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“What’s that?” the midwife, who was lingering nearby, asked when I moved for the adjoined bathroom with my girlfriend leaning heavily against me.
“She needs to use the bathroom,” I explained. “I’m just taking her now.”
“No, no, no,” the midwife replied, ushering us toward the bed instead. “Climb on, Aoife pet, and let me examine you.”
“No, you don’t understand,” Molloy groaned, climbing onto the bed and then writhing in pain when the nurse stepped between her legs. “If you don’t let me go to the bathroom right this second, I’m going to shit on you!”
“Just as I thought. You’re fully dilated, Aoife,” the midwife declared. “You’re ready to deliver.”
“A poo?”
“No, pet, a baby.”
“Oh, Jesus, Joe.” Crying out, she clutched my hand and pulled me close. “If I shit in front of you, please don’t hold it against me.”
“Molloy,” I coaxed, brushing her hair off her clammy face. “You can do whatever you want in front of me, okay?”
“That’s comforting, Joe,” she cried out, hooking an arm around my neck and catching me up in a headlock Kav would be proud of. “Because I think you’re about to see what I look like on the inside.”
______________________
Something was wrong.
I could feel it.
Molloy had been pushing for over an hour and nothing was happening.
The concerned look in the midwife’s eyes was enough to send my heart rate spiking, but it was the shrill sound of the bell ringing that put the fear of God into me.
“You’re grand,” I coaxed, keeping a death grip on her hand, as her panicked green eyes looked up at me from her hospital bed while the room filled with doctors and nurses. “This is all normal, Molloy.”
It wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
I’d been with my mother when she delivered Sean.
This was about as far from normal as you could get.
“Okay, Mom, the baby is starting to get very tired, sweetheart, so we’re going to help you deliver, okay?” the midwife that had been with us since admission told us. “We’re going to take you down to theater now.”
Theater?
Jesus Christ.
“Joe,” Molloy cried out as I was pushed aside for them to wheel her away. “Joe!”
“It’s okay,” I called out, feeling helpless as I watched them take her away from me. “Everything is grand, Molloy, I promise!”
“Dad will follow you down,” the nurse holding her hand said as they disappeared through the doors with my girlfriend. “He just needs to gown up first.”
“What’s happening?” I choked out, feeling like I was about to pass the hell out, as another nurse helped me into a blue operating gown and hairnet. “What’s wrong with her?”
“The baby is showing signs of shoulder dystocia,” she explained calmly. “Mom needs intervention to deliver.”
“What do you mean shoulder dystocia?” I demanded, following her over to the sink and scrubbing my hands raw before patting them dry on paper towels and masking up. “Does Aoife need a cesarean?”
“Baby’s head is out, but baby’s shoulders are stuck in the birth canal,” she explained as she ushered me down a long corridor toward the theater. “Don’t worry, Dad. Mom and baby are in great hands.”
