by Layne Harper
Sitting up, I lean against the back of the bench, allowing my head to bang against the wall behind me. “Fuck, I just want to go home.” For a man that just won the Super Bowl and MVP trophies, I sound like a pathetic whiney bitch.
“Go own this time. Honey, you’ve been working for this day since you were a little boy tossing footballs in the front yard with your dad. Tonight might not ever happen again. We have the rest of our lives to spend holding each other while we fall asleep. Go live it up. Soak in every second, because you’ve earned it.” She says just what I need to hear. Her quiet, even voice knows how to speak to my heart.
I sit up straight and take her lips against mine while I rest my throwing hand lightly across her stomach. Our kiss is gentle, sweet, and filled with love. I want to remember this moment for the rest of my life.
Chapter Six
Charlie
Present day…
I check my Rolex watch as I walk through the labor-and-delivery double doors heading straight for the nurses’ station. Brad’s hot on my heels, barking at me to slow down. The irony that I can waddle faster than he can run is not lost on me.
Before I can identify myself, the nurse grabs my chart, flashes me a reassuring smile, and says, “Doctor Collins, we’ve been expecting you. Please, follow me to your room.”
A contraction grips my body and doubles me over. Gripping the wall for support, I attempt to take long breaths through my nose. You’ve got this, Caroline.
The nurse’s reassuring smile is gone. “Let me grab you a wheelchair,” she says with alarm in her voice.
I shake my head no, and continue to follow behind her. The room she leads me to is large, and some hospital designer has attempted to add homey touches. The walls are painted a light shade of mint green. There’s faux-wood paneling behind the hospital bed. The window curtain is open, and the blinds are raised. I have a lovely view of the roof of the next hospital building. I don’t care. I want an epidural, and this baby out of me stat, of course, after Colin arrives.
Once she’s closed the door behind Brad and me, she introduces herself. “My name is Mary, and Doctor Starr asked me to assist you today with your delivery. Our first order of business is to get you out of those clothes, and into one of our designer hospital gowns,” she explains as she hands me a green scrub-colored sheet with arms. “You can change in the bathroom,” she says, as she gestures to a door on the other side of the room.
As I’m shutting the door, I hear Mary asking Brad questions about the parade. I’m thankful that Doctor Starr gave Mary the heads up as to who Brad is, and that he’s not my husband.
I exit the bathroom a few minutes later with my street clothes in a plastic bag, draped in the ill-fitting sheet with arms. Dropping my belongings in the mauve and faux-wood chair next to the bed, I do my best to scooch to the place that Nurse Mary is indicating that she wants me on the white sheets. I would not refer to myself as very mobile these days.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I sent Brad into the hallway. He has your phone. I need to check you,” she says preparing me for the inevitable.
I lean back and bend my knees, bracing for any dignity that I have left to pack its bag and run for the border. I throw my head back against the fluffy pillows and look up at the white ceiling tiles, wondering why they don’t at least put an interesting sticker up there for anxious almost-mothers to stare at.
After a lot of pokes and prods inside of me, Mary states the obvious. “You are definitely in labor. About four centimeters dilated. You aren’t far enough along that you can have an epidural.” She removes her gloves tossing them in the large garbage can. Then, crosses her arms over her chest. “Here’s my speech on epidurals. They generally slow down labor, but it’s your call. You can have one at five centimeters. I’ll warn you, it usually takes the anesthesiologist about thirty minutes to arrive, so if you decide that you want one, there will be some lead time.”
“Thanks Mary,” I say, putting my legs back down. “I’m waiting for my husband to call. I’ll keep your warning in mind.”
She opens the door, motioning for Brad to come back in. The poor guy looks a little green. He did tell me when I hired him that he didn’t do vaginas.
Mary, Brad and I begin chatting about the game, and she asks questions about what it was like to be there, live, watching it, while she wraps a piece of elastic around my gigantic stomach that has a round sensor attached to it.
