17. Mahasin #2
“I should fire your ass right now,” I laughed. “If you knew staff like you knew them rap songs, you’d be running this whole hospital by now. Dr. Mathers is Elle, hoe.”
“Oh damn. I ain’t know her mean ass had a last name. She always just gives folks them hard-ass handshakes and goes ‘Elle,’ when they ask her name.”
We laughed in unison.
Shortly after that, Elle sauntered through, looking as youthful as ever, with Krista and Tiana right on her heels. She picked up my chart, called me “Dr. St. James,” and ran down all the formalities. Protocol.
“Off the record?” she asked, looking around the room.
Everyone said yes as she leaned in like we were in some imaginary huddle.
“Bitch, why are you sitting up here trying to look pretty through this pain? You're going to have more forehead wrinkles than a baby bulldog. How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Like I shouldn’t have busted it open for a real nigga,” I responded, sending the room into fits of laughter.
“Let’s check dilation,” she said as she washed her hands and gloved up. Getting into position, I took deep breaths as she examined my cervix.
“Well, labor is active. You are 7 cm dilated, so what do you say, superwoman? You want the epidural? At your progressive rate, you’d have to decide now,” she explained.
“We still off the record?” I asked.
“Yup,” they all agreed, with their messy asses.
“Asking me that is like asking, do I want candied yams with my baked mac and cheese. Bitch, yes—I want an epidural.”
Everyone cracked up.
I’m so glad this was my birth environment. It helped take my mind off the labor pains and the hurt I felt from not receiving a call back from Gage.
“I’m way ahead of you. Already got the consent forms being drawn up,” Elle smiled.
“Which anesthesiologists are present tonight?” I asked.
“Sanders, Lee, or Flores,” Krista said.
“Flores,” I responded, sending the request as if I were ordering an appetizer.
Krista nodded as both she and Tiana followed Elle out of the room.
Pain built again, twisting my body as if I were a rag being wrung dry.
I closed my eyes and gripped the bed rail, hurting my hand in the process from squeezing so tightly.
Each time I breathed through a contraction, another waited close behind.
“Flores better bring his ass on,” I said sharply.
“He’s coming, no worries. You know, don’t nobody in this hospital want problems with you, ‘cause then they're gonna have to see that mama of yours—shit got me scared just thinking about the hell she’d raise if she found out her bratty-ass daughter had to wait,” Amber said, side-eyeing me.
I caught that stray her ass threw. “Shut up,” I smirked.
Everything went quiet for a few—even the pain.
“What if he doesn’t make it, Ambs? What if all the promises he made were just him blowing smoke?” I asked, facing the opposite direction from my best friend. I didn’t want her to see the tears that slid down my face.
“Then we put his rich ass on child support, tarnish his name through the media, whoop his ass every chance we get, and raise that little girl to be better than all three of us put together,” she said confidently.
I was silent.
“Aye,” she said, causing me to turn towards her. She extended her fist. “To infinity and beyond, cowgirl?” she asked, lips pursed, waiting for my answer.
“I got a friend in you, bitch?” I responded.
“Don’t get any better than this,” she grinned, eyes wide.
Connecting my fist with hers, I let a few tears fall. “To infinity and beyond, space ranger.”
For a split second, I stared at her, really stared.
My best friend. My rider. The same girl who threw a metal lunchbox at a Velcro sneaker–wearing bully trying to cut off my long braided ponytail in the sixth grade.
Amber showed up for me like a damn superhero that day—and from that moment on, we’d been inseparable.
The love we shared was rare. Always pure. Never rooted in competition, only collectiveness. If one of us won, we both did. That was always the goal.
And in this moment—me on the verge of becoming a mother—I couldn’t imagine anyone else by my side, yelling and cussing people out, cracking jokes, or holding my hand tighter than Amber could.
She was the friend I didn’t know I needed but always thanked God for.
The godmother I knew would love my child like her own.
I couldn’t have asked for better.
“Alright, Dr. St. James,” Dr. Flores said, interrupting our moment. “Let’s get you comfortable.”
“I’ll be right outside,” Amber assured me.
I signed the required documents as Krista and Tiana prepared me for the procedure.
Tiana held me tightly from the front, making sure I didn’t move as Flores inserted the needle into my lower back.
A brief, electric-like sensation traveled through my body.
The procedure was more uncomfortable than painful.
“Job well done, Dr. St. James. It’s easy street from here out,” Dr. Flores assured me as Krista and Megan made me as comfortable as possible in the bed.
The pain vanished, and I knew sleep was going to kidnap me soon.
Almost thirty minutes later, Amber came back into the room with a bag full of food. She pulled out a tray that contained fried catfish and French fries. It smelled divine.
“Here I am getting a procedure that, one wrong move, could cause paralysis—and your ass goes to the restaurant across the street to get food?” I asked.
“Bitch, hell yeah. I ain’t the one got knocked up, why I gotta be hungry while I wait for my niece to slide out your fast-ass vagina?”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“You want to try Gage before you doze off?” she asked.
I nodded, not feeling confident enough for words. Unlocking my phone, I handed it to her.
“Please,” I asked, because she gave me the look silently asking if I was sure I wanted her to handle it.
She dialed, put the call on speakerphone, and by the third ring, I was sure this was a lost cause.
Then the ringing stopped. “Hello?” A rough, sleepy voice came through.
“Well, hello. If it isn’t Mr. Texture-Conscious himself.
Why didn’t your ugly ass answer the phone the first couple of times we called you?
” Amber dug in his ass as soon as he answered.
I put Gage up on Amber’s personality a few months ago—told him that if she ever called him dumb, ugly, or anything that confuses you on whether she’s joking or being disrespectful, it’s all out of love.
That girl has called me a Polly Pocket ass hoe so many times, I started to believe it.
Mind you, I had no idea what that shit was.
All I could do was shake my head. Sleep was coming down on me fast. The epidural had really eased my pain, and my body wanted rest after all the trauma it had been going through.
“Amber?” I heard Gage’s sleepy voice question.
“Well, it ain’t Santa Claus. You couldn’t answer your phone ‘cause you with your Ho Ho Ho,” she continued her tongue-lashing.
Gage sucked his teeth. “Even with the Wi-Fi, my reception is hit or miss in the cabin. Where’s Mahasin? Everything okay?” I could hear him tussling, as if reality struck that this could be an emergency.
“I’ll let her tell you. And before I give her the phone, I’m warning you—you better say the right thing, because if not, I’m kicking yours and Rudolph’s ass,” she threatened.
“Her hair is red, not her nose, Amber,” Gage corrected.
“That shit gonna be broke if y’all piss me off,” she responded, then handed me the phone.
“Gage?” My voice cracked halfway through his name.
“Doll… Mahasin? What’s wrong? You, okay? Is the baby okay?” I heard the urgency in his voice.
“Nothing is wrong. Your daughter has decided to be impatient. My water broke, I’m at the hospital, and I’ve already had the epidural. It all went well, and I just wanted to—”
He cut me off; his tone was both frantic and stern.
“I’m on my way.”