As we head out of the neighborhood, I have the fleeting thought that maybe we should just go to the local county hospital which is 15 minutes away. I say nothing, and we turn the opposite direction, toward the hospital downtown, selected by default because the only midwives with any openings deliver there.
We turn on to 26, then 795, 695...eventually 83. Eric driving as fast as the cars around him allow, while also timing my contractions on a piece of paper he holds on the steering wheel.
1:42pm.
1:46pm.
1:49pm.
1:51pm.
We speed along to the Enya soundtrack we have playing in the background. It's supposed to be relaxing, but just ends up being ironic as we barrel along at 90 miles an hour, unintentionally soliciting middle fingers and a would-be racer who attempts to outpace us in his Ferrari.
"Please don't kill us," I breathe more than once.
The contractions are coming harder and faster now, I feel the urge to bear down. Eric dials the midwife again to let her know. She tells me to breathe out and make noise instead of push. It's becoming harder to do. I grasp the handle above the door and hang on for dear life, closing my eyes, and my legs, a little tighter.
I tell him he should call our doula and let her know to come. She is with a program at one of the local universities and seemed so sincere and eager to offer her services and gain experience. A doula was indispensable with my first lengthy birth, but this time I know she won't make it in time. Still, I say we should try her, since I signed some paper saying we would call when I was in labor. I don't want to break all the rules at once.
On the middle of 83, I yell, "Pull over!" I really think this is it, Eric is going to have to deliver our baby. On the side of the road. I had a premonition he might have to, and kept sending him "How to Deliver Your Baby in an Emergency" type articles from the internet during the last weeks of pregnancy. He says we are ten minutes from the hospital and asks if I can wait that long. The contraction eases up and I yell, "Just go!"
Somehow he manages to navigate the city streets which we have always gotten lost in for every other appointment. I feel a burning sensation, and some blood. I check to make sure there is nothing on the seat. Whew. We pull up to the curved drive in front, where they have told us we can park initially.
We were told someone would be out front with a wheelchair to escort us in, but no one is there. Eric hops out of the car, and runs in to look for one. I gingerly get out, and lean on the seat, swaying with a contraction, and only slightly annoyed at the passersby staring. Eric runs out of the hospital and asks a lady in front of us if we can use her wheelchair once she is in the car.
I can't get in the wheelchair. It would be impossible to sit down. I'm trying to point this out, when out of nowhere a lady (I don't think she was with the hospital even) tells me to get on backwards, on my knees. I find this infinitely more possible, and I'm grateful for the suggestion.
We are quickly escorted through the lobby by a security guard (we'll call him Malcolm), who tells Eric he must stop at the desk to get a badge while he escorts me up the 9 more floors to labor and delivery. This sounds like an incredibly bad idea to both of us, but I am in no position to argue. Malcolm wheels me on to the elevator and we begin our climb.
I can scarcely register my surroundings, I am in so deep with physical sensations and silent prayers that I would not give birth in the elevator, and that Eric would not miss it. At some point I start pushing.
"Don't push!" I hear in unison, and realize that there is another person in the elevator with us. I don't know it at the time, but she will be our nurse on the recovery floor, and she will tell me the story from her perspective. I will laugh, not remembering her at all, until she asks if I heard two people that day.
But I cannot stop pushing, I am too far gone, it is like a freight train now, zooming down the tracks at full speed. I reach down and feel something; the head! I remember asking, "Should I take my underwear off?", to another chorus of "No!" from the nurse and an overwhelmed Malcolm (who I'm sure by now is considering another line of work).
The elevator opens at the 10th floor, and I am wheeled out, still on my knees. About 5 feet past the elevators I jump off. Malcolm tells me to get back on, to which I vehemently shake my head. He asks me to walk then. I would laugh if I could. Again, I say no.
Just then, my water breaks, and a combination of blood and amniotic fluid gush out all over the pristine and shiny, newly waxed floors.
"Oh, sh*t!" Malcolm yells. "We need a nurse!" It registers in my mind that just ahead and to the right is a frosted glass partition behind which is the waiting room. A head looks out, and then a little boy of about three or four starts to dart out to see the commotion before being pulled back by a parent.
I get down on my hands and knees. This baby is coming, with or without Eric here, and this security guard is scared out of his whits and is gonna be useless. So, I'm preparing to catch my own baby.