She sits down on a rolling stool and begins to monitor my contractions and the baby’s heart rate. Brad regales her with stories as only Brad can about our time in Miami. It’s a nice distraction from my worries and the pain. My husband still has no clue that I’m no longer sitting on the balcony watching the festivities.
As my mind begins to question my decision to not tell Colin I’m in labor, Mary warns me, “You’re about to have another contraction.”
And boy, do I. Brad grabs my hand, letting me tightly squeeze it, helping me work through it. As I relax, he says, “You’re doing fabulous, Caroline. I mean you’ve got a bowling ball trying to exit your vagina, and look how brave you are.”
So they’re not the most relaxing words, but for Brad, this is him really trying. Instead of pointing out the crassness of his statement, I mumble a polite, “Thank you. I think.”
As my abdomen is relaxing, my phone starts playing “I Just Want to Dance with You.” My heart takes flight, battering against my rib cage, and a second later my heart-monitor alarm sounds its warning. I catch Mary shooting Brad a warning look, and he grabs my phone and sprints like he’s in the Olympics out of my hospital-room door. But, I’m supposed to be the one to tell him I’m in labor.
Mary gives me her stern-nurse glare. I recognize the look. They must teach it in nursing school, because nurses have the look down pat. It’s the expression that says, I’ve been nice, but you’re now on my turf, and playing by my rules.
“Doctor Collins, Doctor Starr has briefed me on the circumstances surrounding your labor. We aren’t worrying about Colin right now. I need you to focus on you and your baby. Brad is going to take care of Colin. When the phone rang, your heart rate went through the roof. If it continues to do that, Doctor Starr will take the baby via C-section, whether or not Colin’s present. If you want to do what’s best for your family then you’ve got to focus on your labor. Am I making myself clear?”
I nod my head, knowing that she’s right. But, it doesn’t make him not hearing the news from me any easier.
She warns that another contraction is coming, and I grip her hand as I labor through it.
Brad knocks, and gets the all clear from Mary before he shuffles in, holding my phone at arm’s length from his ear. He doesn’t have to say who’s on the other end. I can hear his voice across the room, and the phone isn’t on speaker.
Brad interrupts the crazed, screaming man and says, “Here she is, Colin,” while he hands me my phone like it’s toxic. He shakes his head and almost dives for the safety of the sofa in the corner of my room.
I take a deep breath, remembering Mary’s lecture, and begin my own. “If you scream at me, I’m hanging up on you. I’m in labor. It hurts like hell. And I will not be yelled at like I’m a child.”
I hear him let out a deep breath. In a scratchy, tight voice that makes me worry about his molars, he grinds out, “I’m on my way.”
Because I’m a hormonal mess and a little scared, I begin to cry. “I need you, Colin. Tell Jenny to drive fast.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that it was time?” He sounds so pained, as if I’ve cut out his heart.
“You needed your moment. It’s over. Now, I need you. I’m dilated to four centimeters, and I want to have this baby natural, but I need you here with me. This baby will not be born until you get here. I promise.”
Mary interrupts, and says, “You’re about to have another contraction.”
I hand Mary my phone, and ask her to put it on speaker. Brad rushes to my side, gripping my hand.
“I’m having a
contraction. Brad’s holding my hand,” I yell to Colin, so he knows what’s happening. My abdomen is squeezing tighter and tighter. I’m unable to take a breath, and I clench my hand around Brad’s, trying to disperse the pain.
“You can do this, Charlie. You’ve got this, baby,” Colin coaches over the phone. “I know that it hurts, but in a couple of hours we’re going to meet our baby, and it’ll all be worth it. I’m still in downtown, but I’ll be there as soon as I can. I love you, Charlie.”
As my stomach relaxes, I lie back against the elevated top half of the bed. Brad starts doing this dramatic shaky thing with his hand as if it’s about to fall off. What a baby!
“They’re getting more intense each time,” I inform Mary and Colin, ignoring Brad’s dance.
Mary looks at the contraction monitor and agrees with me. “The baby’s heart rate is holding strong through the contractions, but let’s get Doctor Starr in here and have her do a check up on you.”
