“No panicking over here, my sweet ginger angel,” Ellie says reassuringly. “I am laser focused.” She pauses, then adds, “Should we maybe start calling people? Your dad, Alan and Andrea?”
“Not yet, please,” I plead. “I want to wait. I don’t want to call anyone until I know for sure.”
“I think it’s safe to say you are for sure in labor, Abs.”
“I want to wait,” I reiterate firmly. “Until we’ve hit 5-1-1, I don’t want to call anyone. Just…just let me focus, okay?”
She nods, checking her watch again when I inhale sharply at the beginning of another cramp.
Contraction, Abigail. They aren’t cramps. Calling them something else doesn’t make them less real.
“Okay that was five minutes, and sixty seconds long,” she says nervously, diligently recording the latest time. “We’ve got the five, and the first of the ones. So now we just see if this keeps up for another hour?”
“Mhmm,” I hum, my lips pressed together tightly as the pain from the latestcontractionrecedes.
“And then you let me call people?”
“And then you drive me to the hospital,” I say. “AndthenI let you call people.”
“Is there anything I can do for you? I feel absolutely useless,” she says anxiously. “Is this what boys feel like all the time?”
“No,” I chuckle. “They aren’t burdened by the knowledge that they’re useless. It must be so peaceful.”
“I’m so glad you’re having a girl,” she sighs.
I laugh loudly, but my laugh is cut off by a sharp pain in my pelvis.
“Fuck me, they’re definitely getting worse every time,” I whine. “Was that five minutes?”
“A little under,” she mumbles, resetting the stop watch on her phone. “But it was still around a minute. I guess the countdown starts now.”
The next hour goes by both painfully slowly and alarmingly quickly. Before I know it, Ellie is loading me into the car while Griffin loads the carseat and my hospital bag. The drive to the hospital feels like something out of a movie–I feel disconnected, like I’m not an active participant in what is very much the most monumental moment of my life.
I felt the same way at Aaron’s funeral.
Everything from the moment we stepped out of the car to the moment I settled into my hospital bed is a blur. Even if my life depended on it, I couldn’t tell you if it took twenty minutes or two hours, or how many people I spoke to, or whether I’m in an actual room or a broom closet. And I mean this wholeheartedly–I do not give a fuck.
All I know right now is pain. Physical pain? Absolutely, contractions are a bitch (they definitely undersold these, holy shit). But in the moments of reprieve from the tangible pain in my body, unbearable, soul-deep pain is threatening to rip me to shreds, or to swallow me whole. I would take either option at this point–any sense of relief would be welcome, no matter how catastrophic.
I’m vaguely aware of the people around me, and the information being talked at me like I’m supposed to know (or care) what any of it means. My mind is an inescapable black hole, slowly collapsing in on itself as it destroys everything I’ve worked so hard to put back together over the last nine months.
Back pain.Aaron should be here.Needle prick.I can’t do this.Intense contraction.This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.Exhaustion.I wish he were here.
Let’s ignore the fact that there are two ‘he’s I’m thinking about.
I finally get some help in the form of an epidural. Once the numbing agent begins to work its magic, my whole body sags in relief. I unashamedly, unabashedly grab my nurse by the face and plant a big fat kiss on her forehead.
“What’s your name?” I ask, delirious with exhaustion and newfound relaxation. “I’m changing the baby’s name, I’m naming her after you.”
She chuckles, patting my hand comfortingly. “Keep your name, mom. The thank-you kiss was more than enough.”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I guess I got carried away.”
“If that’s the worst thing you do, you’ll be more well behaved than ninety nine percent of patients,” she says with a smile. “But the night is young. Who knows what else you’ll get up to.”
“I’d like to apologize in advance on behalf of future me,” I say solemnly. “I just know she’s going to be a real bitch.”
Now that I feel (mostly) back in my right mind, I give Ellie permission to allow a few visitors for a brief moment. Andrea comes in first, carrying a tattered old teddy bear and pulling a chair up to my bedside, squeezing my hand tightly.
