by Staci Hart
Before we had a chance to move, the cabbie was out of the car and at Lily’s side, taking the bags and slinging them over his shoulder. I heard him shouting for help through the haze of another contraction that had me doubled over, legs split to make room for my belly, my face locked up like Fort Knox. By the time I came out of it, I drunkenly looked over to find a couple of male nurses reaching in for me. They clasped my arms and pulled, transferring me somehow into a wheelchair.
They were talking, asking questions, and Lily answered them, thank God. There was no registration—we’d done that already—and though I was sure we’d have things to sign and address later, we were in too much of a hurry to stop.
The rush and bustle around me didn’t do a single goddamn thing to calm my nerves. We were brought into a labor and delivery room that was full of nurses moving around, preparing an IV bag and tray of needles, adjusting the bed, setting up a pitcher of ice chips and a little foam cup, wheeling in an incubator thingy I’d seen in our tour of the hospital.
It was then that it really hit me.
She was coming. And she was coming now.
“Where’s Patrick?” I croaked, clutching Lily’s arm as she helped me up, hobbling me to the bed. An assless seafoam-green robe was folded neatly and waiting for me on the bed, an unflattering, unsightly rite of passage that would exist in all the newborn pictures we’d take to document the day.
“He’s coming,” she soothed, hedging like an asshole.
“I mean it, Lil. Where is he?”
She avoided my eyes in favor of watching her hands as she helped me undress. “He got stuck on the train. The line went down. Last I heard, he was in a cab on his way here.”
My chin quivered. The robe was cold, the draft against my ass icy. Goosebumps broke out across my skin, and I climbed into the rigid bed. “I’m scared,” I whispered, the words trembling.
“I know,” she whispered back. “But I promise, it’s going to be okay.”
“You swear?” I whimpered, looking into her eyes, ready to believe.
“I swear it.” She kissed my temple.
A nurse blew into the room and thrust a clipboard into Lily’s hand. Another nurse rolled up the tray of needles and tape and little electrical sensors. The room was a wave of action. One nurse tucked me into bed while the other took my wrist. The first lifted my gown to expose my stomach and began applying sensors. A stinging prick, and a cold rush ran up my arm when the IV was in place.
When a contraction hit, they paused, held my hands, soothed me, encouraged me. And when it passed, they finished with a speed that was astounding.
I could feel the next contraction building, and I was gripped with a need that shot my eyes wide.
I locked eyes with Lily. “I need to poop. How do I … what do I do if I have to poop?”
“No, no, no!” a nurse chimed with a fake-ass smile on her face. “No pooping. Not yet! The doctor will be here any second.”
I groaned. “But … I mean, I don’t know when I pooped last. I should have pooped before, dammit.”
“Don’t worry, happens all the time, honey,” the nurse said, patting my arm. “Just hold on for a little bit, okay?”
“Okay,” I begrudged. “Will the doctor bring drugs? I need drugs. I’m supposed to have an epidural. It was in my birth plan! Lily, get her a copy of my birth plan!”
The nurse had a look on her face I didn’t like, one that looked placating, but her eyes betrayed something ominous. “The doctor will take a look when he gets here and tell you all about your options.”
She shared a look with Lily when she handed over my birth plan.
A second later, my doctor came rushing in, smiling as she pulled on sky-blue rubber gloves. “Hey, Rose. Looks like we’re having a baby today.”
“Dr. Quan,” I breathed. “Thank God you’re here.”
“We lucked out. Glad I was doing rounds today.” She grabbed the rolling stool next to the counter and took a seat, wheeling herself over. The nurses had already extended the stirrups and were in the process of moving my heels into the cradles. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”
I nibbled my lip as she checked me. Another contraction started, and I moaned.
“Oh God.” I leaned forward, my face contorting and breath noisy and fast.
“There’s her head. She’s got a lot of hair,” Dr. Quan said cheerily.
I resisted the urge to kick her. When her hand reappeared, she smiled up at me and began peeling off her gloves.
