Seasons of Wither, Chapter 23
Warning: Mildly graphic birth scene ahead.
Fifth period ends and soon the hallways fill with students who push past me, giving me strange glances as I brace myself against the wall at a loss for what to do.
I never counted on going in to labor at school. There's only two more periods left in the day, but I wonder if I can even make it until then, considering I'm not even sure how long I've actually been in labor.
I gather my things and decide to make for home. It's a long walk, which is never a good idea for anyone who's trying to delay labor, but it's not as if I have a choice. Another monster contraction hits a few minutes later when I reach the front doors of the school.
This isn't good. This really isn't good at all.
If the school nurse were here today, which she's not, at least I would have that option. But it's me, by myself, without Prim or anyone else to help me through this, and I don't want to deliver this baby by myself right here in the school hallway.
I exit the door to meet a fierce gust of cold air which whips a few stray strands of my hair about and chills me to the bone. Snow drifts around my feet and my skin tingles with the exposure to the sub-freezing temperatures. Squinting from the bright afternoon light that reflects off the snow that surrounds me, I keep moving.
I don't get very far when I have another contraction that's so painful it causes me to crumple down onto the ground. I thought the fake contractions I'd experienced outside the district were bad, but I really had no idea. My back hurts so much that tears sting my eyes, and all I can think is that this is only going to get worse.
I force myself up and make myself move again, but the contractions keep coming and continue to slow me down. It doesn't take me long to figure out that I'm never going to get myself back home. Feeling exhausted and hopeless, I fall in defeat into a snowdrift that lies between two businesses near the square. I'm too tired and in too much pain to walk anymore.
The sweetshop owner's wife glances at me from the corner of her eye as she passes by, but continues on her way. Typical.
I can't just lie here in the snow. No one is going to stop and help me, and if I stay here, I'm going to die and so will my baby.
I squeeze close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath before moving myself to stand. But I can feel my muscles beginning to contract again, and fall back into the snow before bursting into tears, moaning and crying at the same time as I wait what seems like an eternity for the excruciating pain to pass. I bury my face into my hands, feeling the mound of snow below me slowly soak through every inch of my clothing.
Out of all the ways one can die in 12, I never imagined that what would finally do me in would be hypothermia. All I can do is sit here and think of how cold I am and the fact that I'm doomed because there's no one here to get me out of this mess.
That's when I feel a strong pair of arms lift me up from the snow.
My clothing is damp now and I'm shivering uncontrollably when he drapes his warm jacket over my shoulders.
"Katniss, are you sick?" Peeta asks me, his grasp firm on my bicep to help keep me from slumping back down to the ground. "I didn't think you looked too well in class today. Why are you out here by yourself?"
His cheeks and the tip of his nose are bright red and he's only in his sweater now, bouncing up and down a little in an effort to keep himself warm.
Of course Peeta would be the one to come and help me. The only boy in my class who was ever really kind to me. The same one I got snarky with when he put his reputation on the line for me.
I lick my chapped lips, not really wanting to explain my situation in the fear that he may flee in the opposite direction when I tell him the truth. But it's not like he isn't going to figure it out when another contraction hits.
"I'm having contractions," I finally admit, placing the palm of my hand on my belly and willing this whole nightmare to just go away on its own right now. "I-I think that I'm in labor."
His mouth gapes a bit as his gaze fixes on me.
"Are you sure?" he asks me. "I mean, maybe they're just those practice contractions again."
"I don't know...I don't think so," I tell him nervously. "They're...bad, Peeta."
"Well, when are you supposed to have your baby?"
"Not for another three weeks, but my mother said that...that I..." I start, but I feel another contraction coming again. Another contraction that is so consuming that turns out to be the mother of all contractions.
"Katniss?" he asks me when I double over, my entire body drawing stiff with pain.
This one is the most intense yet, causing me to wince and sob my way through it. Peeta has his hand on my back and is trying to ask me something, but all I can focus on is that fact that this contraction is going to kill me. Just as it ends, I feel a sudden warm gush of liquid between my legs. Humiliated, at first I think that I've wet myself, but when I realize what's just happened, I just wish that I had.
"Oh, no," I mutter to myself.
