I pushed with everything I had.
It wasn’t just physical effort.
It was emotion.
It was anger.
It was grief.
It was hope.
It was survival.
“Push into your bottom!” the nurse encouraged.
“Don’t hold back!”
I pushed harder.
My body remembered what to do.
Instinct took over.
Another wave of pressure built.
“Again!” the nurse urged.
“Another big one!”
I sucked in air quickly between pushes — panting like she had instructed.
Short breaths.
Like blowing out candles.
Then I pushed again.
Three pushes per contraction.
Exactly like they trained me.
Each one moved the baby lower.
Each one stretched me wider.
The burning sensation intensified.
The infamous “ring of fire”.
Sharp.
Unmistakable.
Sweat stung my eyes.
My legs trembled in the stirrups.
I felt exposed.
