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“It’s winding down now, winding down, there. Take a cleansing breath and get ready for the next one,” he says, watching the contraction’s graph on the monitor. It starts right back up.
“Trey,” I groan loudly, “get the nurse in here. I want an epidural! This hurts!”
“Tylar,” he speaks gently but firmly, in what I now regard as his sickening soothing voice. “Remember honey, how we talked about this and decided together that this is how we want our baby to be born? No meds pre-delivery, remember? Now I know you can do this, baby.”
Shut UP! You'll never touch me again Trey Michael Sinclair!
I no sooner finish cursing him silently when the next contraction's on top of me. If I didn’t know better, I'd swear the baby has a chainsaw inside and is sawing through my ribcage, one rib at a time!
“Ahhhhh shit!” I scream.
I now have my fingers wound around a big hunk of Trey’s hair, tugging at it as I thrash around on the bed. Trey is fearful that I've crossed over into the “loss of control during labor condition,” we learned about in our natural childbirth class. The film our instructor played for the group horrified all of us. I'm now starring in my own version of it. That actress in the clip has nothing on me!
“Sweet Jesus!” I rasp, grabbing for my ice chips with my free hand, rolling back over on my side as the pain grips me again. I lose control and toss ice chips all over my bed.
“Tylar, Tylar, come on sweetie,” Trey is massaging my shoulders now. “Remember sweetie the pain of childbirth is a pain soon forgotten, right?”
I stop thrashing momentarily to turn my head in a 180-degree angle Exorcist-style to look at him. My hand's still clutching his chunk of hair.
Really Trey? How many babies have you pushed out of a once TINY opening?
“That’s my girl,” he croons, his fingers now trying to gently disengage mine from out of his hair. “Put on your big girl panties and roll with it, okay?”
If I'd kept my panties on we wouldn’t be here now!
“That’s it sweetie, you’re doing just fine. Remember, no pain, no gain, huh?” He finally frees himself of my hand and dabs the cool washcloth against my forehead. My hair is sweaty, I can feel it plastered against my head.
“Trey,” I gasp my voice now hoarse, “Please no more fucking platitudes, alright? I promise to stop the screaming if you just shut up for now.” He nods at me, seemingly not offended by my request.
The nurse bustles back in, Gina is right behind her. The nurse hustles Trey away from the bed and raises the sheet to check my progress again, not bothering to pull the curtain.
“Did I miss anything?” Gina asks.
“Good news, honey,” my nurse announces, smiling, “you lost your mucous plug.”
My what? That sounds gross!
“I’ll be right back to break your water,” she says, disappearing once again. As promised, she returns just after I loudly endure another rib-breaking contraction compliment of “Chucky,” my new name for the baby. She instructs Trey to change into his scrubs. Gina is allowed to stay with me until Trey returns.
Nurse Ratched holds up what looks like a long crochet hook. I swear I can see an evil glint in her eye as she orders me to lay back and relax with my knees up and spread apart. She dives under the paper sheet tented over me with the hook in her gloved hand. The next thing I feel is a gush of warm water between my legs.
“Won’t be long now, honey,” she assures me as she pulls her gloves off and exits the room once again.
Magically, the pain subsides for the moment. Gina comes to stand next to the bed. She looks overwhelmed.
“Ty,” she says, lifting my hand, “I just want to tell you something before the Hot Nazi comes back and banishes me outta here. I love you like my sister and I hope you know that. You're going to have a beautiful, healthy baby, you hear me?”
I nod at her, feeling emotional and very blessed that I have her as my friend. I see that her eyes are welling up.
“Gina,” I reply, “I love you like my sister, too. This is your godchild, remember?”
“Yeah,” she laughs, wiping a stray tear with the back of her hand, “even though I hate that name you picked for a girl.”
“Treyla Michaela?” I ask, astonished.
She nods, rolling her eyes.
“That’s a great name,” I say defending my choice. “It’s in Trey’s honor. Boy is named after me; girl is named after Trey.” Trey is still hoping for a boy because of the name I chose for a girl. I don’t care. He is not getting his way on this one. I refuse to budge.
