“It’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “The ambulance is on its way and my mom will be here with Jenna in the meantime.” I hold my phone up. “Momma, this is Marty, the father-to-be.”
“Hello Marty, congratulations on this happy day. Let’s see how I can help you and Jenna.”
“I really want to push!” Jenna exclaims and my head turns to her. I lower the phone so my mom can see her sitting astridethe toilet in just a black tank top that has risen up above her full stomach. Her face is red and sweaty, her hair swept up in a messy bun on top of her head, but even so I can see she’s a beautiful woman with syrup-colored eyes and constellations of freckles dancing across her nose and cheeks.
“That’s good, honey,” Mom says from the phone and I quickly adjust the volume so she’s louder. “Does anybody know how often her contractions are?”
“Not really, no.” Marty comes to kneel awkwardly beside Jenna, crouching around the sink that’s next to the toilet. “They were every four minutes about twenty minutes ago but then they just started coming really hard and fast.”
“Really hard and fast,” Jenna agrees through gritted teeth. “I’m having one now. Shit, please, can I push? I really want to push!”
“Marty, can you reach between Jenna’s legs and tell me if you feel anything there?” Mom says and the calm in her voice contrasts with the panic that fills the bathroom.
There’s a sharp knock at the door. “I’ve got towels,” comes Cynthia’s voice.
“Great,” I say and I lean back to open the door with my spare hand. “Can you put them on the floor near the tub?”
“Sure.” Cynthia rushes in, deposits the pile of towels and then catches a look at Marty and Jenna. “Oh, Jesus.”
“It’s fine. We’re okay,” I tell her.
“I can’t feel anything,” Marty calls out. “Nothing out of the ordinary anyway.”
“That’s good. We have some time,” Mom says. “Can somebody wet a cloth with hot water and hold it to Jenna there?”
“I’ll do it,” Cynthia says reaching for a washcloth from the top of the pile and then stretching over Marty to run the sink’s hot faucet. “Well, I’ll get it wet anyway. Marty, you might be best to hold it there.”
“Thanks, Ma,” Marty says in a strained tone.
“Can somebody please tell me if I can push or not?” Jenna yells, her voice gravelly from shouting.
“If you feel you have to, then yes, you should push,” Mom says.
“You need to know… you should know that our baby…” Jenna pants. “She’s special. She’s…”
Her face crumples in pain.
“She’s got Down syndrome,” Marty finishes for Jenna as he takes the washcloth from his mom and bends down again, placing it between Jenna’s legs.
“I know, honeys, I know. Congratulations to you both.”
“But she shouldn’t be born like this. She needs doctors and nurses and to be in a hospital. In case… oh fuck…” Jenna groans.
“The ambulance is coming,” I tell her.
“We’ve just got to keep you and baby safe until they’re here,” Mom says. “And I know we can.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to her,” Jenna says and she starts to cry, leaning her head against Marty’s arm.
“It’s okay, Jenna. It will all be okay,” he tells her.
Jenna looks up at her partner. “You promise?”
“I promise you. It will all be okay.”
That does something to Jenna. Gives her a bit of peace or hope or a new focus. She straightens up a little and looks up at my phone which I’m still holding out so my mom can see as much as possible.
“So, I can push?”
