Amelia

I lean down to kiss Carson’s sweat-soaked forehead, and there is a painful clenching in my stomach. I ignore it and continue to whisper in his ear, hoping he'll open his eyes. It doesn't even occur to me at first, but with each gripping pain, the thought that maybe . . . just maybe . . . things are happening early. I shake it off and grasp his fragile little hand in mine, kissing it softly.

I turn on the TV, but there is nothing on. Then it gets worse. Way worse. The clenching in my stomach feels like a python is wrapped around my gut, tightening. I reach for the nurse’s call button, only to be brought to my knees.

The nurse comes in and helps me stand as each of the contractions grows in strength. “Amelia? Breathe. Remember the Lamaze?”

“No,” I growl as I feel a gush.

“Dammit,” the nurse mutters, “this isn't good. You're too early.”

“Let's get you down to labor and delivery,” she says, rushing out the room to get a wheelchair. I'm hunched over the side of Carson’s bed in a mix of emotions as tears run down my face. I close my eyes and say a prayer.

She comes back with a wheelchair and helps me into it. I look back over my shoulder one last time at the frail little boy I love so much.

“You're going to be fine, and Carson is stronger than he looks,” she says into my ear. I nod, and another contraction hits, almost making me pass out.

We rush into labor and delivery just in time. I’m lifted onto a bed and my legs are placed in stirrups as the doctor walks in. I don’t have time for pain medicine or breathing coaches. No one asks me about my birth plan or how I’m feeling.

Contraction after contraction rip through me, leaving me little chance to breathe, much less talk. My mind is racing, and in some deep recess, I know this isn’t okay, that I shouldn’t be here now and that everything is happening much too fast. I remember the pain I was having in jail and while Mrs. Simpson was visiting.

I’ve been in active labor for a while, and I was too ignorant to realize it. No one ever told me I would feel pain in my back. I always thought contractions were in the stomach, where the baby is, but these contractions feel like they are breaking my back in half while swallowing me whole. I want to crawl in a hole and die for just a moment’s relief.

“Oh wow, looks like we are having a baby,” the doctor says after peering under the sheet the nurse placed over my spread legs. If I wasn’t in so much pain, I might chuckle, but another contraction hits me right then, and with it, the undeniable urge to push.

“Go ahead, sweetie. Push,” he coaches, and I lean forward, grunting with the effort it takes to do so.

I feel like I’m being ripped wide open. My entire body is on fire. I want to scream and cry at the same time, but I don’t have the energy for either. I feel the doctor’s fingers at my opening, twisting and pulling, and then another contraction, and I feel fire.

My vagina is on fire. I am on fire. I am being burned from the inside out. I am being ripped from the inside out, and I can’t stop it. I can’t stop pushing. I can’t stop screaming. I grab my knees and lean forward again. My body is on the verge of being split in two.

“Good. Keep going. I see the head.” I take a breath and then push again as the next contraction hits. I push with everything I have. I imagine my poor baby stuck in the tunnel between there and here, and I am the only one who can help her escape. I bear down, grabbing the rails of the bed, and shove with every ounce of strength I have left.

My body feels suddenly lighter. I can literally feel it as she slips from inside me. My stomach lowers instantly, although not back to its original size, and I can feel her tiny body as she slides from within me, landing in the doctor’s hands. A nurse entered the room during my pushing, and she steps forward to speak to the doctor.

“Ah. I see. Okay.”

I wonder what they are talking about, but then the sweetest cry fills the air, and nothing else around me matters.

“Congratulations. She is beautiful. I’m going to pass her to you, but her umbilical cord is still attached. I was just informed that we are saving it and the placenta for a possible transfusion.”

I nod my head, thankful that someone remembered during the course of my labor, because I damn sure forgot. The doctor passes me my daughter and places her gently on my chest. Taking one of her thin hands in my own, I count her fingers and marvel at the beauty of her tiny fingernails.

A nurse wraps her tightly in a blanket, lifting her from my chest and placing her in a warmer. She’s almost six weeks early. I feel a moment of panic and fear overcome me. I can’t lose her. I should have been more careful and taken better care of myself. I should have done more to keep her inside longer. I’ll never forgive myself if she isn’t okay.

A technician with the blood bank comes in but manages to work around me and her. She has already quit crying, and I miss the sound. I want to hear it again so I can know that she is all right. That she is still breathing and healthy. I need someone to tell me something. The doctor pushes on my stomach, forcing out the afterbirth, but I am oblivious to the pain.

“Are you all right, Miss Hart?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Can…can you call my baby’s father for me? He should be here.”

“Of course. What’s his number?”

I rattle off the number and wait as she leaves the room to call Cal. I need him here right now. I know he will demand all the answers I can’t. He will take care of both of us.

“I’m sorry, Miss Hart, but there was no answer. I left a detailed message letting him know what was going on,” she says and then, to distract me, “What will you name her?”

“I don’t know yet. I’m waiting for someone special to help me pick the name, but he’s sleeping right now.”

“No rush.”

I can’t wait for Carson to wake up and see her. I know he is going to love her as much as I do. It’s been hard deciding how she will refer to him, but after this last run-in with my mother, I’ve decided to take her to court for full custody of Carson. I want to raise him as my own son, and for now on, this beautiful angel will be his sister.