It made me feel supported.
It made me feel less alone.
Dr. Jean was waiting for me.
“Jack told me you’re on your way.” She immediately checked me and then smiled. “You’re ready for delivery.”
I cried out as another contraction hit and clung to Cole’s hand.
I did not want to be alone while delivering my daughter. I did not know if he wanted to be there or not, but he was the closest support I had. And I needed someone. The one person who should have been there was far away from me, and I did not think I could do this by myself.
“I’m not leaving you,” he said, holding my hand firmly.
He entered the delivery room with me and quickly put on a gown and a mask.
“Ahhhhhh,” I screamed. “Oh, my God! Get her out. Please get her out.”
Cole stood at my side and took my hand, squeezing it gently. He had been through this before with his wife, and something in the way he spoke to me made me believe I could survive the next minute and then the next.
“You can do this. Just hang on a little longer. I’m right here. You can do this.”
I looked at him.
Sweat dripped down my face. My breaths came faster and faster, and my pulse continued to pound wildly. I did not even know what was making it race so hard anymore—whether it was the pain, my fear for my baby, or Cole and the nearness of him while I was at my most vulnerable.
I had read books.
I had watched videos.
I had researched online.
I had tried so hard to prepare.
But going through labour was nothing like I had imagined.
My thoughts turned to Caleb again with a painful ache. He should have been there with me, holding my hand. He should have been there for the birth of his daughter. He should have been there, saying all the things Cole was saying to me now.
Tears rolled down my cheeks.
Cole wiped them away gently. “It will be over soon, I promise. I’m right here with you.”
If he only knew the real reason for my tears.Still, his reassurance helped a little.
“You can squeeze my hand as hard as you want. Even if you break it, we’re at a hospital, so do not worry.”
Despite the agony tearing through my body, I laughed along with the doctor and the nurses. It was brief and shaky, but it was there.
“You ready, Jiya?” Dr. Jean asked. “Your daughter is almost here.”
I nodded.
Seven minutes later, through the strain and the screaming and the exhaustion, Emma was born.
Six and a half pounds at 10:52 a.m. on March 23.
She was beautiful and pink, and she cried after she was given a gentle spank on her butt.
The nurse placed her on my chest for a couple of seconds, and emotion overwhelmed me so completely that I could barely breathe. I could not believe my daughter was finally here, in my arms.
