Never Enough (The Enough Series Book 2)

by Taryn Steele

  Another hour with a couple of water gun games, a ferris wheel ride and one, two or maybe ten tasty treats and it’s time to go home.

  INDUCTION DAY IS TOMORROW and I’m completely terrified. I find myself sitting at the dining room table staring at my turkey sandwich I made for lunch and I can’t even eat it. When have you ever heard of an overdue pregnant chick that isn’t hungry? Never is the answer. For some unknown reason I weighed myself this morning and I lost three pounds. That makes a total of seven in the last month. I’m not complaining. I’ve gained enough weight throughout this pregnancy, seventy-two pounds to be exact. That is not a pretty sight on my short frame but it is what it is.

  I get up from the table, walk in to the kitchen and toss my uneaten sandwich in the garbage. I’m frustrated and I don’t know why. I feel as if I have no control over my emotions today. It’s not a feeling I’m comfortable with. I go in search of Jameson so we can go to the grocery store. We have a short list of items for the hospital stay.

  Less than half a mile away from our house we are at the local grocers walking aimlessly up and down the aisles. I had a plan and I’ve let my frustration get the better of me. Walking past the deli section I see packages of Lunch-Ables. I know they aren’t healthy but for a short hospital stay I think it is something Jameson would eat. It has cheese, crackers and meat. It’s not a large meal, and something small enough to fit in the tiny refrigerator in the hospital room. I grab two of them and put them in the shopping cart. I notice down a bit further individual packages of sugar free jello. I love strawberry jello. I grab four, two for each of us.

  “Hey. I went down aisle three for the hard candy and then you were gone,” Jameson tells me.

  “I was just trying to grab stuff.”

  “What’s this for?” He asks grabbing the Lunch-Ables out of the shopping cart.

  “I got them for you. I thought they were the perfect snack. You know, cheese, crackers, meat …”

  “I won’t eat these.” He tells me taking them out of the carriage to put back on the shelf.

  “What? Why not? They’re perfect and fit in the refrigerator in the room.” I tell him grabbing them back and tossing back in to the shopping cart.

  “I don’t want them Hillary! Put them back!”

  I’m not sure if it was because another part of my plan was squashed or the way he was shouting at me but I lost it.

  “God dammit!” I yell, turn my back on Jameson, the shopping cart and walk away. I walk with anger, frustration and determination to keep Jameson at a distance. I walk right out of the store. I realize now Jameson has the car keys in his pocket so I do the only the thing I can do, keep walking. I continue through the parking lot, on to the side street and face the insanely busy intersection.

  Oh fuck. I did not think this part through.

  I can’t back out now. How dumb would I look if I turned around? On the other hand how dumb do I look right now waddling across the busy turnpike? I approach the pole hoping to God there is a button for cross walk sign, even though I know there is no way I will make it across six lanes and a median in the short time they give you. Just as I’m about to check a car horn blazes at my back and I hear “Hillary, get in the fucking car right now!” I turn and see Jameson’s irate face. The veins are popping out all over his face and neck. He is gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are milk white. Watching the cars wiz by, I start to get nervous and realize how unrealistic my plan to cross the turnpike is. My ego is going to kill me but I get in the car.

  I’VE BEEN AWAKE FOR HOURS lying on my left side watching re-runs of My So Called Life on MTV. Jameson’s last words to me were ‘Hillary, get in the fucking car right now!’ He hasn’t spoken a word to me since. The only noise that was made was him punching the wall in the bathroom. Jameson has never been violent with me. He knows my past. He wouldn’t lay a hand on me but hearing that sound scared the shit out of me. I went upstairs and stayed there.

  He didn’t check on me.

  He didn’t ask to talk about it.

  He didn’t say goodnight.

  He didn’t do anything.

  When you can actually feel the pain inside your chest from something that broke your heart is the worst. When you know at least part of it is your own fault, that hurts the worst.

