Title: This Thing About Birthdays
Author: Andrea (carbylove@aol.com)
Rating: R. Still. Get used to it.
Author's Note: Thank for the brainstorming and the editing, Kel. Thanks for the advice and praise, Courtney. Thanks for the reading and reviewing, everyone else. And if you are still reading at this point, I'd love to hear what you think.
~*~*~*~
This Thing About Birthdays
Part II
Chapter 11: Labor Day
"It's Carter." I say for the fourth time, with growing impatience. "Abigail."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I don't have a record of a pre-registration under that name." The desk clerk looks up at me with a cheerful smile. She looks about fourteen years old. It's probably her first day. "Maybe you came to the wrong hospital." She suggests helpfully.
"No, we've got the right place. We work here. So I'm pretty sure we're at the right place." Abby's standing behind me, breathing her way through a contraction. She's leaning on me with both her hands on my shoulders, her forehead resting on my back. I can hear her suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Try, Lockhart." I suggest to the clerk. "L-O-C-K-H-A-R-T." Just to be sure.
"First name?" The clerk gives me the same bubbly smile.
"Abigail." I say, tightly. Behind me, the Abigail in question is keening and rubbing her head against my back in agitation.
"No, sorry. Nothing under that name."
"Try Abby." I say. "With a 'y.' A-B-B-Y."
"Last name?" Is she asking which one I want her to try? Or has she really just forgotten?
"Either. Both!" I feel Abby pull away from me and move to my side. Uh-oh.
"Carter!" She yells at the clerk. "Carter! Carter! Carter! I filled out the damn forms myself! What is the point of pre-registration if I have to stand in the hall arguing over what my name is for twelve hours? Maybe it's escaped you, but I'm God damn having contractions here! I want a room and I want it now!" She screeches at the girl. "Unless you want me to give birth on your desk." Abby offers, in a perfectly rational voice.
"Oh! Abby Carter. Here it is."
"It's a miracle." Abby says, dryly.
And then, like magic, our presence is acknowledged, we're whisked off to a room, and a nurse even shows up.
It doesn't take long for Abby to get gowned up and settled in. But she's barely had a chance to get in the bed when the nurse pulls up her gown, exposing her round belly, to place the fetal monitor. I find myself holding my breath, watching our nurse move the monitor slowly over Abby's belly, waiting for her to pinpoint the best place to track the heartbeat.
"There it is." She says, as we hear the heartbeat resounding in the room.
I look up at the monitor screen and am glad to see the heart rate bouncing around in the 150s. Another contraction comes over Abby, as I can see from both the screen and the look on Abby's face. I move closer to the bed and pick up Abby's hand, watching as her face changes as the pain ebbs and flows. I keep one eye on the monitor, glad to see that the baby's heart rate remains strong throughout the contraction. Which means that so far the baby seems to be tolerating labor well. Of course it's still early yet, but this is a good sign.
"I'm going to have to check you now." I don't know if the clenched look on Abby's face is a response to her incredibly cheerful nurse or if it's the thought of an exam that has her tense.
"Okay, membranes intact. And … you're about four centimeters."
"Dammit!" I turn my head at Abby's outburst. "That's what you said I was when we were at home."
Abby's nurse gives us a questioning look.
"I'm a doctor." I explain. "She's a nurse." I say, gesturing to Abby.
"Oh! Do you work here? What department?"
"The ER." Abby says. "But I worked in OB for years."
"So you probably don't need the centimeter-an-hour speech, huh?"
"No, I'm all too well aware." Abby says.
"Oh, come on, Ab. If you really dilate a centimeter an hour, we could have a baby before dinner."
"Oh, dinner!" That generates some excitement from Abby.
"Four centimeters is far enough along for an epidural." The nurse reminds Abby.
"Yeah, I know. But … not yet. Just in case."
"I don't think we're going home without a baby, Ab. This is it."
"I know … but I'm okay for now."
"You're sure?"
Abby nods. "I can always change my mind."