Just then, the elevator opens, and off rushes Eric. He quickly surveys the scene while I say, "You're gonna have to catch the baby." He looks under my dress (see, it was a good idea), and says, "Yep."
With one final push, Ava Mae is born into the world, in her daddy's arms, at 2:08pm, and 7lb 11oz, although we don't yet know it is Ava Mae, and I don't yet know she is a girl. A moment passes and I wonder why Eric hasn't announced the baby as a boy or girl. I look backwards and say, "Oh, a girl, cool!" And just like that, our defining moment seems a little eclipsed now. I later find out that he was trying to gently remove the (thankfully long) cord from around her neck, so he hadn't had a chance to look yet.
I hear the double doors open, and see seven or eight nurses barreling towards us. They surround us, seeming very serious and concerned. I want to put their minds at ease, tell them I feel great now, everything is fine, maybe even make a joke about "cleanup on aisle 5"; it takes me a moment to realize they are concerned about the baby which they know nothing about, who was just born rather abruptly in the hallway and is plastered with blood.
Once they have assessed that there are no emergency situations, they let Eric cut the cord, and tell me to sit on the wheelchair while they hand her to me. I hold my baby, almost a full pound lighter than Wyatt, and take in her squished little face, cheeks for days, and arm rolls. She has lots of wispy dark hair which matches my dress.
My dress which is now splattered with blood and goo, I note, as they roll me into the room. Our midwife greets us; there are so many people in the room. They tell me to climb up on the bed, and take my baby to place in a corner bassinet where they can examine her under the lights. Had I not been in shock, I would have asked to hold her while they did this, but I still couldn't believe this had all just happened, and it did not occur to me to ask.
I nervously tell Eric to go be with her, so at least one of us is there. It is just the corner of the room, but it feels like a big room, and she is crying, and so far away. The midwife and some nurses attempt to clean up my legs, which have also been spattered. They seem annoyed that I decided to have a baby in the hallway, instead of in the conventional place, but I didn't decide that at all. In fact, had it been allowed in this state, I would have been quite happy to have my baby at home, and I think in hindsight that maybe I should have done so.
One of the nurses notices that the security guard has followed us into the room and is hovering nervously around the baby. "Who is he and how did he get in here?" she asks, to which someone tells the story, and she laughs before booting him out.
The midwife instructs me on pushing out the placenta, and when that is all done she inserts a numbing needle into my nether regions (say that five times fast, ha!). She says she needs to sew me up, and this surprises me, because I don't feel torn, and also because I pushed out a much bigger baby before. "It's because the birth was so fast, there was no time to accommodate her," she says.
I ask her how many stitches she is putting it; it seems to be taking forever, watching the clock and her long curved needle go up and back down. "I never count," she says, and I don't exactly find this comforting. Sometime during all this, the doula shows up, and holds my hand, because there is nothing else really for her to do. The midwife is meticulous and a perfectionist in her stitching, something I will be thankful for later, but for now I am eager for her to hurry it up.
At last I again get to hold my baby, who is hollering about something. Later I will laugh when I read her medical records and see the words, "Lusty cry". I try to put her to my breast, but she isn't having it, and I worry that we will have the same troubles I had with Wyatt. "Just let her be," the midwife says. "She has a lot to say. She just wants to tell you about it right now." She seems like a wise old woman, so I let her words comfort me as I cuddle and kiss my baby.
Eventually we are moved two floors down, to the maternity ward. Before the end of his shift, Malcolm knocks on our door, asks if he can come in, and rides in on his segway. "Sorry for scaring you half to death," I say with a smile. "That's ok, I've never had that happen before!" he says, and I wonder if that means he is new. "I just wanted to come say hello and make sure she was ok!" We exchange some laughs and he is on his way, convinced and relieved that everything is well. I can't help thinking that he must have felt responsible in some way, and I know that is a story he will tell over and over.
Later that evening, when we are both sufficiently cleaned up, my mom and Wyatt make their way to the hospital, mom complaining about traffic and getting lost. Wyatt holds his little sister for the first time, and I feel a strange mixture of anxiety and peace. Our lives will never be the same and there is no going back now. We are a family of four.
(Grandma and big brother with Ava)
(If only I would have known how much I would treasure pics like this.)
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