The pain is becoming more and more excruciating and I can barely speak. "What?" I croak.
"Beverly, I need to get you to County. Can you walk?"
I hear the words and I see her mouth moving but they're not registering. I'm in a panic. My due date is 8 weeks away. We're not ready for the baby yet. We haven't set up the room. Nothing is done. We've been so busy in the run up to the holiday season. There's still too much to do!
"Beverly Picard! Look at me!" I look up, roused out of my anxiety by the harshness a simple command.
I nod. "Can you walk?"
"I think so." Every movement is unbearable. I know I have to get up, but I can't. I feel hot wet tears building behind my eyes. I can't contain them as they spill onto my cheeks. This baby won't live outside the womb at 8 months without medical help.
"Hope, call my family." I collapse in defeat back into my chair.
"Beverly," She moves in closer to wipe the salty tears. "The baby is coming now and you can't have her here and we can't transport. You have to get up. I know it hurts."
I nod my head as I feel her small arms wrap around my hips, bringing me forward on the chair. "Hope," I choke. "It hurts." She brings me into a standing position. "Betsey! Karla!"
"Bets, will you start my car and call the hospital and tell them we're on our way? Also Bets, call Jean Luc and if you can't reach him, call Wesley. Karla will you come with me?"
"Sure." I feel another set of arms wrap around me and practically drag me into the cold December air. I feel contractions building. My body is telling me to push.
"I need to push," I mutter as I automatically start to bear down.
"NO!" Karla and Hope shout in panicked synchrony.
"Don't you dare Beverly Cheryl Picard! Don't you dare!"
The urge is paramount. Trying not to push is taking every ounce of self -ontrol that I have. "Beverly, you know what's going to happen if that baby is born now. The lungs haven't matured. You're going to have to wait just 20 minutes."
I nod automatically. She's right.
"Beverly," I hear Karla's soft voice. I feel her hand wrap around mine as I grab onto it. "Beverly, what did you get Wesley for Christmas?" I feel a hypospray at my neck. She's giving me tocolytics and antibiotics. Calcium channel blockers and cyclomeparone. Yes. That's right.
What did she ask me?
Wesley? Christmas. What did we get Wes for Christmas? I can't remember. Too much pain. Don't push.
"I don't know" I manage. "I know- uh- we got Saoirse-uh- a small rocking horse from LaBarre that Robert and Marie are bringing – Owch!"
"She'll like that," I feel a hand trailing circles on my back. I feel sorry for her other hand; It's being crushed.
More tears come as the urge to push is becoming any stronger. Do Wes and Jean Luc know? "Did you call Jean Luc?" I manage.
"We called him."
"Please," I cry. "I don't want to do this without my husband."
"Remember, Betsey called him before we left. They'll be there."
More tears. "They won't get there on time!"
"Yes they will, Beverly. There's a transporter station right at County. They'll make it."
I can see County in the distance. Please let them make it in time. Let this baby be okay.