Page 62 of Brood
But he’sirrelevant to this procedure. Those were Dr. Cameron’s words exactly. He will only get in the way.
So I’m all by myself in excruciating pain that comes in waves that get closer and closer together.
I’ve always considered myself relatively strong and resilient. I’ve never made a fuss when I was sick or hurt, even as a little girl. But this is different. This is torture. Pain keeps bombarding me, and because of the restraints, I can’t even move my body in ways I instinctively feel might help.
Nothing can help. And it never ends.
I’ve been crying for more than an hour now, and my sobs get louder as another contraction hits less than a minute after the last one.
“You’re doing fine,” Glenda says. I’m relieved that she’s the nicer nurse and not the one who makes me want to scratch her face off. “It’s going to be over soon.”
“You still have a while to go,” Dr. Cameron says in his singsongy murmur. “But everything looks healthy so far.” He’s peering between my legs, and if my ankles weren’t bound in the stirrups, I might actually slam one of my feet right into his nose.
Glenda has been trying to get me to breathe in a certain way, but there’s no possible way for me to focus on it. I writhe as much I can in these restraints. “Please,” I gasp when the contraction momentarily eases. “Please, can Will come in?”
“We don’t need him, do we? We’re not a little girl who needs someone to hold her hand through something so natural. Are we?”
Something about the gentle condescension of his tone snaps the final thread inside me. I can’t control myself any more than I can control the pain of the next contraction that’s slamming into me right now. “Shut up! Shut the fuck up! I don’t want you here. I want Will. Will! Will! Will!” I scream his name at the top of my voice.
Even as I do it, a small part of me knows I’m making a mistake. I’m doing exactly what we agreed we’d never do. I’m making a scene. Making a fuss. Making people question.
Showing the world what Will means to me.
It’s wrong. It’s dangerous. But if I don’t see him soon, I’m convinced I’m going to die.
Literally die.
There’s a sudden pounding on the door to the room. “I’m here, Cadence.” It’s Will’s voice. Loud and slightly muffled. “I’m right here.”
I burst into loud, helpless tears at the familiar sound of his voice. At the angry frustration I hear there. At the deep care and concern.
He’s so close. There’s only a door between us.
Why won’t they let him in?
“She’s out of control.” Dr. Cameron is clearly not talking to me, although he’s still right there between my knees. “We’re going have to have anesthetize her.”
I choke on the surge of panic. “No! No, please don’t! Will! Help me, Will!”
He pounds on the door some more. “Fuck it all, let me in right now!”
“There’s a better chance of a healthy baby if we don’t,” Glenda says. She sounds matter-of-fact. It’s oddly comforting in the midst of my breakdown. “I know it’s not usually done, but we almost have a healthy birth here. Why not let the spouse in? She’ll settle, and everything will go smoother. This uproar isn’t good for the baby.”
Dr. Cameron doesn’t like the suggestion. I can see it in his expression as my sobs quiet in rising hope. But he finally makes a face. “Fine. Let him in. But if he gets in the way, I’m calling Brody.”
I’m crying again as Glenda goes to unlock the door—but it’s with an overload of relief. Because Will is in the room now. Coming to the bed in fast strides.
He’s rumpled and sweating—he looks almost as drenched as I am—and his expression is almost wild as he grabs for one of my restrained hands and strokes my face with the other. “I’m here, love. Right here.”
I sniff and whimper and manage to finally stop crying. I have to act better now, or Dr. Cameron will have Will hauled away by guards.
“Stay right there,” the doctor tells him. “If you interfere or get in the way, I’m calling Brody.”
I see angry resentment twist on Will’s face for a moment, but he gets it under control. He nods tersely and turns back to me. “I’m here now.”
Another contraction hits then, but I find the strength to not scream this time. I can’t let them send Will away.
I can’t do this without him.
