phone at the nurses' station, but he hung up quickly when he saw her face. We stretched her out on the bed, strapped the fetal monitor over her stomach, and I cradled her head in my hands while the doctor listened.
"Okay, Maggie, get comfortable." Then he pulled out this long plastic thing and asked the nurse to cover it with gel. "I'm going to break your water and start you on Pitocin."
While I was thinking, You're not sticking that thing in my wife, Maggie sighed and gripped my hand so hard her knuckles turned white.
"That means two things: it will bring on your labor more quickly, and"-he paused as the fluid gushed out-"your contractions will hurt a bit more."
"That's okay," Maggie said, while the nurse swabbed her right arm with alcohol and inserted the IV needle.
Fifteen minutes later, the pain really started. I sat next to the bed, holding a wet towel on her forehead, and fought the growing knot in my stomach. By midnight Maggie was drenched in sweat and growing pale. I called the nurse and asked, "Can we do anything? Please!"
Within a few minutes the anesthesiologist came in and asked Maggie, "You about ready for some drugs?"
Without batting an eye, I said, "Yes, sir."
Maggie sat up and leaned as far forward as her stomach would let her. The doctor walked around behind her and inserted the epidural in the middle of her spine just as another contraction hit. Maggie moaned but didn't move an inch.
God, please take care of my wife.
Breathing heavily, Maggie lay back down and propped her knees up. After one more contraction, the epidural kicked in. Her shoulders relaxed, and she lost the feeling in her legs. At that moment, if I had had a million dollars, I would have given every penny to that man. I almost kissed him on the mouth.
The next two hours were better than the last two days together. We watched the monitor, the rise and fall of every contraction-"Oh, that was a good one," listened to the heartbeat, laughed, talked about names, and tried not to think about what was next. It was surreal to think our son would be there, in our arms, in a matter of moments. We held hands, I sang to her tummy, and we sat there in quiet most of the time.
About one-thirty, the lady next door had trouble with her delivery, and they had to wheel her off for an emergency Csection. I've never heard anybody scream like that in all my life. I didn't know what to think. I do know that it got to Maggie. She tried not to show it, but it did.
At two o'clock, the doctor checked her for the last time. "Ten centimeters, and 100 percent effaced. Okay, Maggie, you can start pushing. We'll have a birthday today."
Maggie was a champ. I was real proud of her. She pushed and I coached, "One-two-three . . . " I'd count and she'd crunch her chin to her stomach, eyes closed and with a death grip on my hand, and push.
That was two days and ten lifetimes ago.
THE SMALL, PRIVATE ROOM THEY PUT US IN WAS dark, overlooked the parking lot, and sat at one end of a long, quiet hallway. The only lights in the room shone from the machines connected to Maggie, and the only noise was her heart-rate monitor and occasionally the janitor shuffling down the hall, rolling a bucket that smelled of Pine Sol over urine. Somebody had shoved Maggie's bed against the far wall, so I rolled her over next to the window, where she could feel the moonlight. By rolling the bed, I unplugged all the monitors, setting off several alarms at the nurses' station.
A pale-faced nurse slid through the doorway and into the room. She stopped short when she saw me sitting next to the bed, quietly holding Maggs's hand. She almost said something but changed her mind and went to work instead, repairing what I'd torn apart. Before she left, she grabbed a blanket from the closet, put it over my shoulders, and asked, "You want some coffee, honey?" I shook my head and she patted me on the shoulder.
Maggie has lain there "sleeping," unconscious, ever since the delivery. I wiped her arms
"Okay, Maggie, get comfortable." Then he pulled out this long plastic thing and asked the nurse to cover it with gel. "I'm going to break your water and start you on Pitocin."
While I was thinking, You're not sticking that thing in my wife, Maggie sighed and gripped my hand so hard her knuckles turned white.
"That means two things: it will bring on your labor more quickly, and"-he paused as the fluid gushed out-"your contractions will hurt a bit more."
"That's okay," Maggie said, while the nurse swabbed her right arm with alcohol and inserted the IV needle.
Fifteen minutes later, the pain really started. I sat next to the bed, holding a wet towel on her forehead, and fought the growing knot in my stomach. By midnight Maggie was drenched in sweat and growing pale. I called the nurse and asked, "Can we do anything? Please!"
Within a few minutes the anesthesiologist came in and asked Maggie, "You about ready for some drugs?"
Without batting an eye, I said, "Yes, sir."
Maggie sat up and leaned as far forward as her stomach would let her. The doctor walked around behind her and inserted the epidural in the middle of her spine just as another contraction hit. Maggie moaned but didn't move an inch.
God, please take care of my wife.
Breathing heavily, Maggie lay back down and propped her knees up. After one more contraction, the epidural kicked in. Her shoulders relaxed, and she lost the feeling in her legs. At that moment, if I had had a million dollars, I would have given every penny to that man. I almost kissed him on the mouth.
The next two hours were better than the last two days together. We watched the monitor, the rise and fall of every contraction-"Oh, that was a good one," listened to the heartbeat, laughed, talked about names, and tried not to think about what was next. It was surreal to think our son would be there, in our arms, in a matter of moments. We held hands, I sang to her tummy, and we sat there in quiet most of the time.
About one-thirty, the lady next door had trouble with her delivery, and they had to wheel her off for an emergency Csection. I've never heard anybody scream like that in all my life. I didn't know what to think. I do know that it got to Maggie. She tried not to show it, but it did.
At two o'clock, the doctor checked her for the last time. "Ten centimeters, and 100 percent effaced. Okay, Maggie, you can start pushing. We'll have a birthday today."
Maggie was a champ. I was real proud of her. She pushed and I coached, "One-two-three . . . " I'd count and she'd crunch her chin to her stomach, eyes closed and with a death grip on my hand, and push.
That was two days and ten lifetimes ago.
THE SMALL, PRIVATE ROOM THEY PUT US IN WAS dark, overlooked the parking lot, and sat at one end of a long, quiet hallway. The only lights in the room shone from the machines connected to Maggie, and the only noise was her heart-rate monitor and occasionally the janitor shuffling down the hall, rolling a bucket that smelled of Pine Sol over urine. Somebody had shoved Maggie's bed against the far wall, so I rolled her over next to the window, where she could feel the moonlight. By rolling the bed, I unplugged all the monitors, setting off several alarms at the nurses' station.
A pale-faced nurse slid through the doorway and into the room. She stopped short when she saw me sitting next to the bed, quietly holding Maggs's hand. She almost said something but changed her mind and went to work instead, repairing what I'd torn apart. Before she left, she grabbed a blanket from the closet, put it over my shoulders, and asked, "You want some coffee, honey?" I shook my head and she patted me on the shoulder.
Maggie has lain there "sleeping," unconscious, ever since the delivery. I wiped her arms
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