Page 159 of Mistaken Impression

I start the engine and put my foot down.

Fortunately, the hospital is only ten minutes away, but by the time we arrive, Ella’s already panting hard, and I’m struggling not to panic. I get her inside the building and anurse comes straight over, taking charge and ushering us into a delivery room.

I’m nudged aside, while it seems all hell breaks loose. Ella’s contractions are really close together now, and several people come into the room, examining her, wiring her up to a monitor and writing things down on charts… and although Ella’s only a few feet away, she’s not close enough for me.

That’s one thing I’ve learned over the last few months… that having Ella close to me is everything I need. That’s why I walked away from the negotiations with the TV company. Delilah didn’t understand, but I was adamant. If it meant spending even an hour away from Ella, I wasn’t going to do it.

That was the best decision I’ve made – apart from coming back here – and I have no regrets about any of it.

Ella’s taught me that looking back and harbouring regrets is a waste of time. We have so many more positive things we could be doing, and we spend a lot of time doing them.

If we’re not working together, we’re cooking together, and I’ve surprised myself – and Ella – by becoming quite adept in the kitchen. I’m nowhere near as proficient as she is, but I could survive by myself, without relying on take-aways… although I hope I never have to.

When we’re not working or cooking, we’ve been relaxing, enjoying each other and making love as often as possible… making the most of the time before the baby comes and relaxing becomes a thing of the past.

Making love won’t become a thing of the past. I’m sure of that. We both want each other too much for that to happen.

“Mac?” I look up at the sound of Ella’s voice and notice that the initial chaos seems to have died down. Everyone else has gone, except the midwife, who’s moved to the other side of the bed and is studying the monitor. That means there’s space enough for me to step forward, taking Ella’s hand in mine.She gives me a squeeze, her eyes filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. I feel the same, but I do my best to bury my emotions and focus on hers, leaning in, so my lips are beside her ear.

“I love you so much.”

“I love… oh, crap…” She’s seized by yet another contraction, her grip tightening on my hand, crushing my fingers. In an ideal world, I’d pull my hand away, but I know this is nothing compared to what she’s going through, and I clench my teeth, pretending it doesn’t hurt.

The midwife turns, focusing on Ella, although she seems remarkably unfazed. She’s young… probably only around Ella’s age, and she smiles as she pats Ella’s leg.

“Keep going. You’re doing great.”

Ella glares at her but stays silent, other than a mild groaning noise that seems to accompany every contraction now.

“When can I push?” she says, once the pain has subsided enough for her to speak coherently.

“Whenever you’re ready. You’re fully dilated.”

“I am? That was quick.”

The midwife smiles and nods her head, and Ella glances up at me, taking a deep breath, like she’s preparing herself…

I wait, flexing my hand as far as her grip will allow, and although we both know what’s coming, it seems to take forever. The midwife changes position, settling at the end of the bed, but still nothing happens. I’m just wondering if this is a cruel false alarm, whether it’s all going to stop for a while, when Ella grasps my hand again, tipping her head forward onto her chest as a new contraction seizes her and I see the effort in her face as she pushes with everything she’s got.

The contraction passes, and she settles her head on the pillow, looking up at me. “Never again,” she whispers. “I’m never doing this again.”

“Okay. Whatever you say.”

“Can I have some water?”

I pull my hand from hers, taking the opportunity to clench my fist a few times, and reach for the beaker on the nightstand, helping her to take a few sips. I’ve only just replaced it and put my hand back in hers when the next contraction hits. She repeats the same process, only this time with even more effort, wanting it to be over, I guess.

“Keep pushing… keep pushing…” The midwife urges, but Ella flops onto the pillow, spent, and I lean over, kissing her forehead.

“You’re doing so well.”

“Shut up.”

I try not to smile.

“If you can give me one more big push like that, I think we’ll be there,” the midwife says, and I turn to look at her. She gives me a slight wink and I nod my head. I guess she’s heard it all before.

“How do women do this for hours on end?” I ask. I can’t believe anyone can, but the midwife just smiles at me.

---