“I need drugs,” I said, exhausted.
“Good news, bad news,” she started. “Good news is that you’re fully dilated. Bad news is, no drugs.”
“No … no drugs?” I rasped in disbelief.
She offered an apologetic smile. “By the time we get the anesthesiologist in here, the baby will already be here.”
My mouth opened and closed, my throat tight and eyes teeming with tears.
“Don’t worry. You’ve been through the worst of it. Pushing will feel good by comparison.”
I blinked, spilling tears in a splash. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” I cried. “I was supposed to have an epidural and be in labor for twelve hours and Patrick was supposed to be here, holding my hand and telling me it was gonna be okay. But he’s not here. He’s not here and I need him and our baby is coming, but he’s not here. Where is he, Lily?”
I broke down into incoherent babbling, his face in my mind. I imagined him running and scared and worried and panicked, just as much as I was, and all I could do was cry. Cry and hang on to Lily and pray to God he got here in time.
“Hurry,” I whispered out into the universe, hoping against all hope that he’d be delivered to me before our baby.
13
Hello, World
Patrick
Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.
One damp hand held on to the door handle of the cab, the other gripping the base of the seat. We’d been sitting in traffic for too long. So long that Lily had messaged me dozens of times, and every single time my phone lit up with another, my anxiety ratcheted up, tightening the screws. Every muscle in my body was tense.
My phone buzzed again. A shot of adrenaline followed.
Lily: How far are you?
I couldn’t breathe, my heart thudding painfully.
Six blocks, I typed back. Fucking traffic.
The cab edged forward a couple of feet, as if to underscore my anxiety.
Lily: She’s close. She’s trying to hang on for you, but she’s not going to make it much longer.
Fear gripped me. I pulled my wallet out, flipped through the bills, barely seeing. “This is close enough,” I said, shoving two fifties through the divider window.
“Good luck, man,” the cabbie said, smiling. “Congratulations!”
I was too worried to smile, too afraid to feel joy. “Thanks,” I said as I popped open the door and bolted.
My feet ate up six blocks in an Olympic sprint. The pedestrians existed only as obstacles between me and Rose and my baby.
Baby.
I imagined her in labor, flashing images built, using television shows as the total of my reference. Sure, Lily and Maggie had had babies, but I was never there when it happened. Although I’d heard the stories. When you got three women together who were either pregnant or had babies, it was inevitable. I knew far more about mucus plugs than I’d ever wanted to be subjected to.
But hearing and seeing were two different things.
I wished I hadn’t gone to work. I wished I’d been there when her water broke, in the cab, wheeling her into her room. I wished I were there right now, holding her hand, telling her it was going to be okay.
Instead, I slammed into a guy by accident, spinning off of him as I regained my footing. I tossed a half-assed apology over my shoulder and kept going, my focus single, determined, and sharp with urgency.
When I turned the corner and saw the hospital, relief washed over me, and I found a well of reserved en
ergy, picking up my pace. I bolted through the doors, scanning for the elevators, reaching them just as they opened. I mashed the button for the fourth floor and leaned against the cold steel wall, breath sawing in and out of my chest, my face and arms and chest and legs damp with sweat. I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and dragged it across my face, leaving a smudge of deeper black on black.
Hurry, hurry, hurry.
When the doors opened again, I sprinted out, following the detailed instructions Lily had texted me and I’d subsequently memorized.
I heard Rose before I saw her, the moan of pain and exertion hitting me in a deep, primal part of me, one that had me ready to rip a door off its hinges or separate a man’s arms from his body. Action. It inspired action and a final rush of adrenaline so blindingly powerful that it made me feel superhuman.
I burst through the door, taking in the scene in a split second that stretched on as I cataloged everything. Lily on one side of Rose, holding her leg, a nurse on the other. Dr. Quan between her legs, blocking the juncture from my view. And Rose. My Rose, her hair in a knot on top of her head, strands plastered to her sweating pink face.
