“I’m sorry . . . I have no idea what you just said.” My breathing is rapid, and a nurse’s hand rests on my shoulder.
“Rochelle, we need you to calm down. Have you got any jewellery on?”
I frown, confused.Why is she asking about jewellery?As if reading my mind, she adds, “We need to take any piercings out before we go through.”
“Erm, no . . . none.”
They wheel the bed towards the door. The midwife is beside me still, and she lowers the bed until I’m staring up at the ceiling.
“I feel sick,” I mutter. My mouth is dry as I try to swallow. She nods to the doctor, and he acknowledges her back. “We can give you something for that.”
She passes me a clipboard with a form attached and then a pen “Can you sign this?”
I look at her, puzzled. “What? Why?”
“It’s procedure.”
They wheel me out the room the corridor mimicking the chaos swirling around my head and heart right now. I sign without thinking twice and hand her the forms back.
I search the corridor looking for Drifter, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
She notices. “He will be in the theatre once we have you set up.”
I nod, lying my head back and watching as the hospital lights blend into one.
Once we’re in the theatre, I’m transferred to another bed and a sheet is placed just above my chest, restricting my view of what’s happening. The machines beep, and I draw my attention to them, trying to ground myself.
Drifter finally enters, and I feel slightly relieved as he takes position by my head. He looks just as stressed as I feel.
He brushes the hair away from my face, placing a tender kiss on my head. “You are fucking amazing, you know that?” he whispers.
I offer a weak smile in return, because right now, I don’t feel amazing at all.
“Okay,” the doctor says, “we’re about to begin.”
I feel pressure on my stomach and frown. Drifter peers closer, his expression etched with worry. “Wait, she needs help,” he calls out.
The anaesthetist leans over. “Are you okay, Rochelle?”
“I can feel it,” I whisper, wincing.
“We can give you some gas and air, but some tugging and pulling is normal,” he reassures me, passing the gas and air.
I take a deep inhale, relaxing as the sounds of the room filter out. Drifter watches closely, and I wonder if he’ll pass out. He’s pale enough.
“Hmm, I’m starving,” I say, laughing.
Drifter’s frown deepens, and he glances at the nurse.
“You’re really gonna speak about food when your insides are open?” he teases.
I laugh louder, the buzz of the gas hitting me as I inhale again. “This shit’s good. Want some?” I pass him the nozzle, but he shakes his head.
“She’s out,” the surgeon announces. “You have a baby girl.”
I wait, holding my breath for her first cry, but the room is silent.
“What the fuck is happening?” I shout. And then there’s a piercing cry, and relief fills me. The rest of the room feels it too, and the atmosphere immediately feels lighter.
