Chapter Thirty-Six

~Nicole~

When the nurse’s head had first popped up and she said it was time, I didn’t believe her. How could it be time? I didn’t feel any different. There was no epiphany that my child was going to come out or that a small hole within my body had expanded ten times of its normal size.

But then another contraction hit me and suddenly I knew in every cell of my body that it was time.

“Oh God, James!”

“I’m here, I’m here!” He said, wrapping his arms around me. “What’s wrong?”

“I think the baby’s finally coming.”

“Yeah, I kinda put that together when the nurse ran out of here saying that it was time.”

“Oh yeah, you’re hilarious,” I shot back, in too much pain to enjoy his humor. “What I mean is that it finally feels like the baby is coming.”

“What, and all the cramping and groaning before was just a normal Thursday for you?”

“I know that you think you’re clever, but when I get out of this bed, I will show you how exactly un-clever you are.”

“Oh, will you now?”

“Yeah, I will.”

He was distracting me, that much I knew, but I was grateful for it. Anything to get my mind off of the ripping that was going through my lower half.

I heard rapid footsteps, then the doctor and nurses were coming in.

“Hello there, Miss Nicole, I hear that you’re fully dilated and ready to go!”

“Yes!” I cried. “Just get it out of me!”

“It? Now that’s not a great thing to call your future child.”

Who the hell did this doctor think he was? Sure, I was grateful for him being so cautious with my health up until this point, I wasn’t appreciative of his poking. “Save the lecture for someone who can handle pain medicine.” I snapped.

“Ah yes, I remember that now. Extreme susceptibility to narcotics. Bummer for you right?”

“Yeah, bummer.”

My temper was spiking and if I wasn’t so locked in pain, I might have gotten up and kicked him in the head. Hell, if my feet weren’t tucked up under me, I would have kicked him right then and there, especially since he was in the perfect position right between my legs.

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?”

“But my baby…” There were tears in my eyes and my voice was cracking but I couldn’t help it. I needed my child, right there and then. But I also knew that what the doctor was saying made sense, and that I needed to get the placenta and all of that other stuff out of me.

So, I focused. I put all of my attention in concentrating on the doctor’s words until I heard more gross noises and then I was finally being lead to my bed.

I sat down, looking blearily up into the face of James. God, he was handsome. I was so lucky to have him in my life. I was going to be terribly upset when we divorced, and he disappeared from my life forever.

A cry sounded behind him and then he was stepping aside so a bundle could be handed to me. I stared, wide eyed and in shock, not really comprehending what it was until the unmistakable warm form of an itty-bitty baby was placed in my arms.

“Congratulations, Miss Arden. You have a beautiful daughter.”

Then it happened, I was hit with that potent mix of chemicals that the internet had told me about. Happiness, euphoria, love, affection. None of those words seemed like enough, however. But what I did know was that nothing in the entire world mattered more than the sweet child inside of my arms.

“Oh my God, James,” I whispered. “We have a little girl.”

“We do,” he said, looking down at me with an expression that I couldn’t describe. We exchanged glances and then the tears were coming in earnest. I sobbed, happier than I had been in my entire life.

I had never thought it possible, but I had everything I could ever need right in my arms.

And her name was Kireina.