"Do you have any questions?" Asks the nurse. We shake our heads. "Okay, well Dr. Coburn will be by to check on you shortly. If you need anything at all … or if you decide you want that epidural, you know how to find me." With that, she heads out the door, leaving Abby and I alone for the moment.
"How are you doing?" I ask Abby, taking her hand, leaning over to kiss her forehead.
"Aside from feeling like I'm going to split in two every time I have a contraction? Peachy." She doesn't sound peachy. She doesn't sound happy at all. Not that I can blame her.
"Maybe you should think about the epidural. Or put that IV to good use."
"It's not that bad … yet." I give her a look and she looks right back. Oh, a staring contest.
We both turn toward the knock on the door. Susan walks in and practically sprints across the room to hug Abby who seems a lot more cheerful all of the sudden.
"So it's labor day, huh?" Susan asks.
"Uh, no Memorial Day … but you're a day early, Sus." Abby quips.
"Very funny."
"Hey, give me a break, I'm in labor here."
"So this is really it, huh?" Susan asks. "Oh, I can't wait to see who's in here." She says, reaching over to rub Abby's belly.
"Neither can I." Abby says. She sounds kind of wistful as her own hands caress her belly that will soon be no more.
"How are you?" Susan asks.
"Pretty good." Abby says, sounding much happier than when she answered that same question for me a few minutes ago.
"I brought you something." Susan tell us, tossing a bag to me.
"Oh Susan, you shouldn't have." I say, looking at the bag with the logo of a sporting goods store on it.
"It's for Abby."
"You brought Abby a pair of sweat socks and some tennis balls? I don't really think this is the best time for her to work on her backhand."
Susan sighs and shakes her head at me as she takes the bag out of my hand. "Men. They never listen, do they?"
"Apparently not." Abby agrees. I watch in fascination as Susan opens the package of tennis balls, pulls apart the socks, and then one by one, drops the tennis balls into one of the socks.
"You said Abby was having back pain." She says that like it should explain everything.
"I guess he was asleep that day." Abby says.
"It's for her back. Like a massager. Get it? Next time she has a contraction, rub her back with that."
"Oh!" Yeah, it's all coming back to me now.
"Please tell me he hasn't been this clueless all day." Susan says to Abby.
"No, he's been pretty good." Abby says, squeezing my hand affectionately. But then her grip becomes tighter as another contraction starts.
"Here." Susan says, tossing the tennis ball sock across the bed to me. But of course Abby's holding tight to my right hand, and when I reach out to grab the flying sock with my left hand, I miss. And then suddenly the chair slips out from under me and I find myself flat on my back on the floor once again today, watching as the sock bounces off the far wall, then several times on the floor before the various tennis balls roll out and across the floor. Abby must have managed to pull her hand out of mine just in time as I fell over because she's still squarely on her gurney, thank God.
"Abby? What's wrong?" I ask as I sit up on my knees, next to her bed. There are tears in her eyes and she's shaking. Oh, she's laughing at me. I thought she was supposed to be in pain. But here she is laughing through the contraction. And all it took was me falling over. But I'll willingly play the clown if that's what it takes to help Abby get through this. I hate watching her face contort with the pain as she suffers through the contractions. And by all accounts, it's just going to get worse.
But at the moment, Abby is gripping Susan's hand and letting Susan lead her through some breathing exercises. Abby seems more receptive to Susan's instructions so I just drop down onto the floor and begin searching out the escaped tennis balls.
I hear the door open just as I'm sticking my head under the reclining chair, trying to get the last of the fuzzy things.
"Abby." I hear Dr. Coburn say. "Susan. Are you the birthing coach?"
"No, Carter's around here somewhere." Susan explains.
"He's just trying to find his balls." Well, Abby's suddenly in a good mood. Too bad it's at my expense. Oh well. I stand up behind the chair, shaking my head at a giggling Susan and Abby while I put the makeshift massager back together.
"Well, let's take a look." Coburn is saying to Abby.
"Oh, I should probably go." Susan offers. Abby just waves that away.
"As long as you can refrain from sticking your hand up there, you can stay."
"I think I can control myself … it wasn't that exciting the first time." Susan says. Say what? My mouth has probably dropped open because they are laughing at me again.
