Philip is holding a bucket by her bedside in case she vomits, but by the pale-green hue on his face, he might vomit before she does.
“I’m going to check the progress to see how close we are,” I explain, keeping a small smile pinned to my cheeks. Comfort. Visual comfort. That’s what she needs.
I take a moment to slip on my sterile gloves and roll the blanket up to her knees. I close my eyes, allowing my fingers to do the measuring, finding a definitive ten centimeters. I pull my hand back, my fingers covered in blood.It’s time.
“You’re ready to start pushing so I’m going to help you get a bit more comfortable.” I spot a spare blanket on the bureau and roll it up to position her more upright.
“I can’t do this,” Miriam cries out.
“Only a woman could do this…And you’re a vicious woman,” I remind her. The words seem to spark her focus and determination.
“Philip, could you get a warm cloth for me and a cool compress for her head?” He stumbles to stand but moves around the room in good speed, collecting the cloths. I take the warm one and press it beneath Miriam’s bottom for support. I position her feet flatly on the bed, keeping her knees bent at a good width apart from each other.
“I want you to go ahead and push,” I tell her.
Fifteen minutes isn’t very long for a mother to have to push, but the baby is already crowning. “I can see the head, Miriam. You’re doing so well.” The head is pale and a bit blue. Not uncommon, but a sign that the cord is around the neck.
Another push and the baby’s head will be out.
Another push will strangle the baby.
The grunts and cries flood the room, my memory, my heart—warming then burning my insides.
Birth and death. Death and birth.
Only birth. Only life.
That’s what I’m here for.
Focus.
The head is out, and the cord is in fact looped around the baby’s neck. “Don’t push. Don’t push. Breathe, in and out, slowly,” I tell her.
I gently hook my finger around the cord and loop it over the baby’s head, once, then the second time.
“All right, give another push but stop when I say so.” The shoulders are out. I quickly but carefully twist the baby to the side a bit. “One more push, Miriam. That’s all.” And guide the baby out into my arms.
The screams of pain continue to circle me and an added whimper and cry from Eloise in the corner. “Mama,” she utters.
I rub the baby’s back tersely and lie him over my forearm to help the fluids dislodge from his throat.
“The baby isn’t crying. Why isn’t the baby crying?” Miriam croaks.
“I won’t let anything happen to your baby.”
The walls begin to close in on me. What if I shouldn’t say such a thing?
Come on, sweetheart. Come on.
“Is the baby breathing?” Stefan chokes out.
I can’t answer him.
I flick the soles of the baby’s feet, eliciting a startling, hearty cry that breaks through all the panic driven noises.
There you are.“A perfect little boy.”
“What do you need?” Stefan asks, breathlessly.
