by Paul Cwalina
She grunted, ”Oh, that hurts.” After a moment she asked, “What time is it?”
“You’re worried about what time it is?” I asked surprised.
“Time the contractions,” she said.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket.
Meanwhile, Sarah was completely losing her mind. The woman who would not stand for any kind of profanity was suddenly screaming the seven words you can’t say on television and seemed to have made up seven more. She was incomprehensible. The pitch of her scream was inhuman. It was the sound of a wild animal or something out of a horror movie.
As Jennifer and I made our way down the outside stairs, Sarah came out onto the landing to continue her verbal assault. The horrible sound echoed off all of the homes on the sleepy little street. A few of the neighbors came out onto their porches or were looking out their windows to find the source of the horrible sounds.
Suddenly, one of Sarah’s shoes ricocheted off the outside wall and fell to the stairs next to us. I stopped and went back up a step, behind Jennifer in case the other shoe found its mark. We only took one more step before the other shoe hit me in the shoulder blade.
“Ow!” I said as the shoe tumbled to the ground in front of us. Jennifer stopped and turned around. “What are you doing?” I asked.
She just pushed me aside and started walking back up the stairs, staring intensely at Sarah. It only took a couple of steps before Sarah ran back inside and slammed shut the door. It didn’t calm her down a single bit, though. Sarah’s scary, unhinged rant continued. I could hear Sarah trashing the office. I heard loud bangs and thuds. As Jennifer and I got to the car, my laptop came flying out of the window, splitting into two pieces as it hit the concrete.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “I have no idea what’s gotten into her.”
“Let me get in the back and lie down,” Jennifer said.
I drove patiently until traffic was just too slow for me and I crossed double yellow lines to pass particularly slow and unsuspecting drivers. I pulled into the hospital entrance and double-parked alongside an ambulance. I raced around the car and opened the back door.
“Come on, babe,” I said.
“Let me stay here and have them in the car,” she said.
“No, no. Now, come on, babe. You can do this,” I said encouragingly. “If you have the babies in the car, we’ll have to name one of them Nissan. You don’t want that.”
“You’re not funny,” she said as she finally emerged from the car.
“I’m hilarious, babe, and you know it. Come on.”
“I don’t feel good.”
“Of course you don’t feel good. You have two human beings trying to get out of you. Nobody can feel good with that happening,”
“I think I hurt my foot at your office.”
“Boy, you’re really milking this, aren’t you?” I joked.
“Just shut up and get me in there.”
We walked through the automatic doors and to the emergency room desk. A young woman in scrubs immediately got up and pulled a wheelchair from a room behind the desk, while a petite gray-haired woman in glasses asked me for information.
“We’re going to take her to one of the birthing rooms and get her ready,” the young nurse said. “We’ll take you back in a few minutes.”
Before they took her, Jennifer called me over to the wheelchair. I bent down and she grabbed me hard by the cheek. “Listen to me,” she said seriously. “Look me in the eyes. I know we talked about this before, but I’m reminding you. If anything goes wrong, you are to save the babies...at all costs. Do you understand?”
I smiled nervously. “Babe, everything is going to be all right. You’ll be fine.”
“Tell me you understand!” she nearly shouted.
“Babe, I understand. Now, just go get ready. Love you,” I said and kissed her forehead.
I stayed at the desk and filled out a couple forms as fast as I could. All I wanted was to be by Jennifer’s side. Whatever information I didn’t know, I left blank or wrote a sarcastic comment letting them know what I thought of their forms.
I tossed the clipboard and forms onto the counter. “I’m done. Where do I go?” I asked.
“I’ll walk you back,” the gray-haired lady said.
Move, woman. Let’s go...
I impatiently walked ahead of her, being guided by her voice over my shoulder. “Left. Two more doors. Room one,” she said breathlessly.
“Thank you,” I said without turning around.
“She’s doing fine,” the nurse said as I raced to Jennifer’s side. I grabbed her hand and kissed it.
“How are you doing, beautiful?”
“The contractions are closer and they really hurt,” she said.
“Those babies want to see you. We’re moving fast,” the nurse chimed in.
“Okay, squeeze my hand for the next contraction, babe,” I said and almost immediately regretted it as another contraction gripped her. My fingers were in an awkward position and I learned the hard way that the daintiest of women could crush human bones to dust when she’s in labor. I was smart enough not to complain or say a word about it, though, to Jennifer.
Cheryl came into the room, stretching gloves onto her hands, “Well, hello again, you two. How are we doing?”