Peeta places his hands on my shoulders once the pain has faded and I'm standing upright again, worry evident in his features. His eyes follow mine down to the soaked stockings that cover my legs. He looks back at me with uncertainty as to what just happened.
"Are you okay?"
My bottom lip starts to tremble as I begin to cry.
"Katniss, tell me what's wrong," Peeta demands as he places his hand on the small of my back in an effort to comfort me. "I don't understand. What just happened?"
I was pretty certain that I was in labor before, but this means that there's no turning back. I'm going to have this baby, and soon. If memory serves right, my water breaking is a sign that my contractions are about to get a lot stronger. I remember my mother doing it for women who'd been in labor for awhile to get things rolling, and the painful cries and moans that followed soon after.
Things are about to get bad. Really, really bad.
"My water broke," I tell him with a sob as I smear tears across my cheeks with the cuffs of my wet jacket sleeves.
Peeta's warm, comforting hands leave me all at once as if he's afraid to touch me. I'm scared, but I feel so bad for him to have to be in this situation with me. I'm not his responsibility. He's not the one who impregnated me, and there's really no reason he should feel obligated to stop and help me. I can't say that I would blame him if he left me alone right now with this problem that I caused myself, but of course he doesn't.
His hand finally comes up to pat my back with uncertainty and he kneels down a bit to meet my gaze. His eyes are gentle and reassuring and I manage to calm myself down enough to focus on solving the problem at hand instead of how screwed I am.
"Look," he says, "I can help you get to the apothecary shop. It's not too far from here; surely we can make it in time."
"No," I answer, trembling slightly. "They'd just turn me away because my family can't afford it."
He nods in understanding, obviously not having thought that idea completely through. Surely he knows that no one in the Seam can afford their services.
Peeta frowns, obviously unsure of what to do with me, but too good of a person to leave me on my own.
"Maybe, you can just go fetch my mother?" I suggest.
"Where is she?"
"At home with my sister," I begin, and he shakes his head at me. "What?" I ask.
"I don't know where you live."
"Right..." I agree with a shaky sigh.
When another contraction hits, this one even more intense that the previous ones, Peeta allows me to lean on him for support, and I instinctively bunch the fabric of the front his sweater between my hands until it finally passes.
He circles my back with the palm of his hand in a soothing motion until my breaths are less labored and the pain has momentarily ceased.
"Look," he finally says, "standing here won't do you any good. I'll just see you to your house, okay? You think you're good to walk?"
I really have no choice in the matter, so I nod. At least I know that with Peeta, I won't have to die of hypothermia in some snow bank on my way to the Seam.
We walk about two blocks with his arm linked through mine to keep me from slipping or tripping before we both realize that this just isn't working. I'm too slow and tired and every time I have a contraction, it stops our progress. I don't mention the fact that my walking is only decreasing the time between contractions.
"We're not going to make it," I finally admit after we stop for another contraction. "They're getting too close together, and there's too far to travel."
Peeta looks horrified, but tries desperately to keep his composure. He runs his hand through his hair nervously as he contemplates our problem.
I'm certain that he doesn't want to deliver my baby anymore than I want him to.
"Katniss, I'm going to have to carry you the rest of the way, okay? Whenever you have to stop, we lose time, and if I can just carry you through your contractions, we'll get there a lot more quickly."
I nod, since there's no disagreeing with his logic. School ended over an hour ago, and at this rate, we won't get back until after dark.
"Just...Katniss?" he asks tensely with a slight pause, "if there's anything you can do about it, please...try really hard not to have your baby yet."
I'm feel irritated at him for such a ridiculous request. As if I'd choose to have my child in the arms of the baker's youngest son. But then again, he's a 16 year old boy, how can I expect him to know anything about childbirth?
I can't get angry with the only person who's offering to help me.
Holding my tongue, I allow Peeta to lift me up into his arms, a bit surprised of how easy it seems to be for him. Gale must not have be exaggerating when he told me I was wasting away to nothing.
Having someone I hardly know carry me bridal-style through the district is about the most awkward thing I've ever experienced, but we do move along more quickly this way.
Peeta carries me into the Seam as quickly as he can move with me in his arms, stopping to adjust his grip on me ever so often when my body pulls tight with a contraction. He doesn't stop to comfort me when they happen anymore, but moves with even more determination when the contractions start coming one on top of another.
