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“Great! Well, it goes like this. I’m going to tell you when to push, and when I do, I need you to bear down as hard as you can as if you have to push a large BM.”
Double gag. I attempt to wipe the sour look off my face while Nathan shakes with silent laughter beside me. “Got it. Pretend to poop, but don’t actually poop.”
“You might poop, but don’t even worry about it. We see it all the time.”
Is it too late to back out of this thing? I’d like to request a do-over.
A nurse steps up to my left. She takes my leg from the stirrup into her hand and instructs Nathan to do the same. Moments later, the doctor calls out, “Push!”
So I do. I curve my back and squeeze with all I have as the nurse beside me counts to ten. They release my thighs, and I lie back. A moment's rest before the next big contraction.
“Push!”
And again.
And again.
An hour elapses. I’m sweaty, exhausted, and my epidural begins to wear off, proven by the pain I now feel in my nether regions. I relax back after the latest ten count, the brief respite welcome.
“There’s fetal decels.”
I hear the nurse through the rush of blood in my ears, but I don’t know what she means. An oxygen mask clamps over my mouth and nose, and the sweet nurse beside me instructs me to breathe deep.
Another contraction comes, and I feel this one sharper than the previous ones.
“You got this, babe, you can do it,” Nathan coaxes as he helps me sit.
“Kiersten,” Dr. Fischer says sharply, all the soft smiles and light gone from her eyes. “I need you to listen to me. You have to get him out now. Do you understand? I need you to push as hard as you can. His heart rate is dropping with every contraction.”
An electrical current zaps through my system, shocking me into awareness. The seriousness in her voice sends fear slithering to my heart but also a hefty dose of determination. I lock eyes with her and nod.
“Push!”
I suck in a deep breath, rip the oxygen mask from my face, and bear down as hard as I can. As soon as the nurse hits ten, the doctor shouts at me to push again without a reprieve.
Limbs shaking, I moan loudly as I reach another ten and scramble behind me for the oxygen. The nurse holds it up to my face for me as I inhale greedy deep breaths and do as I’m told, feeling like this moment is life or death.
“Okay, stop pushing. Hold on, Momma, his head is out.”
Stopping the urge to push is as hard as it was to keep going, but I fight my instinct and hold steady.
“One more small push,” Dr. Fischer coaxes.
“You’re doing great, Kiersten. One more.” Nathan’s voice guides me to him for strength. The bottomless depths of his dark brown eyes reflect exactly what he attempted to convey earlier that I so selfishly snubbed and took for granted—a heck of a lot of love and admiration. I drop my head into his shoulder, which he immediately cradles in his arm. Within moments, a weight lands on my lower abdomen.
“Great job, Kiersten. Daddy, cut the cord.”
Nathan, ever the paramedic, doesn’t hesitate to take the medical scissors and give the cord a snip. I roll to my back to lay eyes on my son for the very first time, but he’s suddenly whisked away.
“Where’s he going? Why isn’t he crying?”
I struggle to maneuver myself while the doctor works between my legs, but my concern is over my newborn baby.
“They’re just going to check him over, okay? Hang tight, and let me get you cleaned up.”
Nathan returns and secures my hand. “He’s so beautiful, babe.”
I hear the words, but my attention is across the room on our son. The doctor over there says something to Dr. Fischer, and then they wheel him away.
