I nodded. “I need to call her.” I walked away from the table.
Once I confirmed the frequency, strength, and length of my patient, Andrea’s, contractions, I asked the other pertinent questions. Was she able to walk or talk through the contractions, or did she find herself needing to stop and refocus her brain. I asked about the location of the pain and if she noticed that changing positions helped. Finally, I asked about pressure and vaginal discharge. This was her third pregnancy, so I was almost positive that if she thought she was in labor, she probably was. Once she’d answered the questions, I knew she was in labor. Before I even ended the call, I was in my bedroom dressing in clean scrubs and throwing my hair into a bun.
Quentin threw up his hand at me as I walked toward the front door. “Good luck. Be safe,” he called as I left the house and headed for my truck.
While I was discouraged and disappointed in my ability to take back my pre-shooting life, one thing that was going well for me was work. God must’ve known that I needed a break on some front, because each of the moms I’d done my doula thing with were rockstars. Andrea’s baby had arrived quickly.
I got to her house around 9:00 p.m., and five hours later, she welcomed baby Jeremiah. It had been a textbook birth with absolutely no concerns or complications. Andrea was relatively aware of what would keep her the calmest and most relaxed during labor. We did those things—the birthing ball, guided breathing, and light massage from her husband—and she had a relatively easy birth and recovery.
I was still grinning when I came through the front door of Quentin’s house. Well, I was grinning right up until I heard a voice. I jumped so high I could’ve hit my head on the ceiling.
“My bad. My bad.” He quickly disarmed the security system, which was also blaring.
My hand was over my heaving chest, and my breathing was labored. “Oh, wow. You scared the hell out of me.”
“My bad,” he repeated for a third time. “My bad.”
“What are you doing up?” I checked my watch. Yep, it was almost 3:00 a.m.
He shrugged and gave me a look that reminded me of a kid.
I wanted to laugh, but I was still holding my chest and trying to get my heart rate to return to normal.
“I didn’t want you to come into a dark house. I know you’re not really familiar with the spot quite yet.”
I finally released my chest. “Aww, that’s really thoughtful.” I felt like I kept saying that. Like I kept saying that the things he did without considering them were thoughtful. “Thanks.”
“So you were all smiles when you walked in, before I scared you.” We both chuckled a little. “It must’ve gone well.”
I nodded as I slipped out of my shoes. “It did. Classic, textbook birth. All gas, no brakes. Little Jeremiah was trying to get here, and his mom knew exactly what to do.”
“Must be cool getting to see the start of life. I’ve never seen birth.” His voice dropped. “Only death.” Before I could comment, he continued. “Say, my bad. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take you there. I know you’ve seen more than your fair share of death too.”
I shrugged. “I’m a nurse. It comes with the territory. I mean, now I’m a doula, but you know . . . I’m a nurse.” I knew he was talking about the shooting, but I didn’t want to think about that. I was feeling good. I wanted that feeling to last. I took a breath. “You were with Teagan when she passed away?”
“Yeah. Held her in my arms. Shit.” He ran his hand down his face. “I’m simultaneously thankful and traumatized by those moments.”
“I think anybody would be. Sorry to throw you back to those moments.”
He sighed heavily. “You didn’t. You’re cool. Those moments are never far from me. Talk to me about life. Tell me about the birth.”
So I did.
I was a light sleeper, but not always. For most of my life, I slept like the dead. Then I got with Teagan, and for some reason, her asthma liked to get active during the overnight hours. That was how I heard the sound—the creaking of the floorboards and what sounded like talking a few levels louder than whispering. Since Eastley and I were the only people in the house, I knew it was her. I just didn’t know what was going on.
I tossed back the covers and got out of bed. I grabbed my basketball shorts and pulled them on my naked lower body. Then I eased my feet into my slides and padded down the hall.
Her bedroom door was closed, and it kinda sounded like she was praying. Once I realized that she wasn’t in any danger, my heart rate began to slow. I hadn’t even realized that it picked up,but once it slowed, I knew what it was. It was a trauma response from all the times I woke up from a dead sleep and needed to be ongofor Teagan, for asthma related emergencies.
I leaned against the wall outside of her room and listened. Once my heart wasn’t thundering in my ears, I could make out what she was saying.
I’m safe in Sweet Jackson.
I’m safe with Quentin.
How I feel is understandable.
I’ve been through a lot.
