I circle the bed and meet her pleading eyes. She’s changed her mind, and she’s done with toughing this out on any level.
Patrick is all about rubbing her back and trying to talk her through this, as she had her goals, but I’m the only one who has the sense to yell, “Get the anesthesiologist in here. Now!”
It’s only seconds before they have her sitting up on the bed, and I’m then beside her when there’s a needle going into her spine.
“Give it a minute.”
And I now understand those silent screams you only hear about.
She regains her voice after a few minutes. “That’s where the termblinding paincomes from. I get it. Because my vision was fucked there for a bit there.”
Soon, Katrina is rolling back against the bed and asks if the anesthesiologist is single,
“Thank you,” she says as she goes back to the television to watchSchitt’s Creek.
Her calm and joy are everything.
Patrick drags me out of the room. His tears are happy. Mostly. “It’s so different this time, Diana. This labor?” He can hardly speak. “It’s different, right? Please tell me it’s different. Not like last time.”
“Of course it is different. You’re both going to be snuggling a healthy baby very soon.”
He chokes on his words. “She’s not going to suffer the way she did last time.”
Now I tear up too. “No, she’s not. And neither will you. It’s a beautiful night. Relish every second.”
His loud breath is audible.
“You sound like one of those whooshy things you use to blow air into a fireplace,” I say.
He laughs. “Let’s go back in.”
The OB shows up fifteen minutes later and smiles. “It’s time. You good?”
Katrina nods, but it’s a very weak smile. Patrick sits next to her, and I am about to sneak out, but Katrina whisper-calls, “Diana? Don’t leave.”
Thankfully, I hear her just as I’ve opened the door, so I stop.
“I need two people to grab my legs to get this baby out. I tried to read the good stuff for this time.”
I rush back and grab a spot on the edge of her bed. Patrick and I make eye contact, and I about melt. Now on either side of the bed, we each ease one of her legs up. This is a magical moment.
When we are all in place, the doctor tells her to push.
We wait, but Katrina just closes her eyes. “No. I can’t…”
“Sweetheart, push.” Patrick encourages her. “It’s time.”
But suddenly, the tone in the room changes. Katrina has frozen. She’s lost any sense of determination or joy that flooded the room just minutes ago. Her hands push against both of us, and she shakes her head and looks at me. Too calmly.
“No.” Her words are solid. Clear. “I can’t do it. I’m not pushing. I won’t. Not again. Don’t make me do this.”
Before any of us can speak, she devolves into tears, and it’s beyond heartbreaking.
For too long, she shakes her head and sobs as we try to console her. The doctor looks at me and then whispers her concerns aboutthe heartbeat, showing the baby is on the verge of distress. It’s either Katrina pushes now or has a C-section.
I step up and get assertive. Gently, I place my hand on her cheek and turn her to face the monitor. “See this? The baby has a heartbeat. A good one. A beautiful one.” With my hands on either side of her head, I physically make her look at me and smile calmly. “But it’s time to bring this baby into this world. Waiting any longer could be dangerous. Okay? Do you understand?”
She nods, and she reaches a hand to mine. Squeezing. “I do.” Her other hand moves to Patrick’s. “Let’s do this.”
