Page 70 of Capitally Unexpected

“Love you,” I say back, intertangling our fingers on the wheelchair handle.

“Next,” the administrator at the desk calls and I wheel us toward our future.

“Do you think if I renounceFriendsas one of my favorite TV shows, the universe will stop giving me a Rachel-esque labor?” Michelle asks, squatting in her bed hours later. “I feel like I’ve been stuck at seven centimeters for longer than the night it took to make her.”

I check my watch, trying to swim through the brain fog to do mental math. She may be on to something, but I assume an actual confirmation won’t be helpful here. As tired as I am, I know Michelle must be at least three times as exhausted. She’s having trouble getting comfortable, so I don’t protest when she asks me to help her readjust to being on all fours.

A knock on the door catches our attention before Dr. Barber slips into the room.

“How are we doing in here?” she asks, sanitizing her hands and walking over to the bed.

“You know, I didn’t do much yoga before getting pregnant, but the past few hours have me reconsidering. If I can do those poses in labor, surely I will rock it without a baby in the way.”

Dr. Barber laughs, looking at Michelle’s chart.

“You’ve been here almost as long as we have, Dr. B,” I say. She hears the unasked question in my statement.

“I have been. With the snowstorm, our protocols change a bit, so I’ve been on duty for almost twelve hours. My relief should be here soon.” Something flickers across her face.

“Who’s coming in for you?” I ask, pretty sure I already know the answer.

“Dr. Jameson is scheduled to come in next.”

A groan of pain leaves Michelle as another contraction kicks in. The doctor and I both start timing. After a minute, Michelle’s body releases the tension, her breathing hard. I bring a cup of water with a straw close to her mouth so she can take a few sips of water.

“Can we hope the mention of his name alone kicked my body into gear? Because I would give almost anything to not have that fatphobic jerk deliver my baby.” Michelle’s eyes fill with tears.

I stroke her hair. “There has to be someone else here who can help. I’ll find them.” I promise. Seems even with our complaint, the guy has managed to keep his job.

“Let’s get you on your back to so I can check your progress. If you go into active labor while I’m on the clock, I can stay tosee you through,” Dr. Barber says. She’s doing her best to show a layer of professionalism, but I see her struggling to keep it in place. Seems like he’s not very popular with his co-workers either.

She flags down a nurse, and we help Michelle navigate into position on her back. Michelle grips my hand while the doctor performs the same exam we’ve sat through countless times tonight.

Dr. Barber sits up, a large smile on her face. “Well, Michelle, good news. You’re ten centimeters and fully effaced. Give me a second to gear up, and we’ll start pushing.”

A nurse hooks Michelle up to monitors, the room suddenly a flurry of activity, but her eyes are only on me. I bring my forehead down to meet hers.

“Hey, you’re going to be great, okay? The climb to the very top of the mountain is here, but on the other side is our little girl. I’m so proud of you.”

She nods her head, moving up and down against mine. “Sorry in advance if I crush your hand.” A tear trickles out of the corner of her eye. I pull back slightly so I can wipe it away.

“Crush away. I can’t imagine a better reason to need a cast.”

“All right,” Dr. Barber says, reentering the room, an air of assuredness around her. “Let’s get ready to push.”

Everyone takes their positions, and Michelle wraps her hand a little tighter around mine. “Next contraction in thirty seconds,” a nurse says.

“All right, Michelle. When I say so, you’re going to push as hard as you can. Are you ready?”

She takes in a deep breath, eyes closed, before opening them to a look of determination. “I’m ready.”

Dr. Barber counts us down, and Michelle lets out a yell while she pushes down through her contraction.

“That was great, Michelle. I’m going to need you to be ready to go again, okay?”

Michelle nods, and I brush the hair out of her face, never feeling more invested and more helpless at the same time.

She pushes through the next few contractions, the toll and energy they’re taking after a long night of labor clear on her face. A nurse appears out of nowhere, handing me a wet towel. Glad for something to do besides stand here and let nonsense praise tumble out of my mouth, I wipe sweat off Michelle’s forehead.

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