Chapter 12 - Pushing While He Holds Nothing
The doctor said it was time and the room changed shape around those words. The nurse dropped the rail and swung the light. My knees were already bent, my sweater stuck to my back, and I could feel the pressure low and undeniable. I didn't look at the clock. I looked at the doctor's gloves snapping on.
My name is Claire. I was thirty-nine weeks and done waiting to be chosen.
"Claire, on the next one, chin down, breathe in, and push hard into your bottom," the doctor said. She was calm in a way that made me believe her. "We'll do this together."
The contraction built and the nurse was at my right shoulder. "I got you. Grab my hand," she said.
My ally moved to my left without being asked and slid her hand under mine. "Look at me," she whispered. "You're doing it."
Blake stood near the end of the bed, off to the side. He had his hands in front of him like he didn't know where to put them. The doctor glanced up once. "Dad, step back by the wall for me, please. Give us room."
He did. That was his part. Stepping back.
I pulled in air and pushed until my face burned. I heard myself make a sound I didn't recognize. The nurse counted steady, "Three, four, five, keep going, keep going, good."
"Rest," the doctor said. "Good. Baby's coming down nice."
Sweat got in my eyes. My hair had come loose from where I'd tied it back that morning in the kitchen. I remembered leaning on that counter. Six minutes apart. I remembered the keys on the counter and the blue front door open and his voice saying he'd be back fast. I pushed that image away and gripped the nurse's hand harder.
The next contraction came faster. "Here we go again," my ally said. "I'm right here. You're not doing this alone."
I bore down. My arms shook. The doctor's voice stayed level. "Head's right there, Claire. One more like that."
Blake made a small noise from the wall. "Claire—"
I didn't answer. I couldn't. The nurse leaned in. "Ignore everything else. Eyes on me. Push."
I pushed. The burn turned sharp and then the pressure shifted, and the doctor said, "Head out, good, stop pushing, pant, pant for me," and I panted, gasping, my whole body trembling.
"Shoulder," the nurse said quietly. "Almost."
One last push tore out of me without counting. And then there was a wet slide and a sudden lightness, and for half a second the room went completely silent.
Then he cried.
It wasn't loud at first. Just a thin, angry wail that got stronger. My chest broke open. "Is he—" I couldn't finish.
"He's here," the doctor said, and she laid him warm and slippery on my chest. "Hello, little guy."
Skin to skin. His cheek against me. His cry vibrated through my ribs. The nurse threw a warm blanket over both of us and rubbed his back. I put my hands around him, too scared to move, too unwilling to let go.
"Ten fingers," my ally whispered, crying now. "Look at him, Claire."
I looked. Red face, dark wet hair, fists balled tight. Alive. Breathing. Here.
From somewhere by the wall, Blake said, "He's okay? He's okay, right?"
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The doctor didn't look up. She was watching my bleeding, her hands steady, finishing her work. "Mom and baby stable," she said to the nurse. "Apgars look good."
I held my son and felt his little mouth root against me. I didn't look at Blake. There was nothing for him to hold.
