members returning with cups of coffee, but overall it’s calm.
I try and breathe through another contraction. Dean stops. I realize I’m gripping him so hard my fingernails are digging into his arm. He uses his shirtsleeve to wipe a sheen of sweat off my forehead.
“Want to go back?” he asks.
I suck in air and shake my head. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk much longer, so I might as well do what I can now. We make a few more laps up and down the hallway, pausing for another contraction, before returning to the room.
I’m not feeling good. I’m sweating, and nausea is starting to roil in the pit of my stomach.
Dr. Nolan comes in for another check. “Still only three centimeters,” she says.
The announcement makes me want to cry, especially when another contraction tightens around me like an iron band.
“Can you give her something for the pain?” Dean asks.
“I’ll try and get the anesthesiologist in here. Last I checked, he was in surgery.” Dr. Nolan glances at the birth plan, then nods. “Sit tight, both of you.”
She leaves. I grip the lifeline of my husband’s hand and breathe.
*
I can’t tell if tears or sweat are running down my face. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my own skin. My body is hard as stone, totally foreign. My spine is about to break in two. The hospital gown is sticky and heavy.
I’m vaguely aware of Dean prowling beside my bed. Aware of his hand smoothing my hair back, pressing a wet cloth to my forehead. Aware of the rumble of his voice, deep and soothing against my ear. Aware of the unbreakable grip of his fingers as I seize his hand through the pain. Aware of the fear he’s trying to keep contained.
I close my eyes and float on a wave of agony. I can’t even swallow. When another contraction yanks a scream from my throat, Dean lets me clutch at him until the pain eases, and then he pulls away and curves my fingers around the bedrail.
“I’m getting the doctor.” His tone is rough, but lined with that implacability I know so well. He brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Be right back.”
I sink against the pillows and concentrate on breathing. A palpable relief curls through me because I sense some sort of end to this. I know my husband won’t let up until he gets someone in here who can ease this horrible pain.
I’ve lost track of how much time has passed. I hear faint music in the background, but the sound grates against my ears.
Dean’s hand touches my hair. “Liv, the anesthesiologist is here.”
Oh, thank God.
There’s a flurry of activity around me as the anesthesiologist introduces himself, explains the procedure, and instructs me to sit up and hunch over a pillow. Another contraction clutches me. I bury my face in the pillow and breathe through it.
I’m able to answer the anesthesiologist’s questions as he preps my back and inserts the needle. The procedure is quick and painless. After the catheter is in place and the medicine given, the nurse and Dean help me lie back down. Already a delicious numbness spreads through me.
“There’s another one.” Karen consults the monitor after another few minutes. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” There’s still a mild pain, but nothing like what it was before. The relief gives me a renewed burst of courage.
“Try and rest now,” Karen suggests. “You’ll need your strength when it’s time to push.”
I close my eyes. My chest feels looser, making it easier to breathe, and my body no longer feels like something alien.
“Is that better?” Dean looks at the monitor as he pulls a chair back up beside my bed.
“Yes. God.” I push a swath of damp hair away from my forehead. “This is insane.”
“Now maybe it’ll be a little easier.” He looks more stressed out than I’ve ever seen him before, but when he catches me watching him, he manages a smile. “I’d offer you ice cream, but you’re not supposed to eat anything.”
“Yeah. That sucks. I think I’m
I try and breathe through another contraction. Dean stops. I realize I’m gripping him so hard my fingernails are digging into his arm. He uses his shirtsleeve to wipe a sheen of sweat off my forehead.
“Want to go back?” he asks.
I suck in air and shake my head. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk much longer, so I might as well do what I can now. We make a few more laps up and down the hallway, pausing for another contraction, before returning to the room.
I’m not feeling good. I’m sweating, and nausea is starting to roil in the pit of my stomach.
Dr. Nolan comes in for another check. “Still only three centimeters,” she says.
The announcement makes me want to cry, especially when another contraction tightens around me like an iron band.
“Can you give her something for the pain?” Dean asks.
“I’ll try and get the anesthesiologist in here. Last I checked, he was in surgery.” Dr. Nolan glances at the birth plan, then nods. “Sit tight, both of you.”
She leaves. I grip the lifeline of my husband’s hand and breathe.
*
I can’t tell if tears or sweat are running down my face. I feel like I’m about to burst out of my own skin. My body is hard as stone, totally foreign. My spine is about to break in two. The hospital gown is sticky and heavy.
I’m vaguely aware of Dean prowling beside my bed. Aware of his hand smoothing my hair back, pressing a wet cloth to my forehead. Aware of the rumble of his voice, deep and soothing against my ear. Aware of the unbreakable grip of his fingers as I seize his hand through the pain. Aware of the fear he’s trying to keep contained.
I close my eyes and float on a wave of agony. I can’t even swallow. When another contraction yanks a scream from my throat, Dean lets me clutch at him until the pain eases, and then he pulls away and curves my fingers around the bedrail.
“I’m getting the doctor.” His tone is rough, but lined with that implacability I know so well. He brushes a kiss against my forehead. “Be right back.”
I sink against the pillows and concentrate on breathing. A palpable relief curls through me because I sense some sort of end to this. I know my husband won’t let up until he gets someone in here who can ease this horrible pain.
I’ve lost track of how much time has passed. I hear faint music in the background, but the sound grates against my ears.
Dean’s hand touches my hair. “Liv, the anesthesiologist is here.”
Oh, thank God.
There’s a flurry of activity around me as the anesthesiologist introduces himself, explains the procedure, and instructs me to sit up and hunch over a pillow. Another contraction clutches me. I bury my face in the pillow and breathe through it.
I’m able to answer the anesthesiologist’s questions as he preps my back and inserts the needle. The procedure is quick and painless. After the catheter is in place and the medicine given, the nurse and Dean help me lie back down. Already a delicious numbness spreads through me.
“There’s another one.” Karen consults the monitor after another few minutes. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” There’s still a mild pain, but nothing like what it was before. The relief gives me a renewed burst of courage.
“Try and rest now,” Karen suggests. “You’ll need your strength when it’s time to push.”
I close my eyes. My chest feels looser, making it easier to breathe, and my body no longer feels like something alien.
“Is that better?” Dean looks at the monitor as he pulls a chair back up beside my bed.
“Yes. God.” I push a swath of damp hair away from my forehead. “This is insane.”
“Now maybe it’ll be a little easier.” He looks more stressed out than I’ve ever seen him before, but when he catches me watching him, he manages a smile. “I’d offer you ice cream, but you’re not supposed to eat anything.”
“Yeah. That sucks. I think I’m
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