Part 22
His body completely covers mine, I can feel him inside me and my breath is catching in my throat with the urgency of it. But there's another feeling too, one I try to ignore and I can't. "Luka, I have to pee." And it's all gone, evaporating at the sound of my voice and I'm alone in our bed, a warm glow between my legs and I hurl his pillow across the room with a howl of frustration. I don't need to look at the clock to know it's 4.00 am. "Sonofa godamnedfuckingbitch!" For a crazy moment I'm tempted to empty my bladder right there, knowing the water proof under the sheet that we put on I case my water broke in the night would deal with it. "Yeah, that works," I say to myself aloud "because then you'd only have to change the sheets instead of dragging your gigantic lazy ass ten feet to the bathroom."
My feet are cold as I sit on the toilet, eyes closed. I wonder if I can just go back to sleep right here and pick up that dream where I left off. Better still, pick it up at the beginning. God knows it's probably the nearest I'm going to get to sex for . . . ever. I ache all over, like someone kicked me. The flow stops and I reach for the paper but there's something weird going on here. The sound of water trickling into the toilet goes on. And on. Oh, shit.. Okay, Abby, just take it easy here. A glance into the toilet shows nothing untoward and the paper I drag between my legs comes away smeared pink. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Take it easy, take it easy. I'm shaking and it's nothing to do with the cold. Back to our bed, sit down, deep breath. I get myself arranged with underwear and a pad for the slow trickle which is still leaving me and head downstairs with my bag that's been packed for weeks and then I head right back upstairs because I realise I'm not dressed. I'm still aching but there's nothing else, not yet. I want to put on layers and layers of clothes but I don't because I'm only going to have to take them off soon. Soon.
I don't call him right away but make tea and toast which I eat and then throw right back up again. As I'm rinsing out the kitchen sink a slow dull ache spreads up across my belly, around my back and down my thighs, fading slowly away. Well, that wasn't so bad. 4.27 am. I don't need to get to the hospital until the pain stops me in my tracks and for now I settle myself on the couch with the 'phone and listen to the silence. I'm totally calm and a warm excitement has me in its grip, knowing that I'm here and this is happening and no-one else knows.
"You ready for this?" I ask aloud, my hand resting on my front. "I am. You don't know this and one day it may come as a surprise to you but we should get off on the right foot and as I have this whole born again honesty thing going on here I have to tell you that I'm a little surprised by that myself. Still, while we're being honest here I'm also pissed that you couldn't hang in there another 8 hours until your dad got back from work." I stop here as another contraction, just as slow, just as gentle, works its way over me. 4.47am. So far so good. The next one makes my toes curl a little. Ninety minutes and five contractions later and if I were making tracks I think I might be stopping in them and I dial the hospital. I don't recognise the voice on the other end of the 'phone.
"Emergency Room."
"Dr. Kovac, please."
"Is this about a patient?"
"No, this is personal."
"He's busy right now."
"It is very important that you tell him I'm calling." Shit, here comes another.
"And you would be?"
"I would be Mrs. Kovac and I would also be in labour."
"Mrs. Kovac? His wife?"
"No, I'm his mother!" Jesus, that one hurt. "Just get him!" I hang up the 'phone and try to steady myself. Things are as they should be, Luka is no more than twenty minutes away if the idiot on the desk finds him. I consider calling again but there's no hurry. "We're doing fine" I tell my unborn who doesn't answer. 6.10 am; some people will be getting up, heading for the shower, slotting Pop Tarts in the toaster, peering out at the freezing weather. And here am I on my own, maybe the last time I'll ever really be on my own in my life and suddenly I want my mom. As soon as she picks up the 'phone she says
"Abby?"
"Yeah."
"Where are you?"
"Home, waiting for Luka."
"It's started?"
"Couple hours ago. Starting to hurt now." In the space of a few seconds I remember all the times I was irritated by the yells and moans of women I helped to deliver, all the times I got bored by it all and I send up a silent little prayer for forgiveness.
"So where's Luka? He should be with you!"
"He was working, he's on his way if the moron on the ER desk has managed to track him down."
"Abby, call an ambulance."
"Mom, I'm fine, there's no hurry."
"You sure? It's better to be safe than sorry, these things can move faster than you expect. You remember Marge Schiller, first baby, three hours start to finish – "
"Mom, I know what I'm doing. If things speed up I'll call an ambulance but in any case Luka will be here any minute and I'll be in good hands."
"God, Abby you know I'll be thinking about you until I hear. I could come over – "
"From Minnesota? On a bus?"