“My hand hurts, but I’ll be okay, I guess,” I joked.
“I swear I’m going to have them take you out of here,” Jennifer said. “I’m doing okay, Cheryl. But they must be coming quick.”
Cheryl positioned herself on a rolling stool between Jennifer’s legs. “Okay. Let me see what’s going on in there,” she said. With no hesitation she drilled her hand and arm into Jennifer. Gross.
“Oh, boy. Yes they are. You’re almost fully dilated, girlfriend. What’s the rush?” Cheryl said with a smile.
“Blood pressure is just a tad high. Pulse and temperature are normal, doctor,” the nurse said.
“I feel like I need to push,” Jennifer said anxiously.
“Are you sure?” Cheryl asked.
“Yes!” she said.
“Okay, let’s go, then,” Cheryl said. “Daddy, move up there and help her push, alright?”
I did as she instructed and Jennifer’s body tensed up as she folded herself to push the baby out. “Well, look what we have here. I see the top of your son’s head,” Cheryl cheerfully said. “You work fast.” She paused then said, “I think two more good pushes and we’ll introduce you to baby number one, okay?”
Jennifer relaxed and fell back onto the bed. She was sweating, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. I did my best to encourage her, but I got the sense that I was simply useless. I was just the reluctant human by-product of the whole new sensitive male era. It swept us out of the waiting rooms and into scrubs and next to our wives in the delivery rooms. Our training camps are Lamaze classes and our rewards are mostly just kind words from our wives to other wives about how involved and helpful we are. I couldn’t help but feel that I would be more productive handing out cigars in front of the hospital somewhere.
“You’re doing great, babe,” I said in a feeble attempt to be encouraging. I got the feeling she didn’t even hear what I said.
“Ready for another?” Cheryl asked.
Jennifer paused and then said, “Okay.” She took two deep breaths and then sprang up in the bed and pushed. I did little more than hold her hand through it.
“Good girl,” Cheryl said. “He’s coming. One more good push, honey.”
Jennifer collapsed onto the bed again. I gently stroked her face and moved stray strands of hair from her lips and cheeks. I did my best to comfort and encourage her, but they were just words.
A few minutes passed and Cheryl asked her if she was ready. Again, she sprang up in the bed, tensed her body and pushed with all of her strength. This time she added a long and loud grunt. I heard a loud swishing sound. Cheryl shrieked, “There he is!” She pulled the baby up quickly to show him to us.
He looked disgusting and beautiful and perfect all at the same time. My knees buckled and I was overcome with emotion. I leaned on the bed for fear of falling to the floor.
“Come here, daddy,” Cheryl said. “Do you want to cut the cord?”
The words didn’t quite register. I was still practically incoherent from the emotion of seeing my son for the first time. That incredible feeling I had when I first heard his heartbeat and saw him on the ultrasound had just been multiplied a million times over.
Cheryl held up the scissors. “Come on. Quick.”
Jennifer gently pushed me. “Hurry,” she said.
I grabbed the scissors and said, “Are we splitting your fee?” She smiled and showed me where to cut. I tried to do it gently. I felt like I was going to hurt my child and I didn’t want that to be my first interaction with my son. It was rubbery and tough.
“Come on, cut like you mean it,” Cheryl said half-jokingly. I did and the nurse took the baby away to be measured and cleaned. I looked up at Jennifer and I suddenly saw the most amazing woman I had ever known. She was sweaty and bloated and had not a drop of makeup on, and she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I walked up to the top of the bed, bent over her and cupped her face in my hands. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world. I love you more than you can ever know,” I said softly.
She smiled and told me she loved me, too, and reached up for a kiss. It turned into a long, passionate kiss and I didn’t want to break it, but she suddenly pulled away. She started gasping for air.
“I can’t breathe,” she strained to say. Her body started twitching.
“Jennifer? Are you okay?” I asked, entering the early stages of panic. “What’s wrong, babe?”
“Blood pressure is plummeting, doctor,” the nurse said loudly. “Heart rate is at 130.”
“One hundred thirty? Jennifer, stay with me, girl,” Cheryl said with wide eyes. “What’s wrong?’
Jennifer tried to talk but she couldn’t catch her breath. She kept gasping. Her body looked like it was convulsing.
“No, no, no, no, no, Jennifer,” Cheryl said. “Come on, stay with me.”
“What’s going on, Cheryl? What’s happening?” I said in full panic.
“Patty, get Dr. Wellington in here now. Stat! Move!” Cheryl said at the top of her lungs. “Get respiratory here! Stat! Get her on a vent immediately,” she shouted to the other nurse.
