Page 111 of Suit

April 2013

“What are you doing?” Ken squinted at me, leaning in the doorway of our master bathroom. “It’s three in the morning.”

I lowered my mascara wand and turned to face him, knocking my eyeshadow into the sink with my massive belly. “I think my water broke. Well, it’s more of a trickle than a break, but I’m having some pretty serious—” I gripped the counter with both hands and hissed through my clenched teeth.

“Contractions?” Ken finished for me.

I nodded, my face twisted in pain.

“I’ll call my mom to come over.”

“No!” I took a deep breath, the viselike crushing pain at the base of my spine beginning to ease up. “Don’t wake her up. Remember last time? We went to the hospital at six in the morning, and the baby wasn’t born until eight at—” I winced and dropped the mascara, jamming my fingertips into my lower back for some counterpressure.

Ken raised a sleepy eyebrow at me. “Pack your shit. I’m calling my mom and the obstetrician.”

Mrs. Easton arrived thirty minutes later, still in her pajamas. As she and Ken chatted in the living room, I tried to walk from one side of it to the other. I’d smile and comment on whatever they were talking about, take two steps, and double over in pain. Breathe, curse, wince, writhe, then stand back up, smile, and do it all over again.

“Uh,” Mrs. Easton said, watching me in horror, “I think you need to get her to a hospital.”

Ken helped me climb into the passenger seat of his SUV and then drove past the closet hospital to the better hospital. The one I’d already toured and filled out admission forms for. The one my doctor was supposed to meet me at as soon as we called him. The one that had my eighteen-page birth plan on file.

The one I was beginning to think I’d never see the inside of because my baby was about to be born in Ken’s fucking Nissan Xterra.

They had an emergency parking area for those kinds of situations, but Ken didn’t park there. He grabbed a spot in visitor parking, fucking sixty feet away from the door, and began unloading all the stuff he’d packed—my bag, his bag, the diaper bag, two regular pillows, my nursing pillow, my breast pump, a giant exercise ball, an extra copy of my birth plan in a clear plastic cover, cookies for the nurses…

“Ken!” I shouted, having only made it three feet away from the car before a massive contraction had me clinging to a concrete pillar for support. Pointing to the sliding glass doors ahead, I screamed, “Get a fucking wheelchair!”

Ken dashed off and returned seconds later with a wheelchair, an orderly, and a rolling cart for all our shit. I couldn’t stand, but I didn’t think I could sit either. So, I stood on the foot holders and gripped the armrests and rode into the hospital with my ass two feet off the seat.

When we got inside, the motherfuckers at the front desk made me sit/stand there while Ken filled out even…more…paperwork.

“I already…aaaaaaaaaaah…did that!” I screamed. Screamed. In the middle of the quiet hospital lobby, I screamed and writhed and then…the grunting started. Oh God. It was deep and guttural and sounded like I was taking the world’s biggest shit. I was so embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop the sounds coming out of my mouth. “My paperwork is on…uuuuuuuhhnnggg…file! I need an…uuuuuuuhhnnggg…epidural!”

I knew an epidural probably wouldn’t work, but I was willing to try anything at that point.

“Ma’am, your doctor isn’t here yet, but we have a midwife on staff who can deliver your—”

“Not a midwife. I need an anestheeeeeeeeeeeeeeesiologist!”

“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there’s no time. Your baby is coming right now.”

My what is what?

And, with that, they wheeled me into a room, had me change into a giant paper gown—which was next to impossible with a head in my vagina—and then wheeled me into a delivery room where I was attacked by nurses.

I didn’t see any of it. I couldn’t have opened my eyes if I wanted to. The pain was so intense and unrelenting that all I could do was twist my face up, dig my fingertips into my thighs, and scream.

Oh, and grunt.

Luckily, the midwife was a fucking baby-birthing ninja angel, and twenty excruciating minutes later, she handed me an absolutely perfect baby girl with big blue eyes and long black eyelashes. This baby didn’t glare at me the way her brother had. This one didn’t have a care in the world. She blinked up at me a few times, then, satisfied with what she saw, little Frosting Spider-Man curled into my breast and nursed herself to sleep.

I smiled up at Ken, who looked pretty satisfied himself.

“Up high,” he said, raising one hand in the air, a huge grin on his otherwise exhausted face.

I eyed my husband wearily, then gently slapped his hand, careful not to disturb the baby.

“No doctor. No epidural.” He beamed. “This is gonna be the cheapest delivery ever!”

The End

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