"It was strictly professional." Abby tells me. "Sorry to dispel any fantasies you were harboring." I just give her a 'tsk-tsk' look and shake my finger at her.
"Okay, Abby. You're at about four." Coburn says, ignoring all the nonsense.
"Son of a bitch. How long am I gonna be four centimeters?"
"Ab, it hasn't been that long since the nurse checked you."
"Yeah, but it's been three hours since you checked me."
"Well, you were three, maybe four then."
"What if I'm four centimeters forever? What if I'm stuck?"
"I think it's a little early to worry about that." Janet says. "We're just getting started here. And you do seem to be having good contractions so far." She says, studying the printout from the monitor. "But I would like to see these contractions be more consistent."
"Should I walk?" Abby asks.
"Yes. I think that would be a good idea. We'll see where you are in an hour. If you haven't made any progress, we'll give you some Pitocin to help you out."
"Thanks, Janet." Abby says as her doctor heads out the door. The nurse gets Abby unhooked from the monitors, and I help her into a robe.
And then we're walking again. Susan tags along with us for a while and then decides to head down to the ER to give them a progress report.
"Here we are again." I say. "Hard to imagine everything that's happened just overnight. This is just what we were doing twelve hours ago. Let's just hope we aren't still doing it twelve hours from now." I give her a wink. And she growls at me. Literally. I know that I can't even begin to imagine what she's going through … but I'm starting to get a little upset that she's polite and even cheerful to every colleague or acquaintance we pass, but I get growled at. I guess I should be glad that she's comfortable enough with me to be herself and show how she's really feeling. But I kinda wish she would put on that polite face with me too. At least once in a while.
"John."
She stops, leans against the rails along the wall. I've been carrying along Susan's sock and using it when necessary. It really does seem to help. With Abby leaning against the wall, I can rub the tennis balls along her back with a good deal of force which seems to be what provides her with the most relief. When the contraction passes, I take her hand and we resume our shuffle along the hall. When the next contraction hits, Abby stops me once again. But this time she wants to lean on me. She wraps her arms around my neck, hanging off my shoulders. Her head is buried in my chest and I can feel, as well as hear, her low moans. I don't even try to lead her through the breathing; she does just fine on her own and my 'help' only seems to piss her off. Instead, I wrap my arms around her, rubbing her back -- massaging her lower back with one hand, rubbing her upper back soothingly with the other. As much as I hate seeing her in this pain, there's a part of me that is enjoying having her literally lean on me.
"I wanna go back to the room." She says. The past several contractions have come fairly close together and have seemed to be stronger and longer than before. It's starting to take more out of her. I slip my arm around her waist and start slowly leading her back to her room. Once we get back, I help her climb into the bed where she leans her head back and closes her eyes, looking relieved to be lying down.
"Geez, this is so much better than a barbeque." She says with her eyes still closed. But there's humor in her voice. I'm glad that she can manage to find some humor at a time like this. So maybe it is better that she mostly gives me her grumpy face, at least when she's joking with me, I know it's genuine. "Who's stupid idea was this anyway?"
"I'm sorry." I say. I know she was joking, but still, I feel like it's my fault that she's going through this ordeal.
"What?" She says, opening her eyes to look at me. I guess she recognized the serious tone of my voice.
"I'm sorry I did this to you."
"You didn't do this to me. We did this together. And I wasn't forced into doing anything I didn't want to do."
"Well, then I'm sorry you're the one stuck with all the pain."
"Believe me, I'll find a way that you can make it up to me."
"Should I be scared?"
"Probably." We're chuckling together when the nurse returns to the room.
"Glad to see you're in good spirits." She says to Abby.
"I won't be if you tell me I'm still four centimeters dilated." Abby says, surrendering to yet another internal check.
"Nope. I'd say you're a good five now."
"Oh, hey. Halfway there." I tell Abby, rubbing her arm and giving her an encouraging smile.
"Yeah. The easy half." Abby says. But she gives me a little smile.