“Cheryl, what’s going on?” I shouted, as I watched her insert a tube down Jennifer’s throat.
“I’m not sure. I’m getting another opinion,” she said in a transparent attempt to calm me. I had the feeling she knew. She knew it was something bad and didn’t want to tell me. I was suddenly overcome with fear—abject, primal, end-of-world fear. It crowded out every other thought and emotion.
It was less than a minute later when a large man with a head of wild gray hair and thick eyeglasses burst through the doors of the birthing room. “What do we got here? Talk to me, Cheryl,” he said.
“She was fine. She delivered the first baby relatively easily. She was fine. Then she started gasping for breath. Her blood pressure dropped rapidly and started convulsing,” Cheryl said tensely. Jennifer had her right hand wrapped around my forearm and was squeezing it with such intensity that it felt like her fingernails had gone through the bone.
“Couldn’t catch her breath?” He said and pulled the stethoscope from his neck and put it on. He listened intently to Jennifer’s chest in one spot, then another, and then another. “Oh, god...embolism,” he said confidently with a sense of dread. “We need a chest x-ray. Now!”
“What?” Cheryl asked, stunned.
“Amniotic fluid embolism. There’s a leak. It’s getting into her bloodstream. No time to discuss it. Get her into an operating room, now,” he said. “I had one of these about five years ago.” Then he turned to me with a serious look and said, “We’re going to do all we can but I’m not going to sugarcoat this. We’ll probably only have time to save your wife. I’m sorry,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder.
I was frozen in place. The only thing that kept running through my mind was Jennifer telling me to save the babies at all costs. The look in her eye, the sternness of her voice; she meant it. I had so casually agreed to her request never imagining for a second that I’d have to exercise my promise. I couldn’t find the words. Everything and everybody started moving past me quickly. I tried to find the strength to speak. Then I heard Jennifer’s voice in my head and it grew louder.
“Wait,” I said too softly. “Wait!” I said louder. Everyone stopped.
“We have to move quickly,” Cheryl said. “She’ll be okay.”
Say it. Say it. “Save the baby,” I said. “You have to save my daughter. That’s what Jennifer wants.” It felt as if it was someone else saying it. I didn’t even feel like I was in my own body.
Cheryl was stunned. “What? You have your son and wife. Don’t take this chance with her life.”
Hearing Cheryl challenge me and, by proxy, Jennifer, gave me the courage I needed. “Do you think this is easy? Do you think I want to be making this kind of decision and only have seconds to do it?”
Cheryl’s eyes widened. “We don’t have time for this. Jennifer wants to live.”
“So does her daughter!” I said.
“Do you understand that you may be sentencing your wife to death?” Cheryl said loudly.
Filled now with confidence, I shouted back, “And you want to sentence her to a life of living with the fact that her daughter had to die so she could live?”
Cheryl went speechless. Her eyes began to tear. She knew I was right. She knew what Jennifer would want.
“Prep for a C-section,” she said, irritated.
Wellington exhaled and his shoulders slumped. “Unbelievable,” he said. “All right, let’s go. Forget the x-ray. No time now.”
I followed everyone as they raced to the operating room. Wellington turned and looked at me. “Get him out of here,” he demanded. Patty stopped me from going in.
“I need to be with my wife,” I said sternly.
“You don’t want to be in there with Dr. Wellington. Trust me. Just wait here,” she said, pointing to a sitting area.
I didn’t challenge her, but I didn’t move from the door. I leaned my back against the wall and slid down until I was sitting on the floor. I ran my hand through my hair and then held my head in my hands. I wasn’t comfortable, so I kneeled with my shins flat against the floor. I bent myself over and rested my forehead on the cold, tile floor. “I can’t lose you, Jennifer. I can’t go through this again,” I said through tears to nobody but myself. “Please stay with me, Jennifer. Please.”
When I composed myself enough, I listened to the sounds coming from the room. Their voices were muffled, so I couldn’t make out any words. They were talking rapidly and loudly. I sensed that they were moving rapidly, too. Minutes later I heard the sound of a baby crying. My daughter was born and I wasn’t there. I couldn’t see her and I couldn’t cut the cord for her. I couldn’t hold her. My daughter was born and I couldn’t be happy about it. I was empty. It was like her birth was only a step in the process of saving Jennifer. I had almost completely forgotten about my son. All I could do was worry about Jennifer, instead. I finally got up from the floor and walked over to a small sitting area and collapsed into one of the chairs. I placed my elbows on my knees and held my head in my hands.