I nod in agreement as Colin begins rapid-firing questions at Mary. Mary patiently explains to Colin that she must exit the room as I motion for Brad to take the phone.
He picks it up as if it’s a snake, and takes Colin off of speaker.
Another contraction hits me before I feel like I’ve recovered from the previous one. I squint my eyes closed, gripping the sheet as I roll over on my side in the fetal position, gasping for relief.
I know Brad is attempting to calm Colin down, but I can’t concentrate on their conversation. Mother Nature is kicking in. The whole world can go jump in a lake. I’m listening to her very stern instructions on what I should be doing.
I find a zone, a happy place, a nirvana, or whatever it is. It’s the place that women have been visiting since time began. It’s the place that women found before there was such things as epidurals. The surge of hormones makes me tingle and feel as if I’ve got the best buzz or high in the world.
Each time a contraction grips me I roll into a tight ball, and squeeze the railing of the bed. I use the breathing techniques that they taught us in medical school. I can do this.
I. Can. Do. This.
I’m half aware that Doctor Starr is checking me. I have no idea what she said, and then she smiled and left. That’s positive, in my book.
Brad says from some far-off place, sounding like he’s in a tunnel, “Colin’s in the hospital. He’ll be here in just a few seconds, and Jenny’s warned me that I need to get lost.” He brushes a kiss on my cheek, which I barely feel. “I love you, honey. Be strong.”
It registers just barely that Colin just called me. Wasn’t he still in downtown? It took us about an hour to get to the hospital. Now, he’s at the hospital? Either I’ve lost time, or Brad and Jenny kept Colin from speaking to me. Don’t know. Don’t care. Nirvana. Happy place. Mother Nature doing her job. And all that happy shit I read about in my pregnancy books.
When the door opens, I expect to see my psychotic husband, but instead it’s Doctor Starr again. Wasn’t she just here?
She rolls me on my back, and spreads my legs and bends my knees for me. I think that she’s explaining what she’s about to do, but I’m not listening because all I can hear is the roar of my own blood, and blissing out on whatever fantastic hormones have taken control of my body.
As she’s removing her hand from between my legs, the door to the hospital room flies open and my gigantic, crazed husband fills the doorway, looking like an axe murder from some horror flick minus the axe, of course. His hair is a mess of curls from him running his hands through it. His eyes are bugging out of his head, and his mouth is gaping open as if he’s about to say something or just finished.
His appearance makes me want to laugh, but not because he looks funny. No, it’s more the nervous or inappropriate laugh one has during funerals. I wonder briefly if he’s going to yell “Here’s Johnny!” I bite the inside of my lip until I taste blood to keep my laughter at bay.
He pauses just long enough to see that I’m okay—there’s no baby— and that Doctor Starr is here. He walks to the left-hand side of the bed and stands there, staring down at me as if he doesn’t know if he should scream at me or kiss me.
Doctor Starr breaks his glare when she announces, “You’re nine centimeters, Caroline. You’re progressing. No time for an epidural now. I’m going to get ready. I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”
Another contraction grips me, and I roll back over on my side and resume the fetal position. Colin’s talking to me, but I don’t process what he’s saying. As the contraction loosens, I finally hear his words. He’s repeating, “My brave beautiful girl,” over and over again.
I’ve been silent the whole time through my labor. It’s as if I had to be strong for Colin and me. Now that he’s here, I can have this baby. Relief washes over me, and I grasp for him as if I’m drowning.
He takes my hand in his, and brings it up to his mouth. He dots the underside of my wrist with kisses, and nips that flood me with serenity. Then, he kisses my wedding ring, and stares deeply into my eyes. “You’ve got this, Charlie. I’m right here, standing by your side. Let’s meet our baby.”
“I love you,” I whisper as I roll out of the fetal position and onto my hands and knees. I hear the scream registering in my own ears as another contraction constricts my body, and my back bows up like a cat. The gown that I have on is no longer providing modesty, and I feel like it’s choking me around my neck, so I grab for it and give it a yank. Finally, I feel like I can take a breath.
