“You’re thirty-seven weeks, which means you’re full-term.”
“The baby will be okay?”
“The baby is developed enough for delivery, yes,” she says choosing her words carefully. She won’t promise my baby will be alright, and rationally I know she can’t, but it still sends a spike of fear through me.
She must read my tension in the silence, for she says, “Everything was looking really great at your last visit. There’s no reason to worry, Lucy. Just get yourself over to the hospital as soon as you can. I’ll notify Doctor Lee that you’re on your way and she’ll see you there shortly.”
“Okay,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
I disconnect and immediately call Noah. It’s time and I need to suck it up. Only, he doesn’t answer and the call rings through to voicemail.
I don’t leave a message.
I wait a few minutes, struggling through another contraction, then try him again. Still no answer. This time I do leave a voicemail asking him to call me as soon as possible. Is he avoiding me? I probably deserve it after the silent treatment I’ve essentially been giving him, but Noah’s not spiteful like that. Is he? The old Noah maybe, but not the man I’ve come to know these last eight months. Besides, he wouldn’t chance it so close to my due date. I’m sure he’ll call me back soon.
I text him as well, just in case.
I send Jill up to my apartment to grab my hospital bag, already packed and sitting by my front door since the second trimester thanks to Noah.
After my text to him goes unanswered as well I break down and call Piper. She promises to be there within ten minutes and I hear her yelling that the library is closing before she’s even hung up the phone.
The pain and pressure has intensified significantly by the time she pulls up to the back door, and I’m leaning against the brick wall of the bakery with Jill hovering concernedly beside me. Piper leaps from the car and rushes to my side. She grabs my bag and flings it in the trunk while Jill helps me to the car. Piper opens the passenger side door for me but I shake my head while another contraction wracks my body.
“Back seat,” I gasp out and dive in on all fours when she opens the door.
Piper drives us through town at a pace only slightly above the speed limit, checking on me repeatedly in the rear-view mirror as I remain unbuckled and on all fours across the bench seat. I shriek as another contraction hits and the car jerks slightly but she avoids slamming on the brakes.
“Shit, Luce, are you okay?”
“Fuck, no, I’m not okay! Get me there fast, P. I cannotgive birth in the backseat of a car!” I exclaim as I think of all those horror stories I’ve heard where exactly that happened. Noah actually delivered a baby at the side of the road during his first year with the highway patrol. Well, his partner did. He admitted to me that he nearly fainted and was ordered to remain near the woman’s head propping her up while his much more experienced training officer did all the heavy lifting.
And everyone in town has heard the story of Mrs. Nolan, who, when in labor with her fifth child was forced to rip off her pajama bottoms and squat in an elevator full of strangers at the hospital before she even made it up to the delivery ward. That’s a horror story if I’ve ever heard one.
I shudder just as I feel the telltale pressure building again at the base of my spine. I grit my teeth and grunt through the pain. Thankfully, the hospital is in sight and I sigh in relief when Piper pulls up to the door just as the contraction wanes.
I’m swiftly placed in a wheelchair and brought up to the delivery floor. The trip is thankfully uneventful. Piper speaks to someone at the counter and I’m brought to a private room by a cute nurse with tortoiseshell glasses and dark hair pulled back in a high flirty ponytail. Piper tells her that my contractions are now five minutes apart just as another one doubles me over in the chair. Christ, I’veneverfelt anything like this before, and this is coming from a woman who spent most of her teens regularly puking due to extreme period cramp pain. I’m glad she’s paying attention to the timing because I certainly haven’t been.
Five minutes apart. Where the fuck is Noah?
“P,” I whine, “can you try calling Noah again for me?”
“I did while they were checking you in,” she says. “Aidan is trying to track him down now.”
I nod my thanks.
Another nurse with strawberry blonde hair and an abundance of freckles joins us–she looks barely out of high school. The two introduce themselves, but I instantly forget their names when another contraction wipes all thoughts from my brain.
My water breaks while they’re helping me into my hospital gown. Freckles gets me situated in the bed and ponytail cleans the floor. Piper paces across the room typing frantically into her phone. They hook me up to some machines and a doctor I don’t know sweeps into the room. She tells me that she’s a resident and she’s just going to do a cervical check while we wait for my own doctor to arrive.
Six centimeters dilated.
I want Noah.
Hours pass and I try calling him twice more. I ask for an epidural and they tell me they’ll get the anesthesiologist in as soon as they can. I do my best to breathe through the pain using the techniques touted in the few birthing classes I’d attended, but it frankly doesn’t do shit for this kind of torture.
“Do you want to try taking a walk?” Piper asks. “Angela said it might help.”
“Who the fuck is Angela? And no, I don’t fucking want to walk!” I grit out. The thought is preposterous.
