I drop the bag and pull them both into me. Our heads drop together, and I welcome the weight of my siblings’ hands on my back as it settles me.
“Thanks,” I say, stepping back.
Beth wipes her eyes as Mason pulls her back down the hallway with him. I turn, dropping the bag on the counter as I rifle through it, searching for the washcloth. I pull out a pair of black sweats and a hoodie that are clearly mine, and set them aside to change into later. I check all the pockets until I finally locate the cloth, then run to the bathroom, drenching it in water and coming back to Isabelle’s side.
“I’ve got the cloth, baby.”
“On my neck,” she says on a breath.
I push her loose curls off her neck, then fold over the fabric, placing it on her nape. Isabelle sighs in relief.
“That better?” I ask, rubbing my other hand up and down.
Isabelle lets out a deep groan that has my muscles tensing. Her body heaves as she inhales, slow and deep, before a pained whimper escapes her. “I want the pain relief.”
A cold sweat rushes over my body like a tsunami, and I feel nauseous as I lean over the bed, pushing the call button for the nurse.
A few minutes pass before Shanna comes in. “Everything okay?” Her tone has remained calm and even with every interaction. It must be exhausting to keep up a strong façade like that all day.
“She wants something for the pain.” The stress of feeling helpless is making my head pound.
Shanna crouches down at Isabelle’s head. “You put epidural down as your preference. Is that still the case?”
Isabelle nods against the mattress, squeezing my hand. I have to swallow down the bile threatening to rise. Fuck, I hate this. I just want her to be okay.
“I’ll page the anaesthetist now.” Shanna taps Isabelle’s hand before she stands, glancing at the monitor again.
“What do the numbers mean?” I tip my head when she looks over to me. Her eyes shift to Isabelle for a moment, then to the door.
I press a kiss to Isabelle’s head, frowning as I follow the nurse out of the room.
“I don’t want you to be alarmed,” she starts, lowering her voice, but it’s no fucking use. You start a sentence like that, andalarmedis the first thing I’m going to be. “But I suspect the umbilical cord might be wrapped around the baby’s neck.”
The panic must be written all over my face as Shanna waves her hands around, trying to calm me. “I’m not worried. It’s more common than you might think. But whenever Isabelle is having a contraction, the baby’s heart rate drops, which is often a sign. She’s progressing very quickly, though, and the baby’s not showing any sign of distress, so we’re just going to keep doing what we’re doing.”
With my hands on my hips, I start pacing the empty hallway.
“Once she’s had her epidural, and she’s nice and relaxed, I’ll let her know my thoughts. I’m going to have Dr Reeves come in and consult as well, but I’m going to need you to have your game face on, Gage. She needs you to be calm, because her first reaction might also be fear.”
How the fuck am I supposed to act like I’m okay, that I’m not going out of my mind? No one prepares you for this. Everything in life feels like it’s been thrown at me before I’ve been ready, before I’ve had the power to know how to handle things. To find the strength to pick myself up and keep going. It was okay whenit was just me, but I have Isabelle now, and my daughter. They need me, and I’m scared.
“Why don’t you take five? I’ll wait with Isabelle. I’ll come find you when we’re ready to administer the pain relief.”
I nod in a daze, stumbling a few steps before stopping to lean against the wall. I close my eyes, resting my head against the cool, hard surface. It’s all starting to feel too much. I’m holding on to the calm, but I can feel it slipping. My body slides down the wall until I’m sitting on the floor.
“Gage? What’s happening?” It’s my mum, her lavender perfume surrounding me as a hand rests on my shoulder.
“Is the baby alright? Isabelle?” That’s Jennie.
My tongue toys with my lip piercing while I take a few deep breathes, then look up at her waiting eyes. Joe’s arm is wrapped around her shoulder, rubbing up and down.
“We’re just waiting for an epidural.” I wipe a hand down my face, my eyes feeling tired and heavy. “The nurse thinks the cord might be wrapped around the baby’s neck, but she said not to worry.”
I bring my knees up, hanging my hands over them.
“I’m sure everything’s fine. If they’re not worried, then you shouldn’t be,” Mum says.
When I look at my mother, I can hardly make out her form, tears blurring my vision.
