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“Everything sounds on track and normal. Let’s have a look and check your dilation.”
Once upon a time, I reddened with embarrassment even thinking about my appointments at the lady doctor. Now, I don’t care. All the people in this room are trained medical professionals. They have probably delivered hundreds, if not thousands, of babies. Nudity doesn’t shock them. No doubt, they have seen it all. And in this moment, I honestly don’t give a damn who sees what.
Just get this damn baby out of my body.
Dr. Webster recovers my knees and removes the gloves from her hands as she stands from the stool. Tossing the gloves in the biohazard trash bin, she turns on the faucet and washes her hands.
“Dilated to seven. Shouldn’t be long now.” Her glowing smile makes another appearance. “I’ll be back to check on you soon. In the meantime, keep breathing and resting as much as you can.” Her eyes go to Devlyn. “Dad, you’re in charge of keeping her as calm as possible. Water and ice chips may help. But not too much.”
All but one nurse leaves the room. He pulls things out of cabinets and sets up items on counters and trays and carts. I close my eyes and listen to the machine as it registers my heartbeat, the baby’s heartbeat, and contractions. I let it soothe me as I rest against pillows softer than I imagined for the hospital.
Devlyn traces my fingers and hand with his. And right now, everything is calm and normal.
But that all vanishes a second later as another contraction stretches and pulls and rips at my abdomen. Devlyn kisses my temple and encourages me to take deep breaths. I squeeze his hand hard enough to detach it from his arm, but he doesn’t complain.
When the pain eases, Devlyn offers me ice chips and pours water in a cup with a straw.
Not a minute later, another contraction hits. This one like a knife to my insides. Stabbing. Painful. Burning. Before I get the chance to voice my pain, the monitor off to the side wails loudly. Too loudly.
In an instant, the room overflows with medical personnel. One silences the machine, while Dr. Webster gloves up. Her smile from earlier gone. Her demeanor and body language more serious as she reads the numbers on the monitor.
She lifts the sheet away and exposes me fully. “Shelly, are you in pain?” She surveys between my thighs. “More than the previous contractions,” she clarifies.
“Yes. What’s wrong?”
She feels around my lower abdomen, near my pelvic bone, and presses hard in a few spots. “Does this hurt?” I suck in a sharp breath and nod. Her eyes drift to a nurse in light-blue scrubs and she gives a subtle nod. The nurse blurs out of sight and starts grabbing more items from cabinets and drawers. “I don’t want to alarm you, but it seems as if this little one isn’t getting enough oxygen. Your body isn’t ready to push yet, so we need to do an emergency C-section.”
Tears rim my eyes, blur my vision and spill down my cheeks. “Oh god.”
“This isn’t abnormal, Shelly. But we can’t wait.”
A nurse comes to Devlyn’s side, hands him a pile of green scrubs, and tells him he needs to change before the surgery starts.
He kisses my forehead. “Be right back.” And then he dashes into the en suite bathroom.
I cry harder the second he steps away. Dr. Webster continues to assure me everything will be fine, but I tune out her voice. I tune out every sound in the room. Because this just feels like another snapped tree in the road. Another major obstacle to challenge me. To challenge us.
And damn it. I am so fucking tired of this. So tired of having to fight. So tired.
TWENTY-EIGHT
DEVLYN
Once I havethe scrubs on and the booties over my shoes, I exit the bathroom. The room is abuzz, and not in a good way. When I look to Shelly, I notice her eyes are closed. My initial thought is she is relaxing between contractions.
As everyone moves rapidly around the room, a curtain is erected to hide the lower half of her body from sight. I go back to my position next to Shelly and scoop up her hand, lacing my fingers in hers. But she doesn’t curl her fingers.
In fact, her arm is deadweight.
“Something’s wrong,” I say, but no one pays me attention. So, I repeat myself, louder this time. “Something is wrong.” Dr. Webster peers around the curtain, mask covering her face. “She’s limp,” I choke out.
If I thought the room was chaos moments ago, I was dead wrong.
Dr. Webster shouts orders, but none of them makes sense to me. Then a nurse is at my side, taking my arm and guiding me out of the room.
“Everything will be fine, Devlyn. Just let us work and we’ll be out to get you in a minute,” Dr. Webster says, calmer than she lets on.
“What’s wrong with her? Is Shelly okay? The baby?”