  I didn’t check on him.

  I didn’t ask him to talk about it.

  I didn’t say goodnight to him.

  I didn’t do anything.

  Our last night at home with just the two of us and we spent it apart. We’re both stubborn people. Neither of us made an effort. I can only hope that when we come face to face this morning, on this very special morning, we can put yesterday behind us and start fresh.

  As I make my way to the top of the stairs I don’t hear any noises. No movement, no television, no coffee brewing. Silence. I’ve made a habit lately of counting the steps in my head as I go down the stairs since I can’t exactly see them past my belly anymore. I round the landing and take the last four steps. I look straight ahead at the wall and see that it’s already seven o’clock. We need to haul ass, and I still need to take a shower. I have to at least attempt to shave since I have no idea how long it will be before I can do that again. I walk to my left in to the kitchen. No Jameson. Go through in to the bathroom. No Jameson. I walk back out and head towards the living room. With a small fleece blanket barely covering him, Jameson is softly snoring on the couch. I want to go to him. I want to lie down beside him, have him wrap his arms around me, kiss me and tell me we’re okay. At the same time I want to rip the pillow out from underneath his head and beat him with it.

  I decide to give him a few more minutes of sleep, not knowing how long he’s had. I decide to start a small pot of coffee and hop in the shower while it’s brewing. As much as I want to take my time and relax in the hot water and let it sooth my aching back I am running short on time. I give my legs the best shaving I can. It’s not easy but I think I did a decent job. I have sweat pants and a t-shirt laid out to wear to the hospital. I wasn’t overly concerned. They told me as soon as I get in I will be in a gown until the day I leave.

  As soon as I dry myself off and put my robe on I waddle back to the living room to check on Jameson. He’s still asleep. I sit down on the sofa cushion above his head and push on his shoulder saying, “Hey, wake up.” He groans and mumbles but keeps his eyes closed. I shake him again saying, “Hey. It’s getting late. We have to get going.” This time he must hear my words a little more closely because his eyes dart open and he sits up hurriedly.

  “Oh shit! What time is it?”

  “A little after seven.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Jameson, about yesterday … I’m sorry. What I did was stupid. My hormones are all over the place and … “

  “Ssh…it’s okay. Babe, I’m sorry too. I think we were both a little on edge, and freaking out about today. We’re good. Let’s forget about it and go have a baby.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze him as tight as I can. I know I will always have Jameson in my heart but to have him in my arms at the same time is so much more. Our stubbornness got in the way of that last night. I don’t want that to ever happen again. I’m not so naive to the fact that I think we’ll never have disagreements but I don’t want it to end badly like it did last night.

  IS IT BAD THAT WE ARRIVED for our own induction thirty minutes late? I hope we haven’t jinxed ourselves but it is what it is. We both admitted that we slept like shit and fell asleep late which turned in to over sleeping for both of us.

  A young looking, blonde nurse, who introduces herself as Nicole tells us we’re in room 309 and to follow her. We apologize for being late and she comforts us telling us not to worry and that we have all day and night until the baby arrives.

  All day and night? Shit.

  Nicole shows us where we can put our things and hands me a hospital gown. My outfit for the next two, possibly three days. Once I get myself settled in bed, the nu
rsing staff gets the IV going with Oxytocin. I look around the room and wonder to myself, now what? I look over to Jameson and see the look of fear across his now pale face. He begins pacing back and forth in front my hospital bed.

  “Babe, what’s wrong?”

  “I … I … I gotta get out of here. I need to find someone outside with a cigarette.”

  Just like that he’s gone. I’ve never seen him so nervous in all of the time we’ve been together. Not even on our wedding day.

  What the hell just happened? He just left me in here all alone. Is he going to come back? I’m two seconds away from calling Lily and Karolyn in here for back up support.

  I resort to putting on the television in my room to distract me from Jameson taking off. I’m hoping it passes the time quicker to seem that he’s not gone too long.