Our eyes connected, plucking a string in my chest, the one always connected to her.
“Patrick,” she rasped, her voice gone, the single word so thick with relief and love and surrender that I nearly broke, my shaking knees barely keeping me standing.
“I’m here,” I said as I flew across the room to her, not stopping until her face was in my hands and turned up to mine as she cried.
“I didn’t think you’d make it. I was so scared, and I tried to wait, but I couldn’t wait. But you’re here. You’re here.” The muscles in her face contracted, tears spilling, mingling with the sweat glistening on her cheeks.
“I’m here, Rosie. I’m here, babe. I love you. I’m sorry, so sorry. I’ve been running and trying to get here, but everything was wrong and all I could think was that you were alone and I wasn’t here and, my God, I love you. I love you.” I stopped the tumbling words by occupying my lips with hers, kissing her, breathing her, my gratitude to the universe that I’d made it in time bone deep.
She broke away with a hiss, her face tightening again, eyes slit and hand on her belly. “Here it comes,” she said, and something in her voice shifted in determination.
The nurse handed me her leg. “Hold her just like this. Take her weight when she pushes.”
I did as I’d been told, holding the hook of her knee with worry on my face and mind and heart.
“Don’t worry, Dad. You’re gonna be fine.” Her smile was comforting, as was her hand on my shoulder.
Dad.
I didn’t have time to contemplate the word before Rose’s breath sped, and she leaned forward. And then she didn’t breathe at all. Tension and anticipation hung in the air, thick and heavy, touching everything in the room.
“All right, Rose,” Dr. Chan said with authority. “Ready? Push.”
Her eyes pinched shut, her face squeezing, her legs drawing in as she drew her torso up. And her unbreathing silence split into a grunt that broke into an open-mouthed cry of effort and strain.
“That’s it, Rosie,” the doctor said. “Keep going.”
“Come on, babe,” I said, watching her face. “Come on. Push, baby. Push.”
She broke to take a breath, a heaving, desperate, noisy affair before she bore down again with absolute focus. Her cry rose, her chin tipped down, body curving in on itself, her cheeks painfully red.
Without warning, she went limp, flopping back on the bed with her eyes still closed, panting. She opened her eyes only by a millimeter and met mine.
“Did I do it?” she rasped. “Is she here?”
Dr. Quan smiled. “I’ve got her head. One more time, Rose. One more time, and you get to meet your baby.”
Her breath shuddered, tears spilling down her cheeks. Before I realized what I was doing, her cheek was in my palm, my lips against hers.
“One more time,” I said as I helped her sit.
She nodded, her eyes glazed and exhausted. Her thigh was in one of my hands, her hand in the other, clamping mine with bone-crushing force.
“One more time.”
“Here we go,” the doctor said. “Push!”
Her determination was back, her focus deep and intense and the most incredible thing I’d ever seen in all my days.
She pushed. She pushed with everything in her with a resolute roar of intention and purpose and willpower. And as her cry died, another joined in, this one small and sharp and angry.
Rose collapsed, sobbing tears of joy and fatigue, her gaze swinging drunkenly across the room. “My baby. Where’s my baby?”
Dr. Quan stood, smiling, with our baby’s head on one hand and her bottom in the other, holding her up for display. “Congratulations. She’s beautiful.”
Emotion gripped my throat, pricked my nose, welled my eyes with tears at the sight. It didn’t matter that her eyes were closed, her face scrunched in anger and discomfort as she wiggled in the doctor’s arms. It didn’t matter that she was covered in viscous goop and sheening with some substance that made her look white and ashen.
Never in my life had I seen something so perfect.
The nurses went to work, clipping her cord, wiping her off, slapping her feet. And, as we watched, stunned and crying, they brought her around and laid her on Rose’s chest.
I leaned in, bringing my face to Rose’s until we were nearly cheek to cheek, peering into our baby’s face as she rooted and cried in a shuddering series of breaths.