"I'll fly, I can do it, I'll make myself do it – "
"Maggie, listen to me. There is no need, there's no problem here, don't freak out on me. Call Eric and I'll make sure Luka calls you with progress reports, OK?"
"You're sure?"
"I promise." I hear Luka's key in the lock and cut her off with more promises of blow by blow accounts of my progress. He's wearing his lab coat, needs a shave.
"Where's your coat?"
"What? I'm wearing it."
"Your overcoat."
"Don't need it."
"You're crazy, it's freezing out there."
He ignores this wifely concern and kneels in front of me, taking my wrist. "How far apart?"
"Between fifteen and twenty minutes as far as I can tell."
"Fifteen or twenty?"
"Started at twenty now it's fifteen."
"How's the pain?"
"Oh, that's coming along nicely."
"Membrane ruptured?"
"About four o'clock ."
"Okay." He seems to hesitate.
"What is it?"
"There's something I have to do. Won't take long."
"Now?"
"Yeah."
"You might want to stay with me for the next couple of minutes."
"Another?" I nod and he sits beside me, holding my hand. "Done? Good, well done."
"You know this is a piece of cake, I don't know what all the fuss is about."
"Tell me that again in about ten hours."
"Go and do what you have to do, I don't want to be here much longer."
He leaves me and is back in a couple of minutes with a sheaf of papers which he balls up one by one, putting them in the fire grate and then he puts a match to them and watches as they burn. The notes, the pages and pages of notes which haunted me in the summer, up in smoke. When they're all turned to ash he stands up and turns to me. "Done." I don't know what to say back so I just nod and my eyes drift to the grey fragments rimmed with glowing orange edges in the grate. Done. I look back at him and hold out my hand because the pain's back. He sits by me one hand holding mine, the other resting on my belly. As it passes he says "Strong."
"Tell me about it."
"Twelve minutes. We should go. You ready?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"Your bag."
"Oh, right, over there."
He takes my wrist again almost by reflex.
"You can stop with the doctor stuff now."
"Sorry."
"And don't apologise. Actually, yes, apologise because I'm not going to be feeling real forgiving later." He helps me into my coat and then, for a long moment, he holds me, strokes my hair and kisses me in a way that makes me remember my dream; and then he says "Show time." ......................................................................................................
His body completely covers mine, I can feel him inside me and my breath is catching in my throat with the urgency of it. But there's another feeling too, one I try to ignore and I can't. "Luka, I have to pee." And it's all gone, evaporating at the sound of my voice and I'm alone in our bed, a warm glow between my legs and I hurl his pillow across the room with a howl of frustration. I don't need to look at the clock to know it's 4.00 am. "Sonofa godamnedfuckingbitch!" For a crazy moment I'm tempted to empty my bladder right there, knowing the water proof under the sheet that we put on I case my water broke in the night would deal with it. "Yeah, that works," I say to myself aloud "because then you'd only have to change the sheets instead of dragging your gigantic lazy ass ten feet to the bathroom."
My feet are cold as I sit on the toilet, eyes closed. I wonder if I can just go back to sleep right here and pick up that dream where I left off. Better still, pick it up at the beginning. God knows it's probably the nearest I'm going to get to sex for . . . ever. I ache all over, like someone kicked me. The flow stops and I reach for the paper but there's something weird going on here. The sound of water trickling into the toilet goes on. And on. Oh, shit.. Okay, Abby, just take it easy here. A glance into the toilet shows nothing untoward and the paper I drag between my legs comes away smeared pink. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Take it easy, take it easy. I'm shaking and it's nothing to do with the cold. Back to our bed, sit down, deep breath. I get myself arranged with underwear and a pad for the slow trickle which is still leaving me and head downstairs with my bag that's been packed for weeks and then I head right back upstairs because I realise I'm not dressed. I'm still aching but there's nothing else, not yet. I want to put on layers and layers of clothes but I don't because I'm only going to have to take them off soon. Soon.
I don't call him right away but make tea and toast which I eat and then throw right back up again. As I'm rinsing out the kitchen sink a slow dull ache spreads up across my belly, around my back and down my thighs, fading slowly away. Well, that wasn't so bad. 4.27 am. I don't need to get to the hospital until the pain stops me in my tracks and for now I settle myself on the couch with the 'phone and listen to the silence. I'm totally calm and a warm excitement has me in its grip, knowing that I'm here and this is happening and no-one else knows.