  Almost twenty minutes later Jameson reappears.

  “Dude! What the fuck? Did you totally freak out and bail on me?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Once you put the gown on and got hooked up it just became so real. I panicked. I won’t leave again. I promise.”

  I can see he truly is sorry for leaving me in here all alone. I’m not going to make him feel bad. It’s not like I was in labor or anything. I’m more shocked than anything. Nothing ever seems to faze him but this did. It’s kind of funny to me actually. He freaked the fuck out. I try to hide my giggle but he’s watching me like a hawk, scared of my reaction.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  “I can’t help it. You freaked the fuck out. Your face was as white as a ghost. I thought you were going to pass out from pacing back and forth, but you high tailed it out of here instead. Freaking out is usually my job. It was a funny turn of events.”

  He shakes his head at me, then a small grin crosses his lips. He seems a tiny bit calmer. He pulls a chair up next to me, holds my hands and joins me in some trash, reality television.

  2:00 p.m.

  No progress and I’m hungry but I’m not allowed to eat.

  3:00 p.m.

  I’m threatening Jameson’s life if he doesn’t go to Subway to get me a turkey sandwich and smuggle it in without the nurses seeing him.

  3:32 p.m.

  I have a turkey sandwich and Jameson is still alive.

  4:35 p.m.

  My mother has called four times. She keeps telling Jameson that she is going to stop by after work. I keep telling him to tell her absolutely not. I do not want any visitors until after the baby arrives. Is it selfish of me that I just want it to be me and Jameson when the baby arrives? I know a lot of women who want the whole damn family in the room but I don’t. I don’t care how many hospital staff are in the room but as far as family I just want it to be me and him. It’s such a special moment. A moment that I will physically be going through hell for. I don’t want to share it with anyone else.

  I’m almost to the point where I’m going to put her on the no visitor list if she doesn’t respect my wish to wait until the baby arrives.

  11:27 p.m.

  I’m seven centimeters dilated and I am starting to have really hard contractions. We have a new nurse right now. Her name is Nancy. She’s tall, thin, with sandy brown hair. She seems to be in her late fifties and I’m guessing if she isn’t now she used to be a smoker with her raspy voice. She showed Jameson how to tell by the monitor when a contraction is about to happen so he can help me. Nancy knows her shit and I love her for it. I haven’t seen Dr. Miron yet. I mentioned that to Nancy. She said usually the delivering doctor doesn’t come in until it gets closer to the end, or if the nurses have mentioned complications.

  1:10 a.m.

  Jameson just got off of the phone with Karolyn. I yelled at him because he told her I pussied out at five centimeters and asked for the epidural.

  2:54 a.m.

  My stomach is upset. I have been begging Jameson for the last twenty minutes to not let me poop on the hospital bed while I’m pushing.

  3:14 a.m.

  Threw up some water - Check

  Pooped in the toilet so now hopefully I won’t poop on the bed - Check

  3:47 a.m.

  Panic is setting in. What if I don’t know when to push? What if I push wrong? Is there such a thing?

  4:01 a.m.

  Nancy tells me I’m at ten centimeters.

  Holy shit!

  4:26 a.m.

  “Hillary, if I had to put money on this I would have bet that you would be the last mom to deliver on this floor. Now here you are and you beat out two others who were moving faster than you,” Dr. Miron tells me slapping on her gloves as she enters the room.

  “Is it supposed to hurt this much with an epidural?” I ask her while attempting to take short breaths through the unease.

  Nurse Nancy tells her in medical terms I don’t entirely understand what the last few hours have been like, when I got the epidural and more stuff I don’t understand.

  Holy crap I feel like I’m going to shit on this table! What is this feeling?

  The monitor next to me makes some noises. Dr. Miron and Nurse Nancy look at it at quickly and with what could be construed as concern on their faces.

  “Hillary, do not push!” Dr. Miron shouts at me.