"Well, you're making good progress. It hasn't even been an hour since Dr. Coburn checked. So I guess that walk really helped."
The nurse gets Abby hooked back up to the monitors. Abby reports that the contractions seem to be getting stronger and our nurse promises to send Janet in soon. And then she leaves, probably to give Dr. Coburn the report, and Abby and I find ourselves alone yet again.
We work our way through another contraction where we both keep a close eye on the fetal monitor reading once again. Everything looks good. No signs of fetal distress so far.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"I wanted to ask you -- before I forget -- about the names."
"The names?" I ask. "You mean, the baby names?"
"No, Carter, our porn star names."
"What?"
"Of course, the baby names."
"But I thought we'd decided. Are you having second thoughts?"
"No. I thought maybe you would be. You know, after your grandmother's death … I thought maybe it would change your mind. At least about the girl's name."
"Like you would really agree to name our daughter Millicent."
"Well, maybe. Maybe the middle name, anyway."
"I thought about that. At first. But you know, one day when I was having lunch with Gamma, she asked if we'd come up with any names. And I know it was supposed to be a secret … but I told her anyway. And she very much approved of our choices. When I told her our girl's name … she said it was 'befitting of a Carter.' In other words, she really liked it. Somehow, it seems important not to change it now."
"You're sure?"
"I'm sure. But our next daughter …"
"You're under the impression that I'm going to do this again?"
"Sure. Some day when you've forgotten all the discomfort. When you miss having a baby in the house. When I catch you in the midst of a chocolate high and take advantage of you when you aren't thinking clearly."
"Well, that sounds about right." And then her smile turns to a grimace as the next contraction starts.
We spend the next hour waiting for Dr. Coburn to appear. Several of our friends from the ER stop in to wish us well, but Abby's less and less interested in having company. So I make sure to spread that word that we appreciate the support, but uh … don't call us, we'll call you. And I can't say I blame Abby for not wanting a party in her labor room. This labor business isn't always pretty. Although Abby is truly remarkable, handling this whole thing very well. She still insists that she doesn't want anything for the pain. And why should she need it when she can just break my hand with each contraction to take her mind off her own pain? In spite of the death grip on my hand each time, she still claims the contractions aren't unbearable … yet.
When Dr. Coburn finally appears Abby seems relieved and nervous all at once, probably worrying over what the exam will show. She'd declined to have me check her, explaining that the exam in none too pleasant, and she already has to suffer through enough of them. But at least this time it's more good news. Abby's making progress. Her water has yet to break, but it's been a bulging bag ever since I checked her this morning. With the contractions stronger and more steady now, Janet decides it's time to break Abby's membranes.
"Nice clear fluid." Coburn tells us. "Okay, Abby, hopefully this will get things moving. Let's see … it's two o'clock now … we might have a baby in time for you to enjoy a lovely hospital dinner tray."
"How's that for motivation?" I ask Abby.
"Great. Just what I needed to encourage me to shove a watermelon out of my body -- the promise of a cafeteria dinner." Ah, that's my Abby.
"Actually," Janet says, "They provide a special meal to new parents. I hear it's better than the usual garbage they try to pass off as food. Okay, so, everything looks good here. You're moving along quite nicely for a first baby. A couple more hours of hard work, but I'm sure you know that the payout is worth it." She gives Abby's shoulder a squeeze as she makes her way out of the room. And then it's just us again.
"I hope you think it's worth it." I say to Abby.
"It will be. Maybe I don't think so now, but I'm sure once I hold the baby --" She stops abruptly, sucking in deep breath. I try to help her through the breathing and this time she follows along with me staring intently at my face, watching my every move. Guess I was her focal point for that one. When the contraction ends, she lets out a shaky breath. There are beads of perspiration along her brow.
"A bad one, huh?"
"Mm-hmm." It's barely audible as she lays her head back against the pillow. I find a washcloth and wet it with cool water so that I can mop her brow.
A few minutes later the next one arrives, and Abby groans and moans her way through it. Seems like a whole different ballgame now. She was certainly in pain before, but not like this. The good news is that with contractions stronger and more intense, Abby should dilate steadily and hopefully we'll get through it quickly. And the baby still seems to be doing well, showing good variations in the heart rate which is primarily in the 150s.
