Page 151 of Moonlighter
“Keep going,” I pant.
And we do. Eric maneuvers the sled into the center of Madison Avenue, with Duff bringing up the rear to watch for cars that never pass by.
I lose track of our progress, though, because I have a new problem. “I-I want to p-push,” I wheeze. “Really, a lot.”
“Don’t push,” Eric barks. “No pushing.”
“What does that mean?” Duff asks.
“Nothing good,” Eric says, moving faster.
“Lemme take a turn?” Duff offers. “Your knee must hate this.”
“Nope. I braced it.” Eric pushes on. “This is easier than a bag skate. Hockey is an endurance sport.”
“Labor is an endurance sport,” I wheeze. My back is on fire, and my pelvis is as tight as a drum. “I need to push.”
“There will be no pushing,” Eric says as we fly toward the big red EMERGENCY sign on the west side of the street.
But the urge is so strong, I find I’m holding my breath. And when the contraction peaks, I scream.
That’s how I enter the emergency room at Mount Sinai—screaming on a plastic sled. Coincidentally, they put me onto a gurney and get me into an exam room faster than you can sayten centimeters dilated.
Someone approaches with a pair of shears, which are used to cut off my yoga pants, and all I have to say is, “I need to push.” Then I burst into tears.
“She’s crowning!” a voice calls out.
“Page OB! Page peds,” another voice demands.
Eric wipes my face and pets my hair. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “This is a great story, remember?”
“On the next contraction, you can push,” someone says. My vision swims. The lights are so bright, and the doctor is completely swathed in blue scrubs, and with the cap and mask. I can’t see anything but a pair of eyes.
“Arrrghhh!” someone screams. And that someone is me. I bear down, and the pain is extreme. I might rip right in half on this table.
And then something just gives way, and I feel the greatest relief I have ever felt in myentire life.
“Your baby’s head has arrived,” the doctor says. It’s a woman. Through the blur, I focus on her very dark brown eyes. “One more push and you’re there.”
One more push. I’m so tired. “Can I have an epidural?”
The doctor laughs. So, I guess that’s a no. “Daddy, come down here. You can help me deliver your baby.”
“What? I don’t know how to do that,” he says.
“I’ve never delivered a baby before, either,” the doctor says with a shrug. “But this one is coming either way.”
Eric moves to the end of the table. He shed his jacket at some point. He’s wearing a gray T-shirt with GAP in purple letters stretched across the chest, along with two days’ worth of whiskers. I already know everything will be okay, and that I would follow himanywhere.
I take a deep breath. I can feel the next contraction coming, like a big swell in the ocean, ready to suck me under.
“Showtime!” the doctor says. “Push!”
I let out a roar as I bear down.
“There you are,” Eric croons. “Hello, baby girl.”
“Oh yeah, the umbilical cord,” the doctor says. “Clamp?”