Colin carefully removes it from each arm, and then uses it to wipe the sweat off of my face. He holds my hair back away from my clammy cheeks and places his other hand on my back for support.
Another contraction tears through me. When my yells subside, he mops my face again, now using a white towel that materialized from somewhere. At some point, he braids my hair down my back. I know, because I feel the comforting touch of both of his hands on me, and my hair is no longer matted against my sweaty cheeks and forehead.
From somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I hear him bark, “Get her a goddamn epidural, or something for her pain!” He sounds agitated, mixed with terror, but I don’t have time to dwell on his emotions as another contraction contorts my body.
Doctor Starr enters my peripheral vision, saying something to Colin. The contractions are on top of each other without giving me a chance to recover. I feel as if my body is going to rip apart. The logical side of my brain has shut off, and the knowledge of the thousands of years of women birthing children ingrained in my DNA takes over.
The most natural and overwhelming feeling baths me again. It’s the need to push.
I yell something that’s intended to be the word, “Push.” But Doctor Starr gets in my face, staring at me with stern eyes, and says, “Wait.”
Well, that’s like telling a drowning person to give up and start inhaling water. I can’t wait. Mother Nature is now running this show, and she’s using me as she sees fit.
Awareness that my body is moving grips me. I’ve gone from all fours to Colin behind me. I’m leaning against his bare chest while he’s gripping each one of my thighs in his large muscular hands. He brings my knees up so they’re almost to my ears.
I get a moment of clarity, and realize how absurd I must look. I’m naked. My big breasts are pushed up against my stomach, so they’re almost to my chin. My unpainted toes are dangling haphazardly, as if my legs belong to a puppet. Doctor Starr is waiting at the end of the bed, which seems to have been partially removed. Mary is next to her to assist. I’m on full display in the most immodest position possible.
I don’t give a damn.
A crazy laugh erupts from my chest. I have an out-of-body experience and see the ridiculousness. I’m a Harvard-trained physician. How did I get myself spread-eagled and naked on a table? Oh yeah! Colin Fucking McKinney.
Suddenly Mother Nature grabs my face and says, “Let’s get this baby out of you.”
They’re telling me something about push counts
, but I’m not listening. I’m pushing just like Mother Nature is screaming at me to do. I figure she has more experience than anyone in this room. Colin’s mouth is pressed against my ear, whispering words of encouragement. “You’re doing so well. I love you. So brave. So strong.”
I push for God knows how long. My sense of time is completely shot. All I know is that Doctor Starr looks at Colin, and says something. Then Colin whispers to me, “The baby’s head is right there, Charlie. Give me three more strong pushes.”
Suddenly, I’m so tired that my muscles feel like Jell-O. Three more pushes? Hearing that I have to do this three more times is just too much. My head falls back against Colin’s chest, and I feel tears or sweat running down my cheeks. Surely Doctor Starr can do the rest.
When I’ve all but given up, and don’t think that I can push another time, another wave of nature’s drugs hit me, and I push with everything that I have.
Colin is in my ear, whispering his words of encouragement. “You’ve got this… Almost there, Charlie… Two more pushes… One more push, my brave, beautiful girl…”
I can hear the sounds of my grunts filling the room. Then, they’re replaced by the most incredible noise that has ever tickled my ears—the sound of our baby’s wail.
I collapse back on Colin’s chest, unable to support my weight any longer. My head flops to the side as Colin kisses my temple over and over again. He releases my legs, and they fall brokenly to the bed.
Doctor Starr places the squirming, pink, bloody angel on my naked chest and says, “Meet your baby girl.”
I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is, “Girl?”
I run my index finger over her soft skin. She begins to cry again, so I place my hand on her back and snuggle her against my racing heart. She’s so tiny. This was just inside of me. Once she’s pressed against my chest and in between my breasts, she calms down. No more screams, just sweet little content mewing noises.
Colin drops his head to my shoulder looking at our daughter. We’re both silent, feeling the love and peace soothe our baby. At some point his tears mix with mine as we stare at our greatest collaboration.