"You sure you don't want any pain meds?" I ask Abby.
"Dammit, John! How many times are you going to ask me that? I've told you one thousand times, if I want it, I'll ask for it!" She rolls over on to her other side, facing away from me, wrapping her arms around her belly and sucking in air rapidly.
"Slow breaths. Breathe. Breathe." I do some huffing and puffing, but this time she doesn't seem to want to follow along with me. And when I reach out to rub her back, she swats my arm away.
"Don't touch me!" She snaps. "In fact, don't plan on ever touching me again!" She bites off the words between moans.
"How about the tennis balls?" I ask, proffering the massager.
"Fuck the tennis balls!" She sits up far enough to rip the sock out of my hand and throw it across the room with as much force as she can muster in her current state. The damn tennis balls are rolling around the room again.
Abby collapses back against the bed, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern. I collect all the escaped tennis balls and then decide that maybe I should provide some entertainment.
"Hey, Ab, check this out." I say, juggling the balls in the air and then adding to the trick by walking around the room. Of course I can't tell if she's enjoying my trick as I'm looking at the balls up in the air rather than at Abby in bed. It's when I glance over at her that I trip on the edge of the bed and find myself lying across the foot of Abby's bed, the tennis balls flying in all directions, one bouncing of the wall behind Abby and then bouncing off her head.
"Ouch!" She yells. "Just what I needed … more pain."
"Oops." I say, looking up at her hopefully. "Maybe it's best to use flat tennis balls for a massager."
"Maybe it's best to use your brain once in a while. What is wrong with you?" She asks, kicking at me from under the sheet. Guess she's not willing to share her bed. And I guess the clown routine has lost it's charm.
"Sorry." I say, sheepishly , retreating to the reclining chair. We sit in a stony silence until the door opens and Susan appears.
"Hey, guys. How's it going? I brought you some ice chips, Abby." Why didn't I think of that?
Abby gratefully accepts the ice chips from Susan, who perches at the end of Abby's bed, the very spot I just got kicked out of.
"Is it starting to get rough? You look more …"
"Haggard?" Abby suggests.
"No."
"Frightening?"
"No."
"Hideously repulsive?" Abby asks. I would toss out 'bitchy' but I don't think that would win me any points.
"I was going to say 'disheveled.'"
"Were you really, now?"
"Yes."
"Disheveled? Who says that? Although it would make a good Scrabble word." What's going on here? A minute ago Abby was all over me, filled with pain-induced hate. Now she's happily trading board game secrets with Susan? I get up and walk out of the room. Make it obvious that I'm checking the room number and then come back in.
"What are you doing?" Abby asks me.
"Just checking to make sure I had the right room. I thought maybe I passed out for a minute there and my wife was replaced by someone who doesn't hate the world right now."
"I don't hate the world."
"Oh, right. Just me."
"John … I'm sorry." She turns to Susan. "Coburn came in and broke my water and now I'm in the seventh circle of hell. I think I've been taking it out on John."
"Well, it is his fault." Susan says. And then, seeing the look on my face, "Aww, poor Carter."
"Thank you." I say.
"Yeah," Susan continues. "Too bad about how you have to put up with some moodiness when all Abby has to do is suffer through excruciating contractions every five minutes."
"Four minutes." Abby says tightly, flapping her hands as the pain starts up again. Susan grabs one hand and I hurry over to Abby's bedside and grab the other. It's Susan who reaches out and starts rubbing Abby's belly. I figure Abby won't like it, but when Susan asks her if it helps, she nods. Did I sleep through every childbirth class or does Susan just have a knack for this kind of thing?
"What can we do to help?" Susan asks when the contraction passes.
"Give me a c-section?" Abby suggests. "Okay, seriously, help me up."
"You have to pee?" I ask.
"Oh, that's a good idea, too. But I just don't want to lie here anymore."
"Hey, did you try the birthing ball yet?" Susan asks.
"The what?" I ask.
