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But when the contractions finally wore off, my anger settled. Suddenly I was too warm, too cramped, and I needed to move. “I have to get up,” I said, pushing against James’ chest.
“Wait, what?” he sputtered, no doubt surprised. I didn’t blame the man. He’d been kind enough to slide in behind me to prop me up, and now I already wanted to move.
“Actually, for many women using gravity as a birthing aid is very helpful.” The doctor said. “If you want to get up, then let’s get you up.”
He nodded to the nurses and suddenly they were flanking me. I had read so many horror stories about doctors or nurses not listening to patients that I was incredibly grateful. Well, the back of my mind was grateful. The front of my mind was just concentrating on getting the baby out.
The world sort of devolved into hazy flashes of pain, sweat and delusion. Time went wonky, people’s face grew fuzzy, and I was starting to shake as I walked back and forth around the room, never more than a foot away from someone who was willing to catch me if I fell.
But I didn’t fall. I kept moving, only stopping when the contractions grew so intense that I had to hold onto the bedframe.
My mouth was dry, but I couldn’t stop to drink. And I felt like I had to go to the bathroom, but the nurses kept telling me that I was just feeling the baby coming down the birthing channel and that I needed to keep pushing.
As if pushing a literal child out of my hoohaa wasn’t enough, I remember reading that sometimes women pooped right there on the birthing table or on the floor. I hadn’t lost control of my bladder since I was a small child, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to break that streak yet.
“You’re doing great,” the doctor said, checking my vitals manually even through they were on the machine I was attached to. “But just so you know, it’s about to get a little worse.”
“Worse?” I cried, holding onto the bed for dear life. “How can it get-”
Oh.
Oh no.
The wave of pressure and pain went lower, and my legs went out from under me. Suddenly the agony went from a seven to and eleven and I was screaming.
“There we go,” the doctor said, somehow managing not to sound condescending. “Nurse, if you don’t mind kneeling down and checking for me, I think you’ll be able to feel the baby’s head coming down.”
As if it was perfectly natural, the woman got down on the floor and reached up into my hospital gown.
An uncomfortable probe later, and I heard a cry of triumph. “They’re almost crowning!”
Holy crap! Crowning? Crowning! I knew what that meant. The baby was almost here. I just had to hold on and tough it out, then soon I would be able to hold the little person that I had been waiting to meet for over half a year.
I could do it. I just had to survive. And that was what I was; a survivor. I would get through this and arrive on the other side with the most important person in the entire world.
I just needed to control my breathing. If I calmed down and counte-
“Ah! James!” Another wave of pain stabbed through me and my throat was becoming raw from the sheer force of my cry. But it was just one of many. Soon the entire universe was condensed down to what was happening to me.
I couldn’t do it.
I could do it.
I was going to die. The pain was going to swallow me whole.
The pain was fine, and I would get through it.
James was constantly trying to help me, rubbing my back or wiping my forehead, or whispering encouragements. The nurses and doctors existed too, but they didn’t register with their constant reminder to breathe and stay calm.
I squeezed hands, I squeezed the bars of the bed. I squeezed my stomach muscles so hard I thought I would pass out. Then, suddenly, in a thunderous explosion of lowered body violence, they were pulling something from me and everyone was yelling.
I stood there, shaking, wondering what the hell was happening, when I heard a smack and then the distinct sound of a baby’s cry.
“Is that my child?” I screeched, wiping the sweat away from my eyes. “Is that my baby! Give me my baby!”
“Just one second.” Abruptly the doctor was in front of me, holding my hands like we were that close. Then again, this guy had literally just seen all sorts of angles of my vagina. If that wasn’t a way to bond, I didn’t know what was. “We just need you to expel the afterbirth and then they’re all yours, okay? They’re just going to do the APGAR test while I take care of you, okay?”