The amount of pressure builds uncomfortably in my pelvis.
"Peeta," I moan against his chest when we're finally traveling through the Seam. "Peeta, I have to push."
The urge to is overwhelming, and I can't help it.
"Katniss, don't push!" he tells me as he jogs along and my body bounces in his arms, a motion that only seems to make the pressure even more intense. "Whatever you do, don't push!" he pleads desperately with me. "I have no clue how to deliver a baby."
I try not to, but I do end up pushing just a little since I can't seem to control the urge to do so.
"I'm going to die," I groan out load when the pain is too much to take anymore and I'm too tired to think rationally. "It hurts too much, and I'm going to die before we even get there," I cry out.
"You are not going to die," Peeta seems to be trying to convince himself more than me. "Your mother delivers babies all the time, right? Just hang on, Katniss, we're getting close."
I alert Peeta when the familiar homes of my neighbors come into view, and feel him exhale a breath of relief.
"Katniss!"
I hear Gale's panicked voice before I see him, and suddenly my weight is being shifted into another set of arms. My hands cling to the fabric of his filthy miner's shirt, and I can see the look of confusion and relief that crosses his face. I can only imagine what a mess I look like now—clothing soaked and dirty, loose hair in messy tangles, and I must have dark bags under my eyes by now considering how tired I feel.
He frowns when he looks at Peeta.
"What happened to her?"
I don't like the accusation in his voice, but I know that he must be confused, considering that he has no clue what I've been through the past several hours or why I look like death right now.
"Water broke...w-walking home," I tell him breathlessly, burying my face into his shirt when I'm slammed with another contraction. I don't know what he says or does next, just that we're moving in the direction of my home.
I catch a glimpse of Peeta still standing in the same place on the street as we ascend the stairs of my front porch, noting the look of worry on his face. The terror I feel for what's happening to me reflects back in his own eyes—an expression that all but masks another emotion, that, if I didn't know better, would resemble something like envy.
We'd both just avoided what could have been one of the worst disasters in the history of childbirth, so the question is, what does he have to be jealous of?
As soon as the front door of my home swings open, my mother must know what's happening, because she begins pulling her supplies out of the cabinets right away. Hazelle is in our home for some reason, and holds her arms open for my mother to deposit various items into them.
"Her water's already broken," Gale tells them, his grip becoming a little more tense as he speaks.
She nods, pulling out a crisp, white sheet and beginning to unfold it.
"Please," I beg as I look down at the hard kitchen table where my family eats their meals each night, where my mother has healed people, where people had died, and where all of the babies my mother delivers are birthed. "Don't make me give birth on the table. Mother, please don't make me."
I'm not sure why I suddenly feel so strongly against it at this point, considering I was more than ready to have this child outside in the street. But she's my mother, and I don't want to be just another one of her patients.
Mother pauses for a second as Gale meets her gaze with a pleading look.
"Of course not, sweetheart. Gale, take her to her bed."
When my body meets the warm and comforting familiarity of my mattress, hands work at removing my wet clothing as Hazelle searches for a nightgown for me to wear.
"Prim?" I manage between contractions as my mother tugs the nightshirt over my head. Things have become so dire that my modesty is now nonexistent despite the fact that I'm bare naked and Gale's mother is here.
"Don't worry about Prim," Mother tells me, urging me to lie back as she checks my cervix. "She's at Hazelle's house. Rory's looking after her."
"We had a search party out looking for you when you didn't come home," Gale chimes in. "I thought you'd gone back to check the fence and had gotten into trouble again. Guess I was only half right."
"My back hurts," I whimper.
"Back labor," Hazelle mumbles. The term doesn't make sense to me, but I'm assuming the sooner I get this kid out of me, the sooner it will stop.
"You're fully dilated," my mother alerts me after she finishes checking. "Time to start pushing."
My mother directs Gale to hold my leg up against my body and instructs me to bear down when the next contraction comes. As frightening as the feeling is of pushing a child through your birth canal, I heed her advice, my face scrunching up as I tuck my chin into my chest.
"Push with your body, not your face, sweetheart," my mother directs me.