"You know, it's a big round ball and the mother sits on it. It's supposed to help make the mom more comfortable. And you get a hand from gravity, too. It helps the baby move down in the pelvis and get into the right position. Anyway, I'll go find your nurse." Susan offers. They return with a big yellow ball that must be two feet in diameter just as Abby and I are coming out the bathroom where we had an argument about whether or not I needed to stay with her. When I mentioned the 'b' word -- bedpan, that is -- she shut up and peed. With me standing right by her side.
And now we all help her to get settled on this giant bouncy ball. She sits with her arms resting on the bed, helping her keep her balance, and giving her a place to rest during the contractions. She seems to be really digging this thing. She can bounce and roll around on it and that seems to provide some measure of relief, even when the contractions come. She lays her head down on the bed and moves her hips on the ball. I don't know if it really helps the pain or is just a good distraction, but it kinda looks like fun. Maybe we should get one for at home. Twisted as it may be, if I didn't know that Abby was in so much pain, it would be easy to get turned on watching her rhythmic movements, listening to the sighs and moans of pain that sound a lot like her sighs and moans of pleasure. However, the vice grip that she has on my hand is a constant reminder of the ordeal Abby is going through.
Eventually Abby tires of her fun ball and is ready to try something else. She seems to feel better when she is more upright so she opts for the rocking chair. Which turns out to be a good idea, as the rocking seems to be soothing. I guess the same way any sort of repetitive moment will sooth a fussy baby, it's the same for Abby. I start out kneeling in front of her, holding her hands, but eventually it becomes uncomfortable. So I balance myself on the giant ball. Which I find out is pretty fun. Probably even more so when you're not having contractions. In between the contractions, Abby's taken to sitting quietly, usually with her eyes closed. She's not really interested in talking anymore. So I find other ways to amuse myself. Specifically by trying to balance on the big yellow ball with my feet off the ground, without holding onto anything else.
"Whoa, whoa." I say as I start to tip over. I grab the rocking chair and manage to right myself at the last second.
"Jesus!" Abby yells. She opens her eyes to glare at me. Guess I interrupted her rocking rhythm. Susan's rolling her eyes at me from her place on the end of the bed. I switch positions on the bouncy ball, trying out balancing on my stomach. And then suddenly the ball disappears out from under me and I find myself flat on the floor.
"Hey!" I exclaim, looking up at Abby. Susan's laughing at me. She stops long enough to make sure I'm okay and then starts giggling.
"Sorry, Carter. But that was pretty funny. And you kinda deserved it."
"What did I do?" I ask.
Abby sighs a long-suffering sigh and opens her eyes slowly. "You. Are. Driving. Me. CRAZY!"
"What?"
"You can't sit still. You're jumping around like a hyperactive six-year-old all the time. I'm trying to have a damn baby here, and you seem to be working on your audition for Ringling Brothers. I can't take it anymore!"
"Sorry." I say, genuinely contrite. I pick up her hand, but she yanks it away.
"Can you just go away?"
"What? Abby …" She's not really asking me to leave is she? A lump forms in my throat at the thought.
"Uh … Carter … you know, you look hungry." Susan says.
"What?"
"Why don't you go get something to eat? Maybe swing by the ER -- I'm sure everyone would love an update. And didn't you say your families were coming? You could have quite a cheering section out in the waiting room. And I think that Abby needs some … quiet time. I'll be with her. And we'll page you if anything happens."
"Well … I don't know." I hate the idea of leaving her. And I certainly don't want to miss anything.
"Come on, Dad. Part of the father's job is public relations. You don't have to go for long, but I really do think you should go."
I reluctantly say good-bye to Abby who grunts back to me and then head out into the hall. I make my rounds and find myself back in the labor room twenty minutes after I left. Susan's helping Abby up out of the rocking chair, so I hastily put the cup containing the remains of my milkshake on the bedside table and hurry over to Abby's side.
"Hi." She says to me once she's settled in bed. And she actually smiles at me. I lean down and kiss her forehead.