“No, don’t cry, baby,” Rose said as her own tears fell, the words rough and thick. “Shh, don’t cry. I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I know it was hard, but Mama’s here. Mama’s here.”
I pressed a kiss to Rose’s temple, closing my eyes, forcing tears from my lids to roll down my face. “You did it, babe,” I whispered, my eyes on her profile as she looked at our daughter. “You did so good. She’s perfect. You’re perfect.”
“It’s our b-baby,” she said as she cried. “Look at what we made. I’ve never … I didn’t know …”
And then she turned to look at me, and all I could do was kiss her.
A moment later, the nurse took the baby to wash her and clean her up properly. Rose watched her walk away with longing coloring every feature in her face.
Dr. Quan stepped back between Rose’s legs and reached for her belly. Her hand sank in the now-soft flesh, and when she pressed, Rose flinched, raising her torso.
“Ow, ow!” She shot the doctor a betrayed look.
“I know it’s uncomfortable, but there’s one last thing to do while they’re finishing up with the baby. Feel the contraction?”
She nodded, still looking pissed.
“I’m going to push like this every time, and in a minute, I’m going to have you push again.”
Her chin quivered. “More pushing?”
The doctor smiled encouragingly. “It won’t be hard. Promise.” She mashed Rose’s stomach again.
“Ow!”
“Do either of you want to see it?” she asked.
“No,” we answered at the same time without hesitation or enthusiasm.
She chuckled. “Understood.”
“You didn’t tell me about this,” Rose accused Lily, who looked sheepish.
“I didn’t want to freak you out.”
Rose scoffed. “Said the girl who told me all about the state of her perineum and the wonders of Dermoplast.”
Lily shrugged. “Dermoplast is a scientific miracle, and so are those ice packs that go in your mesh panties. You’ll find out soon enough.”
Rose turned to me, her eyes wide. “Will you stay with the baby? I don’t want her to be alone.”
I kissed her salty forehead. “All right.”
I hated letting her go, but when I turned to the back of the room where a couple of nurses were huddled, my worry and fear dimmed and disappeared.
All that was left was awe and love.
> I stopped just outside of their bustling, curious and uncertain. One of the nurses noticed me and smiled, stepping out of the way so I could see.
“Well, come here, Dad. Don’t be shy.”
A tingling of anticipation bloomed from the center of my chest and spread as I took the steps that brought me to her side. She lay in a curved plastic tray, her tiny fists balled and arms and legs bicycling. She hadn’t stopped crying. Cleaned up and bathed, she was even more brilliant, her dark hair downy and her skin purple, almost as if it were bruised.
“Six pounds, twelve ounces,” one of the nurses said, and the other wrote it down. The first nurse supplied a thin measuring tape and ran it along the length of the baby’s body. “Nineteen inches.”
The tiny knit cap they put on her head had a little bow in front made of the same fabric. She had on the tiniest diaper I’d ever seen with a little notch cut out in the waist where the yellow clip on her umbilical cord could lie, unobstructed.
She picked the baby up. “Come here, Dad. Let me show you how to swaddle her.”
We took a step down the counter where a blanket waited, folded into a triangle with the long side on top.
“Lay her down like this,” she instructed, “with her shoulders just below the top.” The baby wriggled, her fists swinging like a prizefighter. “Fold the bottom up around her feet,” she said as she took the bottom point and brought it up to the baby’s middle. “Then, hold her arm down and pull this side tight. Roll her and tuck it in.” She moved expertly, and I tried to repeat the steps in my head, sure I’d never get it. “Then the other side.” She pulled the final point of the triangle over the baby and tucked it tightly under her before picking her up.
The baby’s mouth was a gummy pink O, her little face scrunched.
“You ready?” the nurse asked expectantly, the baby in her arms angled at me.
I swallowed to force the lump in my throat down, but it bobbed back up. I nodded.
She stepped toward me, and I found my empty arms mirroring hers in anticipation. She lifted the baby, and for a brief moment, we both held her in the transfer before her arms slipped away and disappeared.