"You ready for this?" I ask aloud, my hand resting on my front. "I am. You don't know this and one day it may come as a surprise to you but we should get off on the right foot and as I have this whole born again honesty thing going on here I have to tell you that I'm a little surprised by that myself. Still, while we're being honest here I'm also pissed that you couldn't hang in there another 8 hours until your dad got back from work." I stop here as another contraction, just as slow, just as gentle, works its way over me. 4.47am. So far so good. The next one makes my toes curl a little. Ninety minutes and five contractions later and if I were making tracks I think I might be stopping in them and I dial the hospital. I don't recognise the voice on the other end of the 'phone.
"Emergency Room."
"Dr. Kovac, please."
"Is this about a patient?"
"No, this is personal."
"He's busy right now."
"It is very important that you tell him I'm calling." Shit, here comes another.
"And you would be?"
"I would be Mrs. Kovac and I would also be in labour."
"Mrs. Kovac? His wife?"
"No, I'm his mother!" Jesus, that one hurt. "Just get him!" I hang up the 'phone and try to steady myself. Things are as they should be, Luka is no more than twenty minutes away if the idiot on the desk finds him. I consider calling again but there's no hurry. "We're doing fine" I tell my unborn who doesn't answer. 6.10 am; some people will be getting up, heading for the shower, slotting Pop Tarts in the toaster, peering out at the freezing weather. And here am I on my own, maybe the last time I'll ever really be on my own in my life and suddenly I want my mom. As soon as she picks up the 'phone she says
"Abby?"
"Yeah."
"Where are you?"
"Home, waiting for Luka."
"It's started?"
"Couple hours ago. Starting to hurt now." In the space of a few seconds I remember all the times I was irritated by the yells and moans of women I helped to deliver, all the times I got bored by it all and I send up a silent little prayer for forgiveness.
"So where's Luka? He should be with you!"
"He was working, he's on his way if the moron on the ER desk has managed to track him down."
"Abby, call an ambulance."
"Mom, I'm fine, there's no hurry."
"You sure? It's better to be safe than sorry, these things can move faster than you expect. You remember Marge Schiller, first baby, three hours start to finish – "
"Mom, I know what I'm doing. If things speed up I'll call an ambulance but in any case Luka will be here any minute and I'll be in good hands."
"God, Abby you know I'll be thinking about you until I hear. I could come over – "
"From Minnesota? On a bus?"
"I'll fly, I can do it, I'll make myself do it – "
"Maggie, listen to me. There is no need, there's no problem here, don't freak out on me. Call Eric and I'll make sure Luka calls you with progress reports, OK?"
"You're sure?"
"I promise." I hear Luka's key in the lock and cut her off with more promises of blow by blow accounts of my progress. He's wearing his lab coat, needs a shave.
"Where's your coat?"
"What? I'm wearing it."
"Your overcoat."
"Don't need it."
"You're crazy, it's freezing out there."
He ignores this wifely concern and kneels in front of me, taking my wrist. "How far apart?"
"Between fifteen and twenty minutes as far as I can tell."
"Fifteen or twenty?"
"Started at twenty now it's fifteen."
"How's the pain?"
"Oh, that's coming along nicely."
"Membrane ruptured?"
"About four o'clock ."
"Okay." He seems to hesitate.
"What is it?"
"There's something I have to do. Won't take long."
"Now?"
"Yeah."
"You might want to stay with me for the next couple of minutes."
"Another?" I nod and he sits beside me, holding my hand. "Done? Good, well done."
"You know this is a piece of cake, I don't know what all the fuss is about."
"Tell me that again in about ten hours."
"Go and do what you have to do, I don't want to be here much longer."
He leaves me and is back in a couple of minutes with a sheaf of papers which he balls up one by one, putting them in the fire grate and then he puts a match to them and watches as they burn. The notes, the pages and pages of notes which haunted me in the summer, up in smoke. When they're all turned to ash he stands up and turns to me. "Done." I don't know what to say back so I just nod and my eyes drift to the grey fragments rimmed with glowing orange edges in the grate. Done. I look back at him and hold out my hand because the pain's back. He sits by me one hand holding mine, the other resting on my belly. As it passes he says "Strong."
"Tell me about it."
"Twelve minutes. We should go. You ready?"
"What kind of a question is that?"
"Your bag."
"Oh, right, over there."
He takes my wrist again almost by reflex.
"You can stop with the doctor stuff now."
"Sorry."
"And don't apologise. Actually, yes, apologise because I'm not going to be feeling real forgiving later." He helps me into my coat and then, for a long moment, he holds me, strokes my hair and kisses me in a way that makes me remember my dream; and then he says "Show time." ......................................................................................................