"I promise I'll sit still this time." That gets me another smile. Before Abby cries out as the next contractions hits. Just after it ends, the nurse shows up and replaces the monitors on Abby's belly. We all take a moment to stop and watch the fetal heart rate which still is going strong.
"Oh, look." I say, pointing at the screen showing the readouts from the monitors. "You're getting another contraction already. They're getting really close together."
"No really. Ya think? Good call, Sherlock." Uh-oh, she sounds pissed at me again. Okay, sit still and shut up. That's the best advice I can give myself.
Susan and I help Abby through the contraction and then as we are talking about my progress report to the ER and waiting room, I glance over at Abby. And find her with what's left of my milkshake in her hand.
"Abby! What are you doing? You can't drink that!"
"I just had a sip!"
"You can't have that!"
"Well, then why did you sit right here next to me, tempting me when I'm starving?"
"Give it to me." I tell her.
"Oh, I'll give it to you, asshole!"
And before I know what hits me … it hits me. The milkshake that is. Square in the head. I can't believe she threw it at me. I can't believe she hit me. And now I have chocolate milkshake dripping down my face. Susan decides it's time to retreat and goes out to join the others in the waiting room. Traitor. I find a towel and clean myself up. And then look over at Abby. At first I think Abby's laughing again. But then I realize that she's crying.
I go over and sit next to her on the bed and wrap my arms around her.
"It's okay, Abby."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
"I can't do this."
"Yes you can. You're doing it."
"But I don't want to do it anymore. I'm tired. I wanna go home. Please, take me home."
"Sure." I tell her, stroking her hair. "Just as soon as you have the baby."
"I don't wanna have a baby anymore. It's a bad idea. Let's just go."
"Abby …" I know that she knows she's not making any sense. But I also know that she needs to say it right now. She's miserable and if begging for help makes her feel better, I'm not going to stop her.
"It just hurts so much." She says through her tears.
"I know." I say. Although really I don't. And never will. I can't imagine any pain I've felt in my life is quite like this.
Abby holds me tighter as a new contraction sweeps over her. We breathe through it with her crying out in pain several times. And even after it's over, she's still a mess of tears.
"I want drugs." She says.
"What?" I ask, not knowing if she's serious.
"I want drugs. I just need something. It hurts so much. And it's gonna get worse before it gets better."
"You're sure?" I don't want to make her feel like she shouldn't get something for the pain, but I also want to know that this is what she really wants. I don't want her looking back with regret later. But then she was never especially committed to a natural childbirth, preferring instead to take a 'wait and see' approach.
"I'm sure." She says it calmly and rationally. I think it's her calmness that convinces me she really does know what she wants.
"Okay. Let me go get the nurse." She nods in agreement.
"John?"
"Yeah?"
"Is my mom out there?"
"Oh that's right, I forgot to tell you. Your mom's here. Eric's here. My parents. Half the ER. Everyone's here."
"Can you get her?"
"Maggie?"
"Yeah."
"And bring her in here?" Just making sure.
"Yeah."
"Sure."
I head out and find the nurse so she can get approval to give Abby the Demerol IV. And then I venture into the waiting room and through the sea of family and friends. I send Susan back first and then continue to wade through the crowd.
"No, no baby yet." I tell them. "But we're working on it. We're getting close."
I walk over toward Maggie and find her knitting something. A yellow and white something, so I'm guessing it's for her soon-to-be-born grandbaby.
"John." She says when I stop next to where she sitting. "How's Abby doing?"
"She's hanging in there. And … she's asking for you."
"Me?" Maggie sounds surprised.
"Yep. She asked me to come out and get you. If you're … comfortable being in there with her."
"Well, yes. Absolutely." She starts packing up her knitting into a big bag that she had sitting next to her.
"Hey John," Eric says. "Tell Abby to go get 'em." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I agree to pass on the message along with everyone else's good wishes.
As soon as we walk into the room, Maggie drops her bag and rushes to Abby's side.
