Page 167 of With A Little Luck
“Yep, and let’s move fast,” Quincy says. “I really don’t want to miss the window for the epidural.”
Oh,thank God.
“Are you doing okay, Dad?” the new nurse asks me as Quincy pushes through another contraction.
“Yeah, I’m solid.” I’ve got hold of her left leg while Trigg manages the right. That psychopath has not looked away from the danger zone once, but I’m trying to split my attention between Quincy’s face and what’s going ondownthere.
“Okay, take a seat if that changes,” the first nurse says. “It’s always the big guys who hit the floor, and we aren’t going to leave Mom to help you.”
Well, that’s a good thing.
Their focus should be on her.
“You’re doing great, Quincy,” Dr. Lindsay says.
“You really are,” Hart chokes out. He’s up by Quincy’s head, holding her hand. From how white his knuckles are, I’m going to guess she’s squeezing the ever-loving shit out of him.
The contraction slowly dissipates, and Quincy’s head falls back against the hospital bed. She’s exhausted, but in much better spirits since the epidural. She labored all night and through the morning. It’s almost four in the afternoon, and none of us has slept.
I’m running on pure adrenaline, but the bond says Quincy is beat. Every time I think the baby’s head is about to pop out, it scoots back in. I also read first-time moms sometimes push for hours, so I think she’s crushing this whole giving-birth thing.
Several more pushes produce limited results, but there is a little more progress, even if it’s a small amount.
It’s baffling to me how Trigg can watch without glancing away. I peek when the exciting stuff is happening, but it feels rude to stare. Everything is swollen and bloody, and it looks painful as fuck.
I’d get shot all over again if it meant Quincy didn’t have to go through this. The only thing keeping me going is knowing we’ll meet our daughter soon. Guilt still threatens to eat me alive, though. Not only did she spend eight months doing everything alone, but now every bit of this is on her shoulders as well.
Another contraction begins, and Quincy’s face turns red as she pushes.
“That’s it, Quincy. Just like that,” Dr. Lindsay says. “You’re doing great.”
My jaw falls as the baby’s head pops out, turning to the side. She has a head full of dark hair, just like me and Quincy. She’s also bloody and gooey, but Dr. Lindsay pats around her head.
Everything becomes background noise, and on the next contraction, the baby’s shoulders pop out.
My eyes fly from the baby to Quincy, but Hartley cradles her cheeks in his hands as he whispers something. I’m so out of it that I can’t make out whatever he said.
It feels like I’m in a tunnel.
“Don’t pass out. I won’t be able to save you,” Trigg says, giving me a serious look.
The doctor places the baby on Quincy’s chest to clean her off, and I’m so distracted that I ignore the nurse the first time she speaks.
“I can take over here,” she says again. “Go check on your wife and daughter.”
“Thanks,” I say as the baby starts to wail.
My knees shake at the sound. That’s a good sign, right?
I’m out of it as I stagger the few feet to Quincy’s head.
“I’m so proud of you,” I choke out and promptly burst into tears.
Hartley holds his phone, taking pictures.
Trigg appears on her other side, and he doesn’t hesitate to stretch out a hand to pat the baby’s back.
My system is too overloaded to know what to do or who to focus on, but I’m just thankful I haven’t passed out.