This goes on for quite awhile—me baring down as hard as I can with each contraction as my mother counts to ten, but still no baby.
"I can't do it!" I complain as I throw my head back, so physically exhausted and so tired of pushing and never getting anywhere. I can't take it anymore. My body feels like it's just been hit by a train, and I just want this to all be over so that I can finally go to sleep.
"You are doing it, Katniss," my mother assures me as Gale runs his fingers through my hair, which only succeeds at irritating me even more.
"I can't. It's not coming out!"
Hazelle is trying to show me breathing techniques as Gale continues to smooth back my hair, telling me how great I'm doing, but all I want to do is hit him for saying something so stupid. I've been pushing for what seems like eons, and obviously nothing is happening.
"What do you know?" I finally snap at him when he repeats the phrase for what seems to be the thousandth time and I push his hands away from me. I'm sick of people touching me, I'm sick of them trying to comfort me, and I want to cry because it feels like this should all be over by now.
"I'm just trying to help," he tells me defensively as he backs away.
"I'm not doing great, and you're not helping!" I finally scream at him as beads of sweat roll down my forehead.
Gale glowers down at me before finally stepping away to the other side of the room, as if he's finally had enough of me. I can't blame him for giving up; I hate everyone and everything right now. I don't want to be in labor anymore, I don't want to be in pain anymore, and I certainly don't want a group gathered around me while I lie here in front of them with my privates on display. I just want to go to sleep and forget about all of this.
"Katniss," my mother finally says. "The way the baby is positioned is causing you to have to work a little harder to get him out. It's not unusual for someone to have to push this long; trust me. You're making progress, you just have to keep going."
I don't know what Hazelle is saying to Gale in the corner of the room, but whatever it is causes him to nod at her in agreement as he rubs the back of his neck. It isn't long before he's taking his place back at my side, this time a little quieter and a little less handsy.
A few more pushes, and my mother alerts me that she can see the top of the baby's head. Before I know it, he's crowned. One push later, I deliver the shoulders and a husky wail fills the room.
I fall back exhausted against the pillow behind me, so immensely happy that it's over with.
Gale seems to have forgotten about me momentarily when my mother passes the small bundle off into Hazelle's arms, which are already waiting with a clean towel. I can make out his tiny, wrinkly red body covered with gunk and the sticky patch of dark hair that covers the child's head. His tiny arms are sprawled open, shaking as he screams. I haven't spent a lot of time around newborns, but when I realize how small my baby is in comparison to Nella's, I feel nothing but dread. But he's crying, which means that he has to be breathing on his own, right?
Gale is rounding the bed in a heartbeat, staring down adoringly at the tiny infant in his mother's arms with complete awe. He lifts his hands to touch the screaming child with a smile, tears glazing his eyes.
"Congratulations," I hear Hazelle whisper to her son.
"A girl..." he says as I attempt to crane my head to get a better look. "Katniss, it's a girl!" he announces excitedly, surprisingly leaving out the "I told you so" I had almost expected to follow.
Hazelle bundles the baby up a little more tightly before handing her over to her father, who can't seem to stop beaming with pride. Gale appears to have taken to fatherhood immediately, looking like a natural holding our daughter. He sways his body slightly until her wails quiet down into light fussing.
"She's so tiny and perfect," he says as he kneels down at the side of my bed with her in his hands.
I want nothing more than to hold my newborn daughter, but I'm feeling so tired and faint and dizzy that I'm afraid the moment Gale places her into my arms I might drop her on the floor. I can barely even keep my eyes open long enough to get a good look at her.
"I'm tired," I tell him.
"I know, Catnip," he says back to me. "It's over. We have our little girl."
I smile at him tiredly, trying desperately to keep my eyes open for just a little longer, but the room seems to be spinning around me.
My mother has already delivered the afterbirth and works at stitching me up. I want to ask her if it's normal to feel like this, but stop when I realize that her brows are drawn together in concentration and worry—I've seen that look before when complications arise with patients, and it makes my blood run cold.
Gale seems to feel that something must be wrong, too, because when he looks down to where my mother is busily working to mend my torn flesh, he asks, "Should she be bleeding so much?"
And that's the last thing I hear before everything goes dark.