Rifiuto: Non Mirena

By ten that morning, Ziva had had enough.

"I swear to God, if your son isn't born in the next two hours, I'm going to-" She lay on the bed, digging her nails into her husband's hand as Jeanne checked her progress- again, for the fourth time in three hours. Jeanne, despite having other clients as well, made sure to come in and check on Ziva as often as possible- unless the young mother refused to see her, which had happened in the last nearly eleven hours. And seeing as they'd been there since about ten the following evening, Jeanne didn't blame her. "How far am I, Jeanne?"

The doctor removed her gloves, sighing. "You're four centimeters. Usually by the time a woman reaches four centimeters she goes into the active phase of active labor, but every woman is different. There have been first time mothers who go through a really fast active phase and deliver quickly, and then there are first time mothers who don't. It depends. But from what I can tell, it looks like this is going to be longer than you probably anticipated, Ziva."

The Israeli groaned. "Seriously?"

Jeanne chuckled. "Unfortunately, it doesn't look like your little boy's ready to come out yet, and your body seems to agree; it's taking its sweet time- and that happens. There are some women- first-time and not first-time- whose labors are just slow. No rhyme or reason to it, they just are."

"Is there anything I can do to speed up labor?"

Jeanne glanced at Tim and Sarah, before turning back to Ziva. All three were exhausted, Ziva most of all, but she was fairly certain that neither of the siblings had gotten much rest, especially with Ziva and her temporarily short temper. "There are some things you can try to help speed up labor- of course, I can always break your waters-"

Ziva shook her head. "No. Not... not unless I... I absolutely-" Jeanne held up a hand.

"I understand, Ziva. Now, if you wanted to do it naturally, you could try walking or acupressure or massage. The only other one I could recommend would be nipple stimulation, however, that has a tendency to bring on exceedingly strong and painfully long contractions that oftentimes lower the baby's heart rate. I'd try some of the others, give it an hour, and if that doesn't work, then I'll break your waters, okay?" Ziva nodded.

After Jeanne left, Tim helped his wife up and off the bed. "She gave us a whole host of options, what do you want to try first?" His wife took a deep breath, meeting his gaze.

"Can you... squeeze my hips, please?" He nodded, as she reached for Sarah. They had quickly fallen into a pattern over the last several hours- Ziva would turn to Sarah for comfort as Tim squeezed her hips- she often demanded that he squeeze harder because it helped release the pressure. After several minutes, she was able to relax enough that she could release her grip on Sarah. As the young photographer quickly re-positioned the camera, Ziva went to Tim; he slid his arms around her from behind after switching to another song.

She looked up, stopping at the sight before her, a twinge of heartache tugging at her. Because of the complications, Sarah never got to birth the way she'd wanted- a natural way at a birth center, just like Ziva was doing. She hadn't gotten the chance to have Jason hold her and tell her that everything would be okay, and that she was strong and could do this, that she had to trust in herself. Instead, she'd faced a painful, heartbreaking labor, and while Jason had given as much comfort as he could, it wasn't as they'd wanted. And while she only had photographs to remember her baby girl by-

"You're doing good, sweetheart. Breathe, that's my girl. You're doing great."

A small smile tugged at her lips, and she absentmindedly reached down. Occasionally, something would draw her back to those months in Italy, when she'd felt her daughter growing and moving inside her, and she'd reach down to stroke her belly, before remembering what was no longer there. She sighed. That was why she was doing this- to give Tim and Ziva more than just photographs, but real, actual recorded memories. Ones they could watch over and over again as Amal was growing up, something they could show him- if they wanted to- to help tell of the long hours his mother had gone through to bring him into the world.

"He takes... his sweet time... like you... our son is just like you, Timothy..." She leaned her head back against his shoulder as the contraction passed, releasing a slow breath. Tim chuckled softly.

"He may be like me, but he's just as stubborn as you are, sweetheart." Her dark eyes closed briefly, a small smile playing across her features as Tim brushed a kiss to her forehead. "I love you, Ziva."

"Hmm... I love you, too." They continued to sway softly to the music, and after a moment, Sarah slipped out of the room. She moved soundlessly down the hall, passed a couple rooms near the front of the hall that were also being used by laboring mothers, and headed downstairs. Jeanne looked up from signing the paperwork for a couple who was heading home, having had their baby a few hours earlier.

"Sarah, is everything all right? Does Ziva-"

"No, I just... needed to get out of there for a while." Once Jeanne handed the paperwork to Emily, she nodded to the couple and beckoned for the younger woman to follow her into the kitchen. Without a word, she fixed another pot of jasmine tea.

"Talk to me, Sarah." The photographer sighed.

"I... my fiancé and I... we had a little girl... about... six... eight months ago."

"Oh, that's won-"

"She didn't-" Jeanne nodded realizing as she placed three cups on a small tray.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that. And yet, you're here, helping Tim and Ziva welcome their son into the world. That's very brave of you." She picked up the kettle. "Tell me, Sarah, have you grieved for the death of your daughter?"

Sarah bit her lip. "I... I can't..."

"I understand." Jeanne added the tea bags to the water, and then picked up the tray. "You know, my grandmother had a saying: A child born and died on the same day had two purposes- one in their life and one in their death. Now, the one in her life was to open your eyes to all that's beautiful and in need of nothing in the world. And the one in her death," Jeanne held the tray out. A moment passed before Sarah took it. "The one in her death was to open your heart to all that is broken and in need of a little compassion in this world." She gave the younger woman a small smile. "Now, take that back upstairs. I'm sure you'll all appreciate it. Tell Ziva I'll be up as soon as possible; I have another patient I have to check on."

Sarah nodded and left, Jeanne's words buzzing in her head like in a hive.