"Mommy." Abby calls, reaching her arms out to Maggie. Mommy? Maggie wraps her arms around Abby and rocks back and forth, shushing her and whispering words of comfort. "Mommy." Abby says again, holding on to Maggie for dear life. And with that one word, I know Abby's tough façade has crumbled completely. She's no longer trying to put up a brave front with forced cheerfulness or humorous sarcasm or even stubborn anger. She's all fragile vulnerability now.
It's kinda scary. And something tells me it's not gonna completely go away, even after the baby's born, even after she's no longer in pain. After all, once the baby is here, she'll be a mother. And I know how much that means to her. But now, I also understand what it's going to do her. She'll love this baby so much, that it is going to cause a huge weak spot in Abby's carefully crafted armor. I know how hard it was for her to let me in. And now, with our baby, she's making herself that much more vulnerable. And I think I finally understand just how brave she really is.
I move over next to Abby's bed, and lean down to kiss her temple. "I love you." I whisper with perhaps more awe and admiration than I've ever felt for her before. She turns away from Maggie and looks at me. Lays her hand along my cheek. Yeah, she loves me too. I take her hand and sit down in the chair next to her bed. Susan is across the room, looking on happily. Moved by the whole scene. I can tell that everyone in the room will be crying before the day is out.
Meanwhile, Maggie has her arms wrapped around Abby, smoothing back her hair.
"This hurts so much, Mom. How did you get through it twice?" Abby looks up at Maggie from her mother's embrace.
"Oh sweetie, once that baby comes out, you forget about the pain. It just doesn't matter any more."
"I don't know if I can do this." Abby says tearfully.
"Every woman feels that way. But you can do it. And look how well you're doing so far. You're doing great, Abby."
"I don't know about that. I've been horrible to Carter. And now I'm crying like a baby -- begging for my mommy to help me."
"Well, that's what moms are for. Or so I hear." That gets a little smile from Abby.
"And now I'm getting drugs." Abby says, gesturing to the IV.
"Well, there's nothing wrong with that." Maggie says. "No reason to suffer through pain if you don't have to. So if it helps, why not?"
Why not, indeed? It turns out to be a very good thing as far as I'm concerned. Whether it's the IV or Maggie's presence, something certainly seems to have had a calming effect on Abby. Funny to think that Maggie could ever be a source of tranquility to Abby, but maybe at a time like this, a mother's presence is just what is needed. And I guess, no matter what the problems in the relationship, and no matter how old we get, when we're scared and hurting, we all want that unconditional comfort that our mothers are supposed to provide. Or maybe, in this case, Abby is just reassured by having someone in the room who has gone through this and lived to tell about it.
But whatever the reason, Abby seems happier and more serene. More like she was earlier in the labor. She's much more relaxed, which seems to me would be good for moving things along. She's still in a lot of pain during the contractions, but she seems to manage that pain better. And in between the contractions that are steadily moving closer and closer together, she seems relatively comfortable and pretty pleasant. Remarkable what pain meds can do for a person. Which is, of course, something I know all about. But that's not something that I want to think about today. And I don't have time to waste on those kind of ruminations anyway. Abby's contractions are getting longer and closer together all the time. And in spite of the happy juice in her IV, she's starting to lose that calm demeanor.
"Where the hell is my nurse?" Abby's screeching in the short break in between her contractions.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Pressure." Abby says. "Lots of pressure."
"The baby?" I ask.
"Well, I hope so. If not, I must have to take one hell of a shit."
"Abby!" I exclaim.
"What?" She asks. Okay, I'm not gonna start with her now.
"Want me to check you?" I ask.
"I want you to go find my nurse. Or better yet, find Coburn."
I manage to find the nurse, but Dr. Coburn isn't exactly hanging around outside the door. But as soon as the nurse examines Abby, she agrees that it's time to call Janet. Abby's never looked so relieved in her life as she did when the nurse proclaimed her to be completely dilated. And Abby wasn't imaging that pressure -- the baby's down pretty low.
"Okay," Our perpetually cheerful nurse says, "It's time to have a pushing party."
"Some party." Abby says.
And while it may not be a party, it will be rite of passage. We're about to start the next phase of our lives. We'll be parents. We're about to see our baby. Wow. Here we go.