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Knox slides off the couch without question, and she disappears up the stairs. J.R. takes my hands, and he pulls me up off the couch. I grimace only slightly, which prompts him to ask if I’m feeling okay.
I decide that I must look terrible. Both J.R. and Knox have asked me this question now. Maybe I look like death, too.
“I’m fine.” Although, if I’m being honest, which I’m not, these fake contractions are not letting up. In fact, they seem to be getting worse. I’m worried.
“Do you need help with your shoes?” J.R. asks me.
“Throw them on the floor. I can slide my feet in.” I refuse to let anyone put my shoes on for me. I’ve not lost all independence.
“Are you sure that you’re okay, Rach? You really don’t look well.”
“J.R., your dad was just rushed to the hospital. Let’s not worry about me, okay?” I slide my feet into my flip-flops, and I force a smile on my face.
J.R. decides he won’t ask about me anymore, and within a few minutes, we’re out the door on the way to the hospital.
I hate the way hospitals smell. They’re always so bright and clean, but somehow, they still smell like bodies. Living bodies. Dead bodies. Sick bodies. It makes me nauseated.
We find the elevator to the emergency room and take it without a word passing between us. I’m holding Knox’s hand, while J.R. has mine. I can’t stop thinking about how I need to find some place to sit down. Soon. I’m secretly counting the minutes between my fake contractions, and I am beginning to think that these are not Braxton Hicks contractions at all. I’m not due to have our baby girl for another three weeks, and today would not be the day to go into labor. I’m wondering if I can coerce her into staying in there a while longer. Is there some sort of secret signal I can transmit through the umbilical cord? Maybe if I just ignore the pains, they’ll stop. That’s how it works, isn’t it?
Arriving on the emergency room floor, I find a couple of chairs for Knox and me, while J.R. disappears down a hall to find his parents. I squirm in the chair, moving myself from left to right to left again. I’m exhaling deeply by reflex, and I’m now counting less than one minute between each contraction.
“Mama, are you sure you’re okay?” Knox looks at me with her big, worried, blue eyes.
I grimace. “I have to be okay, don’t I?” I feel like crying. I want to cry.
“Maybe you should see a doctor, too,” she says, and I think she’s right. Actually, I know she’s right. I’m in labor.
I don’t want to send J.R. a text message to ask him to come back. I know he needs to be with Roger, but I also don’t think this is one of those things I can ignore any longer. I’m overwhelmed with the lack of options, and it adds to my desire to cry even more.
Before I have to decide on what to do, I spot J.R. coming back toward us from the hall. I don’t have to say anything. J.R. notices immediately that I am definitely not okay, and he moves from a casual walk down the hall to a full sprint.
“Remember when you kept asking if I was okay?” I ask, looking up at him from my chair with a grimace on my face. “I’m not fine. I lied. I think I’ve gone into labor.”
J.R.'s blue eyes widen. “Like, right now?”
I nod. “Pretty sure.” I’m fighting the urge to cry out, but the pain is worse with every passing second.
J.R. practically tackles an innocent nurse making her rounds, and within sixty seconds, I’m being pushed to a room in a wheelchair.
“I’m going to take Knox to Mom,” J.R. tells me as a nurse gets me settled in a hospital bed. Although I’m about to push a human out of my body, I know enough to argue. I know that Roger isn’t going to make it out of this hospital alive, and I know that I want Knox to see life, not death.
I take his hand. “Stay,” I say, and I feel a tear run down my cheek. “I know this isn’t ideal. It wasn’t expected. I’m sorry.”
J.R. looks back at me calmly. “We’re about to have a baby.”
“What about your dad?” I whisper.
“I’m going to be here. Right here,” he says to me, and then he kisses my forehead. “I’m here.”
I hold onto his wrists, and I nod my head against his lips. “Don’t let Knox see anything. She’ll never be the same again.”
J.R. laughs at me. “I’ll keep her away from the action.”
Nurses scramble around me, hooking me up to a machine that measures contractions. Once again, things progressed too quickly to administer an epidural, so, like I had to do with Knox, I’m going to give birth the natural way. Only, this time I’ll have an audience. J.R. and Knox.
The doctor comes into the room. He’s calm, sliding his rubber gloves on. I’m squirming and resisting the urge to cry.
“How are you doing, Rachel?” the doctor asks me as he begins to check me.
