’s not possible.
“You’ve done it before without meds, Abs,” Josh says encouragingly. “You can do it again, I know you can.”
I open my eyes to glare at my husband. “You have no idea what I can or cannot do,” I practically spit.
“You have no idea what it feels like to have your body literally split open so another human being can slither out!” My voice rises in a shout as I prop myself up on my elbows to give him the full force of my fury. “Why are you even talking?”
“Sorry,” Josh murmurs. He looks unfazed; this kind of outburst might have happened in previous labors, and he knows how to weather the storm.
“I think you might be in transition already,” Dr. Bradley announces.
Josh shakes his head sorrowfully. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet!” I snap at him.
“Because that’s all you’re doing—seeing!
Watching, like some casual, uninterested observer, because this has no bearing on you whatsoever.
You can’t even feel a flicker of pain. Men!
” My voice is filled with disgust. “They so could not handle even a second of childbirth.”
“That’s true,” Josh agrees before I shush him, and he falls silent.
Another contraction comes over me like a ton of bricks. I feel like my body is being wrenched apart. Was it always this painful? Did it always last this long? I throw my head back against the pillow as I grit my teeth and stare at the ceiling.
“Breathe, Abby,” Dr. Bradley says. “Don’t forget to breathe.”
I feel like headbutting her. “I am breathing,” I manage, my teeth still gritted. But I know she’s right, so I try to take some deep breaths that are actually very shallow.
Dr. Bradley checks me again. “Baby’s head is almost crowning!” she exclaims before turning to Josh. “I knew she was in transition. You’re almost there, Abby, just a few more seconds, then you can start to push.”
A capable nurse whose name I don’t know and who has been silent this whole time moves forward with a sterile pad that she places beneath me.
I am long past caring what I look like, although some small conscious part of me thinks I must resemble a hippo or an elephant, some ungainly animals, my legs splayed out for all to see.
Oh, the indignities of childbirth. And yet it’s meant to be a miracle.
Then I’m pushing, grunting and straining while Josh holds my hands and murmurs encouragements I barely hear. I am conscious of nothing but the sense of my body inside-outing itself—at least that’s what it feels like.
Then our daughter is here, sliding into the world, red-faced, fists clenched. The nurse wraps her in a blanket and places her on my chest, and I gaze down into her deep blue eyes, amazed.
Dr. Bradley offers to let Josh cut the umbilical cord while I hold our daughter. We’re both laughing and crying at the same time, and I press my nose gently to hers.
“We haven’t even talked about names yet.”
Josh smiles down at me, teary-eyed, as he smooths the damp hair from my forehead. “I guess we’d better start.”
“We’re just going to have a quick look at baby,” Dr. Bradley says rather abruptly.
I’m surprised because it’s only been a few minutes, but I hand over my daughter obediently.
I expect her to check her Apgar score and weigh her right there in the room, but she takes her out into the hallway, and I feel a tiny twitch of unease.
“What do you think is going on?” I ask Josh.
He shrugs. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Maybe they just need to weigh her or something or give her a special checkup because she was so early.” He smiles down at me in reassurance. “She’s beautiful, Abby, so beautiful.”
I want so desperately to be appeased, but I’m not. Something feels wrong, but I have no idea what it is. “But there’s a scale right there.” I point to the side of the room. “They didn’t do that with the other kids, did they? Take them out like that, so quickly?”
“Abby…” Josh’s voice is gentle. “I really don’t think there’s any need to worry. She looked fine. Healthy. A little small, maybe, I’m guessing five pounds? But she took a breath, she cried, she was a good color, all that stuff.”
I shake my head. “It just seems weird.”
“I really don’t think it’s weird,” Josh tells me firmly before he adds, “But if you want, I’ll go out and ask, okay? See what’s going on. Do you want me to do that?”
I nod jerkily. I don’t know why I feel so afraid; maybe it’s just because I can be such a panicker. “Yes, if you don’t mind.”
He nods. “I’ll call William, too. Everything happened so fast, I haven’t given the kids any updates.”
With one last reassuring smile, Josh slips out of the room.
Alone, I take a deep breath and try to calm myself. My heart is beating wildly, and it’s not from the exertion of labor. You’re overreacting, I tell myself sternly. That’s all this is, your classic overreaction.
Minutes tick by, too many minutes. I want my daughter back.
I want to look at her, gaze into her face, and memorize her features.
I want to feel the tiny yet pleasingly solid weight of her in my arms. I want to hear her snuffles and sighs.
And shouldn’t I be feeding her? Nursing skin-to-skin is supposed to be so important in those first few moments of life.
Where is everyone?
Finally, Josh comes back into the room. From the look on his face, I know instantly that something is wrong. Deeply wrong, just as I feared. His expression is grave, his face pale, his eyes dark and wide.
“Josh…” My voice wobbles. “What is it?”
“Abby…” He comes to sit next to me, holding my hand.
My mouth is dry, and my heart feels as if it is beating out of my chest.
“They think… they think the baby might have Down Syndrome.”