  “I have to. I have to push!”

  And I do. That’s what that feeling is like? What the —- ?

  “Oh God why does this hurt? I had an epidural!” I scream out for anyone in the room to hear.

  “It’s begun to wear off Hillary. You’re gonna have to be a trooper on this.” Nurse Nancy informs me.

  Fifteen minutes of pushing passes and I can’t get her head out. Dr. Miron tells me and Jameson that she’s going to have to perform an episiotomy on me.

  Excuse me? You want to cut my ass?

  “Hillary, I need your permission to do an episiotomy and make an incision on your perineum to get the baby’s head out?”

  “You want to cut my fucking ass? Isn’t there another way?” I ask in a panic.

  “You can tear but that could make it so much worse for you, especially during recovery, and more painful with your epidural already wearing off.” Dr. Miron informs me.

  “Fine. Ow, ow, ow! I need to push!”

  Snip.

  Oh-My-God she cut my ass! I felt that! Fucking epidural lasts forever my ass!

  “Push Hillary.”

  “I can see the head Hillary. You’re doing great.” Nurse Nancy tells me.

  I had no idea how exhausting pushing could be. I can feel the sweat on my forehead forming. I fall back down on the bed exhausted. Jameson squeezes my hand.

  “You’re doing so good babe,” Jameson says encouraging me.

  “Let’s go Hillary. Sit up and give me one big push to get the head out.” Dr. Miron sternly tells me so I do as I’m told.

  “Jameson I need you down here right now.”

  I look ahead and I hear Dr. Miron and Nurse Nancy whispering.

  “Here. Do it quickly.” Dr. Miron says to Jameson handing something to him but I can’t see.

  “You’re only one big push away Hillary. Give it your all.”

  I sit up, grab on to the bars on the side of my bed and do just that. I take a deep breath and push with all of my might until I feel like I’m going to pass out.

  “Here she is. Congratulations.” Dr. Miron announces.

  I fall back on to the bed, completely exhausted and with a smile that won’t leave my face.

  “Time 4:56 a.m.” Nurse Nancy announces then places her on my chest.

  She’s so beautiful and disgustingly covered in blood all at the same time.

  Minutes later Nurse Nancy takes her from me and passes her to another nurse to clean her up and get her measurements.

  “Lay back down sweetie. We have to deliver the placenta now.”

  What the fuck is this shit now?

  “Oh I gotta see this.” I hear Jameson say over my shoulder.

  Gross.

  After about ten to fifteen minutes of pushing and Nurse Nancy and Dr. Miron
pushing on my stomach the placenta is out. Oddly enough that felt more satisfactory on my body coming out than the baby. Is that normal?

  “Damn, that smells awful.” Jameson states standing at the end of the bed looking up at me.

  “Get the fuck out of there. I don’t want to know what it looks like or smells like.” I tell him.

  Once the baby and I are both cleaned up Dr. Miron brings her over to me and places her in my arms.

  “You did a great job Hillary. We didn’t say anything because we didn’t want to distract you but it was scary for a second there. She had the cord wrapped tightly around her neck.”

  “Oh-My-God! She’s okay though, right? No long term damage? Her breathing is fine, her lungs?” I ask in shear panic.

  “She’s perfectly healthy. She’s twenty-one inches long, and weighs eight pounds and one ounce. Do you two have a name picked out for her?”

  “Yes, this is Maryn. Jameson picked it out.”

  “I like that. Jameson, are you a fan of the movie Braveheart?”

  “Yes I am. We are just spelling it differently,” Jameson informs her with a small chuckle and her recognition of the name.

  I look to my husband with our baby in my arms and I am overcome with joy. A single tear trickles down my cheek. Jameson wipes it away with his thumb, and then kisses my forehead.

  “I love you. Always have,” Jameson tells me in his worst Scottish accent to sound like Mel Gibson from Braveheart. It makes me love him even more in this moment right here, right now.